Flynn didn’t say anything. He’d never had much to do with Lauren’s father. The story round the traps was that he’d inherited the family property, only to discover that the love of farming hadn’t carried down the generations.
‘Mum and Dad are much happier now with their travel business.’
‘But you still stayed in Hope?’ Apart from Whitney and Lauren, most of the girls from school had fled the moment they got their P plates.
‘Of course I did. I may not have land anymore, but I’d choose the country over the city any day.’
Flynn couldn’t hide his surprise, but before they could continue, the photographer summoned the entire wedding party and began issuing orders. Flynn obeyed reluctantly. He never enjoyed being in front of the camera – he didn’t mind taking photos but always felt awkward when the lens was turned on him. Whitney’s little sister, Sharni, brought out a tray of pink champagne in crystal flutes. Rats downed a couple, and although Flynn thought he could do with a little Dutch courage himself, he steered clear and forced a brave face.
Thankfully the fading light was against them, and was soon no good for outdoor photos. Anyway, Whitney seemed to have had her fill – she was as eager as a Border Collie to get back into the shed and rejoin the celebration. The photographer told Whitney he’d do the formal family shots inside, but Flynn didn’t like his chances of pinning Whitney down again. She was a girl with love in her eyes and partying on her mind.
The reception wasn’t at all formal, and loud music was already pumping from large speakers at both ends of the shed. Half of Flynn’s class from school were bopping away when they entered. Trestle tables were laid out along one wall and the enticing smell of roast meat and veggies was wafting from the makeshift kitchen. Once again, the CWA ladies were outdoing themselves.
‘Why are you standing there like a roo in lights?’ asked Whitney, grabbing his hand. ‘Come dance.’
‘I thought the bride and groom had to dance together first?’
‘Pooh-pooh to tradition!’ Whitney shrieked, waving her ring finger in front of his face. ‘I’m a married woman and I’ll dance with whoever I damn well please.’
Rats threw back his head and laughed as Whitney dragged Flynn to the middle of the floor. Flynn relaxed a bit and got into the groove.
‘You’re a great dancer,’ Whitney said.
He’d never admit it, but Flynn didn’t mind dancing. When the music was good, and loud, letting go on the dance floor was a fabulous way to forget about life’s troubles. And in the absence of alcohol, he needed all the natural endorphins he could get.
‘Thanks,’ he replied, spinning her round under his arm.
She laughed, then caught Lauren’s eye. ‘Sweetheart, do you mind taking over? I think it might actually be time I danced with my husband.’ She swelled with pride on the last word.
Flynn knew a matchmaker when he saw one, but for once it didn’t bother him. It was hard to be annoyed at the blushing bride. He smiled encouragingly at Lauren.
‘I didn’t set that up,’ she gushed as he took her in his arms.
‘I know. Relax. It’s a party, let’s just have fun.’
He listened to his own advice and banished Ellie from his mind for the evening. He talked to nearly everyone in the room, danced some more, ate some delicious grub and stayed until the early hours, long after the bride and groom had hit the road. Throughout the night, Lauren had turned out to be far more fun and interesting than he’d imagined. And this time alcohol wasn’t blurring his judgement.
‘So what about all those emergency room scenes?’ he asked. They were sitting on hay bales, struggling to keep their eyes open but not yet ready to leave. Somehow they’d gotten chatting about medical television dramas and how unrealistic they were.
‘Besides all the shagging on stretchers, you mean?’
He laughed. ‘Yeah, besides that.’
She took another sip of champagne. He’d lost track of how many drinks she’d had. He guessed he was the only person in the shed without a drop of alcohol in their body.
‘There are elements of reality in them, but I’m amazed by how many facts and procedures they muck up.’
‘So, if it’s not all sex on stretchers and gagging-for-it doctors, why’d you become a nurse?’
The look in Lauren’s eyes changed to serious. She shrugged a shoulder. ‘I like looking after people. It feels good to help. When I’m at work and someone comes in who’s in a dire state, I almost become someone else. Someone efficient, logical, respected. And I’m fascinated by the human body and how it works. As you know, Frank is a doctor …’
‘Your brother, yeah?’
She nodded. ‘Every time he came home to the farm and talked about his studies, I was riveted. Uni was a slog for me, but when I was on prac, I knew it was what I was meant to do. Guess it’s like you and the farm.’
Lauren got him. Few women did. They didn’t understand that farming wasn’t something you chose to do, it was something you were born to do. Something that got under your skin. Which isn’t to say it wasn’t tough. He had plenty of mates who’d left their family farms, who’d felt trapped by the lifestyle, kinda like Lauren’s dad. But Flynn thrived on it. Ellie had understood that, or at least he thought she did.
At about two in the morning, Lauren yawned and flopped her head against his shoulder. She quickly snapped up and apologised. He felt like a prick for making her so jumpy and neurotic.
‘Think it’s time I hit the road. Want a lift home?’ It was the least he could do.
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Lauren replied with another yawn. ‘My car’s here but I probably shouldn’t drive.’
‘Definitely not,’ Flynn said, catching her as she tried to stand and swayed.
‘Sorry. You must just think I’m a blonde bimbo.’ She took his offered hand as he led her to his ute.
‘Not at all.’ In fact, many of his notions about her had been shattered that night. She spoke passionately about her job as a nurse and seemed to love the land almost as much as he did. He wondered how many other women he hadn’t seen properly all these years. All because he’d been hung up on Ellie.
Not that he would have admitted it to himself at the time. Hell, he didn’t even realise he still had these feelings before the last few weeks. But now that he owned up to them, it was a release. He felt as if he could breathe again. Flynn had always been a man of logic and action. Now he knew what he was dealing with, he could work out how to face them and move on. He wanted to move on.
He contemplated this all the way to Lauren’s house – wondering how soon was too soon – but when they arrived at her driveway, it just seemed right. ‘So I was wondering,’ he felt ridiculously nervous, ‘if you’d like to come round for lunch tomorrow? I mean, today. Whatever it is. Mum goes the whole hog every Sunday and there’s always too much food for the four of us.’
In the glow of the streetlight, he saw Lauren’s cheeks flush. She waved a hand coyly in front of her face. ‘Tonight’s been sweet, Flynn, but that’s not necessary. Your mum’s a darling, but you don’t have to ask me round when you don’t want to.’
‘I do want to,’ he replied with conviction. It was time to move on, to look at women who weren’t Ellie as if he might like to get to know them better. Lauren was in his mum’s good books, she was friends with Rats and Whitney, she liked living in the country, she was good company and she’d never made it a secret that she liked him. He’d need to tread carefully, but she seemed as good a place to start as any.
Her eyes widened. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Definitely.’
He got out and opened the passenger door, offering a hand to help her up. But he didn’t kiss her goodnight. This was all too new and he wanted to take things slowly, for everybody’s sake.
Chapter Twenty
After washing up the lunch dishes, Ellie made sure Mat was comfy in front of the Sunday movie, and then went to her bedroom to dress. Today, no matter how daunting the idea was, she was goi
ng to have that talk with Flynn. She had Lucy’s love life to break the ice, and her future was riding on the real conversation. She wanted to look her best. For Flynn.
She pulled her hair out of its usual ponytail, heated up her straighteners and gave them a run through the lengths. Fitted indigo jeans were selected from her suitcase and a floaty, pink top that, although a little flimsy for winter, made her feel feminine and pretty – the idea being that Flynn would get the same impression. To top it off, she smoothed on fresh foundation, dusted blush over her cheeks and ran a gloss called Cotton Candy across her lips. Despite her pulse racing at the thought of what lay ahead, she looked at her reflection and smiled at what she saw.
First stop was a kiss on the cheek for Matilda. ‘Wish me luck,’ Ellie requested as she bent over.
Mat looked into her eyes and smiled. Warmth and excitement shone there. ‘You won’t need luck, my darling. Some things are just meant to be.’ Ellie’s heart swelled three sizes at this. Mat’s words gave her the boost of faith she needed to follow this through.
Next was the twenty-minute drive to Black Stump. Her hands were a little shaky as she poked the key into the Premier’s ignition, but she managed to start the car on the second shot. Unfortunately, the dodgy radio decided not to play music, so Ellie was stuck with her thoughts. These were like a whirlpool – spinning round and round but never seeming to settle on any one thing. Twice she almost turned back, recalling Flynn’s adamant words that day by the waterhole. But things had changed since then. Her life had become clearer in her head, and she had the feeling Flynn had been doing some soul-searching too. Now it was a case of either confronting him with the truth and risking rejection, or living with what if’s haunting her forever.
She drove on autopilot, barely noticing the crop paddocks flying past on either side of the red gravel road, or the dust that rose up behind her. To quell her nerves, she found herself singing the last five minutes of the journey. There was a reason she’d never been asked to sing on screen, but in the confines of the car, the act had a calming effect. And it passed the time. Before she knew it, she’d turned into the familiar long driveway.
Flynn had told her he now resided in the cottage that had been his grandparents’. When his grandfather died a few years ago, his granny had moved into the house and Flynn had welcomed the chance to fly the nest, sort of. This meant Ellie could bypass the homestead and Karina altogether – which could only be a good thing.
She spared a glance at the homestead as she drove past slowly, trying not to alert anyone inside to her arrival. A sporty, red hatchback was parked under the old jacaranda just outside the picket fence. Ellie didn’t recognise the car, and assumed Karina must have visitors. For a split second, she wondered if Flynn might be inside too, but it was well past lunchtime. Even if he’d been invited to dine with his mum and her friends, Ellie knew Flynn would’ve made an excuse to get away the first chance he got. Being cooped up inside making polite banter just wasn’t his thing. She’d try his cottage, and if he wasn’t there, she knew she’d find him somewhere on the property, checking sheep or fixing fences.
With the cottage now in her sights, Ellie took a deep breath. She manoeuvred round a couple of large potholes and parked in front of the old residence. Out of the car, she glanced up and smiled at the quaint little place. Flynn hadn’t changed it much – the garden out the front still swam with waterwise native plants, and she recognised the twin antique rocking chairs on the verandah. It was strange that Granny Quartermaine hadn’t taken her faithful rocker with her, but then again, Ellie couldn’t imagine the porch without them.
There were two big, muddy farm boots resting by the door. Ellie sighed in relief – Flynn was home. He was inside and she was here, less than twenty metres away. Only a few short moments from confronting him with the past and what she wanted from the future. The fact that her pulse galloped wildly shouldn’t surprise.
Another deep breath and she forced herself to start walking. One foot in front of the other. When she was younger, she used to count paces and stairs from one place to another. There was something comforting about keeping track. But right now she didn’t have the capacity to add up, she just had to get there.
She padded up the steps and crossed to the door. Her hand was poised on the dangly bit of the old fashioned doorbell when she heard laughter. The high-pitched noise of a woman’s giggle mixed with Flynn’s low, sexy chuckle. The shock caused her hand to jerk, yanking the bell loudly as it did so.
She froze. The noise coming from inside died.
It was probably Lucy, Ellie reassured herself, as heavy footsteps approached. She and Flynn were friends as well as siblings, and she imagined Lucy would want to escape Karina’s guests as much as her brother.
But when the screen door flew open and she registered the discomfort on Flynn’s face, she knew she was wrong. He was well-dressed – his best jeans, a good shirt and short riding boots. They stared at each other for what seemed long enough to boil an egg.
‘Who is it, Flynn?’ came a singsong voice down the hallway. Not Lucy’s voice – her voice held more warmth. Good God, Flynn had female company. Ellie wished the wooden planks of the verandah would split and suck her under the cottage.
As if the voice had woken him from a trance, Flynn stepped quickly outside and shut the door. ‘Ellie?’ He sounded as though he’d been caught stealing food from old people.
Ellie opened her mouth to explain but before she had the chance, the door opened a crack behind Flynn. A head of long, blonde, shiny locks poked through and peered over his shoulder. Ellie’s hair efforts seemed very amateur in comparison. She pressed her hand against her tummy as it rocked in revolt. No!
‘Hi Ellie.’ Lauren’s smile looked like an ad for artificial sweetener. ‘Flynn and I were just getting ready to go riding.’ She came out onto the verandah. In her hand she held a chocolate-brown riding cap, which Ellie was certain wouldn’t have a detrimental effect on her hair even after hours of it being on her head. ‘I’m still full from Karina’s scrumptious lamb, but Flynn assures me he’ll go easy.’ Flynn looked awkward. ‘I didn’t dress for it, so it’s lucky I fit into Lucy’s stuff.’ She gestured to her perfect body adorned with tartan jodhpurs and short leather boots. In just a few sentences, Lauren had succeeded in rubbing Ellie’s nose in a whole load of manure.
‘Oh. Well.’ Ellie tried to inject some confidence into her voice. ‘I won’t keep you then. I only came to talk about Lucy.’
‘She’s a doll, isn’t she?’ Lauren still grinned ridiculously as she laid one hand possessively on Flynn’s shoulder.
‘Lauren, could you give us a moment?’ Flynn asked, shrugging her off.
As Lauren’s lips formed the perfect pout, Ellie’s mouth spat, ‘No.’ Her emotions were only just balanced on the edge of a very high cliff – there was no way she could have a normal conversation about Lucy. Not now. Yes, she could act, but not when her heart was at stake, that would be asking too much. And what if he tried to explain about Lauren? She shuddered at the thought of such a painful humiliation.
Already retreating, shaky words fled her mouth. ‘I can see I’m interrupting, and I’ve got loads of things to get done anyway.’ Right at the top of that list was exorcising any fantasies about Flynn. A close second was booking a flight to Sydney. There was no way she could stick around now. It had been foolish to even entertain the idea. Matilda’s doctor’s appointment couldn’t come fast enough.
‘Never mind, nice seeing you again.’ Lauren wiggled her fingers in an irritating wave. Ellie stared at those manicured hands and imagined them running freely over Flynn’s body. Her nausea stirred again, like a sucker punch to the gut. She didn’t want to think about Lauren or her fingers, unless that thought was of snapping each and every one of them off.
Nice? ‘Yeah, right.’ Ellie didn’t pretend she felt anything of the sort. She let her gaze swing to Flynn. ‘You don’t need to worry about Lucy. See ya.’ Pointedly, she didn’t add a soon or ar
ound.
The look he gave in return told her they both knew this was goodbye. If he could give his Sunday afternoon to plastic Lauren, then the last few weeks must have meant nothing to him. It was better she found this out now than after spilling her heart.
Ellie focused on the Premier, not allowing herself to look elsewhere as she headed back down the driveway. She didn’t need any more memories of Black Stump; it was going to take long enough to erase the ones she already had. As she drove into town, she felt like the stupidest woman in the history of the planet, one of those characters known in the movie world as too-stupid-to-live. Not that she’d done anything obviously wrong, like enter a house known to be occupied by a serial killer without even a golf club for protection. No, her mistakes were far more mundane, far more unforgiveable. She’d blown Flynn’s kind actions out of proportion, conjured up feelings that weren’t there.
The worst thing about it – well, the thing that was making her sick at this precise moment – was that she had to go home and tell Mat about it. Mat would feel her pain. Mat would want to hug her tight and feed her consolatory chocolates. Mat would want to make it all better. But it could never be better. Not in this world anyway.
As Ellie’s grip tightened on the wheel, the urge to take the road out of town almost overpowered her. But once had been bad enough, doing it twice would be inexcusable. She could just imagination the busybodies gossiping that she was just like her mother – flighty and irresponsible.
She’d come back to look after Matilda, she reminded herself, not to fall in love and have her heart broken all over again. Still, this didn’t stop the tears careening down her cheeks and making it hard to focus on the road ahead. Trying to summon sense, she pulled onto the gravel shoulder and killed the ignition. A road train screamed past, honking its horn long and loud, the driver clearly thinking Ellie had pulled up too suddenly. Once upon a time, she’d have raised her middle finger to the bad-mannered truckie. Today though, she had neither the energy nor the inclination. Everything from the tips of her fingers to the core of her being felt heavy.
Jilted Page 18
