Page 20 of Where the Wattles Bloom

Brooke cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘Is that some kind of ex-cop hunch?’

‘Something like that.’

If Lachlan thought that would persuade Brooke to spill some intel on the Acacia Junction newcomer, he was wrong.

‘Well, I guess if she wants you to know, you’ll know.’

He nodded. ‘I guess so.’

*

It was another half an hour before everyone called it a night. Lachlan stayed on a little longer, chatting with a couple of mates before making a move to leave. As always, he had an early start tomorrow.

Pushing through the door Rowena had taken earlier, he strode across the hallway to the loo, passing the stairs to his left. As he exited the facilities, a flash of something on the ground caught his eye and his gaze zeroed in on the heavily patterned brown and orange swirls on the carpet that hadn’t changed in over three decades.

There, at the foot of the stairs, was Rowena’s earring. Bending, Lachlan picked it up, the silver leaf swinging from his fingers. The back was missing and he scanned the carpet briefly, trying to find it, before giving up.

Glancing up the stairs, he momentarily contemplated walking it up to her but dismissed it outright. That would be super creepy and she might actually be asleep.

Lachlan briefly flirted with the idea of handing it in to Wal. But if he went back through the bar he’d be there for another half an hour. So, he pocketed it, knowing he was coming into town tomorrow and he could call in to the hospital and give it to her then.

Which would give him another excuse to see her …

Exiting The Stockman, he stepped out onto the footpath that was sheltered by the overhang of the veranda before striding across the deserted main street. He hunched into his jacket, his warm breath fogging into the bracing night air.

Behind him, the low murmur emanating from the pub faded as the familiar silence of Acacia Junction at night closed in. So silent that the crunch of his boots on the bitumen, the opening and closing of his ute door and the rustle of fabric as he slid into his seat all seemed weirdly shrill.

And that’s when he saw her.

Standing at the fancy wrought-iron railing that ran the length of the veranda, her hands were curled around what he assumed was a mug of tea or coffee as she stared down at the street. At him.

Hard to be certain, sure. But he knew she was.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his pulse a water hammer in his ears as he waited for her to turn around and walk away. But she didn’t. Not then. Not after several long moments.

And Lachlan took that as another sign.

Tossing his hat on the seat beside him, he climbed out of the vehicle and shut the door, the click sounding like the cocking of a gun. Yet still she watched him.

Squaring his shoulders, he crossed back to the pub.

Seven

Rowena should have turned away when she realised it was him. Turned away, walked into her bedroom via the open French doors and shut them behind her.

But she didn’t.

She watched that long, loose, confident stride as it lazily ate up the distance between his side of the street and hers. Lachlan McCabe sauntered like he had all the time in the world.

Or maybe he was giving her time. Time to withdraw? To back up. To go inside and lock her door. Like she really probably should.

But she didn’t.

Not with his unwavering gaze hot on her, stroking against her flesh with intent and promise. The thud of his boot fall on the bitumen echoed the beat of her heart, her pulse a wild tango at her temples as he disappeared from view.

She took a shaky breath as she mentally calculated how long it would take him to join her.

It had been exceptionally inconvenient tonight to realise she was attracted to Lachlan McCabe. Especially when her libido had been MIA all year. But, with every millimetre of her skin bristling with the kind of energy that thickens the atmosphere before the coming of a great storm, it was useless to keep pretending otherwise.