Page 7 of Where the Wattles Bloom

‘That’s a lot, right?’

‘It’s a good size.’

‘Looks like you’re the person I should see if I’m ever fanging for a decent lamb roast.’ She seemed much more relaxed now the conversational focus was on him.

‘You’re not one of those city vegetarians, then?’

His first ex-wife had been a vegetarian. He had no idea why he thought that would ever work.

‘Well, I guess I could be, if I had to. I mean, I really like fruit and vegetables and I don’t even mind tofu, but …’ She sighed as she glanced at him. ‘Bacon.’

Lachlan threw back his head and laughed. She’d definitely lost some of her stand-offishness.

‘You are welcome anytime to Blairgowrie for a lamb roast. Reggie—that’s my grandmother—she’s eighty-two and an absolute wizard in the kitchen. She has this special glaze that she marinates it with. It’s been known to make grizzled old shearers weep.’

He became conscious this was the second time he’d suggested they get together. What the hell? For a guy who had no recent game with women, his subconscious was really working it.

Not that he’d meant it like that.

But, once again, she broke eye contact, her gaze scanning the horizon. ‘It’s … vast out here,’ she mused, going for another change in topic. ‘Feels like a million miles from civilisation.’

Lachlan looked around. Yeah, he’d thought that too when he’d left home at twenty, hungry to live after losing his left nut and all his hair to cancer. He’d come back four years ago about as burnt out by civilisation as it was possible to get.

He hadn’t missed it once.

‘You wait till you see the stars out here.’ He tipped his head back to stare at the dome of sky deepening to purple.

‘Yeah, I remember that from when we went camping once in the bush when I was a kid. That and all the rustling noises at night.’

Lachlan detected an edge of trepidation in her voice and his gaze was drawn to her profile. ‘Afraid of snakes?’

‘Oh yes.’ She nodded. ‘All of the snakes. And the spiders. Anything creepy-crawly, really.’

Given the abundance of said critters in the outback, it was good reason for Lachlan to stop being intrigued by the story behind Rowena’s eyes and inviting her for lamb roasts. Sure, available women were thin on the ground out here and it had been a long time since one had captivated him quite so quickly. But he wasn’t so hard up for female companionship that he’d contemplate trying his luck with one who’d made it known she and Acacia Junction had a short shelf life.

‘So this would be a bad time to tell you about the giant tree spiders around these parts?’

Her laugh surprised him. She’d clearly not only been able to see right through his deadpan expression but find the humour in it. Not to mention how the full, throaty vibration of her laugh felt strangely intimate in the deep hush of twilight.

Thankfully Thommo chose that moment to finally get his arse into gear, clearing his throat for their attention. Perversely annoyed by the interruption, Lachlan glanced at the laid-back country cop who was contemplating them, hands on hips.

‘About bloody time,’ Lachlan grouched.

Thommo, who had been a few years behind Lachlan at school, had never been a fan of rushing, which was probably the reason he’d never really cut it in a city police station. And why he’d thrived in largely law-abiding Acacia Junction.

‘Yeah yeah, mate.’ Thommo grinned at him. ‘No need to get your panties in a wad.’ Smiling at Rowena, he addressed her next. ‘Are you okay to tell me about what happened now, or would you rather come into the station tomorrow for a chat?’

She shook her head. ‘I’d rather just get it over and done with now, thanks.’

‘Right you are.’

Three

Night had well and truly fallen as Lachlan pulled up outside the homestead, cut the engine and slid out of the ute, his warm breath misting into the crisp night air. The gums and wattle trees in the paddocks beyond were dark shapes and the stars were a billion twinkling pinpricks overhead.

Red, his male cattle dog, barked a greeting as he ran full barrel in Lachlan’s direction. Lachlan crouched and gave the dog some love. Red was eight years old and greying around the muzzle but he worked like a bloody Trojan day in, day out.

‘Where’s your baby mama?’ he crooned as he stroked the dappled red fur around Red’s ears and on his belly. ‘She feeding those puppies again?’ Lachlan stood and Red sprang to his feet, following at his master’s heels, tongue lolling.