Two
An hour later, a faint rose-gold hue glowed on the horizon as day blended to evening. Lachlan crossed the highway to the woman who had introduced herself to the paramedics as Rowena Murray.
She was leaning her butt against the boot of the police car belonging to Doug Thompson, the sergeant in charge of Acacia Junction cop shop.
The paramedics had given her one of those white cellular blankets, which she’d draped loosely around her shoulders, but he could still see the state of her shirt, which she’d quickly put on once help had arrived.
It was powdered in brown dust and smeared with blood. The knees of her jeans, dark with ingrained dirt, hadn’t fared much better.
She was staring absently down the arrow-straight road in the opposite direction to the one the ambulance had taken fifteen minutes ago, having miraculously coaxed a pulse from Silvano. Was she contemplating going back the way she’d come?
And who could blame her after this experience?
She obviously wasn’t from around here, because Lachlan knew just about everybody and for damn sure he’d have heard about her if she was a newcomer. Acacia Junction’s grapevine was thriving and Reggie, his grandmother—who he lived with—was across it all.
‘Here.’ He held out a bottle of water as he approached.
She straightened as she took it, which brought her to his shoulder height.
Giving him a brief smile, she cracked the lid, tipped her head back and drank.
A smear of dirt on her forehead drew his attention, as did some wisps of curly, light brown hair that had escaped her ponytail to brush against the side of her neck.
‘Thanks,’ she said, after guzzling half then wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Parking his arse against the boot a respectable distance from hers, Lachlan drank from his bottle. Who knew saving lives was such thirsty business?
Her gaze was now fixed on the horizon and he wondered if she was admiring the stark beauty of the outback sunset or dissecting what she’d just been through.
He knew from many years on the police force (another lifetime ago) that those minutes and hours after an incident such as this could be tough on a person.
Mentally tough.
‘Do you think he’ll make it?’ he asked. As a nurse, she was surely qualified enough to have an opinion on Silvano’s chances?
Stirring from her reverie, she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It depends. He was down a long time. It took a lot of drugs and several shocks to get him back. I imagine it could be touch and go. But even if he does pull through, he might’—she hesitated—‘have a neurological deficit.’
Which, Lachlan assumed, was medical speak for totally rooted.
He shook his head. That was too awful to contemplate.
The Morellis had come to the district in the fifties and Lachlan knew that Silvano wouldn’t want a life where he wasn’t spreading his love through feeding everyone who crossed the threshold of the family patisserie.
‘You initiated CPR within a couple of minutes, though, right?’
‘Yes, but …’ She gazed at him. ‘The stats aren’t on his side.’
There was a tiny crinkle between her brows, which drew his attention to her eyes. They were a clear light green, which stood in stark contrast to their broody solemnity. Like they’d seen a lot.
The kind of eyes Lachlan saw staring back at him every morning in his bathroom mirror.
‘If it’s any consolation, the man’s been a heart attack waiting to happen for two decades.’
She gave a small smile, her full bottom lip curving upwards to expose two rows of even, white teeth. ‘He didn’t look like a man in prime condition.’
Lachlan hooted out a laugh at her understatement. ‘No. But we breed them tough out here. And the town has a Flying Doctor base so he’ll be in the city in a couple of hours. I’ve got a good feeling in my gut Silvano will be back.’
And Lachlan’s gut rarely let him down.
‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘I really do.’
She didn’t sound particularly positive, but Lachlan didn’t doubt her sincerity.
The fire engine that had been sent to the accident site pulled away, snagging their attention.
It honked at them as it passed by and they watched as it picked up speed, heading back to town.
Which just left himself, Rowena, the tow truck driver and Thommo, who was supposed to be taking their statements but didn’t seem to be in any hurry as he chinwagged with the towey.
‘I haven’t properly introduced myself.’ Lachlan offered his hand. ‘I’m Lachlan McCabe. My friends call me Lachy.’
Sliding her hand into his, she murmured, ‘Rowena Murray.’
‘Nice to meet you, Ro.’
She withdrew her hand abruptly. ‘It’s Rowena.’
‘Sorry.’ Lachlan grinned. ‘Force of habit. We shorten everyone’s names out here.’
Her expression told him she didn’t appreciate the familiarity.
‘So, are you just passing through or …?’
‘No. I’m moving to Acacia Junction, actually.’ She took a sip from her water. ‘I have a contract at the hospital. It’s only temporary, though. Six months. Back to Sydney in December.’
Lachlan wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself but she was clearly establishing boundaries. ‘Well.’ He grinned. ‘You sure know how to make an entrance, Rowena Murray.’
She seemed to flinch at that, before recovering with an answering smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, and Lachlan’s cop instincts kicked in.
Interesting.
In his experience, city slickers who moved to the country fell into two camps. Those who were seeking a change in their life. And those escaping from it.
Which camp did Little Miss Boundaries fit into?
‘Not the way I thought it was going to happen,’ she acknowledged with a grimace before draining the remainder of her water.
‘When do you start?’
‘Tomorrow. I have a couple of orientation days then right into it.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘At The Stockman pub for a month while I wait for some hospital-based accommodation to free up.’
Lachlan nodded. ‘Awesome choice. It’s the best pub in town.’
‘Good to know, thanks.’ A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘I rang before to let them know I was going to be later than I’d expected.’
‘Ruth would have appreciated that—she frets about guests when they don’t show. She runs the pub with her husband, Wal. Clean rooms, good food, cold beer.’
‘A cold beer sounds pretty good about now.’
He cocked an eyebrow. She looked more like a white wine kinda gal. Which went to show, even at forty, a guy could still know sweet fuck-all about women.
‘Nothing like a cold beer at the end of a hot day,’ he agreed.
‘I’m not much of a beer drinker, to be honest. But this hasn’t been an ordinary day.’
Lachlan laughed at the understatement. ‘You definitely deserve a beer.’
After dragging the dead weight of Silvano Morelli out of a car—an impressive feat in itself—then resuscitating him solo, she deserved a bloody medal.
‘I could buy you one when Thommo’s done with us?’
The invitation was out before Lachlan had fully engaged his brain. Bloody hell, where had that come from? Even if it was only a polite, friendly gesture, it wasn’t the time or the place.
A fact supported by her look of surprise.
‘Oh, thanks …’ She broke eye contact to look down at her clothes, lifting first one leg then the other to inspect the damage. ‘I think I’d rather just get cleaned up.’
Lachlan nodded. Of course she’d want to wash away the grime from over half an hour kneeling in the dirt on the side of the highway.
‘No worries. Maybe another time.’
‘So, what about you?’ she asked, deftly changing the subject. ‘I assume you’re not passing through either?’
‘Nope. I live at Blairgowrie. It’s a sheep property about five clicks out of Acacia Junction, which is about fifteen minutes that way.’ He hooked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the direction. ‘You’ll pass the turn-off on your way to town, just after the first wattle trees.’
‘Blairgowrie.’ She rolled the word around her tongue. ‘Cool name for a farm.’
‘It’s the village in the Scottish highlands my great-grandfather hailed from. He emigrated after World War One and bought the property in the early twenties from a guy called Wickham whose health was failing. The place was really rundown and he spent a lot of years getting it shipshape.’
‘So you, what … herd sheep all day?’
An image of him with a Little Bo-Peep crook in his hand made Lachlan laugh. ‘Something like that.’
‘How many sheep do you have?’
‘That depends on the time of year. We currently run about five thousand head. It’s the most we’ve carried for several years. We had to destock during the drought.’
‘Five thousand?’ Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him. ‘Holy sh—eep.’
He laughed. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s a lot, right?’
‘It’s a good size.’
‘Looks like you’re the person I should see if I’m ever fanging for a decent lamb roast.’ She seemed much more relaxed now the conversational focus was on him.
‘You’re not one of those city vegetarians, then?’
His first ex-wife had been a vegetarian. He had no idea why he thought that would ever work.
‘Well, I guess I could be, if I had to. I mean, I really like fruit and vegetables and I don’t even mind tofu, but …’ She sighed as she glanced at him. ‘Bacon.’
Lachlan threw back his head and laughed. She’d definitely lost some of her stand-offishness.
‘You are welcome anytime to Blairgowrie for a lamb roast. Reggie—that’s my grandmother—she’s eighty-two and an absolute wizard in the kitchen. She has this special glaze that she marinates it with. It’s been known to make grizzled old shearers weep.’
He became conscious this was the second time he’d suggested they get together. What the hell? For a guy who had no recent game with women, his subconscious was really working it.
Not that he’d meant it like that.
But, once again, she broke eye contact, her gaze scanning the horizon. ‘It’s … vast out here,’ she mused, going for another change in topic. ‘Feels like a million miles from civilisation.’
Lachlan looked around. Yeah, he’d thought that too when he’d left home at twenty, hungry to live after losing his left nut and all his hair to cancer. He’d come back four years ago about as burnt out by civilisation as it was possible to get.
He hadn’t missed it once.
‘You wait till you see the stars out here.’ He tipped his head back to stare at the dome of sky deepening to purple.
‘Yeah, I remember that from when we went camping once in the bush when I was a kid. That and all the rustling noises at night.’
Lachlan detected an edge of trepidation in her voice and his gaze was drawn to her profile. ‘Afraid of snakes?’
‘Oh yes.’ She nodded. ‘All of the snakes. And the spiders. Anything creepy-crawly, really.’
Given the abundance of said critters in the outback, it was good reason for Lachlan to stop being intrigued by the story behind Rowena’s eyes and inviting her for lamb roasts.
Sure, available women were thin on the ground out here and it had been a long time since one had captivated him quite so quickly.
But he wasn’t so hard up for female companionship that he’d contemplate trying his luck with one who’d made it known she and Acacia Junction had a short shelf life.
‘So this would be a bad time to tell you about the giant tree spiders around these parts?’
Her laugh surprised him. She’d clearly not only been able to see right through his deadpan expression but find the humour in it. Not to mention how the full, throaty vibration of her laugh felt strangely intimate in the deep hush of twilight.
Thankfully Thommo chose that moment to finally get his arse into gear, clearing his throat for their attention. Perversely annoyed by the interruption, Lachlan glanced at the laid-back country cop who was contemplating them, hands on hips.
‘About bloody time,’ Lachlan grouched.
Thommo, who had been a few years behind Lachlan at school, had never been a fan of rushing, which was probably the reason he’d never really cut it in a city police station. And why he’d thrived in largely law-abiding Acacia Junction.
‘Yeah yeah, mate.’ Thommo grinned at him. ‘No need to get your panties in a wad.’ Smiling at Rowena, he addressed her next. ‘Are you okay to tell me about what happened now, or would you rather come into the station tomorrow for a chat?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d rather just get it over and done with now, thanks.’
‘Right you are.’