Page 66 of Where the Wattles Bloom

‘What? Lachy … no. I don’t need a driver. Plus you’re busy with the lambs and the zillion other things that you deal with around here. You can’t drop all that and be my personal bloody chauffeur.’

‘It might not always be me. Reggie and Albert will help out too.’

‘Oh god.’ She buried her face in her hand. ‘Just what you all need. Me moving in and becoming a complete inconvenience to everyone.’ She dropped her hands to her lap and locked her eyes on his. ‘Maybe it’s better if I go back to town and move into the hospital accommodation.’

‘What? No.’ Lachlan strode into the room then, sinking down on his knees in front of her, sliding his palms onto her legs to grasp her hands. ‘You are not an inconvenience.’

He wanted to tell her she was family, as Reggie had done, but he didn’t want to come on too strong. Lachlan didn’t know what was ahead for them, but one thing he knew for sure, he needed to tread carefully.

Rowena was skittish. One wrong move and she could bolt.

‘It’s just for now,’ he continued. ‘While you’re so fatigued. God … you look as worn out as an old boot at the moment.’

‘Gee.’ She bugged her eyes at him. ‘Thanks.’

Lachlan grimaced. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean—’

She waved his explanation away. ‘It’s fine. I know what you meant.’ She sighed. ‘I feel like a worn-out old boot.’

‘Right.’ He gave her a gentle smile. ‘So, how are you going to be after an eight-hour shift on your feet? And it’s a fifteen-minute drive to Blairgowrie. What if you fell asleep at the wheel?’

‘Okay, okay.’ She held her hands up in surrender. ‘You can drive me. But sick or not, I am going to work. I need to work.’

Lachlan frowned. ‘If money’s an issue I can—’

‘If you’re about to offer to keep me,’ she interrupted swiftly, her face stony, her lips pressed together, ‘I’d rethink that sentence.’

Oh, crap. Good one, dickhead.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply … I just …’ Lachlan squirmed a little, trying to adequately explain himself. ‘You didn’t get in this predicament by yourself but you’re the one that’s suffering the … consequences because of it.’

Christ, was that the right or wrong thing to say? He had no clue. Maybe he needed to look for a book in the library to help him with that. Did they have a section for conversations with women after knocking them up?

‘That doesn’t seem fair.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s all I was trying to say.’

She sighed. ‘I’m fine for money, Lachy. It’s not that. It’s …’ Several beats passed as she obviously searched for the right words. ‘It’s … good for me. And I love my job.’

Lachlan wasn’t sure what good for me meant, but that little pause made it seem significant and he puzzled over it for a moment until she yawned. ‘I’m sorry, I’m stopping you from sleeping. I’ll get your phone.’

Standing, he turned to go, but she grabbed his hand before he could take his first step. Lachlan’s breath hitched as their gazes met and little sparks ignited where skin met skin.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her solemn expression doing nothing for her washed-out complexion. ‘For everything.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I mean it.’

He nodded because he didn’t know what to say. He only knew how good it felt to hear her say those words. And that scared the bejesus out of him.

*

Several hours later, Lachlan turned from the dirt road onto the highway, Rowena in the passenger seat. She had looked much better after a long sleep and some soup that Reggie had made, which one of the CWA women had sworn by as an instant remedy for morning sickness.

Unfortunately it had been thrown up ten minutes after she’d consumed half the bowl. But she had been able to keep down vegemite toast, and some make-up had improved her pallor.

‘So,’ he said, now that the noisy corrugations were behind them and they could hear each other speak, ‘I was wondering if you knew how many weeks you are? If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. But if you do, well … do you know? Or does a doctor have to figure that out? I’m sorry, I know how it works with sheep, but I confess I’m less knowledgeable about how it works in the human species.’

She gave a half laugh, which sounded lively and helped soothe Lachlan’s concerns about her health. ‘It’s fine, we can talk about it. And of course I’ve worked it out, I’m a midwife.’

‘Of course. Right.’ Except he didn’t know she was a midwife. There were so many things he didn’t know about her.

‘I’m eight weeks,’ she confirmed. ‘Due date is the sixth of March.’