Page 41 of Where the Wattles Bloom

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.’

That brought her up short. Blairgowrie was Lachlan’s home and she was a guest. She didn’t get to dictate what he did. And it wasn’t like she hated the pipes. Many years ago she’d been to the Edinburgh Tattoo, and that first clear, mournful note of the lone piper spotlighted on the turret of the castle at the beginning of the show had brought tears to her eyes.

‘Well … I suppose I could learn to appreciate it,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe just cover up a bit? It’s a wonder you haven’t frozen your bloody nads off in this weather.’

He laughed again. ‘Nads being the correct medical terminology?’

Rowena sent him a sweet smile. ‘Precisely.’

*

And just like that, she moved out of the pub and into Blairgowrie. It didn’t take her long, given she had two days off and only two suitcases to her name. The metric ton of food, however, was a different prospect.

But every cake, batch of biscuits or plate of slice was faithfully transported. As were all of the homemade meals she’d been given. Meals that had arrived every day and she’d had to portion up and freeze in takeaway containers because there’d been no way she could possibly eat them all before they spoiled.

She’d stopped in at the IGA on her way to the farm to pick up some fruit and milk, but it was clear she wouldn’t have to do any cooking for a while. Hell, should the zombie apocalypse suddenly occur, she wouldn’t need to forage for quite some time.

Apart from a couple of brief visits from Reggie and Lachlan—both together and separately—to check on how she was settling in, Rowena was left to her own devices those first two days. She got the feeling they didn’t want to crowd her, and that suited her just fine. They’d both extended open invitations to dine with them at the house any time if she wanted company and she had assured them she would.

Just not yet.

Lachlan had showed her how to light the fire and brought a load of wood and kindling for her use. He’d also insisted she put his, Reggie’s and Albert’s numbers into her mobile, in case she needed anything, and she’d dutifully complied.

Considering how patchy mobile reception was out on the highway, it was remarkably good at Blairgowrie, thanks to the satellite dish on the vehicle shed. This was great news for Rowena, who would still be able to Zoom on her laptop with her psychologist as well as check her emails and scroll Instagram to her heart’s content.

The feeling of peace sinking into her bones was a bonus.

Being able to get in the tub one day soon when the weather warmed and watch the sunset would be an even bigger one.

The cold drew in rapidly, however, as night fell, chasing Rowena inside, where she picked a random frozen meal to zap in the microwave. She ate it sitting in the lounge area, in front of the fire, watching a DVD, with Red by her side.

The dog seemed to have adopted her, which she didn’t hate.