Page 30 of Where the Wattles Bloom

Feeling weirdly nervous, Rowena gave Blue one last lingering pat before she followed Lachlan, who hung his hat on the hook near the door before pushing it open and indicating for her to precede him.

Taking a breath, Rowena stepped into the house and straight into a large, welcoming kitchen, toasty warm compared to the nippy air outside. The benchtops were strewn with saucepans, kilo packets of sugar and several different piles of lemons, grapefruit and finger limes. There were also multiple jars, of different sizes—some were empty, some were filled with what looked like jam.

A large fridge sat against one wall. The outside was covered in magnets, most in the shape of sheep. One said, You had me at baaa, another Baaaack off! And then the aroma of roasting meat hit and Rowena lost interest in the magnets.

Her mouth watered and her stomach growled. She hadn’t had a chance to eat anything much today.

A man with snowy white hair and matching whiskers sat at a big old wooden table, one end pushed against the wall, several empty jars occupying space there too. He looked up from the newspaper he was reading, and if he was surprised to see that Lachlan had brought a guest, he didn’t show it, just inclined his head with a smile.

But it was the woman, bent over the open oven door, that drew immediate attention. Reggie, she assumed.

‘About bloody time, too,’ she groused as she pulled out a roasting tray. Her voice was crackly in that way voices turned as they aged.

‘Hey, Reggie.’ Lachlan addressed his grandmother’s back as she placed the tray on top of the old Aga. ‘I’d like you to meet Rowena Murray.’

Rowena barely registered him introducing her correctly before Reggie whipped around. The older woman’s gaze was like a laser focusing in on her as she used her forearm to wipe at the fuzzy grey wisps of hair that were sticking to her brow.

‘Oh.’ She smiled, and her skin cracked into an entire ecosystem of ravines, her face the kind of deep brown that indicated long-term sun exposure. ‘Rowena. How lovely to meet you.’ She stalked forward, absently wiping her hands on her apron before extending one. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’

Rowena frowned. From Lachlan …?

Those shrewd eyes missed nothing and Reggie hastened to clarify. ‘Sorry, I meant about the way you came into town.’

Oh, that. Rowena laughed at the relief of it and took the crinkled, callused hand in hers for a brief, firm shake. ‘Yeah. It wasn’t exactly the way I’d planned it.’

‘Well, you know what they say, darl. Man plans, god laughs.’

After less than a minute in Lachlan’s grandmother’s company, she wouldn’t have pegged her as religious. She looked like she’d had a hard life and could easily be forgiven for a lack of faith, but a small gold cross hung around her wrinkled neck and on the wall above the table hung a solitary crucifix.

‘Indeed,’ Rowena agreed. She was living proof of that! ‘I’m sorry for just landing on you like this. I did suggest to Lachlan that he ring ahead and let you know.’

She swatted away the explanation like a bothersome fly. ‘Nonsense. There’s always enough food to go around, and any friend of Lachy’s is welcome at our table.’

‘Speaking of,’ Lachlan said, his head tipping in the direction of the table, ‘this is Reggie’s partner, Albert.’

Rowena smiled and extended her hand as Albert stood. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said as his big hand enveloped hers.

‘And you,’ he acknowledged with a quick, firm shake.

‘Dinner smells great, I’m starving.’ Lachlan wandered over to the oven and grabbed one of the roast potatoes out of the dish his grandmother had just removed.

Reggie smacked his hand. ‘You’re always starving.’ She glanced at Rowena. ‘Never could fill him up.’

‘Always had hollow legs,’ Albert agreed.

Lachlan grinned. ‘Only because you’re the best cook in the district.’

Albert shook his head as he gestured for Lachlan to grab him a potato. ‘In the country, I reckon.’

Reggie rolled her eyes at them both as Lachlan swiped another spud. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’

Rowena watched as Lachlan handed over the contraband to Albert, the affection between all three of them not only obvious but palpable. It hinted at longevity and she wondered about Albert and Reggie’s story and how it intersected with Lachlan’s. It wasn’t any of her business but, given the reputation of outback Australia not being a bastion of tolerance, it definitely piqued her curiosity.

‘Make yourself useful, Lachy, and show Rowena where she can wash up. Dinner’s in fifteen. Just gotta make the gravy.’

Lachlan saluted his grandmother, who whipped up the tea towel hanging off the oven door and quickly flicked at him with it. He managed to evade the manoeuvre, but only just.

Grinning at his grandmother, he said, ‘This way,’ to Rowena, who followed him, also with a smile on her face.