Eleven
Rowena woke the next morning to … bagpipes?
As if the strange high ceiling and a snoring dog on the end of her bed weren’t disorienting enough.
Then everything came rushing back from last night. The lamb roast, the jam tasting, the bunkhouse, standing under the starlight with Lachy.
Lachlan. Lachlan McCabe.
But that still didn’t explain the bagpipes. Playing … was that AC/DC?
Pulling her phone out from under the pillow, Rowena blinked blearily at the time.
Four minutes past six. God, maybe the bunkhouse at Blairgowrie was like the portal to hell?
Because, although she’d never thought about it before, surely bagpipes at six in the morning in Australia was a version of hell?
Red stirred then sat up, his incessant snoring finally cutting out. Which was at least one racket taken care of.
‘How did you get there?’ she asked the dog. ‘And what on earth is that noise?’
Red didn’t deign to answer. He just bounded out of bed and scurried to the door, sniffing around the bottom before looking over at her and making a yipping noise. Which she assumed meant, Let me out, lady, I gotta pee.
When she didn’t immediately respond, he yipped again. ‘Okay, okay,’ she grumbled, kicking off layers of Reggie’s heavy, crocheted blankets.
Lachlan had brought one of the beds down to sit against the wall on the other side of the old leather couches last night so she was closer to the bathroom and the lounge area with its fireplace, which he’d lit before he’d departed.
The fire must have gone out at some point during the night, leaving the bunkhouse cooler now as she padded across the smooth floorboards in bare feet.
But not as cool as it was outside.
Rowena sucked in a breath at the blast of frigid air. Bloody hell. It couldn’t be much over zero degrees.
Not that it seemed to affect Red, who stopped for a brief leg lift on the nearest tree before running off towards the house, barking merrily, as if it was a balmy twenty-seven degrees. Rowena, on the other hand, in nothing but her underwear, was instantly stippled in goosebumps, head to toe.
Hell, her goosebumps had goosebumps. But oh, the scene outside the door …
Early rays of sunshine gilded the gum leaves overhead and glistened in the beads of moisture clinging precariously to their tips, shimmering like diamonds in the trees. A thin veil of mist shrouded distant gullies, and the strong aroma of eucalyptus perfumed the air.
It was utterly lovely. Except for those bloody bagpipes.
Ignoring the bite of cold, she sought them out, her warm breath misting into the frigid air as her eyes and ears worked in tandem to identify the source. It took a few seconds but there, on the back veranda of the homestead, stood a bare-chested Lachlan McCabe.
Playing the goddam bagpipes.
Hang on. Was he? She blinked then squinted through the fancy balustrading. Oh god. He was. He wasn’t just bare-chested. He was bare-arsed.
Bare-fronted too.
Was she … hallucinating? Had she been drugged? Did they drug you in this version of hell? Because even at this distance it was something she could not unsee. And yet, despite literally freezing her nipples off, she couldn’t seem to stop staring.
Rowena blinked. Jesus. What was she thinking? She was a nurse, for crying out loud—she’d seen plenty of dick. Hell, she’d seen his not that long ago and, though it hadn’t managed to pull a rabbit out of a hat, it had been an impressive specimen.
Even from this distance on a cold morning, it didn’t disappoint. The man should seriously cast it in bronze and mount it somewhere.
But perving on him was icky. And it was far too early for this shit anyway. Pulling the door shut, Rowena padded back to bed, pulled the covers over her and promptly fell back to sleep.
*
It was almost ten when she next woke. To utter silence.
Stretching on the very comfortable bed, she looked around the bright space.
Strong light filtered in from both the side and deck doors and from the three banks of narrow windows situated up high on each wall.
She hadn’t clocked them last night but they were hard to not see now as sun streamed into the room from every angle.
Her stomach grumbled and she sat, kicking the blankets off. She smelled coffee and noticed a plate sitting on the kitchen bench covered in a tea towel. Curious, she climbed into her clothes from last night, shoved her feet into her boots and went to investigate.
Noting the percolator was full, Rowena removed the cloth to find a dozen still vaguely warm pikelets, a jar of Christmas marmalade sitting alongside.
Obviously, the breakfast fairy had been.
God, she hadn’t slept this soundly in a very long time. Maybe it was all this country hush? Or the air?
Or maybe they really had drugged her …
A note was folded over and stuck under the marmalade.
Good morning, Ro. Hope you slept well.
Coffee pot on. Sugar in the pantry. Butter, milk and cream in the fridge.
Come to the house when you’re ready.
Whoever wrote it didn’t sign their name, but the spidery lettering indicated it wasn’t Lachlan. She had no doubt his writing would be bolder, stronger, firmer.
Which reminded her of him playing the bagpipes naked this morning. She hadn’t dreamed that, right?
Gah! She clearly needed coffee.
*
Fifteen minutes later, Rowena shut the door behind her as she headed for the house, the washed pikelet plate and tea towel in hand.
The day had warmed considerably but her breath still fogged the air and she hunched into her jumper as she covered the distance, which was less than it had seemed last night by the beam of the torch.
She didn’t use the back door—that felt way too casual as of yet—walking around the veranda to the front door. Blue thumped her tail and whined a little for some loving, and Rowena spent a few moments petting her and the puppies.
Red was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where’s your man, sweet thing?’ she murmured as she let Hazel snuffle her other hand. ‘Is he out there doing manly men stuff with Lachy?’
Blue thumped her tail again as if in the affirmative.
Straightening, Rowena knocked on the door because it didn’t feel right just walking in. But she’d barely dropped her hand before the door was yanked open and Reggie greeted her with a broad grin.
‘Ro! No need to knock, darl, come on in.’ She relieved Rowena of the plate. ‘Did you sleep well?’
The warmth of the kitchen surrounded Rowena in a cosy cloud and she took a moment to appreciate the joy of a wood stove. There was no Albert or Lachlan in the kitchen as Reggie indicated for her to sit.
‘I slept like a log.’
Reggie beamed as if she’d been personally responsible. ‘It’s all the clean air out here. Good for the heart.’ She tapped her chest. Her fingers slid to the plain gold cross around her neck. ‘Good for the soul.’
Holding up a teacup, she cocked an eyebrow. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
‘Thanks, not a fan of tea. I’m a coffee gal.’
‘Same as Lachy.’ She scooped tea into the pot as she talked. ‘He reckons you’re not a proper copper unless you have a ten-cup-a-day addiction.’
Rowena smiled. ‘Sounds like a lot of nurses I know. I try to keep mine down to a couple a day.’ It used to be more but her anxiety condition didn’t need the excess stimulation.
Reggie held up the percolator. ‘You want another?’
‘No. I’m good, thanks.’
‘I hope the bagpipes didn’t wake you earlier?’
Rowena gave a half laugh. ‘I did hear them, yes.’
‘Sorry ’bout that. I told him to maybe knock it off this morning in case he woke you, but Lachy does love those pipes. And I missed hearing them when he was gone all those years. So did the sheep, I reckon.’ She laughed. ‘Just wish he’d add another song or two to his repertoire.’
The note of indulgence in Reggie’s voice belied her frustration over Lachlan’s song choice.
‘He plays them every morning?’
‘Pretty much.’
Well, that was something to look forward to. ‘Looks like I’ll have to get me some earbuds.’
Reggie gasped a little, her eyes glowing. ‘Does this mean you’re going to stay?’
Rowena laughed. It was hard not to with Reggie practically vibrating with excitement. ‘If the offer still stands?’
‘You betcha, darl,’ she beamed and then, impulsively, she pulled Rowena up and hugged her.
Rowena blinked at the unexpected action. Not coming from an overly demonstrative family, it felt weird, and she stood a little stiffly at first as her space was well and truly invaded. But, at the continued bear hold, a lump formed in her throat and she felt herself relaxing.
It seemed Reggie was a hugger. And Rowena, it seemed, needed one more than she knew.
*
An hour later, Rowena was in the passenger seat of Lachlan’s ute, bumping down the dirt road to the main highway into Acacia Junction.
‘So,’ she said, turning away from watching the dust that was being kicked up behind them blow across the scrubby paddocks. ‘Bagpipes, huh?’
He shot her an unabashed grin. ‘Not a fan?’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘If the devil played an instrument it would hands down be the bagpipes.’
Laughing out loud, Lachlan slowed for the turn. ‘Come now, Ro. Everyone knows the devil plays the fiddle.’
‘Not in Blairgowrie he doesn’t.’
Another laugh filled the cabin. ‘The sheep like it.’
‘Is there a story behind the choice of instrument? The choice of song?’
‘Well, there was this girl …’
Rowena shook her head, holding her hand up. She didn’t want to know. ‘Of course there was.’
He grinned but stayed quiet as he turned onto the highway and picked up speed again.
‘You know I could see you, right?’
If he was embarrassed by that morsel of information, he didn’t show it. He just shrugged and said, ‘It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.’
Rowena rolled her eyes—like she needed the reminder.
‘Would you rather I be dressed?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t play.’
He hooted out a laugh. ‘You sound just like my ex.’