Eight
Lachlan was feeling pretty damn pleased with himself when he made his way to the bathroom to ditch the condom. Not only had he been propositioned by a woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since he’d met her, but they’d had spectacular sex.
Like, screaming his name, clutching his ass, clawing up his back spectacular. An orgasm for the books—even if he did say so himself. Considering it’d been a while, he’d not been rusty at all.
That’s when he noticed it and all his happy hormones disappeared in a puff.
Fuck.
The condom had broken. Actually, ruptured was probably a better descriptor. The latex had been blown wide open, with very little evidence within the condom that he’d come at all. Which meant …
Double fuck.
He tried to remember how old the condom was, something he hadn’t thought about prior to grabbing it out of his wallet. But now he remembered Reggie had put it in there the day his divorce became final with a humour me smile. So, it was at least four years old.
Triple fuck.
Quickly reconstructing the condom to check it was all there and not half inside of Rowena, he washed his hands and went to give her the bad news.
He walked back into the room, making a beeline for his pile of clothes because this seemed like a conversation best had clothed. Which was a pity, because Rowena lying there blissed out in the soft lamplight, her hair spread on the pillow, was a sight to behold.
Lachlan stepped into his underwear. ‘So … there’s a bit of a problem.’
Which pretty much rammed a pickaxe right through her bliss. Pulling the sheet up as she wriggled into a sitting position, she eyed him warily.
‘Okay.’
He picked up her shirt and cocked an eyebrow at her—she was probably going to want to be dressed, too. Rowena nodded and he tossed it in her direction. She ducked into it while he ducked into his, then he grabbed his jeans and stepped into them for good measure.
Or maybe delaying tactics. Once the news was out, their night was well and truly over.
Shoving his hands on his hips, Lachlan cut straight to the chase. ‘The condom broke.’
‘Oh.’
Lachlan frowned. That was much calmer than he’d expected. He’d known from the get-go she was practical and pragmatic, but this was almost … chill?
‘It’s all there, I checked, so we don’t have to worry about that. And also, I don’t know where you are in your cycle or anything—’
Oh god. Did women use that word? Cycle. It was so fucking … clinical. Should he have said period? Hell, the amount of times he’d had a conversation with a woman about any of that stuff could probably be counted on two hands. And he’d been married—twice.
Just keep going, dickhead!
‘But I have a sub-fertility thing going on so I don’t think pregnancy will be an issue. As far as STIs go, I haven’t been with a woman since my divorce—the second one—four years ago and I only had the one sexual partner—my ex—for six years prior to that. So that’s not an issue either.’
She blinked. God … had he overshared?
At her continued silence, Lachlan blundered on. ‘Having said that, we have a pharmacy in town where I’m pretty sure you can get the morning-after pill if you wanted to go that route. I’m happy to come into town in the morning and drive you there if you want?’
She laughed. Also not expected.
‘So, you’re …’ He frowned. ‘Not upset then?’
That was good, right?
‘Sorry.’ She sobered quickly. ‘It’s just … I can walk two blocks to the pharmacy. I’m thirty-six, not sixteen.’
Lachlan puffed out a breathy laugh as he shoved a hand through his hair. This was not the way he thought this night was going to end. ‘Of course. Sorry.’
‘Look, it’s fine. Thank you for being honest and for not shirking this conversation. You really are very sweet.’
Lachlan winced. Great, he was sweet. Just what a guy wanted to hear after the most spectacular sex in a decade.
‘For what it’s worth, I’ve just finished a period, although, in the spirit of honesty, my cycle is a complete mess and always has been, so it’s hard to predict.
But … please don’t worry. After a decade of failed IVF treatments, I can categorically state that pregnancy definitely won’t be an issue. No visit to the chemist needed for me.’
There was a slight twist to her lips and a leadenness to her tone which told Lachlan there was a much bigger story behind her words.
But, after this rather ignominious ending to their night, he doubted he’d ever find out.
And surely the important thing here was that there weren’t going to be consequences from a condom that had clearly been past its use-by date.
Lachlan had always figured he would be a father. At some point. Why else would he have taken the docs up on freezing his sperm before he’d started chemo? It had just never worked out. By the time he and Gabby had started talking about babies, it had been more as a rescue effort for their marriage.
Because that always worked out well …
‘And I had a whole battery of tests at the beginning of the year,’ she said, breaking into his thoughts, ‘including screening for STIs, which were all negative.’
A battery of tests? Had she been unwell? Again Lachlan wondered about Rowena’s bigger story, but she continued on, oblivious to his thoughts.
‘So …’ She drew her knees up to her chest beneath the sheets and wrapped her arms around them above the sheet. ‘I guess we’re both free and clear.’
Lachlan nodded. ‘I guess so.’ But for the first time since his divorce, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted to be.
‘Thank you. For tonight. Broken condom notwithstanding, I had a really good time.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded, a faint smile lifting his lips as he remembered how she’d come apart in his arms. ‘Me too.’
They didn’t say anything for several beats, just stared at each other, the silence in the room somehow still intimate. From the few one-night stands he’d had back in his twenties, Lachlan remembered how this bit was the really awkward part. Yet it didn’t feel awkward.
Mentioning her cycle had pretty much taken that prize.
He wondered if she felt the same. Or maybe she was just willing him to leave before the silence got weird.
‘Okay then.’ He grabbed his boots and scooped his wallet off the floor. ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you around.’
She nodded. ‘If this week is any indication.’
Lachlan laughed. Yeah, unless she hid away in her room and he stayed on the farm, it was inevitable they would run into each other again.
‘Goodnight, Ro.’
Rolling her eyes at his Ro, she gave a little laugh. ‘Night, Lachy.’
Lachlan waggled his eyebrows before turning to the French doors and letting himself out of the room.
*
The first rays of the sun played on the high, wispy clouds, turning them rose gold and orange as it made its way above the horizon and over the Blairgowrie landscape the next morning.
The air was crisp and cold, and the early morning warble of magpies, the call of a kookaburra and the distant bleating of sheep were the only sounds that broke the dawn hush.
Until the notes of a lone bagpipe rent the air.
Lachlan, naked except for his tartan bagpipes, stood on the veranda just outside his room, at one with nature. He looked out over thousands of acres of scrub, sheds and sheep, and let rip the iconic bagpipe interlude from AC/DC’s ‘It’s a Long Way to the Top’.
It was the only song he knew how to play on the instrument, the very Scottish pipe music somehow at home in this very not—despite the name—Scottish setting.
It had been the favourite song of a girl he’d fancied in high school. He’d been fourteen but determined to woo her with it, buying a second-hand pair of pipes and practising like crazy. Of course, by the time he’d mastered the instrument and the interlude, the girl had moved on.
He hadn’t taken the pipes with him when he’d hightailed it out of Blairgowrie, but he’d picked them straight back up again on his return almost five years ago. He’d been a little rusty at first but it hadn’t taken long to get it back.
Gabby hadn’t been impressed with his skills or the early hour of his morning regime. Which was fair enough—the sound was an acquired taste, especially at half past stupid hour, Lachy!
He didn’t think his Acca Dacca routine had ended their marriage, but it was one of the many little irritations that had piled on in those dying days. Gabby had left after six months at Blairgowrie. Lachlan, the bagpipes and his morning routine had stayed.
Finishing the song, Lachlan breathed heavily as the air slowly escaped from the bag. The sheep milling in the pen near the house were, as usual, unimpressed with his morning ritual.
But what would they know about musical genius?
For a man who’d experienced the ultimate in sexual holy shit—a broken condom—he’d slept like a baby, and he smiled now thinking about how nice it had been lying with Rowena in the aftermath, his forehead pressed against the pulse in the side of her neck, her hands clutching him tight.
For a crazy second, he wanted to throw the bagpipes to the ground and beat his chest like fucking Tarzan.
See how the sheep liked that!
He settled for several deep breaths of the bracing morning air that nipped at his bare flesh and kept his remaining testicle tucked close.
‘Put your clothes on, maestro.’ Reggie’s muffled voice floated out as she banged on his door. ‘Breakfast’s up.’
*
Lachlan spent the next couple of weeks busy around the farm as they prepared for lambing season, which would commence in July.
The drought had broken two years ago and, thanks to the very good follow-up rain they’d had since, especially in the lead-up to this winter, there was plenty of feed available as they went into the typically drier cold months.
But pregnant ewes required extra nutrition, so he’d moved them closer into the lambing paddocks so they could be supplemented during this time. And once the lambs started to pop out it would be all hands on deck.