Thirteen #3
Thankfully she managed, waking late the next morning when her phone chimed with a message from Reggie.
Smoko? Made some scones for the boys. They’re warm from the oven and there’s a pot of hot coffee with your name on it.
Rowena’s stomach growled at the invitation. There’d been nothing solid in it for a couple of days and she was starving. Also, no signs of queasiness or dizziness—bonus!
Be there in ten.
‘C’mon, Red,’ she said to the slumbering dog keeping her feet warm. ‘Let’s go eat.’
The dog watched, bemused, as Rowena threw on her jeans, skivvy and a fleecy hoodie, shoved her feet into boots and scraped her hair back into a hasty ponytail, but she was entering Reggie’s kitchen exactly ten minutes later, her mouth watering at the aroma of freshly baked goodies, and that was all she cared about.
‘Bloody hell, darl, you look awful,’ Reggie announced as she turned from the oven to face her. ‘Sit.’
Rowena sat, amused at the brutal assessment. In the short time she’d known Lachlan’s grandmother, she’d learned that sugar coating wasn’t Reggie’s style.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured. She might have taken the path between the bunkhouse and the homestead a little too quick was all. ‘I’ve had the Vs and Ds thing that’s been going around. Actually, only the vomiting part, thank god. But I’m good now. Just starving.’
Reggie inspected her for a moment, as if she was going to diagnose her with one of those made-up illnesses Lachlan had told her about. But she just nodded and said, ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. Scones and coffee coming right up.’
She coughed then, turning away as she covered her mouth. It was moist, Reggie’s spare hand gripping the chair at the far end of the table, her knuckles going white as she rode out the hacking paroxysmal spasms.
‘You okay?’ Rowena frowned. ‘That sounds nasty. Have you seen a doctor?’
‘Just the show cold,’ Reggie dismissed as the coughing subsided and she washed her hands at the sink.
But for the first time since she’d known the older woman, Reggie moved a little slower, and Rowena had to remind herself that Lachlan’s grandmother was no spring chicken.
Even if she did ride her horse every day.
‘Here.’ Two fat, orange—not unlike the shade of Colin—pumpkin scones were plonked in front of her. ‘Eat.’
Rowena could have kissed Reggie as her stomach growled anew. But then a mug of coffee joined the offerings, its warm, nutty fragrance enveloping Rowena in a cloud of heavenly caffeine, and the urge to vomit, sudden and almost violent, struck again as it had two days ago.
‘Oh god,’ she muttered, standing quickly and clamping her hand over her mouth as she swallowed convulsively. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
Rowena didn’t excuse herself or wait for Reggie to suggest where she should unload, and the front door was closest, so she bolted outside and threw up over the railing straight into another garden bed, retching for what felt like ten minutes but was probably only one.
There was certainly nothing to throw up once she was done.
Bloody hell … this virus was kicking her arse.
Slowly, hands and legs shaky, Rowena made her way back inside, a silent Reggie observing her as she sank into her chair. A glass of water appeared in front of her and Rowena sipped it, grateful for something to wash away the acrid taste of bile in her mouth.
Reggie pulled up the chair opposite and sat, her wrinkled hands lying loosely in front of her, shrewd watchful eyes assessing.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rowena apologised as she placed the glass on the table. ‘I thought this was done. I’ll feel terrible if I’ve given this to you. Your cold is enough to contend with. I’ll just wait for my legs to stop shaking and I’ll head back to the bunkhouse.’
A beat passed before Reggie declared, ‘You’re pregnant.’
Rowena blinked. And blinked again. Say what now? Was Reggie serious? Then she laughed, it was so absurd. She shook her head emphatically. ‘No.’
‘When I was pregnant with my first? Even thinking about a cup of tea made me want to chunder, let alone smelling it or looking at it. And you know how much I love a cuppa.’
Oh dear god. She was serious. ‘Reggie.’ She shook her head again. ‘No. This is just that virus that’s going around. I’m not pregnant.’
But Rowena could see that Reggie’s mind was already made up. Could see that she’d already made an assumption about the father of the non-existent baby, and she couldn’t let that stand.
Or fester.
‘It … it’s not possible for me,’ she said gently, suppressing an absurd urge to reach out for the older woman’s hands in case she was infectious. ‘Pregnancy. Trust me, I know this. It took a decade, a divorce and many tens of thousands of dollars to know this.’
Reggie nodded slowly, clearly picking up what Rowena wasn’t putting down. ‘Stranger things have happened, darl.’
‘Well, yes, but this wouldn’t be just strange. This would be a … miracle.’
Rowena had given up hoping for a miracle a long time ago and she would not go down that dark path again.
Another beat or two passed before Reggie nodded. ‘Okay, darl. Okay. Have it your way.’