Eight #2
Still, Lachlan had caught the odd sight of Rowena in town, mostly at waving distance except for trivia.
He’d gone to the pub every Thursday night and played on other teams, and they’d chatted a couple of times but nothing more.
He doubted anyone looking at them could tell they’d gotten naked and done the wild thing.
And that was fine by him, no matter how much he’d like to spend more time with her. Frankly, right now, there were never enough hours in the day, anyway. But the memory of his time between her sheets still got him out of bed every morning with a grin on his face, grabbing for his bagpipes.
Reggie, on the other hand, could tell.
Not what had happened, but she knew something was up, something was different. She eyed him speculatively every morning as she cooked his breakfast and he knew it must be killing her to not say anything.
Lachlan pretended not to notice. Life was good—the farm was running like clockwork, the sheep were happy and he’d had sex with the lovely Rowena Murray.
What could he say? He was but a simple man.
Lucky for him, Reggie was reasonably distracted at the moment. With her farm duties during the day, which she refused to shirk despite her advanced age, and planning her continued domination of the cooking competition at the annual agricultural show at night, she had her hands full.
She was cooking up a storm, turning the kitchen into a testing space for a new marmalade recipe that involved native finger limes. Last year her old rival, Madge, had won the jam category, and Reggie had not been impressed.
It wasn’t enough for his grandmother to win best fruitcake, best sponge cake and best scones—plain, fruit and pumpkin—Reggie wanted to sweep the pool.
But at least it was keeping her off his back. The woman was like a dog with a damn bone when she got a whiff of something going on, and without this preoccupation—okay, obsession—he had a feeling his goose would be cooked.
*
The show was only five days away when Lachlan found himself in Acacia Junction on a Sunday afternoon.
All the primary producers in the district were preparing their most prized stock for display and potential blue ribbon status.
Others were shining up their best and biggest produce.
And the green-thumbed were preparing their most exotic blooms.
Pretty soon, the first sideshow alley trucks would be rumbling into town and there would be an influx of visitors.
Hotel rooms, motels and camp sites were already booked out as the Acacia Junction population was set to swell by a couple of thousand.
It was, after all, the highlight of the civic calendar.
The cooking competition was getting to the pointy end. All entries had to be delivered to the CWA hall for judging by experienced show judges come Wednesday, and Reggie still wasn’t happy with her marmalade.
Which was why Lachlan—despite having worked all day with Wendell from the neighbouring property on their cluster fence—was at the IGA at almost five, buying a packet of star anise.
Whatever the fuck they were.
But Reggie had texted and Lachlan had obeyed, despite his arms aching like a bitch and a warm bath beckoning. Something that was quickly forgotten when he stepped outside the store and almost ran straight into Rowena.
‘Whoa there,’ he said, pulling up short to avoid a collision. She also pulled up but stumbled a little. ‘Almost knocked you flat,’ he said with a smile, placing a steadying hand beneath her elbow.
She was in her uniform, he noticed, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. And, if her red-rimmed eyes were any indication, she’d been crying.
‘Hey.’ He peered into her face. ‘What’s wrong?’
She blinked rapidly, but not before he caught a well of tears turning her eyes into bright green puddles. Giving a half laugh, she shook her head dismissively as she pulled out of his hold. ‘I’m fine.’
Lachlan dropped his hand. ‘You … don’t look fine.’
‘Tough day at work.’ She shrugged. ‘Occupational hazard.’
He nodded. ‘I imagine.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she reiterated. ‘Nothing a glass of wine and some Netflix won’t help.’
Lachlan had no doubt she had her strategies in place for these kind of situations and he wasn’t going to pretend to know better, but the idea of her going home alone in this state didn’t sit well.
‘Or …’ He gave her a gentle smile. ‘You still haven’t been to Blairgowrie for that lamb roast, and Reggie’s cooking one as we speak.’
‘Oh.’ She frowned a little. ‘That’s very sweet but I have about a thousand homemade meals in my fridge from just about everyone in town. I’m sure I’ll find something to eat.’
‘And I bet none of them will come close to my grandmother’s roast lamb.’
‘I believe you,’ she said with a wobbly smile. ‘But I can’t just … land on her like that.’
Lachlan laughed. ‘You clearly don’t know Reggie. She loves company and always makes enough to feed a shed full of shearers. And besides, she’d clip me around the ears if I left you crying on the footpath.’
Leaning in, Rowena whispered, ‘I won’t tell her if you don’t.’
‘Trust me—she’ll know.’ He glanced around theatrically. ‘She has eyes everywhere. When I was a kid I couldn’t wag school, smoke behind the bike sheds or even jaywalk in this town without her knowing about it within minutes.’
She laughed shakily. ‘You make her sound like the mafia.’
It was his turn to whisper. ‘I think she might be.’
Rowena’s laugh was much more robust this time, which warmed Lachlan to his core. ‘Seriously, you’ll be most welcome. Why don’t you come with me now and I can drop you back into town after? Too many roos out at the moment for your little car.’
‘Shouldn’t you at least call her first and check if she’s okay with an extra mouth?’
‘Nah.’ He shook his head. ‘I used to turn up with half the football team when I was a teenager. One extra mouth is neither here nor there.’
Her face was a mask of indecision and Lachlan wondered if it was to do with him more than Reggie.
‘There’s no strings or expectations here, I promise.’ He held up his hands like a magician demonstrating there was nothing up his sleeve. ‘Just a date with the most succulent lamb you’re ever likely to taste.’
‘Well, in that case. How can a girl say no?’