Page 9 of Where the Wattles Bloom

She eyed him over the lip of her teacup, which looked ridiculously posh in her work-roughened hands. ‘You think because I live in the middle of Woop Woop and haven’t been anywhere my whole life that I don’t know how the world works? I watch the news.’

‘I’m not gay, Reggie.’

‘Makes no never mind to us,’ Albert assured in that measured way of his.

Oh, for the love of … Lachlan couldn’t believe he was having a conversation about his sexual orientation with a pair of octogenarians.

Reggie regarded him with pursed lips. ‘He’s right. We don’t give a crap who you choose to love, but you should be with someone. You’re only forty and the way you’re going, you’re going to die alone. I’m not going to be around forever to keep you company.’

Wisps of her fine, silvery hair had freed themselves from the two standard plaits draping down her back and stuck to her temples in the heat. The plain gold cross attached to the chain she’d worn around her neck for as long as Lachlan could remember seemed as out of place as ever on a woman who could cuss like a sailor, drink like a fish (when the occasion called) and gamble on anything from the Melbourne Cup to how many sheep could be shorn in a day.

But Reggie’s relationship with god had more to do with an appreciation of nature and a belief in kindness and good works than any strict adherence to religious protocols. She certainly wasn’t a regular churchgoer.

‘Fine.’ He sighed. What the hell had gotten into them both tonight? ‘You’re good if I’m gay. I’ll take that on board should I ever decide to switch teams.’

She nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘So … where were you?’

‘Performing CPR on Silvano Morelli on the side of the highway.’

‘What?’ Her teacup clattered against the saucer as she plonked it down. Pressing her hand to her chest, she asked, ‘Is he okay?’

Lachlan gave the abridged version. Still, somehow, once all the right enquiries had been made, Reggie managed to home in on the one thing he’d been particularly abridged about.

‘So what was she like, this nurse?’

Sucking casually on his beer, Lachlan shrugged, determined not to make a big deal out of it. ‘She lugged Silvano out of the car and onto the ground.’ That act in itself spoke volumes about the woman, and there’d be few in Acacia Junction who would need any further recommendation.

But none of them were his grandmother.

Reggie eyed him speculatively. ‘She’s strong then. That’s good.’

A sinking feeling settled in his gut. ‘Good for what?’

‘Just good.’ She shrugged as though it was of no consequence. ‘How old is she?’

‘In her thirties, I guess.’

‘Is she pretty?’

‘Reggie.’

He used his best don’t-fuck-with-me cop voice. It’d been known to scare the bejesus out of hardened criminals. But not Reggie. Nope, once his grandmother got an idea in her head, she was oblivious to intonation.

And difficult to dissuade.

‘You’re right.’ She waved her hand. ‘Looks aren’t important.’

‘Reggie … she’s staying for six months and then she’s leaving.’

‘Maybe.’ Another careless shrug, but he could see the machinations whirring around in those wily old eyes.

‘I think she’s running away from something.’

That ought to do it. His grandmother could pick up on bullshit from a mile away and was suspicious both of outsiders and people who weren’t upfront.

Although not, apparently, this time.

‘Then she’s found the right place,’ she said. ‘You should invite her to dinner one night.’