Jilted
Jilted
Rachael Johns
She’d left him at the altar, but her heart was always his…After more than ten years away, Australian soap opera star Ellie Hughes returns to the small town of Hope Junction, determined to fly under the radar while caring for her injured godmother, Matilda.But word spreads fast in the tight-knit community. It isn’t long before the people of Hope Junction are gossiping about the real reason for Ellie’s visit and why she broke the heart of golden boy Flynn Quartermaine all those years ago.Soon Ellie and Flynn are thrown back together, forced to deal with the unresolved emotions between them. Because Ellie is not the only one with secrets. Flynn has his own demons to battle, and Matilda is hiding something from her much-loved goddaughter.When all is uncovered, can the ill-fated lovers overcome the wounds of their past? Or is Flynn destined to be jilted again?
She’d left him at the altar, but her heart was always his…
After more than ten years away, Australian soap opera star Ellie Hughes returns to the small town of Hope Junction, determined to fly under the radar while caring for her injured godmother, Matilda.
But word spreads fast in the tight-knit community. It isn’t long before the people of Hope Junction are gossiping about the real reason for Ellie’s visit and why she broke the heart of golden boy Flynn Quartermaine all those years ago.
Soon Ellie and Flynn are thrown back together, forced to deal with the unresolved emotions between them. Because Ellie is not the only one with secrets. Flynn has his own demons to battle, and Matilda is hiding something from her much-loved goddaughter.
When all is uncovered, can the ill-fated lovers overcome the wounds of their past? Or is Flynn destined to be jilted again?
Jilted
Rachael Johns
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Granny and (in memory of) Grandpa—
a real-life heroine and hero!
Acknowledgments (#ulink_538b7088-ab19-5210-b89a-93f4f13e1497)
My hugest thanks to Haylee Kerans and the team at Harlequin Australia for seeing something special in Jilted and deciding to publish it—you made my dream into a reality. And also to Aden Rolfe, editor extraordinaire, who seems to know what I mean and how to say it even better than I do.
To all my writing buddies who are not only colleagues but also good friends. The following people especially, who read and critiqued Jilted way before it was polished: Bec Sampson, Cathryn Hein, Jackie Ashenden, Melissa Smith and Joanne Dannon.
To non-writing but equally awesome friends Peta Sattler and Penny Bruce—you both rock. Thanks for loving Jilted too.
This book has already been published in Australia, but I owe its publication in the United States partly to fabulous book reviewer Christi Snow from Smitten with Reading who read and reviewed Jilted when it first came out and then emailed the team at Harlequin US to say her fellow Americans had to have the chance to read it. Thank you, Christi, for going above and beyond the role of a book reviewer. I will be forever grateful.
Also to my agent, Helen Breitweiser, who came on board after receiving Jilted at an Australian Romance Writers conference. Helen read the manuscript on the plane home to America and cried so much the flight attendant asked if she was okay. Ever since then she’s been in my corner, and I thank her immensely for that.
And lastly, thanks to my long-suffering family: to Mum, Craig and the boylets! You gave me the precious gift of time...time to write, time to edit, time to dream. Without your support, my writing would not be possible and I love you for it.
Glossary of Terms (#ulink_6f75814d-ad2f-5b74-8256-6fef596fe26a)
Arvo—Slang for afternoon.
CWA—Acronym for Country Women’s Association; a group of rural women who get together to improve life for women, children and families in rural Australia. Known for their fabulous baking and craft skills.
Dag—A teasing term for someone who is not cool; also the term used for the bits of manure that stick to the long wool around a sheep’s bottom.
Dill—Slang for idiot.
Dizzy-whizzy—When an adult spins a child around by their arms.
Larrikin—The life of the party; someone who is always having fun, a bit rowdy. Usually a young person.
Metho—Shortened term for menthylated spirits; a cleaning product.
P-plates—Holders of a provisional driver’s license (driver’s permit) must display small squares with a P on their windshields and back windows to identify them as new drivers.
Ridgy-didge—Slang for something genuine, the real deal.
Road-train—Semi-trailer truck with two or three trailers.
TAB—Acronym for Totalizator Agency Board; a Betting Shop.
Ute—Shortened version of utility vehicle used by farmers; similar to a pickup truck.
Yabby—Small freshwater crayfish, sometimes found in dams on farms.
Contents
Cover (#ud4aae716-a81f-5afd-ab5a-5b2cbd8ee8f2)
Back Cover Text (#ub393785d-3d6c-5e97-aac3-387033847f59)
Title Page (#u969d8e4c-370f-57e1-8067-18e17599f5a0)
Dedication (#ubeeec32b-1404-5e4c-90f9-81b5bb3976e0)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_8f9c9910-53a0-5105-832a-8f34f695fdc2)
Glossary (#ulink_9b014cfa-9922-5429-b8f8-1b660e51c28a)
LETTERS (#ude233d3b-2014-5ca4-83a9-4babc45646a9)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8b7e642e-4b9f-5784-b238-b581dd7192a8)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_77fd33d4-fd8a-5a66-b7ec-b319eaea7258)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_dc9d1f65-1924-5687-85ed-60c4b806cb70)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c5df6812-4ac9-5ee7-89f5-2b0f78058f88)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_48233a34-db67-51da-87cb-645f7314f659)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_1367ed63-2fa0-5bb3-9b93-773e8df40b14)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_d40670d9-ccda-553c-b423-72b3906a8923)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
The Co-op, Hope Junction,
Western Australia—Saturday, 9:30 a.m.
Today. It’s true. Well, I don’t know, I guess she’ll be taking the bus from Perth. Although being a celebrity and all, maybe she’s chartered her own jet. She has got a nerve, I couldn’t agree more.
Oh, hi, Mrs. Willet. Just the apples this morning? Yes, I was just chatting about it with Linda. I’m surprised the news isn’t front page of today’s West, I thought she would have rated higher than the premier opening a regional hospital. You’re absolutely right, it’s because it’s here. Small town, back-of-beyond. Oh jeez, but if they knew the truth, if they only knew what she left behind. She was always a bit of a snob at school, none of us could believe it when they started going out. And then when, well, you know...
Me? I would have sold my soul to marry him. We all would’ve. Phwoar...speak of the gorgeous devil.
About Coffee Time, Hope Junction,
Western Australia—Saturday, 9:45 a.m.
The usual, thanks, Sherry, but make it extra strong today. My nerves need it. Oh, you haven’t heard? A jet plane apparently. Chartered. You know, I’m not one to listen to gossip but she’s bringing her own pilot. A toyboy, barely over twenty but buff as they come. Or so I’m told. You ask me, he’d have to be pretty damn alluring to hold a candle to our Flynn. Most Saturdays, you say? Well, he’ll no doubt be a little flustered this morning. Maybe give him a free slice of your fabulous chocolate cake, and your ear. You’re still single, aren’t you, dear?
Outside the post office, Hope Junction,
Western Australia—Saturday, 10:00 a.m.
Sorry, can’t stop to chat, I have to get back to the café. I’m expecting Flynn—he grabs the paper at the Co-op and then comes for a late breakfast. A lot of the footballers do, I feed them up good before the game. Do you think he’ll still come? You’re right, he might be keeping a low profile. Maybe won’t even play today... He’s not one to dwell on the past but Mom always says that’s a front. Men, they’re not as strong as us, you know, they don’t get over that sort of knock easily. I bet he still thinks about her. Hard not to when her smug face is on the telly every night. Ouch, what’d ya do that for?
Oh, hi, Flynn.
Hairlicious, Hope Junction,
Western Australia—Saturday, 10:10 a.m.
Sure, I heard about it yesterday, people tell hairdressers things, you know. You’d be amazed; sometimes it’s a real chore. Yeah, I did her hair once. Between you and me, it’s quite thin and flyaway. They must have good hairdressers and makeup artists at Channel Nine. Me neither, I always thought she was a bit skinny, anorexic even. Too worried about her image, I suppose.
She’ll not have it easy around here, though. There’s not a person within two hundred kilometers who doesn’t like Flynn. You are so right, there’s probably not a girl anywhere who wouldn’t like him. And she won’t do well with the blokes, either. They’re not as shallow as those city guys. Just because her legs never end and you could wrap your fingers round her waist, won’t mean a thing to them. They’ll not go near her. Boys from the bush look out for their mates.
What’s that, Emma? Is he really? Ten-fifteen. Well, well, well...
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_899c5645-94bf-541c-9b82-388b1a8dfa9c)
WHEN FLYNN QUARTERMAINE drove into town, he couldn’t get a newspaper or pick up his mail without being stopped by someone or other on the main street. He’d lived in the small farming community of Hope Junction—southeast of Perth and affectionately known to locals as Hope—every one of his twenty-nine years. He knew everyone and they knew him. And he was famous. Aside from his legendary streak across the oval on Grand Final day ten years ago, he was the last baby born in the local hospital, having just slipped out before the maternity ward was closed and everyone had to travel farther afield.
What was most embarrassing to Flynn was that people still talked about this. Whenever someone new came to town, or a long-lost relative was passing through, the first thing the introducer would say was, “Meet Flynn, he was the last baby born in our hospital.” Nothing about the fact he ran one of the biggest farms in the district. Nothing about almost doubling his family’s income by introducing South African Meat Merinos (or SAMMs for short) to their flock. Nothing about how other local farmers followed suit. But then, perhaps he should be grateful people didn’t mention other things.
There were some things no guy liked to be reminded about.
Today, however, there wasn’t a single mention of babies. And instead of flocking when they saw him coming, people quickly turned away. It was odd. Flynn picked up some supplies for his mother and drove back out to the family property, keen to return and get onto the football oval, run around with his mates and shake this sense of unease.
The feeling started to dissipate as soon as he turned his ute into Black Stump—the 5,000-acre property that had been in his family for four generations. As corny as it might sound, he loved the place. He’d been raised on the massive homestead, with board games round the fire in winter and fun in the dams—when they had water—in summer. He belonged to this land and it had a way of calming him like no person ever could. Well, not anymore.
But the moment he walked through his mom’s kitchen door, the strangeness returned. His heart kicked up a notch and he knew he hadn’t been imagining the weirdness in town. In fact, he sensed Saturday was about to get a lot more than strange.
Flynn’s grandmother sat at the family’s big oak table knitting another tea cozy to be sold at the CWA craft stall. Karina, his mother, hovered at the stove stirring something that smelled a lot like her famous crisis-time minestrone. It was her contribution whenever the townsfolk got together to provide for volunteers in an emergency. And his teenage sister, Lucy, had her iPod around her neck and one foot on the table, painting her toenails a ghastly shade of purple, which no doubt had some ridiculous name like Flashbulb Fuchsia. They were deep in conversation. Or had been, anyway. He could tell, because the moment he stepped inside, the room went eerily silent and they all feigned over-the-top attention to their various tasks. Exactly like every shop he’d stepped into that morning. What the hell was going on?
Flynn stomped to the fridge, retrieved an ice-cold can of Coke, cracked it open and turned to face them all.
“Okay. Out with it. Have I grown an extra head or what?” He ran a hand through his blond, freshly cut hair. Even Emma, his hairdresser, had been strangely quiet. She hadn’t tried to con him into enhancing his tips as she usually did.
“No need for sarcasm, love.”
He tossed a reproachful glare at his mom and, for one terrible second, wondered if someone had come good on their promise to enter him in Australia’s much-loved Farmer Wants a Wife show. Friends and family had been threatening for years: You’re almost thirty, Flynn. As if being thirty meant he should suddenly hang up his single cap and find himself a wife, a four-wheel drive and a white picket fence.
He wouldn’t do it, though. No matter how good the PR would be for the town, there was no way in hell he was pimping himself in such a manner. Unlike some people he knew, he didn’t see the appeal of publicity and bright lights.
Still eyeing him warily, Karina dumped the wooden spoon in the pot, wiped her hands on her apron and sighed. “Well, I suppose if anyone has to tell you, it might as well be me. Sit down, Flynn.”
Sit down? He looked long and hard at the three women scattered around the traditional farm kitchen. People only ever said sit down when it was bad news. When someone had been killed or given months to live. But they were all breathing—even Granny, who’d just celebrated eighty years, was healthy and vibrant—and he’d already lost his dad. So what could be so terrible? So dramatic? Who could it be?
Granny stood and beckoned a long, knobbly finger at his sister. “Come on, Lu, you can help me box my tea cozies.”
“No, thanks,” Lucy said. “I’ll help later, Gran, but I wouldn’t miss this for an-y-thing.”
“Scoot, Luce,” shot his mom without breaking his gaze.
Lucy groaned, moaned and did her usual teenage eye roll, but she eventually vacated the room, followed by their grandmother.
“Must be something terrible,” mumbled Flynn, collapsing onto a chair. When his mom pulled her stool close and scooped up his hand, his heart went into overdrive. He ripped his hand back, feeling momentarily guilty as hurt flashed across Karina’s eyes. But all such emotions were lost when she finally spoke.
“Ellie’s coming back.”
Flynn opened his mouth but no sound came out. He sat still for a moment, the words echoing in his head.
Then, “Fuck!” He shot out of his chair and stormed onto the veranda.
Ten years! Ten years since she’d left him standing at the altar in a mixture of shock, hurt and embarrassment, questioning why. He thought he’d pulled through, dealt with all those feelings, moved on. But he couldn’t have, not the way his eyes were prickling and his heart was pounding.
He spun around, not knowing what to do, before he thumped the veranda post and headed back into the kitchen. Needing to keep his hands busy, he reached for his Coke, but he misjudged and his fingers hit the side of the can, toppling it over.
“Leave it,” his mom said. Her lips were pursed and he could tell she was a hairbreadth from tears herself. “It’ll be okay.”
“No use crying over spilt Coke,” he said, trying to make a joke. But his tone wasn’t funny and Karina didn’t laugh. He knew she was terrified that Ellie’s return would send him back to the way he’d been before. She’d already lost her husband. She didn’t need to lose her son.
As much as he wanted to retreat to his own space—to forget about the afternoon’s game and head to the dam at the far end of their property—he couldn’t. He had to maintain the facade for his mom. For the town. He had to pretend he didn’t care, pretend the thought of running into Ellie didn’t send him into a cold sweat.
It would be easier, he reflected, if he’d found out she’d died. At least that way he’d come to terms with the grief. Surely. Things would be completely different. He wouldn’t have to hide photos of her in a box at the back of his wardrobe. People would talk about her fondly, sharing memories, rather than making sure they never uttered her name in his presence. He knew they talked; it’s what people in small communities did best. But they never talked about her to him. The town protected him. If people pitied him, he didn’t know, but around here, there wasn’t any sign that Ellie Hughes had ever existed. It was as if the moment she’d walked out of his life, she’d vacated the planet. In the newsagent, he never saw her face in TV Week or on the cover of Women’s Weekly. But if he went further afield, to Perth or Bunbury, she was constantly in the limelight. Australia adored her. In a way, that hurt Flynn, but it was nothing on the sadness she’d left inside him. The black hole that no attempts at relationships, no casual sex, no nothing, had ever been able to fill.
Working hard to keep his breathing steady, he cleaned up the Coke and recalled some gossip he’d heard at the hairdresser. He might not be able to take his mind off Ellie, but he’d do his damn best to stop his mom thinking about her.
“Some townies are reviving the theatrical society.” He ditched the wet tea towel in the sink and leaned back against the table.
“So I heard. Good news travels fast.” Karina gestured to the row of tiny nail polish bottles on the table. “Lucy’s planning on auditioning. For some reason, she thinks the color of her nails will make all the difference. And of course, she has to test them all first.”
Flynn frowned. “You’re not going to let her, are you? Year twelve is huge, she should be concentrating on her studies.”
Karina raised her eyebrows and smirked. “When did you become so old and stuck in the mud?”
“Don’t forget the wise bit.”
“Whatever,” Karina said, waving a hand in front of her face, mimicking her daughter in both language and action. “Lucy won’t listen to me. She’ll only sulk and pout and ignore her exams altogether if I don’t let her get in on this. Besides, it’s just a fad. She wanted to start a cheerleading troupe for the Hurricanes last term, remember?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
But his gut felt heavy at the thought of his little sister acting. No matter, the distraction seemed to have worked. His mom was once again stirring her soup with an attentive look upon her face.
Flynn took the chance to slip out the back.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_88b6d8ae-22a0-5da8-acc1-e66426cc786c)
AS THE TRANSWA bus turned into Hope Junction, Ellie tugged the rim of her sports cap down, hoping, with the help of her dark sunnies, that it would cover much of her face. Wearing bland jeans and a man’s flannelette shirt, and with her mousy, chocolate-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, she prayed that no one would recognize Stella Williams—one of Australia’s favorite television characters—at least for now. She just wanted the chance to get to Matilda without attention, without anyone confronting her and telling her, in what would no doubt be colorful language, exactly what they thought of her.
But she knew it was only a short-term fix. There were no secrets in the entertainment industry, and even fewer in small towns. Everyone would be on high alert, awaiting her arrival. Next week’s glossies would have the news of her sudden departure from the set, with some happy to speculate on the reason while others dug deeper for the truth. Either way, Ellie’s return to Hope wouldn’t remain a secret for long.
She imagined most people in her situation would be smiling, reminiscing fondly, eager to start adding to their memories. She had fond recollections, too, if she looked back far enough, but they’d all been railroaded by her most painful memory. The memory of making the biggest mistake of her life and, as a result, having to leave the only place she’d ever really called home.
But no one knew the real reason she’d left, not even Matilda. They just thought she was a selfish bimbo, a girl who hadn’t fallen far from her parents’ tree and couldn’t hack commitment any more than she could country life. That hurt, but she’d rather that than the truth.
“Hope Junction,” called the driver.
She dared to look up slightly, stealing a quick peek out the window to see if anything had changed. The welcome sign still read Population 1,199, although there’d been at least 1,500 residents when she’d lived here. The Shell servo still had a 1970s feel and the garden center on the corner looked more run-down than ever. The only sign of progress was a new café next to Apex Park—with “About Coffee Time” plastered in big letters across the top of the building.
For a split second, Ellie smiled wistfully, recalling weekends spent in the park, kissing Flynn under the slide, kissing Flynn on the picnic table, kissing Flynn by the bridge, kissing Flynn behind the toilet block. No doubt today’s teens would be peeved with the location of the new café and being forced to find alternative premises for canoodling.
“Aren’t you getting off here, miss?”
The driver’s question broke her reverie. She turned her head slightly. Yep, he was definitely talking to her, but with neither bitterness nor admiration in his voice. He obviously hadn’t a clue who she was. Perhaps her tomboy disguise would work after all. Perhaps she’d be able to walk the short kilometer to Matilda’s house, dump her things and get to the hospital without causing much of a stir.
If she were honest with herself, it wasn’t running into locals that most scared her. It was just the one local, the resident who, despite still being a constant player in her thoughts, she was absolutely petrified to see. How could she ever face him after what had happened? If he ever deigned to speak to her again, to hear her out—and she wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t—what could she possibly say? Sorry wouldn’t even begin to cut it.
Not taking any chances, Ellie leaped off the bus, swiped her rucksack and suitcase from the hold and, with eyes trained firmly on the cracked pavement, began jogging toward Matilda’s cottage. Although it was longer, she took the back way, past the football oval and the swimming pool, avoiding the main street. Did Flynn still play football? She glanced at her watch, knowing if she hung around a couple more hours—and if the Hurricanes were playing a home game—she’d find out. A shiver shot through her at the thought and she picked up her pace, all the more eager to get to her destination.
In all the years Ellie had been in Sydney, Matilda had visited faithfully every Christmas. And although Ellie was always invited to loads of high-society parties, there was no one she’d rather spend the holidays with than her warm, fun-loving godmother. Matilda had never once questioned Ellie’s decision to leave Hope. She never mentioned Flynn, and although Ellie had been desperate on a zillion occasions to ask how he was doing, she’d always been too scared to inquire.
Flynn was always the best-looking guy at school, in the town—hell, the world wouldn’t have been an overstatement. Captain of the footy team, tall, strong but still a bit lanky, tanned to perfection. He had a grin that made you feel all warm and liquidy whenever he flashed it your way. It’d be unrealistic—stupid—to think that his heart had stayed true to her. Why would it? Lord knows there’d been enough girls waiting on the sidelines. He’d probably moved on quickly and found someone else, married someone else, maybe even had babies with someone else. Happy, settled down, in love. That would be bad, really bad. Ellie couldn’t bear to think about it, much less to know, and had avoided finding out for a decade. Flynn Stuart Quartermaine was taboo. Someone Matilda never mentioned and someone Ellie never searched for. But now, now she’d have no choice. Now she’d have to face what he’d become. Whoever that was. Whoever it was with. She tried to console herself. Maybe he’d left town?
For a moment hope sparred with terror in her heart, but then reality knocked. Flynn would never leave Hope. This area was in his blood, part of who he was. Flynn wouldn’t be Flynn without his farm and country football.
Ellie came to a stop, realizing that she’d made it to the cottage without running into trouble. She couldn’t help but smile at this small success. At the end of an avenue off the main street, it was just as she remembered. Only Matilda could get away with living in a quirky, bright purple house, complete with red roof and yellow awnings. Or rather, half-repainted yellow awnings. She closed her eyes for a second, cringing as she imagined the sixty-nine-year-old up there on a ladder doing the painting herself.
“Why must you do such ridiculous things?” Ellie said aloud, looking at the house. If Mat wanted to court danger, she should go bungee jumping or something on one of her holidays. As a respected and once well-known travel writer, money couldn’t be an issue for her. And even if it were, Ellie would have paid for the whole damn house to be painted, renovated and decked out in brand-new furniture. Anything to prevent her godmother from taking such a fall. And from that height, she was lucky not to have done much worse than a broken ankle.
Ellie shuddered. If Matilda hadn’t injured herself, she wouldn’t be here. Life could change direction in an instant; every little decision had the power to affect your existence in unfathomable ways. And other people’s. Sometimes Ellie thought it a miracle people had the courage to get out of bed in the mornings.
Enough philosophizing, she told herself. She had keys to find, cars to start, crazy old women to collect and mollycoddle. Because, by golly, Matilda would be mollycoddled. Her godmother never sat still long enough for Ellie to do anything much special for her, to repay her for all she’d done, but now she wouldn’t have a choice. Ellie would do everything she could to make Matilda feel loved. She planned on being so focused and dedicated to her role as carer that she wouldn’t have time to think or stress about what the locals were saying behind her back.
Although the plastic frog had jumped to the other side of the old wooden veranda, the key was still there, tucked inside, just as Ellie suspected. She stood on the hot-pink welcome mat where she’d first landed as a confused and heartbroken fifteen-year-old, then let herself in, smiling at the bombardment of familiar smells. Matilda had been in hospital for two days now, but this place was so infused with aromatherapy essences that Ellie reckoned it would smell like a flower shop even if she’d been gone a year.
Dumping her bags in the living room, Ellie quickly tidied the kitchen table, wanting the house to be in order for Matilda’s return. Her thoughts turned to dinner and what from her limited repertoire she might prepare, but when she opened the fridge, and then the pantry, dismay set in. Both empty, bar half a packet of sugar, two tins of baked beans, some old crackers and Moroccan mint tea bags. What on earth did Mat live on? Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: Ellie would have to go shopping. Deep down she’d known she couldn’t hole up in the cottage for the duration of her stay, but it had been a lovely fantasy. Still, it was just after midday. Mat would have eaten lunch already and Ellie couldn’t wait to see her.
She found the car keys in the leaf-shaped bowl in the hall and was about to leave when she decided on one final touch. Racking her brain, trying to recall what she’d learned about essences and oils while living in this house, Ellie remembered something about lemon and ylang-ylang being good for convalescing. Once a few drops were in two of Mat’s many burners and the candles lit, she smiled and left the cottage.
She started the vintage Holden Premier and turned toward the hospital. Once out on the road, however, the calm instilled in her at the cottage quickly dispersed. Whatever way she looked at it, she’d have to deal with someone at the hospital—nurses, doctors, orderlies, who knows? More nervous than she ever was in front of the camera, she chomped down hard on her lower lip, hoping the pain would distract from the worry. She knew that once she saw Matilda and had been enveloped in one of her magical hugs she could face anything. No one would dare to say a word to her in her godmother’s presence. All she had to do was get there. Because, despite what the town thought of Ellie, Mat was a well-respected resident. She was almost a local dignitary due to all the books she’d published, not to mention the fact she did so much charity work. She was held in such esteem that most overlooked her slightly wacky way of living and dressing, while others wholeheartedly embraced her quirkiness.
Sucking air into her lungs, Ellie found a parking space right outside the entrance and gave herself a final pep talk.
“Think of it as a test. If you survive this, the town will be a piece of cake.”
Inside the small, one-ward hospital, she found the front desk unmanned. A sign informed her that the receptionist was on lunch and all inquiries were to be directed to the nurses’ desk. One hurdle down.
Ellie headed along the familiar corridor. She’d been here many a time in her teens when Flynn had broken limbs or dislocated things on the football field. Nothing had changed. She kind of hoped there’d be another sign on the nurses’ desk directing her back to reception—then she’d simply hunt Mat down on her own.
She had no such luck. Behind the desk stood a glamorous nurse in a short medical ensemble that looked more appropriate for a fancy dress party than the requirements of the job.
The nurse looked up as Ellie padded toward her. She flicked a long, blond ponytail over one shoulder and her perfect green irises glistened as if she were a pirate laying eyes on a monumental treasure.
“Well. Well. Well.” She looked slowly up and down as if assessing Ellie’s less-than-fashionable attire. “If it isn’t Elenora. The runaway bride returns.”
Pain speared Ellie’s chest. At the nurse’s reference to one of the most regrettable moments of her life, she summoned all she’d learned in front of the camera and tried for an air of polite indifference.
“Lauren.” Ellie smiled tightly, quaking inside. At the same time, she clocked the nurse’s ring finger, her heart relaxing at the absence of any marital bling. Lauren Simpson had always had her sights on Flynn. “I’m here to collect Matilda. Can you tell me her room number, please?”
Lauren scoffed. “This isn’t the big smoke, princess. We don’t have hundreds of rooms to choose from. She’s the second door on the left. I’ll get her discharge papers ready.”
“Thank you.” As Ellie turned, she screwed up her face in disbelief. Some things never changed. On the other hand, never would she have imagined Lauren becoming a nurse. But all thoughts of her archenemy left as she came to Matilda’s door, which was slightly ajar. The room was quiet and dimly lit, the antithesis of its occupant. She peered in, noting two foot-shaped lumps at the end of the bed.
“Mat?” she called, knocking at the same time.
There was slight movement under the covers and then a loud shriek. “Is that you, girl? Jeez, Els, you don’t have to knock. Get yourself in here quick smart.”
Grinning, Ellie pushed the door but almost stumbled as she caught sight of her godmother. She tried to hide the shock on her face. Mat looked ghastly. Usually a towering, well-built woman, she now seemed frail and tiny in this hospital bed. Her face was sallow, and gray bags drooped under her big brown eyes despite the enforced rest.
“What are you gawping at, sweet?” came Matilda’s disapproving voice. “Never seen a sick old woman before? Get over here and give us a cuddle.”
Relaxing, Ellie rushed to the bed and climbed up alongside her old friend. “The only thing sick about you is your sense of humor.” She laughed into Mat’s hair as they wrapped their arms around each other and clung tightly. “Golly, it’s good to see you again.”
They stayed like that for an aeon before Matilda, her voice slightly choked, pulled back, tugged off Ellie’s cap and tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ears. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me. Hysterics won’t get me out of this prison. Which better be why you’re here.”
“Why else?” Ellie shrugged and recognition flashed between them.
Matilda opened her mouth as if about to speak but Lauren swanned into the room.
“Afternoon, Ms. T,” she said with a warmth Ellie had never witnessed in her before. Ever. “Looks like today’s your lucky day.” She turned to Ellie. “Sheila, the other nurse on duty, will be in to help Ms. Thompson get ready. If you can come with me, I’ll run you through her pain relief medication and hire you out a wheelchair.”
No, was what Ellie wanted to say. I’ll just stay right here, while you fetch the chair and tablets. But perhaps she was overreacting, her imagination getting away with her. Although Lauren’s red fingernails were inappropriately long for a nurse, how much damage could she really do?
“Okay,” Ellie said. She leaned over and kissed Matilda on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
They were barely out of Mat’s earshot before Lauren started. “You’ve got some nerve coming back here.”
“Still predictable, I see,” Ellie replied, before she thought better of it. Probably not a good idea to bait the wildcat.
Lauren froze. Her eyes narrowed and her hands moved to her hips. “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”
For a split second Ellie felt as if she were back in high school. “I thought you might have come up with something more original, but no, you said what I’m expecting everyone will say.”
Ellie saw her opponent’s fists bunch. “Whatever. You think you’re so fabulous, don’t you? Well, not in Hope you’re not. Apart from Matilda, no one wants you here. Especially not Flynn.”
Ellie’s rib cage tightened. She didn’t want to talk about Flynn, especially not with Lauren. With false calm, she tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. “I’m only here for Mat.” Damn, even she could hear the crack in her voice. “So if you don’t mind telling me what I need to know about her painkillers and recovery, I’d like to take her home, please.”
“Always about you,” muttered Lauren. She turned and headed back toward the nurses’ station.
Fifteen minutes later and not nearly quickly enough, Ellie and Sheila had Matilda settled as best they could in the front seat of the golden Premier.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” Ellie asked as she reversed the beast out of the parking spot.
Matilda shuffled slightly in her seat. “Don’t worry about me. Did she leave claw marks?”
Ellie summoned a chuckle. Typical Matilda, worrying about everyone else when she needed all her energies for herself.
“You mean Lauren? She didn’t bother me. I just can’t believe she’s a nurse.”
“Stranger things have happened at sea,” Mat surmised, quoting one of her favorite phrases. “Besides, everyone knows she only did it for the cute, wealthy doctors.”
Ellie couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Has she had any luck?”
“None whatsoever!” Matilda roared. “Oh, we’ve had plenty of eligible doctors pass through. All are more than happy to pamper her desires while in town. But much to her dismay, none of them ask her to go with them when they move on.” Matilda paused, then added with a wicked tone, “Perhaps she should have become an actress instead.”
Ellie’s laugh was drier this time. “Trust me, there’s no surefire success there, either.”
On-screen and off, the best love she’d ever had was during her time in Hope Junction. Misfortune had played a hand in the demise of that relationship, and she’d been unlucky in love ever since.
“Here we are,” she announced.
A fact about small-town life: it didn’t take any time at all to get from one place to another, which wasn’t always a good thing. Travel time had its perks— opportunities to ponder, talk, read or just rest. But Matilda’s whole face lit up as she stared delightedly at her cottage.
“Now we just have to work out how to unfold the wheelchair and get you inside.”
An “ugh” escaped Matilda’s lips and the joy on her face softened. She gestured to her plastered limb. “If this is God’s idea of a joke, I’m crossing to the dark side.”
Ellie smiled. She wasn’t sure she believed in God—some days she did, some she didn’t, and some it didn’t seem possible that there wasn’t a divine creator of some kind. More often than not she had her doubts. Matilda’s beliefs weren’t conventional, either.
“Perhaps God is just trying to tell you to slow down, rest a little.”
Matilda aimed her middle finger skyward. “Bollocks to that.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5ddf82a2-b78c-540f-8700-8983d99625cf)
AT THE HAMMERING on his front door, Flynn shook his head and stumbled from the couch. He’d been there for the past couple of hours, staring at a mark on the wall. His stomach groaned, alerting him to the fact it was probably way past lunch.
“Flynn, what are you doing in there?” Lucy’s high-pitched shout shot through his head. “You’d better be ready.”
“What are you talking about?” He opened the door and felt his body tighten at the sight of his little sister. Dressed in black tights, ridiculously high-heeled boots, a long-sleeved T-shirt that looked three sizes too small and a skirt he practically needed a magnifying glass to see, Lucy was doing a fabulous impersonation of a street-side hooker. He couldn’t imagine why his mom was letting her loose like that. Maybe she’d used up all her parenting energies dealing with him in his wayward years.
“Flynn!” She seethed angry air between her teeth and held up her chunky Hope Hurricanes purple-and-orange scarf, proceeding to wave it in his face. “You’re supposed to be driving me into town for the game.” She looked him up and down, her eyes widening as she took in his holey track pants and scruffy sweater. “And you’re supposed to be playing.”
“Damn.” The game had completely slipped his mind. He rubbed his forehead, which had been pulsing with nonstop pain since he’d heard about Ellie. Running up and down the oval, tackling sweaty blokes and kicking out his tension could be just what he needed, but the rest of it... Having to make small talk, knowing that everywhere he looked people would be talking about him, pitying him. He needed that about as much as a rhino in his top paddock.
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”
“No,” he snapped, giving a quick nod to her outfit. “I was just thinking that I should get you an overcoat. You’ll freeze in that, not to mention give the boys a heart attack.”
“You’re not my father, Flynn. Even if you act as if you’re about ninety-five.” She lifted her chin, daring him to disagree.
“Thank the Lord,” he replied, beginning to soften. But Lucy’s words made him think. Did he really give off that impression? Was he turning into an old grump? Or was it just all the talk of Ellie that had put him off balance?
“Besides,” she continued, oblivious to the churnings of his mind. “This is what all the girls are wearing. You don’t want me to be an outcast, do you?”
Flynn had to hide a grin. She was such a drama queen, but her antics were distracting him from thoughts of his ex and lifting his mood. That had to be a good thing.
“Luce, you could never be an outcast. You’re gorgeous, intelligent and, most important, you’re my sister. That’s pretty much got you covered.”
“Hardy-ha,” she replied, but her full-blown smile told him she’d forgiven his grumpiness.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, turning toward his bedroom to throw on his gear. He’d play the game, let off some tension and make a quick retreat before anyone could corner him. Footy would help clear his head.
Five minutes later, Flynn turned the ute onto the main road into town. Lucy switched on the radio, grinning as Paul Kelly came blaring out. Paul was the one sound they both liked. The twelve years between them meant there weren’t many such bands.
Trying to relax, Flynn tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along to the music. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy shift in her seat to face him.
“You and Ellie could’ve been like this song.”
He cringed. As if the end of their relationship hadn’t been tragic enough. He’d never spoken about Ellie with Lucy, or about what happened after she’d left, and he didn’t plan on starting now. Lucy was now the age he and Ellie were when they started going out, but she wouldn’t understand. She had one hyped-up crush after another but never stayed with a boy long enough to fall in love.
When he didn’t reply, she elaborated. “I reckon Ellie did you a favor running off. I mean, I don’t really remember her and she may have been really nice, but Ms. Dawes, our sex-ed teacher, says teen marriages are twenty times more likely to end in divorce than other marriages.”
“Is that right?” Frankly, he would have liked the chance to have been in on the decision whatever the outcome of their would-be marriage.
“Uh-huh. Not that that old troll would know,” she giggled. “I don’t reckon anyone’s ever asked her to marry them.”
Flynn let out his breath, thinking Lucy had moved on to other thoughts. Just to make sure, he raised a new topic. “So, how’s school going? Mom said you’re doing well.”
“S’pose so. Doesn’t really matter. For the things I wanna do, I don’t need uni.”
“You’re seventeen, Luce, you have no idea what you want to do.”
“Shut up, Flynn, there you are acting all ancient again. You’re so boring. No wonder Ellie left you.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth.
Flynn’s whole body clenched. He’d never entertained the possibility that Ellie had thought him boring—he still didn’t—but the words hurt more than he cared to admit. She had chosen a showbiz career and life in the city over a partnership on the farm. Her dreams were bigger than rural Western Australia. And him.
“I’m sorry, Flynn. That was out of line.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“And it’s crap, too. No one thinks you’re boring. Jeez, my friends all idolize you and the women in town all drool over you. You could have anyone you want.”
He chuckled at the irony. “Perhaps the three women in my life are enough?”
“Three!” Lucy shrieked. “Who’s the... Ooh, me, Mom and Gran.” She looked disappointed. “I thought I was going to be the first to know something exciting.”
“Yep. You, Mom and Gran.” He reached out and rubbed her head affectionately.
“Hey, don’t mess the hair.” She lifted a hand for protection but smiled nevertheless.
For the rest of the journey, Lucy nattered on about the girls at school, the boy they all craved and their plans for Schoolies Week, which, thankfully, was still six months away. It may have been over a decade since Flynn had partied on Rottnest Island during Schoolies, but he knew things wouldn’t have changed too much. Seventeen-year-old boys had one thing on their mind and one thing only.
“Crap, we’re late,” Lucy said as Flynn pulled into the oval and searched for a place to park. Already the field was bordered with cars, people sitting on hoods, eating pies and drinking soft drinks, waving banners as they waited for the game to start. Stupidly, he scanned the crowds for Ellie—she’d been a faithful supporter of the Hurricanes and never missed a game when she lived here, but of course, things were different now. Even if she were in town, it was unlikely she’d make a game of country football a high priority.
Lucy practically jumped out the car before he’d put the hand brake on, and definitely before he’d taken the keys out of the ignition.
“Come straight back here after the game,” he yelled, pretty certain she didn’t hear him, or at least didn’t want to.
* * *
DURING THE MATCH, Flynn didn’t look at the crowd and tried not to make eye contact with his fellow players. He scored more goals than he had in a while but not enough to give the Hurricanes the victory they’d been missing lately. When it was over, he went to wait for Lucy. He knew his quick departure would provide more fodder for the gossips, but that didn’t make him any more inclined to stay around.
Lucy took her sweet time, though, eventually arriving with a giggling teenage friend on each side. Opening the passenger door, she leaned into the car. “I’m going to Kara’s,” she announced.
Flynn opened his mouth to object—no way was he hanging in town while she had fun with the girls—but she got in first.
“I’ve already called Mom and she’s fine with it. She said I can stay over and she’ll pick me up after church tomorrow.” She stepped back next to her friends.
“Fine.” Flynn’s hand was already poised on the gearstick when pale, delicate fingers—complete with red nails—reached out to hold open the passenger door.
“Hiya, Flynn.”
Flynn fought the urge to shuffle closer to the driver’s door as Lauren Simpson slipped into the passenger seat. It was hard not to ogle her ample cleavage, which was only further accentuated by her tight silver top. Not many got away with such outlandish fashion in Hope Junction, and most simply wore Hurricanes sweaters to the game, but Lauren was stunning and on her it worked. Still, he’d never found her kind of beauty attractive.
She rested one of her perfect hands on his thigh. He tensed, cursing himself for not changing out of his footy shorts.
“You’re not going home, are you, Flynn?” Her singsong voice grated on his nerves.
“Actually...” That’s exactly where he planned on heading. The last thing he wanted to do was socialize right now.
“I understand,” she began, in an annoyingly sympathetic tone, “that today would have been difficult for you. But it’s times like these you need to be around friends. People who care about you, people who understand you.” Her nails drifted a little higher up his thigh. “What do you say? Come to the pub with us?”
He looked past Lauren to see Lucy a few meters away. She was beaming like a loony and holding both thumbs up. Go on, she mouthed at him theatrically.
“Who’s us?” asked Flynn. He didn’t want Lauren getting any ideas.
“Oh, you know, the usual crowd. Rats will be there.”
Rats, nicknamed so because he’d had a rat’s tail haircut since he was in kindergarten. That is, until a few weeks ago when he proposed to Whitney, who refused to accept unless he cut it off. Rats, who just happened to be the best mate Flynn had.
He still didn’t want to go. Pubs hadn’t been real appealing since his father’s accident, when he’d been forced to get his life back on track. But this wasn’t just about the pub. Maybe he should make an appearance and hold his head up high. Show everyone he didn’t need their sympathy, that ten years was a long time. Definitely long enough for him and Ellie to be in the same shire without him losing the plot. Again.
“Do you need a lift, then?” He forced a smile to his lips.
“Sure.” Lauren’s face lit up. She poked her head back out the car for a moment. “Meet you there, girls.”
“Shove over. We can fit,” said a voice from outside.
Flynn leaned forward to wave at Emma and another local chick, Linda.
“I don’t think so.” Lauren pulled the door shut before they could negotiate. “Drive on, Flynn. They’ll be fine.”
Ignoring Lauren, he pushed a button to wind down the passenger window. “If you ladies want, you can hop on the back.”
Giggles and shrieks ensued as Flynn hitched the girls up onto the tray. He took the opportunity to pull his jeans out of his bag and tug them on before getting back in. He barely had three hundred meters to drive, so there wasn’t much danger. Not on the road, anyway.
When Flynn opened the door at the top pub for Lauren and her friends, however, the hackles rose on the back of his neck. It wasn’t that he never came to the pub, but it was rare. Years ago this joint had been his first port of call whenever he’d wanted to drown his sorrows. The place they came whenever they lost a game of football—which hadn’t been nearly as often back then—and always where they came to celebrate a win. After Ellie had left he’d come even more. It had become his second home.
Back then, he’d step inside and smile. The aroma of cigarette smoke mixed with beer, sweat and cheap perfume always comforted. The run-down decor? Strangely alluring. The music? Exactly what he would have chosen. The people? Folks he’d grown up with, folks he’d die for. Folks he knew would do the same for him.
But times had changed. Although he still loved his football, he wasn’t the carefree larrikin of a decade ago. Not frequently anyway. He was a long way from the Flynn who’d streaked across the oval. In the years since, the law had sent the smokers outside, and although he wasn’t one of them, there was something wrong about a pub without that smell. New owners had renovated and The Commercial Hotel had lost its rural character. Its beige walls with a chocolate feature and the leather-upholstered bar stools could have been transplanted from any city establishment. The people he’d loved had moved on or changed. At least the music still had the right vibe.
He barely had the chance to nod at Rats and Whitney or take in the others hanging around before Lauren had an arm round him and was practically licking his ear.
“My shout, Flynn. What are you having?”
“Just a Coke, thanks.” He extracted his limbs from hers and moved along the bar to Rats.
“Hey, mate.” Rats slapped Flynn on the back and grinned. “Good to see ya. S’pose you’ve heard?”
“Grapevine wouldn’t be working if I hadn’t.” Flynn looked straight ahead.
“Doubt she’ll be here for long,” continued Rats. “She’s only back to help Ms. T. Surely a broken ankle won’t take long to mend. Right?”
Flynn wanted to ask if anyone had seen her yet, but he didn’t want to look like he gave a damn. He didn’t give a damn. So instead he said, “Free country. She can go where she likes.”
“True, true.” Rats took a sip of beer and pulled Whitney into his side. “So, mate, we’ve been talking and you don’t have to say yes straightaway but...”
“There’s no one we’d rather want as our best man,” gushed Whitney, reaching past Rats to take Flynn’s hands. “Please, please say yes.”
Hell. Flynn supposed he should have seen this coming. His friends hadn’t planned a long engagement and Rats had been decked out in the best-man suit the day Ellie had left him standing at the altar of St. Pete’s. But today? Just the thought of setting foot inside a church made his skin crawl.
“Sure,” he managed. “It’d be an honor.”
“Yippee!” As Whitney shrieked, she leaned forward and kissed Flynn on the lips. It was only quick, and entirely platonic, but whoops went up around the pub.
“Did he say yes?” Lauren returned with a bottle of champers, four delicate glass flutes and no sign of a Coke. “This calls for a toast.” Behind her were Emma and Linda with another bottle and more glasses.
As glasses were filled, Rats edged close to Flynn. “I’ll get you that Coke, mate. You don’t have to drink to take part in the toast.” Rats was one of the few people who knew just how dependent he’d become on booze before his dad died.
“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Flynn, suddenly feeling like a tiny shot of bubbles would work wonders for his tension-infused body. “I can handle a glass on a special occasion.”
“Fair enough.” Rats held up his palms in surrender, but Flynn couldn’t miss the worry in his friend’s eyes. “Just looking out for you.”
Flynn didn’t reply. He was tired of people looking out for him, like he was some sort of pathetic child. He took a glass and raised it along with everybody else’s.
“To Flynn,” Lauren said, staring at him as if he were the only person in the room, “for completing our fabulous bridal party.”
“To Flynn,” chorused his friends.
He took a gulp and only as the bubbles caressed his throat did he register Lauren’s words. Dinner was ordered soon after, and once the pub grub had been devoured the group broke up—some playing pool, others chatting near the dartboard. This was Flynn’s chance to escape, but just as he was about to make a sly departure, Lauren pulled up a stool next to him. She barely sat on it, however, and Flynn got the impression she was angling for a spot on his lap, instead.
“You know,” she drawled in an unmistakably seductive tone, “the best man gets first pick of the bridesmaids.”
“Is that so?” Flynn took another sip to stop himself from saying the first thing that came into his head.
“It’s tradition. And it just so happens I’m maid of honor.” Was she actually singing her words? “Care for a top-up?” she asked, swaying the half-full bottle in his face and pointing to his glass.
Rats and Whitney were now wrapped in each other’s arms, ignoring the rest of the pub. Emma was chatting up the new barman and Linda appeared to be kicking her brother’s butt at darts. Flynn looked again at the bottle and then back to Lauren.
“Just one more.”
* * *
WHEN THE BOTTLE was gone, Flynn ordered Lauren a glass of wine and a beer for himself. For a second he thought twice about the choice. Common sense almost won, but then he glanced around him at the scene of country people having good, clean fun—the music loud, the laughs many, the atmosphere charged and happy—and he wanted that. It’d been years since alcohol had owned him. He’d only have one more.
One became two, two became four and before he knew it, he’d dragged Lauren onto the makeshift dance floor and was partying like it was 1999. As the barman called for last drinks, Lauren sank her arms around Flynn’s neck and pressed her curves against the steely length of his body. Of course, he reacted. He wouldn’t be male if he didn’t.
“I’ve had a great night, Flynn.”
“Me, too.” His words slurred slightly.
“You can’t drive home like this. The cops will pick you up for sure.”
He leaned his cheek against her hair and breathed in her pungent berry scent. “I’ll sleep in the back of the ute.”
“Now, Flynn...” Lauren’s hands crawled down to cup his buttocks and pull him tightly against her. Her words slithered into his ear on hot, wanton breath. “I’ve got a much better idea.”
And then her lips were accosting his. Her tongue took liberties as it swept his mouth, probing for access. His hands floundered as he tried to grab out for balance, to latch on to reality before he did something he might regret, but he got hold of a breast instead, the soft, round orb sending short, sharp messages to his brain. His body took on a life of its own. He couldn’t remember the last time he was kissed—the farm had been his sole focus for quite some time—and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He was twenty-nine, for crying out loud. He should have a little fun while he could. Besides, since he’d been in Lauren’s company, he hadn’t thought about Ellie once.
So he kissed Lauren back. Snaked his hands up her spine and then her neck, sliding his fingers into her long, blond locks. He felt his blood pump south and pulled back slightly to look into her eager eyes. “Let’s get outta here.”
Rats gripped Flynn’s shoulder as they headed for the door. “You sure you want to do this, mate?” His eyes were trained on Lauren giggling at Flynn’s side. “You’ve had a fair bit to drink.”
Now Flynn knew how Lucy felt when he started with the preachy talk. It got old and boring fast.
“Thanks, but I can look after myself.”
Outside, Lauren pushed him against the ute, fishing her fingers into his pocket for his car keys. “I’m driving. I only had one drink.”
“Of course.” Grinning, he leaned back against the vehicle, his hands clasped behind his head as she took longer to dig than was strictly necessary.
“You like that, Flynn?” She plucked the keys from his jeans but, not at all coy, she continued her exploration of his crutch, rubbing her palm up and over the denim at his groin. His hips angled forward of their own accord and he grabbed Lauren’s wrist.
“Let’s go.”
“My feelings exactly.”
Lauren opened the passenger door and Flynn slumped inside, his boots kicking a collection of empty Coke cans at his feet. She slid into the driver’s side and took in the mess. “I thought you’d take better care of your vehicle, Flynn Quartermaine.”
He glanced at her. “Um...” Even his mom didn’t nag him about such things.
“Relax.” Lauren laughed. She started the ute and, after quickly backing out, laid her hand against Flynn’s taut thigh. “It’s not your housekeeping I’m interested in.”
Chuckling, he sucked in a breath as Lauren’s hand again ventured upward. She toyed with his belt buckle, skillfully undoing it without the car veering even slightly off the straight and narrow.
“You nurses are multiskilled,” he said, wondering if he should put his hand against her leg or cop a feel of one of her breasts. Both options had seemed appealing back in the parking lot, but now, in the confined space of the car, where his breathing felt constricted by the heady scent of her perfume, he wasn’t so sure.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she purred. His eyes almost left their sockets as she opened his zipper and slipped her hand inside his jeans—inside his jocks, in fact.
“You think we should pull over?” He only just managed the words. Her soft, skillful fingers curled around his erection and began to tickle his balls. His breathing intensified. His pulse thudded through his veins. Heat surged beneath her touch. But it was a surreal experience, as if he was hovering outside his body, looking in. He barely heard Lauren’s reply.
“It’s okay, Flynn, we’re almost at my place.” Within seconds she’d pulled into a rough gravel driveway. The car came to a stop and a giggling Lauren opened the passenger door.
“You just gonna sit there all night, staring at the real estate?” She wiggled her hips in rhythm to her words. He winced at the sound of her voice, a sharp jolt rushing through his head. The view of her skinny legs, held together by a denim skirt too short for the season, blurred in front of him. He blinked to clear his vision.
“Had a bit too much to drink, Flynn-y boy?” She reached in and took his hand, trying to pull him out of the car. “Never mind. Nurse Lauren has the perfect medicine. Come on.”
Stumbling a little, he trekked up the porch steps, fighting the urge to sit down while Lauren unlocked the door. She switched on lights, which almost blinded him, and offered him a drink.
“No, thanks,” he managed, although a voice inside told him a long glass of icy water might be a good idea.
“Hope you don’t mind if I do.” Grabbing his shoulders, she ushered him into the living room and pushed him down on the couch. “You just wait there. I’ll be right back.”
He flopped his head against the back of the leather sofa and took a few moments just to sit. Fancy antique vases and massive, gold-framed paintings of famous Aussie landscapes swam around the room—this was her parents’ house, but they were overseas at the moment, on one of the travel tours they ran. His gut churned. He was contemplating a dash to the bathroom when Lauren skipped into the room.
“Hey, mister, you’re looking a little worse for wear.” She straddled his hips, her skirt riding up as she maneuvered on top of him. He realized his fly was still undone. Her warmth seeped onto his groin and he swayed a little, feeling woozy.
“Have you lost your knickers?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“You noticed.” She wiggled her hips more and pressed down. There was only the cotton of his jocks between them now. She placed a champagne flute on the side table and palmed her hands against his cheeks. “You want me, don’t you, Flynn?”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_71aa4498-d98c-5e04-a0d1-994aba16d3cd)
ELLIE’S SIDES WERE aching from laughing so hard. Matilda had always been like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. But as much as she would love to have stayed up later, listening to stories of what Mat had been up to since they were last together in Sydney, she’d be blind not to notice that her godmother was wilting. She’d counted at least ten yawns in the past three minutes, and the bags under Matilda’s eyes were hanging even heavier than before. Her weight loss couldn’t be intentional—Matilda didn’t believe in fads like dieting. Ellie would never say so, but Mat seemed a lot older than the six months it had been since they’d seen each other. And it worried her.
She feigned a yawn herself. “I’m sorry, Mat, but I’m going to have to call it a night.”
“You’re not jet-lagged?” Matilda snorted. “First sign of old age, they tell me.”
“Like you’d know,” teased Ellie, stretching up out of the beanbag she was sitting in at Matilda’s feet. “You could do with some rest, too. I don’t want Lauren on my back for not looking after you.”
“You know I hate this.” Matilda sighed, gripping Ellie’s shoulder as she got out of the old floral armchair. Matilda had always been so independent—bloody-minded, many would have called it. She’d never married—Ellie guessed she didn’t want to be anyone’s unpaid housekeeper—and frequently traveled to exotic places not populated by your average tourist.
“I know,” Ellie replied. They started slowly toward the bathroom, Ellie trying not to smother her friend but terrified of her taking another fall. “And if you do as you’re told, you’ll be back to your wicked ways in no time. But I’m here until you are.”
Ellie heard Matilda sniff, but she covered it quickly. “You are a true friend. Thank you.”
“What? For cooking baked beans on stale crackers and almost killing you with rotten eggs?”
To call dinner a disaster would have been kind. Forgetting that country shops weren’t open on Saturday afternoons, Ellie had made do with what she could find: baked beans and eleven eggs from the chicken coop. Matilda assured her that some would have been fresh that morning. But Ellie had been a city girl too long and had forgotten how to test which were fresh and which weren’t.
Matilda pressed a hand against her chest and laughed. “I’ve had a lot worse in my time.”
After promising to make it up with a feeding frenzy tomorrow, Ellie stood by while Matilda washed her face and brushed her teeth. She helped her hobble over to the toilet and left the room to give her some privacy. Then she came back to help her up and usher her into her room.
“There. Are you sure you’re comfortable?” she asked, sitting down gently on the edge of Mat’s bed.
“As comfy as I can be sharing a bed with this.” Matilda gestured again to the chunky plaster that went from her toes halfway up her calf.
Ellie knew Matilda’s jokes were her way of coping, of lightening the mood. She desperately wanted to snuggle up to Mat like they’d done when Ellie first arrived all those years ago. When she was a lonely, lost, washed-up teen, feeling totally abandoned by the one person who was supposed to love her. But tonight she thought Matilda might take her cuddles the wrong way, as sympathy for her injuries. And if there was one thing Mat hated, it was sympathy. So instead, Ellie patted her hand, kissed her on the cheek and stood.
“Shall I take my old room?”
Matilda cursed and a look of horror flashed across her face. “Oh, I’m a silly old fool.” She tried to hoist herself up.
“Sit,” Ellie ordered.
“I’ve been jabbering on all afternoon and you haven’t even had a chance to unpack or freshen up. About your room...” Matilda’s voice trailed off.
Ellie rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Matilda. She couldn’t resist another proper hug. “You are a silly old fool. I’m here to look after you and don’t you forget it.”
In the end, she lay on the bed until Matilda had fallen asleep, which wasn’t long at all. The house then seemed quiet without Mat’s endless chatter, and Ellie’s thoughts returned quickly to the one thing she’d been trying not to think about. While Lauren had launched right into the subject of Flynn Quartermaine, Matilda hadn’t mentioned him at all. Ellie thought the taboo might have been lifted now she was back in Hope Junction, but it seemed her godmother was leaving that conversation for her to start. And she would. Soon.
Thoughts of just how soon were interrupted as she pushed open the door of her old bedroom. Expecting Mat to have turned the room to other uses, she gasped aloud at the sight in front of her. The room was exactly how she’d left it. Exactly. Goose bumps erupted across her flesh.
Matilda had cleaned and dusted, but aside from that, everything was just as Ellie had left it on that fateful morning. Teenage posters, her collection of troll dolls with rainbow hair, scented candles, lots of photos, a pair of bright purple Dr. Martens and...
Forcing breath through her lungs and one foot in front of the other, Ellie stepped into the room and toward the single bed. Her eyes had already been drawn, like magnets, to the simple white wedding dress that lay draped across the mattress. She stared for a second, mesmerized, before scooping it up and sighing at the feel of soft silk between her fingers. She clutched the A-line gown to her chest as if it were a long-lost teddy bear. Her thoughts immediately traveled back a decade, to a day in Perth when she’d felt like the poster child for happiness.
Marrying Flynn was any girl’s fantasy, and she’d wanted to be his fantasy when he watched her walk down the aisle. Silly, really, but she’d spent hours daydreaming about the expression on his face when he’d see her. She’d loved him so much. So much it made her chest ache if she thought about losing him. Her insides whirled like a roller coaster whenever she even thought about kissing him. And so, when she’d walked past that boutique and seen the most elegant wedding dress with a 50 percent off tag, she’d thought it was fate.
And she’d been euphoric.
The shop had been about to close but she’d dragged in Tegan, her then best friend, and Matilda, and sweet-talked the assistant into letting her try on the dress. When she did, she never wanted to take it off again. It was simply perfect. No need for alterations at all. With Ellie protesting that she’d pay for it, Matilda had handed over her American Express card and someone managed to convince Ellie to take the dress off so the assistant could box it.
A tear dribbled down Ellie’s cheek at the memory. At the thought that she’d once been so sky-high happy.
Thinking she was probably crazy but unable to help herself, Ellie laid her fantasy gown back on the bed and stripped to her mismatched underwear. She wondered if the dress would still fit but, if anything, it was a little on the large side. With great effort she wrangled the tiny pearl buttons at her back and managed to do up every last one of them. She twisted to look in the mirror.
What a sight. Her face was stained red with tears and her hair flat from the cap that had trapped it all day long. She didn’t look like a bride any groom would get choked up over. She looked scary. But despite her appearance, Ellie didn’t look away or remove the dress. She shuddered at the idea of becoming Miss Havisham, but even that miserable vision didn’t spur her to remove it. After a while of standing like this, her eyes caught on something reflected in the mirror. Photo frames littered the old wooden tallboy behind her—most of them sickly sweet heart shapes containing pictures of her and Flynn.
She turned and snatched up a photo. A chill raced up her spine. She sank onto the bed, clutching Flynn’s image tightly in her hands. He was gorgeous. A heartthrob, sex on legs, a devil in denim and dangerously, deliciously beautiful. His all-Australian country-boy grin lit up his whole face, and the gleam in his sea-green eyes spoke volumes about the kind of fun-loving, hardworking bloke he always was.
She’d tried to forget. In the name of self-preservation, she’d not taken even one tiny wallet photo when she left. She’d not allowed herself to think about the life they would have started together—the perfect house they were planning to build on Black Stump, the babies they’d dreamed of having... But now she realized how monumentally she’d failed. She may have repressed the memories but she hadn’t erased them. Looking at him now, tracing his eyes, his nose, his lips with her quaking fingers brought it all rushing back. The intensity of first love, first passion. How he had loved her so completely and stood up for her at every turn. Romeo and Juliet had nothing on Flynn and Ellie. Hope Junction had been up in arms when their golden boy—son of third-generation landowners—had started going out with her. Not only did she not come from farming stock, but her mother had dumped her and her father hadn’t even stuck around long enough to see her born. Thankfully, the teenage Flynn had already developed both backbone and morals. He didn’t give a damn what the town thought. He saw past her situation to the real Ellie, and before long his dedication won over his parents and the rest of the town, too. Pretty soon Ellie was loved and accepted as if she were a fourth-generation local as well, and that was no easy feat. When Flynn had asked her to marry him, everyone was genuinely ecstatic. The only comments about them being too young came from girls Ellie’s age and she wrote off their gibes as simple jealousy.
“Oh, Flynn.” Sniffing, she looked down at the photo and tried to push away the millions of what-ifs that floated into her mind. What if things had been different? What if her mother had never asked to meet her in Perth? What if, for once, she’d put her own needs first and said no? What if Flynn had come with her to Perth as he’d said he would? What if she’d stayed and married him anyway? Would they be happy now? Would they have kids? Some would say her life in Sydney as an actress and celebrity was a charmed one, but her whole body ached with the thought of just how magical it could have been if she’d been living it with Flynn.
* * *
SUNDAY MORNING, FLYNN WOKE. His head throbbed and a heavy naked weight lay sprawled across his equally naked chest. This realization roused him like no bucket of cold water ever could.
Glancing round the lamp-lit room at his surroundings and then taking a closer look at the woman in his arms, he froze. Scenes of the previous night flashed one after the other. Cringeworthy and stupid didn’t even begin to describe what he saw and how he felt. He wanted more than anything to extricate himself from beneath Lauren.
Lauren? Had the drink stolen every ounce of his common sense? Again? He wanted to collect his clothes from wherever they’d landed, flee home, crawl under the bedcovers and stay there all day. He wanted to forget this nightmare had ever happened. But he saw one immediate problem with that tempting scenario. Lauren.
He’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to have noticed the mammoth crush she’d harbored for him since primary school. But he’d been fastidious in avoiding her advances—at least until now. Because although she was fun and pretty—if you liked her kind of style—she was also a local. Flings had been few and far between in recent years, but any that Flynn did have, he kept far outside the boundaries of Hope Junction. Local girls were a no-go zone. It was safer and easier that way.
Lauren, on the other hand, was very local. And she was like most single women approaching their thirtieth year. Stars in her eyes when it came to weddings, babies and happily-ever-afters. But after all Flynn had been through with Ellie, he didn’t have a marrying bone left in his body.
He cursed himself and his lack of restraint, not so much for not resisting Lauren, but for getting so absolutely hammered that he thought hooking up with her was a good idea in the first place. He’d been dry for eight years now, and although his addiction was always in the back of his mind, he’d forgotten how much of a tool he became, and the kind of stupid choices he made, when he got drunk. It wasn’t pretty, nor something he was proud of.
Lauren shifted on his chest. She made a tiny noise like a mewling cat and opened her eyes. Their faces were so close he could do nothing but look straight into her eyes. She smiled like a Cheshire; he gulped like a minnow facing a great white.
“Feeling better this morning, Flynn?”
He couldn’t exactly give her the truth—that her face was the last thing he wanted to see first thing in the morning.
“Last night was something else,” she went on, crawling her nails up his chest and bringing the pads of her fingers to rest on his lips. He tried not to flinch. “But next time, let’s make sure we finish it off, hey?”
His heart skipped a hopeful beat at her words. Could it be possible they hadn’t actually had sex? He had to know.
“I’m...really sorry, Lauren, but my memory’s pretty hazy about last night. Did we...?”
“I should probably be offended that you can’t remember it.” She giggled and began toying with the flesh at his ear. He summoned all his self-control not to tap her hand away, raise his voice and demand she tell him the truth. Instead, he smiled the smile he’d been told, on many occasions, was a danger to womankind.
“Well?”
“You passed out before we got that far.” She laughed, then added something else. But Flynn didn’t take in these last words. He was too busy thanking the Lord for small mercies, promising he’d never touch another drop as long as he lived. But the reprieve didn’t last long. Lauren dipped her head and touched her hot, wet lips to his parched ones. A quick worker, she slid her tongue inside his mouth barely before he’d registered her kiss. Where, in other circumstances, his first thoughts might be of his morning breath, in this instance his only concern was how to escape her clutches. Hell, he’d be happy if he had bad breath and it scared her off.
He placed his hands on her bare shoulders and pushed her upward, looking away when her perky breasts thrust themselves into his line of vision.
“Sorry, Lauren, with the ram sale not far away, I really can’t afford to have a Sunday off. Work to be done, sheep to check on.”
“Damn sheep.” Her lower lip practically touched her chest, but she rolled over and scrounged around on the floor for her discarded clothes. If there was one thing a country girl understood, it was that nothing, no one, came before the farm.
Seizing the opportunity, Flynn scrabbled off the couch, located his shirt and boots and yanked them both on in record time. He knew he should stop and apologize to Lauren. He should explain he hadn’t meant to lead her on, that he hadn’t been thinking straight. But whatever way he put it, she’d be offended and upset. And the honest truth was that he just didn’t have the mental energy to deal with this right now. Not on top of everything else.
So without so much as a kiss on the cheek, he thanked Lauren for letting him stay and fled.
* * *
AFTER CRYING HERSELF to sleep, Ellie slept more soundly than she had in a long time. Maybe it was the emotion of the day before, maybe it was the jet lag, maybe it was the quiet of the country, but in the morning, it was only the sound of the kettle whistling that roused her. It was a noise she hadn’t heard in as long as she could remember. In her other life no one bothered with the time it took to boil a kettle. It was either Starbucks or the staff room machine, which percolated good, strong coffee twenty-four hours a day. It took a second for her to recognize the sound, and then she realized it meant Mat was already up and trying to fend for herself.
Ellie sprang into action. Her hand was on the door handle when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. That was no fancy nightie she saw, it was a wedding dress. Her wedding dress. A shiver ran over her skin and a despondent feeling returned to her chest. With what felt like a brick weighing her down, it was an effort to walk even the few steps back to the bed. She sat and stretched behind her to the row of minuscule buttons. If she kept on like this, she was in danger of returning to that dark place she’d gone to when she first left Flynn and gave up everything that mattered to her. A place so gloomy it had taken all her willpower to drag herself out. She never wanted to go there again. Besides, she was in Hope for Matilda, not to revisit past demons.
“Come on,” she said, urging her wobbly fingers to steady and coordinate. She’d done them up with only relative difficulty; surely the undoing would be easy in comparison. More twisting, more tugging, but it seemed the only thing likely to come undone was her arm socket.
“Argh!” What was meant to be a silent plea between gritted teeth came out loud and angry. She took a deep breath, concentrated, but as the first pearl slipped from its silken prison, there came a hesitant knock on the bedroom door. Ellie froze.
“Yes?” She managed only just to get the word past the lump in her throat.
“Can I help you?” came the response. Ellie frowned at Matilda’s turn of phrase, hoping her godmother hadn’t looked in on her while she’d slept and seen her outfit. The thought chilled her.
“No,” she said, a lot harsher than she intended. “I’m here to help you. What the hell do you think you’re doing wandering around without me? Don’t do anything else. I’ll be out in just a moment.”
She focused her attention back on the dress, but the damn buttons refused to budge. Generally calm in the face of a problem, Ellie’s pulse raced and the muscles in her neck twitched. Stupid tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. As she saw it, she had two choices. Open the door and, despite the shame and embarrassment she’d feel, ask for help, or...
She took another deep breath, positioned her hands at the back of her neck, one on either side of the dress, and yanked. Hard. Tiny pops rippled as the tiny pearls shot around the room. Ellie shimmied out of the dress, scrunched it into a ball and shoved it on top of a stack of old Cosmo magazines at the bottom of the wardrobe. It felt wrong to treat something that had once been so special to her with such disregard, and for a second she hesitated, thought about pulling it out and trying to fix the creases she’d just inflicted. But Matilda’s voice sounded through the door again, more anxious than before.
“Ellie? What was that? Are you sure you’re okay in there?”
She bit down on her lip, turned and lifted the lid on her suitcase. There wasn’t time to get sentimental. “I’m fine,” she said, scrambling around for jeans and a top.
When she finally opened the door and saw the look of worry in the other woman’s eyes, she knew that she hadn’t been able to hide the truth from Matilda.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” Ellie reached out to take Matilda’s arm. “I want to get some caffeine into my veins, get you settled on the veranda swing and get stuck into those awnings you left half-done.”
Matilda shuffled alongside Ellie into the kitchen. “Don’t think you can change the subject on me, missy. I’ve let it lie for ten years but it’s time. I can see coming back here, to me, to this town, to your room...” Matilda paused and looked deep into Ellie’s eyes. Ellie knew she was thinking about the dress. “It’s messing with your mind. Therapy is expensive, but talking to an old friend is priceless.”
Ellie went to the bench, opened a cupboard and grabbed two large ceramic mugs. Perhaps Mat was right. Perhaps she should talk about why she’d done the unforgivable, why she’d left Flynn standing at the front of a church with the whole town as witness. But Matilda was the only person who’d been there who still believed in her, who could still look her in the eye and not make her feel like the scum of the earth. Hell, she could barely look in the mirror and achieve that feat herself.
No, she wasn’t ready to talk, not yet. She turned to the fridge to focus her energies on breakfast and then remembered. No milk. Dammit, she just didn’t do black coffee, especially not at the crack of dawn. But another thought followed quickly on the heels of that one. As much as the idea of leaving the house terrified her, it was still early for a Sunday. She was less likely to run into anyone at this time of day, and going for milk and bread—the basic supplies that would get them through the weekend—would postpone the inevitable talk.
“I’m just going to pop up to the Shell and get us some milk. Want any munchies?”
Matilda frowned and sighed. “I’m not one to pass up a chocolate bar, but don’t think this gets you off the hook. We will talk. It’s well past time.”
“I know.” Ellie tried to sound nonchalant, as if the idea of raking up the past wasn’t uncomfortable or painful. “But I barely function, never mind do deep and meaningful without my morning coffee.” She leaned over and kissed Mat on the cheek, then grabbed the car keys and was out of there before her godmother had the chance for further protests.
She smiled with relief as she pulled into the service station. A couple of trucks were parked and their drivers stood between them chomping on greasy breakfast. The thought of eating that kind of food this early turned Ellie’s stomach, but she guessed it helped combat the chill of winter mornings. She shivered. She’d been in such a hurry to leave the house she hadn’t thought about a sweater or a jacket, never mind actually put one on.
Rubbing her arms, she strode toward the shop, dodging a crusty old ute at the gas tanks and ignoring the chill that ran through her as she noticed it was a Hope Junction license plate. She’d forgotten this about small towns in WA, that you could tell where a car was from by the first letters on the license plate. She was far from the anonymity of Sydney, and this car belonged to a local.
Get a grip, she told herself firmly.
But that was easier said than done. Her encounter with Lauren had reinforced her fears. The reception she would get from townsfolk was likely to be frosty at best, downright nasty at worst. She pushed open the door of the shop, trying to recall what it was she’d come for and crashed head-on into a man carrying a paper and a Coffee Chill. His purchases clattered to the floor and without glancing at each other, they both dived to collect them. Their heads knocked, their hands brushed, and laughter at the silliness of the situation tumbled from their mouths. Ellie felt instantly at ease.
Until they both stood up and the man’s warm chuckle died on his lips as he registered who she was.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_5f4fa125-30b4-5272-8fe8-b72ccd2d416e)
ELLIE REACHED OUT to grab the door for support.
Flynn.
She wasn’t sure if she said his name aloud or not. Nothing in her wildest imagination could have prepared her for this. It was as if a million different things were going on in her body. Adrenaline had set off a chain of reactions inside her—her hands got sweaty, her heart was beating so fast and loud it felt as if it would break out of her chest at any moment, and her knees felt incapable of holding her up much longer. Their overexertion probably accounted for the beads of perspiration bursting out across her forehead. But her mind and eyes were feasting on the sight before her, of which her memory had done no justice at all.
The grown-up Flynn was a hundred times more gorgeous than the teenage one—and that was saying something. Not that she’d expected otherwise, but he’d filled out in all the right places, grown into his long, lanky body and become a strapping, commanding presence. Light stubble dusted his jawline and his golden hair was longer than she recalled. And mussed up slightly. It suited him. Yet despite his overbearing good looks, one thing stood out as very different. His lips drew a flat line across his face where once a huge, mischievous grin held prime position. She’d fallen in love with that smile before anything else, and now it was nowhere to be seen.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Ellie snapped out of her trance and realized not only was she practically drooling, openmouthed like a codfish, but also that she hadn’t registered Flynn speaking. To her. She tried to reply but something obstructed her words. Like one of those awful dreams where there’s a serial killer chasing you and your legs won’t function. She had so much she wanted—needed—to say to Flynn, and yet her mouth refused to cooperate.
“Ah, never mind,” Flynn said bitterly. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head as he walked past, clutching his paper and drink hard against his chest while stepping as near to the door frame as possible. She could only guess he wanted to avoid the possibility of brushing against her. Her heart crumbled at this thought, but still she couldn’t find the wherewithal to speak. If only she could turn back time and at least find out what he’d said. But then, if she had such powers, she’d turn back time a lot further and erase other stupid mistakes.
Almost in slow motion, she turned around, but Flynn was already pounding the pavement away from her. He didn’t look back. Shivers scuttled down her spine like a thousand nasty, eight-legged beasts. And she started to shake. Uncontrollably. The room spun.
She took hold of herself and tried to moderate her breathing. She was no doctor, but even she knew breathing at such a rate was dangerous. Was this what a panic attack felt like? One of the actresses on Lake Street suffered from them, apparently, but Ellie had never bought into the hype.
“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”
She registered that someone somewhere was speaking to her, but a sudden, stabbing pain in her chest throttled any reply. She pressed her hand against her breast hoping the pressure would somehow ease the pain, that if the discomfort eased, then so would the dizziness, the shakes and the feeling the room was closing in around her. But it was no good. No longer able to keep a firm grip on the door, her knees gave way and she tumbled onto the hard concrete.
“That’s it, I’m calling an ambulance,” said the voice.
“Damn straight, looks like she’s having a heart attack,” said another voice. “Don’t want no celebrities dying in my shop. Maybe we should get her a blanket or something?”
No! She didn’t want a blanket. She brought her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth against the door. I just want to go, she would have yelled, but her tongue had grown thick and immobile. I just want to go back to Sydney, where I’m not some kind of freak show, and live my life the best I can.
Her legs had lost all their strength. She tried to move so she wasn’t hunched like a sobbing cripple in the doorway, but the gods were laughing at her. Somewhere a flash went off, but before she had time to comprehend what that meant, sirens pierced the air, egging on her horrendous headache.
“In here,” she heard someone say. Then two women in green uniforms were looking over her. One of them crouched down and lifted Ellie’s hand, rubbing her wrist, presumably to take her pulse. The other ambulance officer began firing questions at the owner and his employee. Still stunned that this was actually happening, Ellie took a moment to react, but when she heard the word hospital, something inside her snapped back into place.
She pasted what was no doubt a less-than-believable smile on her face and looked apologetically into the face of the woman checking her over. “I’m really sorry,” she said, extracting her hand and straightening her ponytail. “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, but I’m really fine now. I don’t need to go to hospital.”
The other, less feminine ambulance officer leaned down and butted in. “It’s policy. We have to take you in and have a doctor check you over.”
“No.” No way in hell was she going back to that pokey small-town hospital and risking another run-in with Lauren. She could only imagine what would happen if she were admitted into that woman’s care. “I said I’m fine and I am. You can’t force me to go.”
“She does seem fine,” stated the first officer.
While the two of them discussed protocol and common sense, and the service station owner added his opinion, Ellie flexed her feet and pushed herself up into a stand. Although still shaky, she had every confidence her legs were back in the game. Monitoring her breathing, she trekked slowly around the shop, grabbing chocolates, a big bottle of Fanta, packets of chips, two types of milk and a loaf of white bread. The pickings were slim at the Shell and the prices exorbitant, but she needed to get out of there quickly, with enough provisions to avoid coming back too soon. Tomorrow she’d worry about a bigger shop, although how she’d make it round the Co-op without having an actual heart attack, she had no idea.
“You sure you shouldn’t get properly checked out?” asked the shop assistant as she scanned Ellie’s purchases through the till. The young woman looked genuinely concerned. Ellie didn’t recognize her and judging by her attitude, she deduced that the girl couldn’t have been a resident of Hope very long.
“Thanks for your concern, but I just had a shock.”
The girl looked at her quizzically, but she wasn’t about to start discussing her sordid past with a stranger. No doubt the town gossips would fight to fill her in. Instead, Ellie handed over a fifty-dollar note.
The act of selecting and purchasing items seemed to convince the ambulance folk she was, in fact, physically fine. So, wanting to get this whole sorry episode over quickly, Ellie filled in her details and signed the release.
When Ellie returned to the house, Matilda—sitting in an armchair in the living room—threw her arms up theatrically. “You’ve been gone an age. I was about to organize a search party.”
“Sorry.” She walked through to the kitchen and began unloading the sparse supplies. Inwardly she laughed at the idea that anyone in this godforsaken town would give up their Sunday to search for her.
“I almost called the police,” Matilda continued, her shrill voice carrying down the short hallway.
“Thank God you didn’t,” Ellie called back. “I’ve had my fill of emergency services today.”
“You’ve what?” There was a short silence and then a shuffle. Ellie could hear Matilda reaching for her crutches and knew she was trying to stand up.
“Stay there!” she roared. “I’ll get us a drink and makeshift breakfast, and then I’ll fill you in.” On everything, she added silently. It was time.
She took her time making the coffee and toast. She even cut each slice into little triangles, laid them decoratively on the plate and loaded it all onto an elaborate tray Mat had brought back from Mexico a few years ago. When she finally entered the living room, Matilda was leaning forward in the chair, her body tense, the expression on her face desperately curious.
“What happened?”
“I ran into Flynn.” Ellie’s tone suggested this was an everyday occurrence. She handed Mat her mug, then placed the toast on the little coffee table, positioning it within both their reach.
“Oh.” For once Matilda seemed short of words. Then, eventually, “Dare I ask?”
Ellie flopped into the armchair opposite. “It was a complete debacle. He looked like he wanted to vomit at the sight of me and I almost fainted.” She laughed a little hysterically. “Someone called an ambulance.”
“You’ve been to the hospital?”
She shook her head. “I refused to go.”
Matilda waved an arm in front of her face. “Who cares about the hospital, I want to know about Flynn.”
Ellie tried in vain to keep her hands and voice steady as she sipped her drink and filled Mat in on the events of the morning. Yet with every mention of Flynn the effort became all the more impossible.
“My poor girl,” Matilda said, gesturing to the tissue box on the table. “You’ve held it in far too long. It’s time to let it out.”
“I’m fine.” Ellie shoved the box and it plopped onto the floor. That got a skeptical smile and a brow lift from Matilda. “I am,” she insisted. “If I hadn’t seen the dress, I wouldn’t have been in such a soppy and sentimental mood when I ran into him. It’s not like I didn’t know it was going to happen sooner or later.” She paused to collect herself. “Why did you keep it?”
“It wasn’t mine to throw away.”
“No, I know, but...but...” But what? She’d always assumed Matilda would have given it to the Salvation Army or something.
“At first I left it there because I thought you’d be back. You were so in love with him, no one was more surprised than me when you ran off like that. I knew you better than everyone, aside from Flynn, and he never suspected a problem. He was a wreck. So I was sure you’d be back.”
A familiar guilt gnawed at Ellie’s heart and she rested her hand against her stomach. Nausea was the standard reaction whenever she thought of what she’d done to Flynn. She did her best to live her life in denial but occasionally—usually on lonely weekends, when all she had was the company of bad black-and-white movies on the telly—her thoughts turned to him. More than once she’d been physically sick.
“Then,” continued Matilda, “by the time it became clear you’d made a life for yourself without him, the dress had been there so long. It probably sounds silly, but it made me feel closer to you. You were never as happy as the day you tried on that dress. Sometimes I’d come into the room, look at the dress and wonder if there was anything I could have done.”
“No,” Ellie rushed, “none of this was your fault.” The last thing she needed was for Matilda, who had always been there for her no matter what, to feel guilty, as well. So many times she’d almost spilled her heart out to Mat, but she’d never quite been able to find the words. Mat loved and trusted her more than anyone, so Ellie had been scared. Scared that Mat would think of her differently if she knew. “I don’t want you to ever—”
Matilda held up her hand to silence Ellie. “I need to say this. The years passed and you made no mention of coming back. I meant to clean out your room, I really did, but you know what I’m like with my own clutter, I couldn’t bear to sort and make decisions about yours. I’m sorry, I should have gotten rid of that dress, but something I can’t really explain stopped me.”
“It’s okay.” Ellie’s reply was a mere whisper. All choked up, she thought about the crumpled dress in the bottom of the wardrobe. What the hell should she do with it? “I understand,” she continued, “but I want you to know that none of what happened is your fault. If anyone besides me is to blame—for leaving, for staying away all these years—it’s my despicable excuse for a mother.”
“Your mother?” Matilda looked baffled. “I didn’t know you two were in touch. I thought the last time you saw Rhiannon was in Perth, just before your...”
Ellie knew she was about to say wedding. She shook her head and set her friend straight. “She never turned up.”
Matilda’s mouth dropped open like a sideshow clown and her eyes grew cold. “But I don’t understand. You told me you spent the weekend in the city together, that she apologized profusely about not being able to make it to your wedding. I wanted to hunt her down, give her what for about missing the most important day of your life.”
“All lies,” Ellie admitted. “I guess I felt like an idiot for thinking she’d care enough to meet up with me, and I wanted you all to think that she did. When she didn’t show, I waited in the bar for five hours, treating myself to cocktails to cheer up. I got quite drunk.” That was a massive understatement.
In the next hour or so, Ellie spilled the truth about what had happened that awful weekend in Perth. She left nothing out. She cried a lot. And so did Matilda, who cursed herself for not being there for Ellie when she’d needed her support. But not once did Matilda make her feel any less of a person for her mistakes. She didn’t pass judgment or even make many comments until the end, when Ellie said, “So you see how I couldn’t tell Flynn? He’d have hated me.”
Matilda frowned slightly. “I don’t see anything of the sort. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s to never presume what another person thinks, or how they’ll react in a certain situation.”
“I suppose.” But the truth was, Ellie couldn’t have coped with seeing the hurt and disappointment in Flynn’s eyes if she had stayed to face her problems.
“Personally,” Mat said, “and this is just my opinion, because as I said, I don’t know the inside of Flynn’s head, but I think he would rather have had you—and whatever came with that—than lose you. He made some bad choices himself after you left.”
Ellie’s head shot up from where it had been staring down into her lap and a fist full of tissues. “What kind of bad choices?”
* * *
ELLIE WOKE ON Monday morning feeling utterly drained. The past couple of days had been exhausting—physically, mentally and emotionally. And she’d be a fool to think the worst was over.
Her guilt had trebled when she heard that for two years after she left, Flynn had gone on a wild bender, becoming best friends with bottles of Jim Beam. And then his dad, Cyril, had been killed in a freak accident on the farm. She could only imagine the pain the Quartermaines would have felt at that deep loss. Flynn and Cyril had disagreed about some aspects of running the farm, and Cyril had been reluctant to take on a few of Flynn’s ideas, but mostly, father and son had been great mates. In a somewhat bittersweet turnaround, though, it was his father’s death that pulled Flynn out of his self-destructive spiral. Where many turn to alcohol in times of mourning, Cyril’s passing shook Flynn enough that he went completely dry. Ellie felt so relieved when Matilda told her that Flynn had reformed, but she couldn’t ignore the painful truth. If she hadn’t run away, he’d never have gone there in the first place.
Matilda believed the only way for Ellie to truly move on was for her to sit down with Flynn and tell him everything. She shuddered at the thought. Quite aside from the fact that pinning Flynn down would prove a mammoth task, she was scared that in telling him the truth, she risked bringing back hurtful memories for him. Sure, it might get some of the heaviness off her chest, but she couldn’t jeopardize his well-being simply to clear her conscience.
Bottom line was, she’d never stopped loving him. Seeing him yesterday had made that clear. And what was that old saying? If you loved something you let it go? She reckoned that included not rehashing the painful past.
Her decision made, she climbed out of bed, washed and dressed quickly, and then set to some housework. Matilda rose too and grumbled about being constrained by her cast, so Ellie gave her the important job of drafting the shopping list.
“Leave nothing you desire off that list,” Ellie instructed. “I do not want to be traipsing down to the Co-op every day for something we’ve forgotten.”
Just when Ellie thought the house was sparkling so much she couldn’t put off the shopping expedition any longer, the doorbell—a yodeling one that Matilda bought on a trip to Austria—sang out.
“That’ll be my friend Joyce,” Matilda announced, a beaming smile filling her face. “She’s going to be your chaperone.”
“Chaperone?” Ellie raised a brow while racking her brain for memories of Joyce.
“You haven’t met,” said Matilda, reading her mind. “She and her hubby, Howard, moved here three years ago when they bought the caravan park. Howard died last year but Joyce is a hoot, you’ll love her.”
Joyce let herself in. “Everyone adores me.”
Ellie looked at the fire-engine redhead. Her first thought was that she’d never seen a female built in quite such a...strong way. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect bodyguard. She smiled. “Well, shopping with me will soon change that. Nobody adores me.”
Joyce hooted with laughter. “I love her already.”
After ensuring Mat had everything within arm’s reach, Joyce and Ellie set off in the Premier.
“Mat phoned me last night,” Joyce announced as she clicked in her seat belt. “She didn’t tell me why you left the Quartermaine boy at the altar, but she said you have your reasons. I want you to know Mat’s word is good enough for me.”
Ellie’s mood plummeted at the idea that Matilda might have told Joyce more, and nausea set in at the thought of Joyce flapping her mouth about town, of Flynn hearing it all on the grapevine. But she quickly relaxed, knowing her godmother would never break her confidence.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Mat’s had a lot on her plate recently. She’s so happy you’re here but doesn’t want you being crucified just because she needs you. She wanted someone else in your corner.” Joyce’s voice was serious in a way Ellie hadn’t thought possible, judging by her brassy manner back at the cottage. “And I want you to know, I’m in your corner.”
An alien lump formed in Ellie’s throat. She couldn’t quite get another thanks past it.
“We all make mistakes,” continued Joyce, “and I don’t believe in beating oneself up about them. But that’s your business. If you want to talk, I won’t tell a soul your secret, but neither will I press you about it. I just want you to know.”
“Okay. I appreciate that.” Ellie stared ahead at the road. She didn’t really want to make small talk but she didn’t want silence right now, either. Besides, she wouldn’t mind deflecting the attention from herself. “So, what do you think of Hope? Do you like running the caravan park?”
“Love it. I’m a social butterfly so I adore meeting all the people that come through. And I find the dynamics of small-town life fascinating.”
“That’s one word for it,” Ellie snorted. Suffocating and narrow-minded were others.
“You obviously don’t miss it.”
“Actually, I didn’t mind it,” Ellie said, surprising herself. She’d forgotten. She’d let the horror of her drastic departure overshadow the fact that her years here were the best ones of her life. Busy years, with never a moment’s peace. There was always something going on in the town—whether it be a football game, a quiz night, someone’s party, a fund-raiser for the Hospital Auxiliary. It was impossible to be idle, and there was something about the way country people pulled together in an emergency that couldn’t help but warm your heart. She’d loved being part of that, even if now, looking back, she wondered if she’d merely imagined the act of fitting in.
“I could never go back,” Joyce mused. “Not to all those bright lights, crazy streets and people too busy to smile at a stranger.”
Ellie could tell from the affection in Joyce’s voice that Hope and its people had worked their magic on her. Joyce had fallen in love and the only way she’d ever leave was if they carried her out in a box.
As they found a parking space outside the Co-op, Ellie fought the desire to bite her nails. People were already turning in her direction. Heads were shaking. Lips were twisting downward.
“You know, Joyce,” Ellie said, “perhaps it’d be better if you distanced yourself from me inside. I don’t want my unpopularity to affect your business.”
“Don’t be silly, girl. Most of my business comes from out-of-towners. Besides, if people are that narrow-minded, I don’t want their friendship or their money. Give this town a bit of credit. Granted, we have a few silly biddies, but once they’ve had their moment, you’ll be old news. Come on, let’s get that moment over with.”
Ellie couldn’t deny that she felt better with Joyce by her side. As she locked the car—a somewhat unnecessary precaution in the country—Joyce came around to the driver’s side and took her arm.
“Just hold your head high and smile,” she instructed, and they ventured into the building.
Ellie was used to being the point of focus whenever she went out and about. In Sydney, even though most people didn’t go stupid over celebrities, she was always recognized. She didn’t mind the attention—she liked talking to fans, and was more than happy to give her autograph when requested. Not that she’d be getting any such requests around here.
The moment they stepped through the automatic doors, Ellie felt the chill of the frozen foods section against her cheeks, reminding her of the reception she was expecting. Her gaze moved to the checkout where she’d once worked after school and on Saturday mornings. There was a queue—two trolleys equaled a mad rush in Hope. The customers met Ellie’s eyes and then quickly looked away. She recognized the operator as a girl she’d gone to school with. They’d been quite friendly in the past, but now she wasn’t even giving Ellie the chance to toss that smile Joyce had recommended. The woman made sure her eyes didn’t come near Ellie’s.
Straightening her shoulders and jutting her chin forward, Ellie grabbed a trolley and glanced at Joyce. “Let’s do this.” The quicker the better, she thought.
In response, Joyce smiled encouragingly and held up their shopping list. As they traversed the aisles, customers stared and were more than generous with reproachful glares. One woman even tsked. Halfway round, Ellie decided she could either let them upset her or she could...
“Hi.” She offered a woman in aisle three a huge grin. “Emma, isn’t it? We went to school together.”
Emma, who had divine, jet-black hair in a catwalk bob, blinked and looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon whole. Ellie’s heart stopped midbeat as she waited for a response.
“I’m surprised you remember,” Emma said eventually. “Welcome back.” Her welcome couldn’t be described as warm, and there weren’t any polite comments about catching up, but she hadn’t spit in her face, either. Ellie put that down as a win.
As Emma walked briskly away, Ellie gave Joyce two thumbs-up. They raided items from the shelves and soon filled their trolley. Ellie smiled at a couple of customers she didn’t recognize and even stopped to talk to one of her old teachers while Joyce read the labels on different baked bean tins. The teacher—Mrs. Ellery, who taught English and drama—had aged about twenty years in the past ten but she could still talk for Olympic gold. She chewed Ellie’s ear off for what seemed an hour, pride shining through as she acknowledged one of her prodigies had made it big. It was funny, drama had never been Ellie’s favorite or best subject—not that Mrs. Ellery remembered it that way. Her break was, if anything, accidental.
When she’d arrived in Sydney, Ellie had started waitressing at a trendy, inner-city bar. Located next to a mainstream television production company, it had been the hangout of some top-notch producers. Out of the blue one night, one of them asked if she’d like to be an extra in a location episode he was shooting. Hungry for extra cash and happy she’d only be a shadow in the background, she agreed.
Pretty soon Ellie became a regular extra on Lake Street and, as the saying goes, one thing led to another. She was introduced as the long-lost daughter of a much-loved older character, and as the audience adored her, before too long she was a permanent resident on Australia’s favorite street.
But if you’d asked her at seventeen what she’d wanted to be, actress would never have crossed her mind.
“We’re reviving the theatrical society,” Mrs. Ellery said. She caught the first breath Ellie had heard her take in about five minutes and then added, “You should come along. We could do with your wisdom.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” It was all Ellie could do to stop breaking into nervous hysterics at the thought. Venturing out to buy groceries was one thing, but she could just imagine her reception if she tried to wheedle her way into the group. “I’m not here for long, and there are a couple of things I want to do in that time.” Painting Mat’s gutters and awnings was a much safer bet than what Mrs. Ellery had in mind.
“Think about it, dear.” Then, with a pat on Ellie’s forearm, Mrs. Ellery doddered off down the aisle pulling her tapestry trolley behind her.
Ellie did think about it, her thoughts distracting her as she and Joyce finished the shopping. She barely noticed the cold looks and people turning the other way when they saw her coming down the aisle. The town’s last production—Mary Poppins—had been the year before she’d skipped town. In the middle of winter, it had been the highlight of the cold season. She hadn’t been involved, but Matilda had directed and Ellie had often hung around watching rehearsals. The atmosphere whenever the cast and crew got together had been exhilarating.
“Think that’s us done now,” said Joyce, interrupting Ellie’s memory. “Unless there’s anything else you can think of.”
“No.” Ellie stared ahead at the checkout, trying to remember the name of the girl behind the counter. She knew if she acted friendly and not like the snob they all took her for, she’d stand a better chance of not being stoned. That started with addressing people by their names.
As she stopped the trolley at the front of the store, however, her gaze drifted to the newspapers on a stand next to the checkouts. Across the front page of the West Australian was her face, large and flushed against the pale cement of the service station floor. The headline: Stella’s Soap Opera Past in Rural WA. Flynn’s scowling—but still terribly sexy—face was inset at the bottom of the page.
Her heart plummeted at the publicity she neither needed nor wanted. Ten years ago, one particular hound of a journalist had almost uncovered the whole story when she was first starting to make a name for herself. Luckily a well-known cricket personality had indulged in an affair with a newsreader about the same time, and the story of Ellie and Flynn and their nonwedding had died a quick death.
Her mobile began to shrill from her handbag, the unmistakable tone of Lady Gaga interrupting her thoughts. She ripped the zip open and snatched the phone. Not at all surprised to see the caller was her agent, Dwayne Wright, she pressed Reject and shoved it back inside. There wasn’t time to deal with Dwayne’s fury right now—she had about five hundred newspapers to buy.
“I’ll take the lot,” she told the woman behind the checkout, gesturing to the newspapers. “And if you’ve got any out the back, I’ll take them, too.” Dammit, her name was Simone, she remembered a moment too late.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Simone scoffed, making a derogatory sound between her teeth. “I can’t sell you all the newspapers.”
“Why not?” Ellie’s heart tripped over itself. “My money’s as good as anyone’s.”
Not deeming her comment worthy of a reply, Simone leaned forward and spoke into the PA. “Gavin, can you please come to the checkout? Gavin.”
“Who’s Gavin?” Ellie hissed to Joyce.
“The manager,” Joyce whispered back.
Ah good, thought Ellie, surely he won’t turn down legitimate sales. But of course she was wrong. The manager, whom she recognized as a distant relative of Flynn’s mother, wasn’t even sure he wanted to let her buy one newspaper.
“I don’t want you causing havoc in my shop,” he announced, his pudgy arms folded over an impressive beer gut. “Perhaps you should just leave.”
To hell with being polite, Ellie had just about had it up to here with some of the people in this silly, back-of-beyond town. She thrust her finger at the sign that hung across the entrance. “Last time I checked, this was a co-operative.” She dragged the last word out, showing exactly what she thought of him. “And as I recall, co-operative means owned by the community, whereas you are just its manager. So I’m buying the damn food in this trolley and I’ll buy as many newspapers as I want.”
Upset and sweating, Ellie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the thick pile of papers. She yanked them up and dropped them on the checkout, narrowly missing Simone’s fingers. Her sunglasses tumbled off the top of her head and the newspapers fell off either side of the ancient conveyer belt making a mess on the floor.
“I’ll pick them up,” said Joyce, her voice taking on a warning tone. “You go wait in the car.”
At Joyce’s words Ellie cringed. She looked at the faces now glaring at her from all over the store. She’d totally lost it, confirming what most of the town probably thought—that she was some up-herself celebrity who thought money could buy everything. Truth was, all she wanted was the chance to prove them wrong. That she wasn’t the evil Jezebel they’d pegged her as. What happened to being human? What happened to everyone making mistakes?
Her eyes brimmed with tears she didn’t want to shed in public. Years on the small screen had made her very good at being able to turn the waterworks on when she didn’t really feel like it, and an expert at switching them off when in the public eye. But right now, she was losing the battle.
Opting to accept Joyce’s out, she stooped to pick up her sunglasses, almost poking herself in the eye in an effort to put them back on. She left the store, walking briskly and failing dismally to hold her head high.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_8de21987-6090-5ebd-b5d3-4fcbb5447db6)
AS FLYNN MADE his way out of the sheep yards, where he’d been getting his sheep ready for the big ram sale, he saw Lucy running toward him from the homestead. She was shouting something, her arms waving crazily over her head as she did so. He started in her direction.
“What’s up, little sis?”
Despite almost losing it on the weekend and running into Ellie, he’d woken up in a good mood, optimistic about inhabiting the same town as her. The initial meeting was over and, he had to say, it had been less traumatic than he’d anticipated. He’d handled it a lot better than she had, that’s for sure. Probably because, when push came to shove, she was the one with something to feel guilty about. If she hadn’t loved him enough to settle down with him, she should have been woman enough to say so to his face.
As the gap closed between the siblings, Flynn noticed his mobile in Lucy’s hand. Instinctively, he patted his pocket where the phone usually lived. “Careful with that,” he said, reaching for it when Lucy approached.
“I wasn’t the one who left it on the kitchen table where it’s been ringing incessantly and almost vibrating off the edge.” She puffed a little to catch her breath. “The house phone’s been going crazy since the crack of dawn, too.”
Flynn frowned and glanced at the screen. Twenty-two missed calls. That had to be a record.
“Women’s Weekly has rung, TV Week, the Australian and even Sunrise.” Excitement bounced off every word. “Kochie and Mel want to interview you. And Cara says you’re on the front page of the West. You’re famous.” Two words he didn’t want to hear. Especially not for the reasons he guessed. Why else would the journos come sniffing around?
“Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“School holidays,” Lucy said with a grin.
He sighed as the phone buzzed again. “No point prolonging the inevitable.” He answered. “Good morning, Flynn Quartermaine.”
“And a very good morning to you, too, Flynn,” sang a woman’s voice. “How does it feel to have your first love back in town?”
He gritted his teeth. The audacity of the woman not even bothering to introduce herself, hoping he’d spill some juicy news before realizing she wasn’t an old friend. Yeah, right.
“If you’re referring to Ellie Hughes, that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Please don’t call again.”
“But, Flynn...”
He snapped his phone shut. He didn’t have time for this in the middle of shearing. But he knew someone who did. “Lucy, what’s on your agenda for today?”
She pouted. “We’re supposed to be studying for mock exams, but I need to practice my audition for the play. Casting is tomorrow afternoon. Only I’ve rehearsed so many times, I have no idea whether I’m getting worse or better.” Her eyes lit up a moment. “Wanna watch?”
“Yes,” he said, and smiled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “If you screen my calls today, I’ll help you practice this evening. Deal?”
“Hell, yeah.” She held out her bawdy manicured hand—this time with glittery gold nails—for his phone. “I can handle the media. I can even write you up a press statement if you like. We learned about them last week in English.”
“Hold fire on the press release,” he said. “Tell the media I have nothing to say and take the name and number of anyone important.”
“Got it, captain.” Lucy saluted him.
He chuckled, trying to forget Ellie, forget the press and focus on the work that needed to be done. With not long until farmers from all around came to inspect his stock, he had plenty to organize.
“You’re a champ,” he told Lucy. “And I reckon you’ll knock everyone’s socks off at auditions.”
“I hope so,” she answered, before turning and walking back to the main house.
Alone again, Flynn thought of what the journalist had said and wondered if they were hassling Ellie, as well. Yeah, of course they were. The difference was, she probably relished the attention. But in spite of this, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Damn, she’d looked great yesterday. Not as polished as the photos he’d glimpsed over the years, her rich brown hair pulled back almost messily, her complexion paler, her body a little thinner than he liked but still...sexy as all hell. Sexy even in simple jeans and a rugby top. Sexier than any other woman he’d ever met. Just the thought of her had the blood pumping in a southerly direction. His hormones were only raring up now because yesterday they’d been suppressed by shock. He’d known sometime or other he’d bump into Ellie—Hope was a small town—but he hadn’t prepared himself well. He hadn’t thought about what he would say when the moment arose. Small talk should have been the go, to show her he’d moved on, that he didn’t feel anything in her presence and that he definitely didn’t want to rekindle their friendship. Discussion of the weather or the lack of rain would have been real insulting. Instead, he’d stared like some crazed pervert and pleaded, “Why?”
For a split second, he’d regretted the question. Maybe he didn’t want to know if there was an answer beyond the conclusions he’d already come to. Sometimes the truth was best left buried in the past. But he needn’t have worried. She’d looked through him as if he was a ghost—a blurry memory from long ago. Simply stared without the slightest inclination to acknowledge him. He’d felt small—real small—and the best thing had been to get out of there before he let loose on exactly what he thought of her.
But as he reflected on it now, and failed to get Ellie out of his head, the question still lay unanswered. Better left alone or not, he couldn’t rid himself of the urge to know if there’d been more to her departure than met the eye.
* * *
“SO, WHO’S IN charge of this revival?” Ellie asked as she helped Matilda into the wheelchair. It was Tuesday, just after lunch, and the first official meeting of the theatrical society had been scheduled in the hope of attracting some of the high schoolers to the production. They’d decided walking was easier than Matilda hauling her crutches in and out the car and having to hobble about once there. Ellie had practiced her deep breathing in front of the mirror only moments ago, telling herself it was silly to get all worked up over walking down the street.
“Precious Joyce and your old drama teacher, Eileen Ellery.” Matilda sighed. “I was supposed to be the third musketeer, but I’m useless as tits on a bull now. Still, I want to be there for moral support.”
Ellie scoffed. “Just because you can’t walk doesn’t mean you’re not worth your weight in gold. I remember all those productions that went off without a hitch due to your fabulous stage management.”
“Ah, you’re too kind, Els. Still, you’d be more use these days.” She paused and Ellie could guess what was coming next. “Why don’t you come in with me and help us judge the auditions?”
“No, thanks.” Ellie was firm as she opened the front door, pushed Matilda through and locked it behind them. A sucker for punishment she was not. “I’ll go home and start on the awnings.” Before Matilda could press any further, Ellie moved the conversation along. “What play are you putting on? Something traditional or something mod?”
As they strolled down the faded footpath, Ellie kept her head low and Matilda jabbered on happily about the play Joyce had written specifically for Hope Junction. “It’s a love story, in essence, but it captures rural life and the community spirit perfectly. It’s a story of drought and depression and the effect these have on relationships. Of course, there’s a happy ending. One big smooch and the curtains will come down in front of a most contented audience, I reckon.”
“Sounds good,” said Ellie, biting her lip as the Memorial Hall came into view—she wasn’t quite ready for another public humiliation. “Pity I won’t be here to see it.”
“Well...” Matilda started, but the sentence was lost as they both took in the sight ahead. Cameras flashed and two people Ellie instantly recognized as journalists huddled around a white ute. The same ute that had been at the service station that day she’d fainted. Flynn’s ute.
Were they harassing him already? Ellie’s heart raced so fast she could virtually hear it and she nearly stumbled on a crack in the concrete. She wished the crack were big enough to swallow her. If she knew the media, they would have found Flynn’s number and started practically stalking him. Thank God, any contact she had with the press always went through Dwayne.
Ellie and Matilda watched as Flynn stepped out of the car, faded jeans clinging to his buttocks and a scowl on his still incredibly gorgeous face. Not making eye contact with anyone, he strode around and opened the passenger door.
The racing of Ellie’s heart stopped as a beautiful young girl slipped out of the car, a smile as wide as a country street on her tanned face. She looked too young for Flynn, but Ellie still felt a jolt of jealousy shoot through her. Jealousy she had no right to—Flynn could date whoever he wanted, even if she did look juvenile enough to be his daughter.
“Have you talked to Ellie yet?” shouted a short, dumpy journo, overstepping the boundary of personal space as she leaned toward Flynn.
“Do you still love her?” called the other, angling his camera for a better shot.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Flynn’s voice roared over the top of everyone’s.
“Your sister mentioned it when I called yesterday,” said the first one. “Very chatty she was.”
The gorgeous girl at Flynn’s side hung her head and had the good sense to look sheepish. Lucy?
Ellie must have uttered the name aloud for Matilda nodded and said, “Yes, she’s grown up into a lovely girl. But a bit scatty apparently, can’t make up her mind what she wants to do with her life.”
“She can only be seventeen,” replied Ellie, recalling the seven-year-old with curly, golden pigtails who’d been like the little sister she’d always longed for. Leaving Flynn had been bad enough, but losing his sister and parents, too—it had been like losing a whole family. “She’s got plenty of time for serious decisions.”
“That’s if she lives to see tomorrow,” snorted Matilda.
Flynn had angled the journalists out of earshot and was speaking sternly to Lucy. Ellie couldn’t bear Flynn suffering this invasive attention and Lucy getting into trouble when she was probably tricked into revealing their whereabouts. Neither of them had asked for this. They weren’t the ones with a home on prime-time television. They weren’t the ones who’d run away.
Checking the brakes were secure on the wheelchair, Ellie sucked in a deep breath and marched forward. “I’ll give an interview,” she said, holding up her hands to the two members of the media. They spun around, eyes lighting when they saw her. Immediately the camera flashed. Dwayne would kill her for talking to the press before consulting him, but... “Only if you promise to leave Flynn and his sister out of it.”
As she spoke, Flynn turned to face the group and their eyes met. For a tormenting second she saw something there apart from anger. Was it regret? He quickly tugged the brim of his Akubra down to cover his eyes and whispered something to Lucy. Ellie could see the teenager was close to tears, but she nodded and ran into the hall.
“Don’t contact me again,” called Flynn as he headed back to his ute. Ellie wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to the journalists or her. Probably both. The ute started and its engine revved. Flynn did a three-point turn and sped off in the direction of his farm, leaving nothing but a blur of red dust.
Ellie addressed the eager journalists. “I’m going to take my godmother into the hall and then I’ll be back.”
“We’ll be waiting,” replied the woman.
I’ll bet.
“You want me to stay with you?” asked Matilda as Ellie took hold of the wheelchair once again.
“Nope, you go inside and get everyone focused on the auditions instead of on Flynn and me. This is embarrassing.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Matilda firmly.
Ellie shrugged. “They’re just doing their job. If I speak to them, hopefully they’ll go away, or at least leave Flynn alone.” For a moment she wondered if Dwayne had been right. Maybe she should have stayed in Sydney and simply ensured Matilda had competent hired help.
“Vultures,” Matilda spit as Ellie wheeled her past the journalists. They jumped back as if they’d been slapped.
As they entered the hall, Ellie was all too aware that the conversation dimmed. Some people stared while others looked pointedly away. She didn’t know which was worse. She pushed Matilda in the direction of Mrs. Ellery, who was holding a clipboard and waving one arm as she chatted to a couple of people near the stage.
Mrs. Ellery’s eyes lit up when they caught sight of Ellie. “Elenora!” She thrust the clipboard on the woman next to her and held out her arms. “My star pupil. Have you come to join the group?”
Ellie allowed a quick hug, although she couldn’t relax in the other woman’s embrace. Nothing about being in this town felt right anymore. She couldn’t forget that Eileen’s opinion of her was the minority one. “No,” she answered, extracting herself. “I’ve got some...um...things I need to attend to. Can I leave Matilda in your hands?”
“Of course, my dear,” Mrs. Ellery gushed. “We’re so glad you brought Mat along. The group wouldn’t be the same without her.”
As Mrs. Ellery stooped to consult Matilda about the program for the day, Ellie slipped back outside. It was too much to hope the journalists had grown bored and left. Sure enough, they were waiting to pounce the second she exited the building. Ellie made a silent vow to keep control and make sure she led the interview. She addressed the two as one. “Let’s go down to the park and talk. I haven’t got long.”
As they trotted down the road, the short and stumpy woman tried to make friends with Ellie, chatting about her character on Lake Street and how devastated she’d been to hear Stella was taking a break.
“You will be back, though, won’t you?” asked the journo-fan. “After your godmother has recovered, that is?”
“The interview will start at the park,” answered Ellie.
That shut her up. She knew she sounded frosty, but right now Ellie couldn’t care less. Her mind was like a DVD frozen on the one scene, unable to move on. All she saw was Flynn’s face for that brief moment he’d acknowledged her. Stupidly, for that minute moment in time, she’d forgotten their lives had moved on, forgotten she no longer had the right to run up to Flynn and fall into his arms. Her chest throbbed at the thought.
The three walked in silence, attracting the odd stare as a car slowed down to see if it really was Ellie Hughes returned. Country folk loved their gossip, and there was a particular validation from seeing certain things with your own eyes.
When they reached Apex Park, Ellie knew she couldn’t put the journalists off any longer. She felt uncomfortable with the subject matter, guilty for not running this past Dwayne first. Bar that one journalist aeons ago, no one had ever asked her about Flynn. She had no rote answers for this.
Ellie sat down on one side of a picnic table and waited for the two to sit. “Okay, this is how it’s going to work. I agree to answer three questions. You choose them carefully and promise that if I talk to you, you’ll stop bothering Flynn Quartermaine.”
“So, you do still care?” The Lake Street fan grinned as if she’d just won a Walkley Award.
Ellie looked at the woman. “Is that your first question?”
“Yes.”
“Of course I care.” Ellie swallowed but it didn’t clear the dry feeling in her throat. “Flynn Quartermaine was a huge part of my life. I came to Hope Junction a broken teenager. I was a mess, but Flynn and Matilda, my godmother, saw past the damage to what was inside. They helped me heal. Although Flynn and I didn’t work out, he’ll always hold a special place in my heart.”
“If he meant so much, why did you leave him standing at the altar?” asked the second reporter.
“Ever heard of cold feet?” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I was nineteen. I was in love but I was scared. I believe I do is forever and, to be honest—” she hesitated, thinking through the ramifications of her words “—I wasn’t sure I could spend my life in a small town indefinitely. I wanted to explore. I wanted to see the world.”
It was a blatant lie, but it was what everyone already believed and, therefore, convenient. The truth was far more distressing, something she couldn’t let herself think about in front of these gossip-hungry strangers.
“How did Flynn cope after you left?”
Both reporters were scribbling her words in their notebooks. They were just as Matilda had accused—vultures. They’d love to hear the truth about Flynn and cast her as the villain. She knew how the media worked. Australia had loved her for far too long, and any journalist would be stoked to write the story that brought the star down. Not to mention that rural Australia was all the rage at the moment. Farmer Wants a Wife had glamorized the Aussie men and women who worked the land in circumstances of drought, flood and other unkind conditions. The country would be extremely sympathetic to Flynn’s story. A zillion women would write to him offering to mend his broken heart.
“He coped fine, as far as I know,” replied Ellie, lifting her chin and trying not to give away any kind of emotion. Another lie.
There was a silence—they expected more. Ellie kept her mouth shut, looking from one reporter to the other. She couldn’t help feeling a tad victorious.
“I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here. This story was over long ago. Flynn won’t talk to you, and neither will the residents of Hope. I’ve returned simply to look after my godmother, who fell a week ago, spraining one ankle and breaking the other. She’ll be well again soon and I’ll be back on the set of Lake Street. And I think that’s our questions done.”
The journos shook their heads at Ellie’s saccharine smile, shoving their notebooks into their bags. “Thanks for your time,” offered the one who loved Lake Street. “Give your godmother our best wishes.”
Ellie politely shook their hands. They walked back to the hall and she watched to make sure the reporters took the road out of town and not the one to Flynn’s place. Then she made her way to Matilda’s to collect the Premier. The interview had gone much better than she’d expected, but talking to the journos had made her realize something. It was time she faced her fears.
If she were to stay in Hope Junction any longer, she needed to face her guilt and speak to Flynn.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_0d62be8b-ec68-5f25-a126-0792769a92d3)
A BITTER FLYNN stripped down to his undies and plunged into the dam. Today was uncharacteristically warm for August—and especially compared to the weekend—but it wouldn’t have made a difference if it were freezing. He needed to let off steam, to exert energy—and fast. The altercation with the journalists and seeing Ellie again had put him in a bad mood. Bad moods he didn’t like. He generally saw the positives in a situation when everyone else was full of woe—at least nowadays—but right now the positives could take a hike.
“Argh!” He let out a piercing roar as he came up for air. Why? How? How could he let Ellie take hold of him again like this? He’d promised Lucy he’d be there to see her audition, and instead he’d stormed off in a rage.
He swam a couple of laps, trying to sort his churning thoughts into some kind of order. But it didn’t work. The morning’s fiasco played over and over and over again in his throbbing head. Whether he left his eyes open or shut them tight all he saw was Ellie. Gorgeous and confident as she’d walked toward the journalists and taken control of the situation.
Even now, as he turned to swim another lap, there she was, standing on the edge of the dam, looking utterly delectable in tight jeans and that mysteriously irresistible rugby sweater. Ignoring the mirage, he dived back under and charged the other way, and then back again. Through the water, he thought he saw a golden Premier sitting on the dirt just behind the image of Ellie. He emerged and blinked, hoping she and the car would disappear. That his imagination would stop playing nasty tricks. Instead, Ellie was clearer than ever as she lifted a hand and waved tentatively at him.
She’s real!
Her top lifted slightly as she waved and he copped a glimpse of a toned, tanned, terrific stomach. The desire packed a punch and he almost went under.
“Are you okay?” she called out.
Flynn struggled back above the water and saw Ellie running toward him, her deep chocolate hair blowing behind her in the wind. He couldn’t believe she still knew where to find him. Dismissing that thought, Flynn swam to the side and scrambled out, yanking on his jeans over wet skin and tense muscle.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. She was kind enough to avert her gaze while he dressed, but Ellie finding him seminaked wasn’t the problem. It was her being here full stop. Smoothing his T-shirt over his wet chest, he stared at her and shivered. “Well?”
“I thought it was time we talked.” Her voice wavered, and Flynn swore he saw tears welling in her eyes. Eyes almost the same brown as her hair. Her hands were behind her back, making him wonder if she’d crossed her fingers. He remembered holding those hands...could still recall how soft they were.
Stop!
Determined not to let the memories get to him, he let out a derisive snort. “You’re ten years too late. Besides, I’m busy.”
“Five minutes, Flynn. Please?” The way she looked at him stalled his anger for a brief second. She took her chance. “I know I don’t deserve any time at all, that the way I left was unforgivable, but I need you to know it wasn’t because of you.”
“The old it’s-not-you-it’s-me, hey?” Flynn’s voice seeped disbelief as he bent to pull on his boots. She was once the best friend he’d ever had, and now he didn’t know her at all. “Is this supposed to make me feel better or just absolve you?”
“Both,” she replied honestly. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Flynn. There’s nothing I regret more in the world. I was totally messed up back then, and I truly didn’t want to bring you down with me. I thought by leaving I was doing you a favor.”
Flynn didn’t know which part of that to respond to. He took a moment. “What do you mean messed up? I thought you were happy. I thought we were happy.”
It was true, Flynn had never been happier than in those years he’d spent with Ellie. It was a high he’d never managed to reach since. She’d ruined him for anyone else.
“We were happy.” She bit her lip and her eyes brimmed with more tears. “But...you remember how I went to Perth to see my mother?”
He frowned, thinking back. “Yes. I was meant to go with you.”
She sniffed. “I wish you had.”
“Why?” Without thinking he gestured to a shady spot underneath a nearby tree. Despite everything, he could feel himself mellowing toward her. Although she was older and more refined, there was something about her that he still recognized. Something about her he still liked. Against his better judgment, he wanted to spend a little time with her.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/rachael-johns/jilted-39788577/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Rachael Johns
She’d left him at the altar, but her heart was always his…After more than ten years away, Australian soap opera star Ellie Hughes returns to the small town of Hope Junction, determined to fly under the radar while caring for her injured godmother, Matilda.But word spreads fast in the tight-knit community. It isn’t long before the people of Hope Junction are gossiping about the real reason for Ellie’s visit and why she broke the heart of golden boy Flynn Quartermaine all those years ago.Soon Ellie and Flynn are thrown back together, forced to deal with the unresolved emotions between them. Because Ellie is not the only one with secrets. Flynn has his own demons to battle, and Matilda is hiding something from her much-loved goddaughter.When all is uncovered, can the ill-fated lovers overcome the wounds of their past? Or is Flynn destined to be jilted again?
She’d left him at the altar, but her heart was always his…
After more than ten years away, Australian soap opera star Ellie Hughes returns to the small town of Hope Junction, determined to fly under the radar while caring for her injured godmother, Matilda.
But word spreads fast in the tight-knit community. It isn’t long before the people of Hope Junction are gossiping about the real reason for Ellie’s visit and why she broke the heart of golden boy Flynn Quartermaine all those years ago.
Soon Ellie and Flynn are thrown back together, forced to deal with the unresolved emotions between them. Because Ellie is not the only one with secrets. Flynn has his own demons to battle, and Matilda is hiding something from her much-loved goddaughter.
When all is uncovered, can the ill-fated lovers overcome the wounds of their past? Or is Flynn destined to be jilted again?
Jilted
Rachael Johns
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Granny and (in memory of) Grandpa—
a real-life heroine and hero!
Acknowledgments (#ulink_538b7088-ab19-5210-b89a-93f4f13e1497)
My hugest thanks to Haylee Kerans and the team at Harlequin Australia for seeing something special in Jilted and deciding to publish it—you made my dream into a reality. And also to Aden Rolfe, editor extraordinaire, who seems to know what I mean and how to say it even better than I do.
To all my writing buddies who are not only colleagues but also good friends. The following people especially, who read and critiqued Jilted way before it was polished: Bec Sampson, Cathryn Hein, Jackie Ashenden, Melissa Smith and Joanne Dannon.
To non-writing but equally awesome friends Peta Sattler and Penny Bruce—you both rock. Thanks for loving Jilted too.
This book has already been published in Australia, but I owe its publication in the United States partly to fabulous book reviewer Christi Snow from Smitten with Reading who read and reviewed Jilted when it first came out and then emailed the team at Harlequin US to say her fellow Americans had to have the chance to read it. Thank you, Christi, for going above and beyond the role of a book reviewer. I will be forever grateful.
Also to my agent, Helen Breitweiser, who came on board after receiving Jilted at an Australian Romance Writers conference. Helen read the manuscript on the plane home to America and cried so much the flight attendant asked if she was okay. Ever since then she’s been in my corner, and I thank her immensely for that.
And lastly, thanks to my long-suffering family: to Mum, Craig and the boylets! You gave me the precious gift of time...time to write, time to edit, time to dream. Without your support, my writing would not be possible and I love you for it.
Glossary of Terms (#ulink_6f75814d-ad2f-5b74-8256-6fef596fe26a)
Arvo—Slang for afternoon.
CWA—Acronym for Country Women’s Association; a group of rural women who get together to improve life for women, children and families in rural Australia. Known for their fabulous baking and craft skills.
Dag—A teasing term for someone who is not cool; also the term used for the bits of manure that stick to the long wool around a sheep’s bottom.
Dill—Slang for idiot.
Dizzy-whizzy—When an adult spins a child around by their arms.
Larrikin—The life of the party; someone who is always having fun, a bit rowdy. Usually a young person.
Metho—Shortened term for menthylated spirits; a cleaning product.
P-plates—Holders of a provisional driver’s license (driver’s permit) must display small squares with a P on their windshields and back windows to identify them as new drivers.
Ridgy-didge—Slang for something genuine, the real deal.
Road-train—Semi-trailer truck with two or three trailers.
TAB—Acronym for Totalizator Agency Board; a Betting Shop.
Ute—Shortened version of utility vehicle used by farmers; similar to a pickup truck.
Yabby—Small freshwater crayfish, sometimes found in dams on farms.
Contents
Cover (#ud4aae716-a81f-5afd-ab5a-5b2cbd8ee8f2)
Back Cover Text (#ub393785d-3d6c-5e97-aac3-387033847f59)
Title Page (#u969d8e4c-370f-57e1-8067-18e17599f5a0)
Dedication (#ubeeec32b-1404-5e4c-90f9-81b5bb3976e0)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_8f9c9910-53a0-5105-832a-8f34f695fdc2)
Glossary (#ulink_9b014cfa-9922-5429-b8f8-1b660e51c28a)
LETTERS (#ude233d3b-2014-5ca4-83a9-4babc45646a9)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8b7e642e-4b9f-5784-b238-b581dd7192a8)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_77fd33d4-fd8a-5a66-b7ec-b319eaea7258)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_dc9d1f65-1924-5687-85ed-60c4b806cb70)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c5df6812-4ac9-5ee7-89f5-2b0f78058f88)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_48233a34-db67-51da-87cb-645f7314f659)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_1367ed63-2fa0-5bb3-9b93-773e8df40b14)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_d40670d9-ccda-553c-b423-72b3906a8923)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
The Co-op, Hope Junction,
Western Australia—Saturday, 9:30 a.m.
Today. It’s true. Well, I don’t know, I guess she’ll be taking the bus from Perth. Although being a celebrity and all, maybe she’s chartered her own jet. She has got a nerve, I couldn’t agree more.
Oh, hi, Mrs. Willet. Just the apples this morning? Yes, I was just chatting about it with Linda. I’m surprised the news isn’t front page of today’s West, I thought she would have rated higher than the premier opening a regional hospital. You’re absolutely right, it’s because it’s here. Small town, back-of-beyond. Oh jeez, but if they knew the truth, if they only knew what she left behind. She was always a bit of a snob at school, none of us could believe it when they started going out. And then when, well, you know...
Me? I would have sold my soul to marry him. We all would’ve. Phwoar...speak of the gorgeous devil.
About Coffee Time, Hope Junction,
Western Australia—Saturday, 9:45 a.m.
The usual, thanks, Sherry, but make it extra strong today. My nerves need it. Oh, you haven’t heard? A jet plane apparently. Chartered. You know, I’m not one to listen to gossip but she’s bringing her own pilot. A toyboy, barely over twenty but buff as they come. Or so I’m told. You ask me, he’d have to be pretty damn alluring to hold a candle to our Flynn. Most Saturdays, you say? Well, he’ll no doubt be a little flustered this morning. Maybe give him a free slice of your fabulous chocolate cake, and your ear. You’re still single, aren’t you, dear?
Outside the post office, Hope Junction,
Western Australia—Saturday, 10:00 a.m.
Sorry, can’t stop to chat, I have to get back to the café. I’m expecting Flynn—he grabs the paper at the Co-op and then comes for a late breakfast. A lot of the footballers do, I feed them up good before the game. Do you think he’ll still come? You’re right, he might be keeping a low profile. Maybe won’t even play today... He’s not one to dwell on the past but Mom always says that’s a front. Men, they’re not as strong as us, you know, they don’t get over that sort of knock easily. I bet he still thinks about her. Hard not to when her smug face is on the telly every night. Ouch, what’d ya do that for?
Oh, hi, Flynn.
Hairlicious, Hope Junction,
Western Australia—Saturday, 10:10 a.m.
Sure, I heard about it yesterday, people tell hairdressers things, you know. You’d be amazed; sometimes it’s a real chore. Yeah, I did her hair once. Between you and me, it’s quite thin and flyaway. They must have good hairdressers and makeup artists at Channel Nine. Me neither, I always thought she was a bit skinny, anorexic even. Too worried about her image, I suppose.
She’ll not have it easy around here, though. There’s not a person within two hundred kilometers who doesn’t like Flynn. You are so right, there’s probably not a girl anywhere who wouldn’t like him. And she won’t do well with the blokes, either. They’re not as shallow as those city guys. Just because her legs never end and you could wrap your fingers round her waist, won’t mean a thing to them. They’ll not go near her. Boys from the bush look out for their mates.
What’s that, Emma? Is he really? Ten-fifteen. Well, well, well...
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_899c5645-94bf-541c-9b82-388b1a8dfa9c)
WHEN FLYNN QUARTERMAINE drove into town, he couldn’t get a newspaper or pick up his mail without being stopped by someone or other on the main street. He’d lived in the small farming community of Hope Junction—southeast of Perth and affectionately known to locals as Hope—every one of his twenty-nine years. He knew everyone and they knew him. And he was famous. Aside from his legendary streak across the oval on Grand Final day ten years ago, he was the last baby born in the local hospital, having just slipped out before the maternity ward was closed and everyone had to travel farther afield.
What was most embarrassing to Flynn was that people still talked about this. Whenever someone new came to town, or a long-lost relative was passing through, the first thing the introducer would say was, “Meet Flynn, he was the last baby born in our hospital.” Nothing about the fact he ran one of the biggest farms in the district. Nothing about almost doubling his family’s income by introducing South African Meat Merinos (or SAMMs for short) to their flock. Nothing about how other local farmers followed suit. But then, perhaps he should be grateful people didn’t mention other things.
There were some things no guy liked to be reminded about.
Today, however, there wasn’t a single mention of babies. And instead of flocking when they saw him coming, people quickly turned away. It was odd. Flynn picked up some supplies for his mother and drove back out to the family property, keen to return and get onto the football oval, run around with his mates and shake this sense of unease.
The feeling started to dissipate as soon as he turned his ute into Black Stump—the 5,000-acre property that had been in his family for four generations. As corny as it might sound, he loved the place. He’d been raised on the massive homestead, with board games round the fire in winter and fun in the dams—when they had water—in summer. He belonged to this land and it had a way of calming him like no person ever could. Well, not anymore.
But the moment he walked through his mom’s kitchen door, the strangeness returned. His heart kicked up a notch and he knew he hadn’t been imagining the weirdness in town. In fact, he sensed Saturday was about to get a lot more than strange.
Flynn’s grandmother sat at the family’s big oak table knitting another tea cozy to be sold at the CWA craft stall. Karina, his mother, hovered at the stove stirring something that smelled a lot like her famous crisis-time minestrone. It was her contribution whenever the townsfolk got together to provide for volunteers in an emergency. And his teenage sister, Lucy, had her iPod around her neck and one foot on the table, painting her toenails a ghastly shade of purple, which no doubt had some ridiculous name like Flashbulb Fuchsia. They were deep in conversation. Or had been, anyway. He could tell, because the moment he stepped inside, the room went eerily silent and they all feigned over-the-top attention to their various tasks. Exactly like every shop he’d stepped into that morning. What the hell was going on?
Flynn stomped to the fridge, retrieved an ice-cold can of Coke, cracked it open and turned to face them all.
“Okay. Out with it. Have I grown an extra head or what?” He ran a hand through his blond, freshly cut hair. Even Emma, his hairdresser, had been strangely quiet. She hadn’t tried to con him into enhancing his tips as she usually did.
“No need for sarcasm, love.”
He tossed a reproachful glare at his mom and, for one terrible second, wondered if someone had come good on their promise to enter him in Australia’s much-loved Farmer Wants a Wife show. Friends and family had been threatening for years: You’re almost thirty, Flynn. As if being thirty meant he should suddenly hang up his single cap and find himself a wife, a four-wheel drive and a white picket fence.
He wouldn’t do it, though. No matter how good the PR would be for the town, there was no way in hell he was pimping himself in such a manner. Unlike some people he knew, he didn’t see the appeal of publicity and bright lights.
Still eyeing him warily, Karina dumped the wooden spoon in the pot, wiped her hands on her apron and sighed. “Well, I suppose if anyone has to tell you, it might as well be me. Sit down, Flynn.”
Sit down? He looked long and hard at the three women scattered around the traditional farm kitchen. People only ever said sit down when it was bad news. When someone had been killed or given months to live. But they were all breathing—even Granny, who’d just celebrated eighty years, was healthy and vibrant—and he’d already lost his dad. So what could be so terrible? So dramatic? Who could it be?
Granny stood and beckoned a long, knobbly finger at his sister. “Come on, Lu, you can help me box my tea cozies.”
“No, thanks,” Lucy said. “I’ll help later, Gran, but I wouldn’t miss this for an-y-thing.”
“Scoot, Luce,” shot his mom without breaking his gaze.
Lucy groaned, moaned and did her usual teenage eye roll, but she eventually vacated the room, followed by their grandmother.
“Must be something terrible,” mumbled Flynn, collapsing onto a chair. When his mom pulled her stool close and scooped up his hand, his heart went into overdrive. He ripped his hand back, feeling momentarily guilty as hurt flashed across Karina’s eyes. But all such emotions were lost when she finally spoke.
“Ellie’s coming back.”
Flynn opened his mouth but no sound came out. He sat still for a moment, the words echoing in his head.
Then, “Fuck!” He shot out of his chair and stormed onto the veranda.
Ten years! Ten years since she’d left him standing at the altar in a mixture of shock, hurt and embarrassment, questioning why. He thought he’d pulled through, dealt with all those feelings, moved on. But he couldn’t have, not the way his eyes were prickling and his heart was pounding.
He spun around, not knowing what to do, before he thumped the veranda post and headed back into the kitchen. Needing to keep his hands busy, he reached for his Coke, but he misjudged and his fingers hit the side of the can, toppling it over.
“Leave it,” his mom said. Her lips were pursed and he could tell she was a hairbreadth from tears herself. “It’ll be okay.”
“No use crying over spilt Coke,” he said, trying to make a joke. But his tone wasn’t funny and Karina didn’t laugh. He knew she was terrified that Ellie’s return would send him back to the way he’d been before. She’d already lost her husband. She didn’t need to lose her son.
As much as he wanted to retreat to his own space—to forget about the afternoon’s game and head to the dam at the far end of their property—he couldn’t. He had to maintain the facade for his mom. For the town. He had to pretend he didn’t care, pretend the thought of running into Ellie didn’t send him into a cold sweat.
It would be easier, he reflected, if he’d found out she’d died. At least that way he’d come to terms with the grief. Surely. Things would be completely different. He wouldn’t have to hide photos of her in a box at the back of his wardrobe. People would talk about her fondly, sharing memories, rather than making sure they never uttered her name in his presence. He knew they talked; it’s what people in small communities did best. But they never talked about her to him. The town protected him. If people pitied him, he didn’t know, but around here, there wasn’t any sign that Ellie Hughes had ever existed. It was as if the moment she’d walked out of his life, she’d vacated the planet. In the newsagent, he never saw her face in TV Week or on the cover of Women’s Weekly. But if he went further afield, to Perth or Bunbury, she was constantly in the limelight. Australia adored her. In a way, that hurt Flynn, but it was nothing on the sadness she’d left inside him. The black hole that no attempts at relationships, no casual sex, no nothing, had ever been able to fill.
Working hard to keep his breathing steady, he cleaned up the Coke and recalled some gossip he’d heard at the hairdresser. He might not be able to take his mind off Ellie, but he’d do his damn best to stop his mom thinking about her.
“Some townies are reviving the theatrical society.” He ditched the wet tea towel in the sink and leaned back against the table.
“So I heard. Good news travels fast.” Karina gestured to the row of tiny nail polish bottles on the table. “Lucy’s planning on auditioning. For some reason, she thinks the color of her nails will make all the difference. And of course, she has to test them all first.”
Flynn frowned. “You’re not going to let her, are you? Year twelve is huge, she should be concentrating on her studies.”
Karina raised her eyebrows and smirked. “When did you become so old and stuck in the mud?”
“Don’t forget the wise bit.”
“Whatever,” Karina said, waving a hand in front of her face, mimicking her daughter in both language and action. “Lucy won’t listen to me. She’ll only sulk and pout and ignore her exams altogether if I don’t let her get in on this. Besides, it’s just a fad. She wanted to start a cheerleading troupe for the Hurricanes last term, remember?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
But his gut felt heavy at the thought of his little sister acting. No matter, the distraction seemed to have worked. His mom was once again stirring her soup with an attentive look upon her face.
Flynn took the chance to slip out the back.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_88b6d8ae-22a0-5da8-acc1-e66426cc786c)
AS THE TRANSWA bus turned into Hope Junction, Ellie tugged the rim of her sports cap down, hoping, with the help of her dark sunnies, that it would cover much of her face. Wearing bland jeans and a man’s flannelette shirt, and with her mousy, chocolate-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, she prayed that no one would recognize Stella Williams—one of Australia’s favorite television characters—at least for now. She just wanted the chance to get to Matilda without attention, without anyone confronting her and telling her, in what would no doubt be colorful language, exactly what they thought of her.
But she knew it was only a short-term fix. There were no secrets in the entertainment industry, and even fewer in small towns. Everyone would be on high alert, awaiting her arrival. Next week’s glossies would have the news of her sudden departure from the set, with some happy to speculate on the reason while others dug deeper for the truth. Either way, Ellie’s return to Hope wouldn’t remain a secret for long.
She imagined most people in her situation would be smiling, reminiscing fondly, eager to start adding to their memories. She had fond recollections, too, if she looked back far enough, but they’d all been railroaded by her most painful memory. The memory of making the biggest mistake of her life and, as a result, having to leave the only place she’d ever really called home.
But no one knew the real reason she’d left, not even Matilda. They just thought she was a selfish bimbo, a girl who hadn’t fallen far from her parents’ tree and couldn’t hack commitment any more than she could country life. That hurt, but she’d rather that than the truth.
“Hope Junction,” called the driver.
She dared to look up slightly, stealing a quick peek out the window to see if anything had changed. The welcome sign still read Population 1,199, although there’d been at least 1,500 residents when she’d lived here. The Shell servo still had a 1970s feel and the garden center on the corner looked more run-down than ever. The only sign of progress was a new café next to Apex Park—with “About Coffee Time” plastered in big letters across the top of the building.
For a split second, Ellie smiled wistfully, recalling weekends spent in the park, kissing Flynn under the slide, kissing Flynn on the picnic table, kissing Flynn by the bridge, kissing Flynn behind the toilet block. No doubt today’s teens would be peeved with the location of the new café and being forced to find alternative premises for canoodling.
“Aren’t you getting off here, miss?”
The driver’s question broke her reverie. She turned her head slightly. Yep, he was definitely talking to her, but with neither bitterness nor admiration in his voice. He obviously hadn’t a clue who she was. Perhaps her tomboy disguise would work after all. Perhaps she’d be able to walk the short kilometer to Matilda’s house, dump her things and get to the hospital without causing much of a stir.
If she were honest with herself, it wasn’t running into locals that most scared her. It was just the one local, the resident who, despite still being a constant player in her thoughts, she was absolutely petrified to see. How could she ever face him after what had happened? If he ever deigned to speak to her again, to hear her out—and she wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t—what could she possibly say? Sorry wouldn’t even begin to cut it.
Not taking any chances, Ellie leaped off the bus, swiped her rucksack and suitcase from the hold and, with eyes trained firmly on the cracked pavement, began jogging toward Matilda’s cottage. Although it was longer, she took the back way, past the football oval and the swimming pool, avoiding the main street. Did Flynn still play football? She glanced at her watch, knowing if she hung around a couple more hours—and if the Hurricanes were playing a home game—she’d find out. A shiver shot through her at the thought and she picked up her pace, all the more eager to get to her destination.
In all the years Ellie had been in Sydney, Matilda had visited faithfully every Christmas. And although Ellie was always invited to loads of high-society parties, there was no one she’d rather spend the holidays with than her warm, fun-loving godmother. Matilda had never once questioned Ellie’s decision to leave Hope. She never mentioned Flynn, and although Ellie had been desperate on a zillion occasions to ask how he was doing, she’d always been too scared to inquire.
Flynn was always the best-looking guy at school, in the town—hell, the world wouldn’t have been an overstatement. Captain of the footy team, tall, strong but still a bit lanky, tanned to perfection. He had a grin that made you feel all warm and liquidy whenever he flashed it your way. It’d be unrealistic—stupid—to think that his heart had stayed true to her. Why would it? Lord knows there’d been enough girls waiting on the sidelines. He’d probably moved on quickly and found someone else, married someone else, maybe even had babies with someone else. Happy, settled down, in love. That would be bad, really bad. Ellie couldn’t bear to think about it, much less to know, and had avoided finding out for a decade. Flynn Stuart Quartermaine was taboo. Someone Matilda never mentioned and someone Ellie never searched for. But now, now she’d have no choice. Now she’d have to face what he’d become. Whoever that was. Whoever it was with. She tried to console herself. Maybe he’d left town?
For a moment hope sparred with terror in her heart, but then reality knocked. Flynn would never leave Hope. This area was in his blood, part of who he was. Flynn wouldn’t be Flynn without his farm and country football.
Ellie came to a stop, realizing that she’d made it to the cottage without running into trouble. She couldn’t help but smile at this small success. At the end of an avenue off the main street, it was just as she remembered. Only Matilda could get away with living in a quirky, bright purple house, complete with red roof and yellow awnings. Or rather, half-repainted yellow awnings. She closed her eyes for a second, cringing as she imagined the sixty-nine-year-old up there on a ladder doing the painting herself.
“Why must you do such ridiculous things?” Ellie said aloud, looking at the house. If Mat wanted to court danger, she should go bungee jumping or something on one of her holidays. As a respected and once well-known travel writer, money couldn’t be an issue for her. And even if it were, Ellie would have paid for the whole damn house to be painted, renovated and decked out in brand-new furniture. Anything to prevent her godmother from taking such a fall. And from that height, she was lucky not to have done much worse than a broken ankle.
Ellie shuddered. If Matilda hadn’t injured herself, she wouldn’t be here. Life could change direction in an instant; every little decision had the power to affect your existence in unfathomable ways. And other people’s. Sometimes Ellie thought it a miracle people had the courage to get out of bed in the mornings.
Enough philosophizing, she told herself. She had keys to find, cars to start, crazy old women to collect and mollycoddle. Because, by golly, Matilda would be mollycoddled. Her godmother never sat still long enough for Ellie to do anything much special for her, to repay her for all she’d done, but now she wouldn’t have a choice. Ellie would do everything she could to make Matilda feel loved. She planned on being so focused and dedicated to her role as carer that she wouldn’t have time to think or stress about what the locals were saying behind her back.
Although the plastic frog had jumped to the other side of the old wooden veranda, the key was still there, tucked inside, just as Ellie suspected. She stood on the hot-pink welcome mat where she’d first landed as a confused and heartbroken fifteen-year-old, then let herself in, smiling at the bombardment of familiar smells. Matilda had been in hospital for two days now, but this place was so infused with aromatherapy essences that Ellie reckoned it would smell like a flower shop even if she’d been gone a year.
Dumping her bags in the living room, Ellie quickly tidied the kitchen table, wanting the house to be in order for Matilda’s return. Her thoughts turned to dinner and what from her limited repertoire she might prepare, but when she opened the fridge, and then the pantry, dismay set in. Both empty, bar half a packet of sugar, two tins of baked beans, some old crackers and Moroccan mint tea bags. What on earth did Mat live on? Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: Ellie would have to go shopping. Deep down she’d known she couldn’t hole up in the cottage for the duration of her stay, but it had been a lovely fantasy. Still, it was just after midday. Mat would have eaten lunch already and Ellie couldn’t wait to see her.
She found the car keys in the leaf-shaped bowl in the hall and was about to leave when she decided on one final touch. Racking her brain, trying to recall what she’d learned about essences and oils while living in this house, Ellie remembered something about lemon and ylang-ylang being good for convalescing. Once a few drops were in two of Mat’s many burners and the candles lit, she smiled and left the cottage.
She started the vintage Holden Premier and turned toward the hospital. Once out on the road, however, the calm instilled in her at the cottage quickly dispersed. Whatever way she looked at it, she’d have to deal with someone at the hospital—nurses, doctors, orderlies, who knows? More nervous than she ever was in front of the camera, she chomped down hard on her lower lip, hoping the pain would distract from the worry. She knew that once she saw Matilda and had been enveloped in one of her magical hugs she could face anything. No one would dare to say a word to her in her godmother’s presence. All she had to do was get there. Because, despite what the town thought of Ellie, Mat was a well-respected resident. She was almost a local dignitary due to all the books she’d published, not to mention the fact she did so much charity work. She was held in such esteem that most overlooked her slightly wacky way of living and dressing, while others wholeheartedly embraced her quirkiness.
Sucking air into her lungs, Ellie found a parking space right outside the entrance and gave herself a final pep talk.
“Think of it as a test. If you survive this, the town will be a piece of cake.”
Inside the small, one-ward hospital, she found the front desk unmanned. A sign informed her that the receptionist was on lunch and all inquiries were to be directed to the nurses’ desk. One hurdle down.
Ellie headed along the familiar corridor. She’d been here many a time in her teens when Flynn had broken limbs or dislocated things on the football field. Nothing had changed. She kind of hoped there’d be another sign on the nurses’ desk directing her back to reception—then she’d simply hunt Mat down on her own.
She had no such luck. Behind the desk stood a glamorous nurse in a short medical ensemble that looked more appropriate for a fancy dress party than the requirements of the job.
The nurse looked up as Ellie padded toward her. She flicked a long, blond ponytail over one shoulder and her perfect green irises glistened as if she were a pirate laying eyes on a monumental treasure.
“Well. Well. Well.” She looked slowly up and down as if assessing Ellie’s less-than-fashionable attire. “If it isn’t Elenora. The runaway bride returns.”
Pain speared Ellie’s chest. At the nurse’s reference to one of the most regrettable moments of her life, she summoned all she’d learned in front of the camera and tried for an air of polite indifference.
“Lauren.” Ellie smiled tightly, quaking inside. At the same time, she clocked the nurse’s ring finger, her heart relaxing at the absence of any marital bling. Lauren Simpson had always had her sights on Flynn. “I’m here to collect Matilda. Can you tell me her room number, please?”
Lauren scoffed. “This isn’t the big smoke, princess. We don’t have hundreds of rooms to choose from. She’s the second door on the left. I’ll get her discharge papers ready.”
“Thank you.” As Ellie turned, she screwed up her face in disbelief. Some things never changed. On the other hand, never would she have imagined Lauren becoming a nurse. But all thoughts of her archenemy left as she came to Matilda’s door, which was slightly ajar. The room was quiet and dimly lit, the antithesis of its occupant. She peered in, noting two foot-shaped lumps at the end of the bed.
“Mat?” she called, knocking at the same time.
There was slight movement under the covers and then a loud shriek. “Is that you, girl? Jeez, Els, you don’t have to knock. Get yourself in here quick smart.”
Grinning, Ellie pushed the door but almost stumbled as she caught sight of her godmother. She tried to hide the shock on her face. Mat looked ghastly. Usually a towering, well-built woman, she now seemed frail and tiny in this hospital bed. Her face was sallow, and gray bags drooped under her big brown eyes despite the enforced rest.
“What are you gawping at, sweet?” came Matilda’s disapproving voice. “Never seen a sick old woman before? Get over here and give us a cuddle.”
Relaxing, Ellie rushed to the bed and climbed up alongside her old friend. “The only thing sick about you is your sense of humor.” She laughed into Mat’s hair as they wrapped their arms around each other and clung tightly. “Golly, it’s good to see you again.”
They stayed like that for an aeon before Matilda, her voice slightly choked, pulled back, tugged off Ellie’s cap and tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ears. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me. Hysterics won’t get me out of this prison. Which better be why you’re here.”
“Why else?” Ellie shrugged and recognition flashed between them.
Matilda opened her mouth as if about to speak but Lauren swanned into the room.
“Afternoon, Ms. T,” she said with a warmth Ellie had never witnessed in her before. Ever. “Looks like today’s your lucky day.” She turned to Ellie. “Sheila, the other nurse on duty, will be in to help Ms. Thompson get ready. If you can come with me, I’ll run you through her pain relief medication and hire you out a wheelchair.”
No, was what Ellie wanted to say. I’ll just stay right here, while you fetch the chair and tablets. But perhaps she was overreacting, her imagination getting away with her. Although Lauren’s red fingernails were inappropriately long for a nurse, how much damage could she really do?
“Okay,” Ellie said. She leaned over and kissed Matilda on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
They were barely out of Mat’s earshot before Lauren started. “You’ve got some nerve coming back here.”
“Still predictable, I see,” Ellie replied, before she thought better of it. Probably not a good idea to bait the wildcat.
Lauren froze. Her eyes narrowed and her hands moved to her hips. “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”
For a split second Ellie felt as if she were back in high school. “I thought you might have come up with something more original, but no, you said what I’m expecting everyone will say.”
Ellie saw her opponent’s fists bunch. “Whatever. You think you’re so fabulous, don’t you? Well, not in Hope you’re not. Apart from Matilda, no one wants you here. Especially not Flynn.”
Ellie’s rib cage tightened. She didn’t want to talk about Flynn, especially not with Lauren. With false calm, she tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. “I’m only here for Mat.” Damn, even she could hear the crack in her voice. “So if you don’t mind telling me what I need to know about her painkillers and recovery, I’d like to take her home, please.”
“Always about you,” muttered Lauren. She turned and headed back toward the nurses’ station.
Fifteen minutes later and not nearly quickly enough, Ellie and Sheila had Matilda settled as best they could in the front seat of the golden Premier.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” Ellie asked as she reversed the beast out of the parking spot.
Matilda shuffled slightly in her seat. “Don’t worry about me. Did she leave claw marks?”
Ellie summoned a chuckle. Typical Matilda, worrying about everyone else when she needed all her energies for herself.
“You mean Lauren? She didn’t bother me. I just can’t believe she’s a nurse.”
“Stranger things have happened at sea,” Mat surmised, quoting one of her favorite phrases. “Besides, everyone knows she only did it for the cute, wealthy doctors.”
Ellie couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Has she had any luck?”
“None whatsoever!” Matilda roared. “Oh, we’ve had plenty of eligible doctors pass through. All are more than happy to pamper her desires while in town. But much to her dismay, none of them ask her to go with them when they move on.” Matilda paused, then added with a wicked tone, “Perhaps she should have become an actress instead.”
Ellie’s laugh was drier this time. “Trust me, there’s no surefire success there, either.”
On-screen and off, the best love she’d ever had was during her time in Hope Junction. Misfortune had played a hand in the demise of that relationship, and she’d been unlucky in love ever since.
“Here we are,” she announced.
A fact about small-town life: it didn’t take any time at all to get from one place to another, which wasn’t always a good thing. Travel time had its perks— opportunities to ponder, talk, read or just rest. But Matilda’s whole face lit up as she stared delightedly at her cottage.
“Now we just have to work out how to unfold the wheelchair and get you inside.”
An “ugh” escaped Matilda’s lips and the joy on her face softened. She gestured to her plastered limb. “If this is God’s idea of a joke, I’m crossing to the dark side.”
Ellie smiled. She wasn’t sure she believed in God—some days she did, some she didn’t, and some it didn’t seem possible that there wasn’t a divine creator of some kind. More often than not she had her doubts. Matilda’s beliefs weren’t conventional, either.
“Perhaps God is just trying to tell you to slow down, rest a little.”
Matilda aimed her middle finger skyward. “Bollocks to that.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5ddf82a2-b78c-540f-8700-8983d99625cf)
AT THE HAMMERING on his front door, Flynn shook his head and stumbled from the couch. He’d been there for the past couple of hours, staring at a mark on the wall. His stomach groaned, alerting him to the fact it was probably way past lunch.
“Flynn, what are you doing in there?” Lucy’s high-pitched shout shot through his head. “You’d better be ready.”
“What are you talking about?” He opened the door and felt his body tighten at the sight of his little sister. Dressed in black tights, ridiculously high-heeled boots, a long-sleeved T-shirt that looked three sizes too small and a skirt he practically needed a magnifying glass to see, Lucy was doing a fabulous impersonation of a street-side hooker. He couldn’t imagine why his mom was letting her loose like that. Maybe she’d used up all her parenting energies dealing with him in his wayward years.
“Flynn!” She seethed angry air between her teeth and held up her chunky Hope Hurricanes purple-and-orange scarf, proceeding to wave it in his face. “You’re supposed to be driving me into town for the game.” She looked him up and down, her eyes widening as she took in his holey track pants and scruffy sweater. “And you’re supposed to be playing.”
“Damn.” The game had completely slipped his mind. He rubbed his forehead, which had been pulsing with nonstop pain since he’d heard about Ellie. Running up and down the oval, tackling sweaty blokes and kicking out his tension could be just what he needed, but the rest of it... Having to make small talk, knowing that everywhere he looked people would be talking about him, pitying him. He needed that about as much as a rhino in his top paddock.
“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”
“No,” he snapped, giving a quick nod to her outfit. “I was just thinking that I should get you an overcoat. You’ll freeze in that, not to mention give the boys a heart attack.”
“You’re not my father, Flynn. Even if you act as if you’re about ninety-five.” She lifted her chin, daring him to disagree.
“Thank the Lord,” he replied, beginning to soften. But Lucy’s words made him think. Did he really give off that impression? Was he turning into an old grump? Or was it just all the talk of Ellie that had put him off balance?
“Besides,” she continued, oblivious to the churnings of his mind. “This is what all the girls are wearing. You don’t want me to be an outcast, do you?”
Flynn had to hide a grin. She was such a drama queen, but her antics were distracting him from thoughts of his ex and lifting his mood. That had to be a good thing.
“Luce, you could never be an outcast. You’re gorgeous, intelligent and, most important, you’re my sister. That’s pretty much got you covered.”
“Hardy-ha,” she replied, but her full-blown smile told him she’d forgiven his grumpiness.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, turning toward his bedroom to throw on his gear. He’d play the game, let off some tension and make a quick retreat before anyone could corner him. Footy would help clear his head.
Five minutes later, Flynn turned the ute onto the main road into town. Lucy switched on the radio, grinning as Paul Kelly came blaring out. Paul was the one sound they both liked. The twelve years between them meant there weren’t many such bands.
Trying to relax, Flynn tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along to the music. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy shift in her seat to face him.
“You and Ellie could’ve been like this song.”
He cringed. As if the end of their relationship hadn’t been tragic enough. He’d never spoken about Ellie with Lucy, or about what happened after she’d left, and he didn’t plan on starting now. Lucy was now the age he and Ellie were when they started going out, but she wouldn’t understand. She had one hyped-up crush after another but never stayed with a boy long enough to fall in love.
When he didn’t reply, she elaborated. “I reckon Ellie did you a favor running off. I mean, I don’t really remember her and she may have been really nice, but Ms. Dawes, our sex-ed teacher, says teen marriages are twenty times more likely to end in divorce than other marriages.”
“Is that right?” Frankly, he would have liked the chance to have been in on the decision whatever the outcome of their would-be marriage.
“Uh-huh. Not that that old troll would know,” she giggled. “I don’t reckon anyone’s ever asked her to marry them.”
Flynn let out his breath, thinking Lucy had moved on to other thoughts. Just to make sure, he raised a new topic. “So, how’s school going? Mom said you’re doing well.”
“S’pose so. Doesn’t really matter. For the things I wanna do, I don’t need uni.”
“You’re seventeen, Luce, you have no idea what you want to do.”
“Shut up, Flynn, there you are acting all ancient again. You’re so boring. No wonder Ellie left you.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth.
Flynn’s whole body clenched. He’d never entertained the possibility that Ellie had thought him boring—he still didn’t—but the words hurt more than he cared to admit. She had chosen a showbiz career and life in the city over a partnership on the farm. Her dreams were bigger than rural Western Australia. And him.
“I’m sorry, Flynn. That was out of line.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“And it’s crap, too. No one thinks you’re boring. Jeez, my friends all idolize you and the women in town all drool over you. You could have anyone you want.”
He chuckled at the irony. “Perhaps the three women in my life are enough?”
“Three!” Lucy shrieked. “Who’s the... Ooh, me, Mom and Gran.” She looked disappointed. “I thought I was going to be the first to know something exciting.”
“Yep. You, Mom and Gran.” He reached out and rubbed her head affectionately.
“Hey, don’t mess the hair.” She lifted a hand for protection but smiled nevertheless.
For the rest of the journey, Lucy nattered on about the girls at school, the boy they all craved and their plans for Schoolies Week, which, thankfully, was still six months away. It may have been over a decade since Flynn had partied on Rottnest Island during Schoolies, but he knew things wouldn’t have changed too much. Seventeen-year-old boys had one thing on their mind and one thing only.
“Crap, we’re late,” Lucy said as Flynn pulled into the oval and searched for a place to park. Already the field was bordered with cars, people sitting on hoods, eating pies and drinking soft drinks, waving banners as they waited for the game to start. Stupidly, he scanned the crowds for Ellie—she’d been a faithful supporter of the Hurricanes and never missed a game when she lived here, but of course, things were different now. Even if she were in town, it was unlikely she’d make a game of country football a high priority.
Lucy practically jumped out the car before he’d put the hand brake on, and definitely before he’d taken the keys out of the ignition.
“Come straight back here after the game,” he yelled, pretty certain she didn’t hear him, or at least didn’t want to.
* * *
DURING THE MATCH, Flynn didn’t look at the crowd and tried not to make eye contact with his fellow players. He scored more goals than he had in a while but not enough to give the Hurricanes the victory they’d been missing lately. When it was over, he went to wait for Lucy. He knew his quick departure would provide more fodder for the gossips, but that didn’t make him any more inclined to stay around.
Lucy took her sweet time, though, eventually arriving with a giggling teenage friend on each side. Opening the passenger door, she leaned into the car. “I’m going to Kara’s,” she announced.
Flynn opened his mouth to object—no way was he hanging in town while she had fun with the girls—but she got in first.
“I’ve already called Mom and she’s fine with it. She said I can stay over and she’ll pick me up after church tomorrow.” She stepped back next to her friends.
“Fine.” Flynn’s hand was already poised on the gearstick when pale, delicate fingers—complete with red nails—reached out to hold open the passenger door.
“Hiya, Flynn.”
Flynn fought the urge to shuffle closer to the driver’s door as Lauren Simpson slipped into the passenger seat. It was hard not to ogle her ample cleavage, which was only further accentuated by her tight silver top. Not many got away with such outlandish fashion in Hope Junction, and most simply wore Hurricanes sweaters to the game, but Lauren was stunning and on her it worked. Still, he’d never found her kind of beauty attractive.
She rested one of her perfect hands on his thigh. He tensed, cursing himself for not changing out of his footy shorts.
“You’re not going home, are you, Flynn?” Her singsong voice grated on his nerves.
“Actually...” That’s exactly where he planned on heading. The last thing he wanted to do was socialize right now.
“I understand,” she began, in an annoyingly sympathetic tone, “that today would have been difficult for you. But it’s times like these you need to be around friends. People who care about you, people who understand you.” Her nails drifted a little higher up his thigh. “What do you say? Come to the pub with us?”
He looked past Lauren to see Lucy a few meters away. She was beaming like a loony and holding both thumbs up. Go on, she mouthed at him theatrically.
“Who’s us?” asked Flynn. He didn’t want Lauren getting any ideas.
“Oh, you know, the usual crowd. Rats will be there.”
Rats, nicknamed so because he’d had a rat’s tail haircut since he was in kindergarten. That is, until a few weeks ago when he proposed to Whitney, who refused to accept unless he cut it off. Rats, who just happened to be the best mate Flynn had.
He still didn’t want to go. Pubs hadn’t been real appealing since his father’s accident, when he’d been forced to get his life back on track. But this wasn’t just about the pub. Maybe he should make an appearance and hold his head up high. Show everyone he didn’t need their sympathy, that ten years was a long time. Definitely long enough for him and Ellie to be in the same shire without him losing the plot. Again.
“Do you need a lift, then?” He forced a smile to his lips.
“Sure.” Lauren’s face lit up. She poked her head back out the car for a moment. “Meet you there, girls.”
“Shove over. We can fit,” said a voice from outside.
Flynn leaned forward to wave at Emma and another local chick, Linda.
“I don’t think so.” Lauren pulled the door shut before they could negotiate. “Drive on, Flynn. They’ll be fine.”
Ignoring Lauren, he pushed a button to wind down the passenger window. “If you ladies want, you can hop on the back.”
Giggles and shrieks ensued as Flynn hitched the girls up onto the tray. He took the opportunity to pull his jeans out of his bag and tug them on before getting back in. He barely had three hundred meters to drive, so there wasn’t much danger. Not on the road, anyway.
When Flynn opened the door at the top pub for Lauren and her friends, however, the hackles rose on the back of his neck. It wasn’t that he never came to the pub, but it was rare. Years ago this joint had been his first port of call whenever he’d wanted to drown his sorrows. The place they came whenever they lost a game of football—which hadn’t been nearly as often back then—and always where they came to celebrate a win. After Ellie had left he’d come even more. It had become his second home.
Back then, he’d step inside and smile. The aroma of cigarette smoke mixed with beer, sweat and cheap perfume always comforted. The run-down decor? Strangely alluring. The music? Exactly what he would have chosen. The people? Folks he’d grown up with, folks he’d die for. Folks he knew would do the same for him.
But times had changed. Although he still loved his football, he wasn’t the carefree larrikin of a decade ago. Not frequently anyway. He was a long way from the Flynn who’d streaked across the oval. In the years since, the law had sent the smokers outside, and although he wasn’t one of them, there was something wrong about a pub without that smell. New owners had renovated and The Commercial Hotel had lost its rural character. Its beige walls with a chocolate feature and the leather-upholstered bar stools could have been transplanted from any city establishment. The people he’d loved had moved on or changed. At least the music still had the right vibe.
He barely had the chance to nod at Rats and Whitney or take in the others hanging around before Lauren had an arm round him and was practically licking his ear.
“My shout, Flynn. What are you having?”
“Just a Coke, thanks.” He extracted his limbs from hers and moved along the bar to Rats.
“Hey, mate.” Rats slapped Flynn on the back and grinned. “Good to see ya. S’pose you’ve heard?”
“Grapevine wouldn’t be working if I hadn’t.” Flynn looked straight ahead.
“Doubt she’ll be here for long,” continued Rats. “She’s only back to help Ms. T. Surely a broken ankle won’t take long to mend. Right?”
Flynn wanted to ask if anyone had seen her yet, but he didn’t want to look like he gave a damn. He didn’t give a damn. So instead he said, “Free country. She can go where she likes.”
“True, true.” Rats took a sip of beer and pulled Whitney into his side. “So, mate, we’ve been talking and you don’t have to say yes straightaway but...”
“There’s no one we’d rather want as our best man,” gushed Whitney, reaching past Rats to take Flynn’s hands. “Please, please say yes.”
Hell. Flynn supposed he should have seen this coming. His friends hadn’t planned a long engagement and Rats had been decked out in the best-man suit the day Ellie had left him standing at the altar of St. Pete’s. But today? Just the thought of setting foot inside a church made his skin crawl.
“Sure,” he managed. “It’d be an honor.”
“Yippee!” As Whitney shrieked, she leaned forward and kissed Flynn on the lips. It was only quick, and entirely platonic, but whoops went up around the pub.
“Did he say yes?” Lauren returned with a bottle of champers, four delicate glass flutes and no sign of a Coke. “This calls for a toast.” Behind her were Emma and Linda with another bottle and more glasses.
As glasses were filled, Rats edged close to Flynn. “I’ll get you that Coke, mate. You don’t have to drink to take part in the toast.” Rats was one of the few people who knew just how dependent he’d become on booze before his dad died.
“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Flynn, suddenly feeling like a tiny shot of bubbles would work wonders for his tension-infused body. “I can handle a glass on a special occasion.”
“Fair enough.” Rats held up his palms in surrender, but Flynn couldn’t miss the worry in his friend’s eyes. “Just looking out for you.”
Flynn didn’t reply. He was tired of people looking out for him, like he was some sort of pathetic child. He took a glass and raised it along with everybody else’s.
“To Flynn,” Lauren said, staring at him as if he were the only person in the room, “for completing our fabulous bridal party.”
“To Flynn,” chorused his friends.
He took a gulp and only as the bubbles caressed his throat did he register Lauren’s words. Dinner was ordered soon after, and once the pub grub had been devoured the group broke up—some playing pool, others chatting near the dartboard. This was Flynn’s chance to escape, but just as he was about to make a sly departure, Lauren pulled up a stool next to him. She barely sat on it, however, and Flynn got the impression she was angling for a spot on his lap, instead.
“You know,” she drawled in an unmistakably seductive tone, “the best man gets first pick of the bridesmaids.”
“Is that so?” Flynn took another sip to stop himself from saying the first thing that came into his head.
“It’s tradition. And it just so happens I’m maid of honor.” Was she actually singing her words? “Care for a top-up?” she asked, swaying the half-full bottle in his face and pointing to his glass.
Rats and Whitney were now wrapped in each other’s arms, ignoring the rest of the pub. Emma was chatting up the new barman and Linda appeared to be kicking her brother’s butt at darts. Flynn looked again at the bottle and then back to Lauren.
“Just one more.”
* * *
WHEN THE BOTTLE was gone, Flynn ordered Lauren a glass of wine and a beer for himself. For a second he thought twice about the choice. Common sense almost won, but then he glanced around him at the scene of country people having good, clean fun—the music loud, the laughs many, the atmosphere charged and happy—and he wanted that. It’d been years since alcohol had owned him. He’d only have one more.
One became two, two became four and before he knew it, he’d dragged Lauren onto the makeshift dance floor and was partying like it was 1999. As the barman called for last drinks, Lauren sank her arms around Flynn’s neck and pressed her curves against the steely length of his body. Of course, he reacted. He wouldn’t be male if he didn’t.
“I’ve had a great night, Flynn.”
“Me, too.” His words slurred slightly.
“You can’t drive home like this. The cops will pick you up for sure.”
He leaned his cheek against her hair and breathed in her pungent berry scent. “I’ll sleep in the back of the ute.”
“Now, Flynn...” Lauren’s hands crawled down to cup his buttocks and pull him tightly against her. Her words slithered into his ear on hot, wanton breath. “I’ve got a much better idea.”
And then her lips were accosting his. Her tongue took liberties as it swept his mouth, probing for access. His hands floundered as he tried to grab out for balance, to latch on to reality before he did something he might regret, but he got hold of a breast instead, the soft, round orb sending short, sharp messages to his brain. His body took on a life of its own. He couldn’t remember the last time he was kissed—the farm had been his sole focus for quite some time—and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He was twenty-nine, for crying out loud. He should have a little fun while he could. Besides, since he’d been in Lauren’s company, he hadn’t thought about Ellie once.
So he kissed Lauren back. Snaked his hands up her spine and then her neck, sliding his fingers into her long, blond locks. He felt his blood pump south and pulled back slightly to look into her eager eyes. “Let’s get outta here.”
Rats gripped Flynn’s shoulder as they headed for the door. “You sure you want to do this, mate?” His eyes were trained on Lauren giggling at Flynn’s side. “You’ve had a fair bit to drink.”
Now Flynn knew how Lucy felt when he started with the preachy talk. It got old and boring fast.
“Thanks, but I can look after myself.”
Outside, Lauren pushed him against the ute, fishing her fingers into his pocket for his car keys. “I’m driving. I only had one drink.”
“Of course.” Grinning, he leaned back against the vehicle, his hands clasped behind his head as she took longer to dig than was strictly necessary.
“You like that, Flynn?” She plucked the keys from his jeans but, not at all coy, she continued her exploration of his crutch, rubbing her palm up and over the denim at his groin. His hips angled forward of their own accord and he grabbed Lauren’s wrist.
“Let’s go.”
“My feelings exactly.”
Lauren opened the passenger door and Flynn slumped inside, his boots kicking a collection of empty Coke cans at his feet. She slid into the driver’s side and took in the mess. “I thought you’d take better care of your vehicle, Flynn Quartermaine.”
He glanced at her. “Um...” Even his mom didn’t nag him about such things.
“Relax.” Lauren laughed. She started the ute and, after quickly backing out, laid her hand against Flynn’s taut thigh. “It’s not your housekeeping I’m interested in.”
Chuckling, he sucked in a breath as Lauren’s hand again ventured upward. She toyed with his belt buckle, skillfully undoing it without the car veering even slightly off the straight and narrow.
“You nurses are multiskilled,” he said, wondering if he should put his hand against her leg or cop a feel of one of her breasts. Both options had seemed appealing back in the parking lot, but now, in the confined space of the car, where his breathing felt constricted by the heady scent of her perfume, he wasn’t so sure.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she purred. His eyes almost left their sockets as she opened his zipper and slipped her hand inside his jeans—inside his jocks, in fact.
“You think we should pull over?” He only just managed the words. Her soft, skillful fingers curled around his erection and began to tickle his balls. His breathing intensified. His pulse thudded through his veins. Heat surged beneath her touch. But it was a surreal experience, as if he was hovering outside his body, looking in. He barely heard Lauren’s reply.
“It’s okay, Flynn, we’re almost at my place.” Within seconds she’d pulled into a rough gravel driveway. The car came to a stop and a giggling Lauren opened the passenger door.
“You just gonna sit there all night, staring at the real estate?” She wiggled her hips in rhythm to her words. He winced at the sound of her voice, a sharp jolt rushing through his head. The view of her skinny legs, held together by a denim skirt too short for the season, blurred in front of him. He blinked to clear his vision.
“Had a bit too much to drink, Flynn-y boy?” She reached in and took his hand, trying to pull him out of the car. “Never mind. Nurse Lauren has the perfect medicine. Come on.”
Stumbling a little, he trekked up the porch steps, fighting the urge to sit down while Lauren unlocked the door. She switched on lights, which almost blinded him, and offered him a drink.
“No, thanks,” he managed, although a voice inside told him a long glass of icy water might be a good idea.
“Hope you don’t mind if I do.” Grabbing his shoulders, she ushered him into the living room and pushed him down on the couch. “You just wait there. I’ll be right back.”
He flopped his head against the back of the leather sofa and took a few moments just to sit. Fancy antique vases and massive, gold-framed paintings of famous Aussie landscapes swam around the room—this was her parents’ house, but they were overseas at the moment, on one of the travel tours they ran. His gut churned. He was contemplating a dash to the bathroom when Lauren skipped into the room.
“Hey, mister, you’re looking a little worse for wear.” She straddled his hips, her skirt riding up as she maneuvered on top of him. He realized his fly was still undone. Her warmth seeped onto his groin and he swayed a little, feeling woozy.
“Have you lost your knickers?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“You noticed.” She wiggled her hips more and pressed down. There was only the cotton of his jocks between them now. She placed a champagne flute on the side table and palmed her hands against his cheeks. “You want me, don’t you, Flynn?”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_71aa4498-d98c-5e04-a0d1-994aba16d3cd)
ELLIE’S SIDES WERE aching from laughing so hard. Matilda had always been like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. But as much as she would love to have stayed up later, listening to stories of what Mat had been up to since they were last together in Sydney, she’d be blind not to notice that her godmother was wilting. She’d counted at least ten yawns in the past three minutes, and the bags under Matilda’s eyes were hanging even heavier than before. Her weight loss couldn’t be intentional—Matilda didn’t believe in fads like dieting. Ellie would never say so, but Mat seemed a lot older than the six months it had been since they’d seen each other. And it worried her.
She feigned a yawn herself. “I’m sorry, Mat, but I’m going to have to call it a night.”
“You’re not jet-lagged?” Matilda snorted. “First sign of old age, they tell me.”
“Like you’d know,” teased Ellie, stretching up out of the beanbag she was sitting in at Matilda’s feet. “You could do with some rest, too. I don’t want Lauren on my back for not looking after you.”
“You know I hate this.” Matilda sighed, gripping Ellie’s shoulder as she got out of the old floral armchair. Matilda had always been so independent—bloody-minded, many would have called it. She’d never married—Ellie guessed she didn’t want to be anyone’s unpaid housekeeper—and frequently traveled to exotic places not populated by your average tourist.
“I know,” Ellie replied. They started slowly toward the bathroom, Ellie trying not to smother her friend but terrified of her taking another fall. “And if you do as you’re told, you’ll be back to your wicked ways in no time. But I’m here until you are.”
Ellie heard Matilda sniff, but she covered it quickly. “You are a true friend. Thank you.”
“What? For cooking baked beans on stale crackers and almost killing you with rotten eggs?”
To call dinner a disaster would have been kind. Forgetting that country shops weren’t open on Saturday afternoons, Ellie had made do with what she could find: baked beans and eleven eggs from the chicken coop. Matilda assured her that some would have been fresh that morning. But Ellie had been a city girl too long and had forgotten how to test which were fresh and which weren’t.
Matilda pressed a hand against her chest and laughed. “I’ve had a lot worse in my time.”
After promising to make it up with a feeding frenzy tomorrow, Ellie stood by while Matilda washed her face and brushed her teeth. She helped her hobble over to the toilet and left the room to give her some privacy. Then she came back to help her up and usher her into her room.
“There. Are you sure you’re comfortable?” she asked, sitting down gently on the edge of Mat’s bed.
“As comfy as I can be sharing a bed with this.” Matilda gestured again to the chunky plaster that went from her toes halfway up her calf.
Ellie knew Matilda’s jokes were her way of coping, of lightening the mood. She desperately wanted to snuggle up to Mat like they’d done when Ellie first arrived all those years ago. When she was a lonely, lost, washed-up teen, feeling totally abandoned by the one person who was supposed to love her. But tonight she thought Matilda might take her cuddles the wrong way, as sympathy for her injuries. And if there was one thing Mat hated, it was sympathy. So instead, Ellie patted her hand, kissed her on the cheek and stood.
“Shall I take my old room?”
Matilda cursed and a look of horror flashed across her face. “Oh, I’m a silly old fool.” She tried to hoist herself up.
“Sit,” Ellie ordered.
“I’ve been jabbering on all afternoon and you haven’t even had a chance to unpack or freshen up. About your room...” Matilda’s voice trailed off.
Ellie rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Matilda. She couldn’t resist another proper hug. “You are a silly old fool. I’m here to look after you and don’t you forget it.”
In the end, she lay on the bed until Matilda had fallen asleep, which wasn’t long at all. The house then seemed quiet without Mat’s endless chatter, and Ellie’s thoughts returned quickly to the one thing she’d been trying not to think about. While Lauren had launched right into the subject of Flynn Quartermaine, Matilda hadn’t mentioned him at all. Ellie thought the taboo might have been lifted now she was back in Hope Junction, but it seemed her godmother was leaving that conversation for her to start. And she would. Soon.
Thoughts of just how soon were interrupted as she pushed open the door of her old bedroom. Expecting Mat to have turned the room to other uses, she gasped aloud at the sight in front of her. The room was exactly how she’d left it. Exactly. Goose bumps erupted across her flesh.
Matilda had cleaned and dusted, but aside from that, everything was just as Ellie had left it on that fateful morning. Teenage posters, her collection of troll dolls with rainbow hair, scented candles, lots of photos, a pair of bright purple Dr. Martens and...
Forcing breath through her lungs and one foot in front of the other, Ellie stepped into the room and toward the single bed. Her eyes had already been drawn, like magnets, to the simple white wedding dress that lay draped across the mattress. She stared for a second, mesmerized, before scooping it up and sighing at the feel of soft silk between her fingers. She clutched the A-line gown to her chest as if it were a long-lost teddy bear. Her thoughts immediately traveled back a decade, to a day in Perth when she’d felt like the poster child for happiness.
Marrying Flynn was any girl’s fantasy, and she’d wanted to be his fantasy when he watched her walk down the aisle. Silly, really, but she’d spent hours daydreaming about the expression on his face when he’d see her. She’d loved him so much. So much it made her chest ache if she thought about losing him. Her insides whirled like a roller coaster whenever she even thought about kissing him. And so, when she’d walked past that boutique and seen the most elegant wedding dress with a 50 percent off tag, she’d thought it was fate.
And she’d been euphoric.
The shop had been about to close but she’d dragged in Tegan, her then best friend, and Matilda, and sweet-talked the assistant into letting her try on the dress. When she did, she never wanted to take it off again. It was simply perfect. No need for alterations at all. With Ellie protesting that she’d pay for it, Matilda had handed over her American Express card and someone managed to convince Ellie to take the dress off so the assistant could box it.
A tear dribbled down Ellie’s cheek at the memory. At the thought that she’d once been so sky-high happy.
Thinking she was probably crazy but unable to help herself, Ellie laid her fantasy gown back on the bed and stripped to her mismatched underwear. She wondered if the dress would still fit but, if anything, it was a little on the large side. With great effort she wrangled the tiny pearl buttons at her back and managed to do up every last one of them. She twisted to look in the mirror.
What a sight. Her face was stained red with tears and her hair flat from the cap that had trapped it all day long. She didn’t look like a bride any groom would get choked up over. She looked scary. But despite her appearance, Ellie didn’t look away or remove the dress. She shuddered at the idea of becoming Miss Havisham, but even that miserable vision didn’t spur her to remove it. After a while of standing like this, her eyes caught on something reflected in the mirror. Photo frames littered the old wooden tallboy behind her—most of them sickly sweet heart shapes containing pictures of her and Flynn.
She turned and snatched up a photo. A chill raced up her spine. She sank onto the bed, clutching Flynn’s image tightly in her hands. He was gorgeous. A heartthrob, sex on legs, a devil in denim and dangerously, deliciously beautiful. His all-Australian country-boy grin lit up his whole face, and the gleam in his sea-green eyes spoke volumes about the kind of fun-loving, hardworking bloke he always was.
She’d tried to forget. In the name of self-preservation, she’d not taken even one tiny wallet photo when she left. She’d not allowed herself to think about the life they would have started together—the perfect house they were planning to build on Black Stump, the babies they’d dreamed of having... But now she realized how monumentally she’d failed. She may have repressed the memories but she hadn’t erased them. Looking at him now, tracing his eyes, his nose, his lips with her quaking fingers brought it all rushing back. The intensity of first love, first passion. How he had loved her so completely and stood up for her at every turn. Romeo and Juliet had nothing on Flynn and Ellie. Hope Junction had been up in arms when their golden boy—son of third-generation landowners—had started going out with her. Not only did she not come from farming stock, but her mother had dumped her and her father hadn’t even stuck around long enough to see her born. Thankfully, the teenage Flynn had already developed both backbone and morals. He didn’t give a damn what the town thought. He saw past her situation to the real Ellie, and before long his dedication won over his parents and the rest of the town, too. Pretty soon Ellie was loved and accepted as if she were a fourth-generation local as well, and that was no easy feat. When Flynn had asked her to marry him, everyone was genuinely ecstatic. The only comments about them being too young came from girls Ellie’s age and she wrote off their gibes as simple jealousy.
“Oh, Flynn.” Sniffing, she looked down at the photo and tried to push away the millions of what-ifs that floated into her mind. What if things had been different? What if her mother had never asked to meet her in Perth? What if, for once, she’d put her own needs first and said no? What if Flynn had come with her to Perth as he’d said he would? What if she’d stayed and married him anyway? Would they be happy now? Would they have kids? Some would say her life in Sydney as an actress and celebrity was a charmed one, but her whole body ached with the thought of just how magical it could have been if she’d been living it with Flynn.
* * *
SUNDAY MORNING, FLYNN WOKE. His head throbbed and a heavy naked weight lay sprawled across his equally naked chest. This realization roused him like no bucket of cold water ever could.
Glancing round the lamp-lit room at his surroundings and then taking a closer look at the woman in his arms, he froze. Scenes of the previous night flashed one after the other. Cringeworthy and stupid didn’t even begin to describe what he saw and how he felt. He wanted more than anything to extricate himself from beneath Lauren.
Lauren? Had the drink stolen every ounce of his common sense? Again? He wanted to collect his clothes from wherever they’d landed, flee home, crawl under the bedcovers and stay there all day. He wanted to forget this nightmare had ever happened. But he saw one immediate problem with that tempting scenario. Lauren.
He’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to have noticed the mammoth crush she’d harbored for him since primary school. But he’d been fastidious in avoiding her advances—at least until now. Because although she was fun and pretty—if you liked her kind of style—she was also a local. Flings had been few and far between in recent years, but any that Flynn did have, he kept far outside the boundaries of Hope Junction. Local girls were a no-go zone. It was safer and easier that way.
Lauren, on the other hand, was very local. And she was like most single women approaching their thirtieth year. Stars in her eyes when it came to weddings, babies and happily-ever-afters. But after all Flynn had been through with Ellie, he didn’t have a marrying bone left in his body.
He cursed himself and his lack of restraint, not so much for not resisting Lauren, but for getting so absolutely hammered that he thought hooking up with her was a good idea in the first place. He’d been dry for eight years now, and although his addiction was always in the back of his mind, he’d forgotten how much of a tool he became, and the kind of stupid choices he made, when he got drunk. It wasn’t pretty, nor something he was proud of.
Lauren shifted on his chest. She made a tiny noise like a mewling cat and opened her eyes. Their faces were so close he could do nothing but look straight into her eyes. She smiled like a Cheshire; he gulped like a minnow facing a great white.
“Feeling better this morning, Flynn?”
He couldn’t exactly give her the truth—that her face was the last thing he wanted to see first thing in the morning.
“Last night was something else,” she went on, crawling her nails up his chest and bringing the pads of her fingers to rest on his lips. He tried not to flinch. “But next time, let’s make sure we finish it off, hey?”
His heart skipped a hopeful beat at her words. Could it be possible they hadn’t actually had sex? He had to know.
“I’m...really sorry, Lauren, but my memory’s pretty hazy about last night. Did we...?”
“I should probably be offended that you can’t remember it.” She giggled and began toying with the flesh at his ear. He summoned all his self-control not to tap her hand away, raise his voice and demand she tell him the truth. Instead, he smiled the smile he’d been told, on many occasions, was a danger to womankind.
“Well?”
“You passed out before we got that far.” She laughed, then added something else. But Flynn didn’t take in these last words. He was too busy thanking the Lord for small mercies, promising he’d never touch another drop as long as he lived. But the reprieve didn’t last long. Lauren dipped her head and touched her hot, wet lips to his parched ones. A quick worker, she slid her tongue inside his mouth barely before he’d registered her kiss. Where, in other circumstances, his first thoughts might be of his morning breath, in this instance his only concern was how to escape her clutches. Hell, he’d be happy if he had bad breath and it scared her off.
He placed his hands on her bare shoulders and pushed her upward, looking away when her perky breasts thrust themselves into his line of vision.
“Sorry, Lauren, with the ram sale not far away, I really can’t afford to have a Sunday off. Work to be done, sheep to check on.”
“Damn sheep.” Her lower lip practically touched her chest, but she rolled over and scrounged around on the floor for her discarded clothes. If there was one thing a country girl understood, it was that nothing, no one, came before the farm.
Seizing the opportunity, Flynn scrabbled off the couch, located his shirt and boots and yanked them both on in record time. He knew he should stop and apologize to Lauren. He should explain he hadn’t meant to lead her on, that he hadn’t been thinking straight. But whatever way he put it, she’d be offended and upset. And the honest truth was that he just didn’t have the mental energy to deal with this right now. Not on top of everything else.
So without so much as a kiss on the cheek, he thanked Lauren for letting him stay and fled.
* * *
AFTER CRYING HERSELF to sleep, Ellie slept more soundly than she had in a long time. Maybe it was the emotion of the day before, maybe it was the jet lag, maybe it was the quiet of the country, but in the morning, it was only the sound of the kettle whistling that roused her. It was a noise she hadn’t heard in as long as she could remember. In her other life no one bothered with the time it took to boil a kettle. It was either Starbucks or the staff room machine, which percolated good, strong coffee twenty-four hours a day. It took a second for her to recognize the sound, and then she realized it meant Mat was already up and trying to fend for herself.
Ellie sprang into action. Her hand was on the door handle when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. That was no fancy nightie she saw, it was a wedding dress. Her wedding dress. A shiver ran over her skin and a despondent feeling returned to her chest. With what felt like a brick weighing her down, it was an effort to walk even the few steps back to the bed. She sat and stretched behind her to the row of minuscule buttons. If she kept on like this, she was in danger of returning to that dark place she’d gone to when she first left Flynn and gave up everything that mattered to her. A place so gloomy it had taken all her willpower to drag herself out. She never wanted to go there again. Besides, she was in Hope for Matilda, not to revisit past demons.
“Come on,” she said, urging her wobbly fingers to steady and coordinate. She’d done them up with only relative difficulty; surely the undoing would be easy in comparison. More twisting, more tugging, but it seemed the only thing likely to come undone was her arm socket.
“Argh!” What was meant to be a silent plea between gritted teeth came out loud and angry. She took a deep breath, concentrated, but as the first pearl slipped from its silken prison, there came a hesitant knock on the bedroom door. Ellie froze.
“Yes?” She managed only just to get the word past the lump in her throat.
“Can I help you?” came the response. Ellie frowned at Matilda’s turn of phrase, hoping her godmother hadn’t looked in on her while she’d slept and seen her outfit. The thought chilled her.
“No,” she said, a lot harsher than she intended. “I’m here to help you. What the hell do you think you’re doing wandering around without me? Don’t do anything else. I’ll be out in just a moment.”
She focused her attention back on the dress, but the damn buttons refused to budge. Generally calm in the face of a problem, Ellie’s pulse raced and the muscles in her neck twitched. Stupid tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. As she saw it, she had two choices. Open the door and, despite the shame and embarrassment she’d feel, ask for help, or...
She took another deep breath, positioned her hands at the back of her neck, one on either side of the dress, and yanked. Hard. Tiny pops rippled as the tiny pearls shot around the room. Ellie shimmied out of the dress, scrunched it into a ball and shoved it on top of a stack of old Cosmo magazines at the bottom of the wardrobe. It felt wrong to treat something that had once been so special to her with such disregard, and for a second she hesitated, thought about pulling it out and trying to fix the creases she’d just inflicted. But Matilda’s voice sounded through the door again, more anxious than before.
“Ellie? What was that? Are you sure you’re okay in there?”
She bit down on her lip, turned and lifted the lid on her suitcase. There wasn’t time to get sentimental. “I’m fine,” she said, scrambling around for jeans and a top.
When she finally opened the door and saw the look of worry in the other woman’s eyes, she knew that she hadn’t been able to hide the truth from Matilda.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” Ellie reached out to take Matilda’s arm. “I want to get some caffeine into my veins, get you settled on the veranda swing and get stuck into those awnings you left half-done.”
Matilda shuffled alongside Ellie into the kitchen. “Don’t think you can change the subject on me, missy. I’ve let it lie for ten years but it’s time. I can see coming back here, to me, to this town, to your room...” Matilda paused and looked deep into Ellie’s eyes. Ellie knew she was thinking about the dress. “It’s messing with your mind. Therapy is expensive, but talking to an old friend is priceless.”
Ellie went to the bench, opened a cupboard and grabbed two large ceramic mugs. Perhaps Mat was right. Perhaps she should talk about why she’d done the unforgivable, why she’d left Flynn standing at the front of a church with the whole town as witness. But Matilda was the only person who’d been there who still believed in her, who could still look her in the eye and not make her feel like the scum of the earth. Hell, she could barely look in the mirror and achieve that feat herself.
No, she wasn’t ready to talk, not yet. She turned to the fridge to focus her energies on breakfast and then remembered. No milk. Dammit, she just didn’t do black coffee, especially not at the crack of dawn. But another thought followed quickly on the heels of that one. As much as the idea of leaving the house terrified her, it was still early for a Sunday. She was less likely to run into anyone at this time of day, and going for milk and bread—the basic supplies that would get them through the weekend—would postpone the inevitable talk.
“I’m just going to pop up to the Shell and get us some milk. Want any munchies?”
Matilda frowned and sighed. “I’m not one to pass up a chocolate bar, but don’t think this gets you off the hook. We will talk. It’s well past time.”
“I know.” Ellie tried to sound nonchalant, as if the idea of raking up the past wasn’t uncomfortable or painful. “But I barely function, never mind do deep and meaningful without my morning coffee.” She leaned over and kissed Mat on the cheek, then grabbed the car keys and was out of there before her godmother had the chance for further protests.
She smiled with relief as she pulled into the service station. A couple of trucks were parked and their drivers stood between them chomping on greasy breakfast. The thought of eating that kind of food this early turned Ellie’s stomach, but she guessed it helped combat the chill of winter mornings. She shivered. She’d been in such a hurry to leave the house she hadn’t thought about a sweater or a jacket, never mind actually put one on.
Rubbing her arms, she strode toward the shop, dodging a crusty old ute at the gas tanks and ignoring the chill that ran through her as she noticed it was a Hope Junction license plate. She’d forgotten this about small towns in WA, that you could tell where a car was from by the first letters on the license plate. She was far from the anonymity of Sydney, and this car belonged to a local.
Get a grip, she told herself firmly.
But that was easier said than done. Her encounter with Lauren had reinforced her fears. The reception she would get from townsfolk was likely to be frosty at best, downright nasty at worst. She pushed open the door of the shop, trying to recall what it was she’d come for and crashed head-on into a man carrying a paper and a Coffee Chill. His purchases clattered to the floor and without glancing at each other, they both dived to collect them. Their heads knocked, their hands brushed, and laughter at the silliness of the situation tumbled from their mouths. Ellie felt instantly at ease.
Until they both stood up and the man’s warm chuckle died on his lips as he registered who she was.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_5f4fa125-30b4-5272-8fe8-b72ccd2d416e)
ELLIE REACHED OUT to grab the door for support.
Flynn.
She wasn’t sure if she said his name aloud or not. Nothing in her wildest imagination could have prepared her for this. It was as if a million different things were going on in her body. Adrenaline had set off a chain of reactions inside her—her hands got sweaty, her heart was beating so fast and loud it felt as if it would break out of her chest at any moment, and her knees felt incapable of holding her up much longer. Their overexertion probably accounted for the beads of perspiration bursting out across her forehead. But her mind and eyes were feasting on the sight before her, of which her memory had done no justice at all.
The grown-up Flynn was a hundred times more gorgeous than the teenage one—and that was saying something. Not that she’d expected otherwise, but he’d filled out in all the right places, grown into his long, lanky body and become a strapping, commanding presence. Light stubble dusted his jawline and his golden hair was longer than she recalled. And mussed up slightly. It suited him. Yet despite his overbearing good looks, one thing stood out as very different. His lips drew a flat line across his face where once a huge, mischievous grin held prime position. She’d fallen in love with that smile before anything else, and now it was nowhere to be seen.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Ellie snapped out of her trance and realized not only was she practically drooling, openmouthed like a codfish, but also that she hadn’t registered Flynn speaking. To her. She tried to reply but something obstructed her words. Like one of those awful dreams where there’s a serial killer chasing you and your legs won’t function. She had so much she wanted—needed—to say to Flynn, and yet her mouth refused to cooperate.
“Ah, never mind,” Flynn said bitterly. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head as he walked past, clutching his paper and drink hard against his chest while stepping as near to the door frame as possible. She could only guess he wanted to avoid the possibility of brushing against her. Her heart crumbled at this thought, but still she couldn’t find the wherewithal to speak. If only she could turn back time and at least find out what he’d said. But then, if she had such powers, she’d turn back time a lot further and erase other stupid mistakes.
Almost in slow motion, she turned around, but Flynn was already pounding the pavement away from her. He didn’t look back. Shivers scuttled down her spine like a thousand nasty, eight-legged beasts. And she started to shake. Uncontrollably. The room spun.
She took hold of herself and tried to moderate her breathing. She was no doctor, but even she knew breathing at such a rate was dangerous. Was this what a panic attack felt like? One of the actresses on Lake Street suffered from them, apparently, but Ellie had never bought into the hype.
“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”
She registered that someone somewhere was speaking to her, but a sudden, stabbing pain in her chest throttled any reply. She pressed her hand against her breast hoping the pressure would somehow ease the pain, that if the discomfort eased, then so would the dizziness, the shakes and the feeling the room was closing in around her. But it was no good. No longer able to keep a firm grip on the door, her knees gave way and she tumbled onto the hard concrete.
“That’s it, I’m calling an ambulance,” said the voice.
“Damn straight, looks like she’s having a heart attack,” said another voice. “Don’t want no celebrities dying in my shop. Maybe we should get her a blanket or something?”
No! She didn’t want a blanket. She brought her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth against the door. I just want to go, she would have yelled, but her tongue had grown thick and immobile. I just want to go back to Sydney, where I’m not some kind of freak show, and live my life the best I can.
Her legs had lost all their strength. She tried to move so she wasn’t hunched like a sobbing cripple in the doorway, but the gods were laughing at her. Somewhere a flash went off, but before she had time to comprehend what that meant, sirens pierced the air, egging on her horrendous headache.
“In here,” she heard someone say. Then two women in green uniforms were looking over her. One of them crouched down and lifted Ellie’s hand, rubbing her wrist, presumably to take her pulse. The other ambulance officer began firing questions at the owner and his employee. Still stunned that this was actually happening, Ellie took a moment to react, but when she heard the word hospital, something inside her snapped back into place.
She pasted what was no doubt a less-than-believable smile on her face and looked apologetically into the face of the woman checking her over. “I’m really sorry,” she said, extracting her hand and straightening her ponytail. “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, but I’m really fine now. I don’t need to go to hospital.”
The other, less feminine ambulance officer leaned down and butted in. “It’s policy. We have to take you in and have a doctor check you over.”
“No.” No way in hell was she going back to that pokey small-town hospital and risking another run-in with Lauren. She could only imagine what would happen if she were admitted into that woman’s care. “I said I’m fine and I am. You can’t force me to go.”
“She does seem fine,” stated the first officer.
While the two of them discussed protocol and common sense, and the service station owner added his opinion, Ellie flexed her feet and pushed herself up into a stand. Although still shaky, she had every confidence her legs were back in the game. Monitoring her breathing, she trekked slowly around the shop, grabbing chocolates, a big bottle of Fanta, packets of chips, two types of milk and a loaf of white bread. The pickings were slim at the Shell and the prices exorbitant, but she needed to get out of there quickly, with enough provisions to avoid coming back too soon. Tomorrow she’d worry about a bigger shop, although how she’d make it round the Co-op without having an actual heart attack, she had no idea.
“You sure you shouldn’t get properly checked out?” asked the shop assistant as she scanned Ellie’s purchases through the till. The young woman looked genuinely concerned. Ellie didn’t recognize her and judging by her attitude, she deduced that the girl couldn’t have been a resident of Hope very long.
“Thanks for your concern, but I just had a shock.”
The girl looked at her quizzically, but she wasn’t about to start discussing her sordid past with a stranger. No doubt the town gossips would fight to fill her in. Instead, Ellie handed over a fifty-dollar note.
The act of selecting and purchasing items seemed to convince the ambulance folk she was, in fact, physically fine. So, wanting to get this whole sorry episode over quickly, Ellie filled in her details and signed the release.
When Ellie returned to the house, Matilda—sitting in an armchair in the living room—threw her arms up theatrically. “You’ve been gone an age. I was about to organize a search party.”
“Sorry.” She walked through to the kitchen and began unloading the sparse supplies. Inwardly she laughed at the idea that anyone in this godforsaken town would give up their Sunday to search for her.
“I almost called the police,” Matilda continued, her shrill voice carrying down the short hallway.
“Thank God you didn’t,” Ellie called back. “I’ve had my fill of emergency services today.”
“You’ve what?” There was a short silence and then a shuffle. Ellie could hear Matilda reaching for her crutches and knew she was trying to stand up.
“Stay there!” she roared. “I’ll get us a drink and makeshift breakfast, and then I’ll fill you in.” On everything, she added silently. It was time.
She took her time making the coffee and toast. She even cut each slice into little triangles, laid them decoratively on the plate and loaded it all onto an elaborate tray Mat had brought back from Mexico a few years ago. When she finally entered the living room, Matilda was leaning forward in the chair, her body tense, the expression on her face desperately curious.
“What happened?”
“I ran into Flynn.” Ellie’s tone suggested this was an everyday occurrence. She handed Mat her mug, then placed the toast on the little coffee table, positioning it within both their reach.
“Oh.” For once Matilda seemed short of words. Then, eventually, “Dare I ask?”
Ellie flopped into the armchair opposite. “It was a complete debacle. He looked like he wanted to vomit at the sight of me and I almost fainted.” She laughed a little hysterically. “Someone called an ambulance.”
“You’ve been to the hospital?”
She shook her head. “I refused to go.”
Matilda waved an arm in front of her face. “Who cares about the hospital, I want to know about Flynn.”
Ellie tried in vain to keep her hands and voice steady as she sipped her drink and filled Mat in on the events of the morning. Yet with every mention of Flynn the effort became all the more impossible.
“My poor girl,” Matilda said, gesturing to the tissue box on the table. “You’ve held it in far too long. It’s time to let it out.”
“I’m fine.” Ellie shoved the box and it plopped onto the floor. That got a skeptical smile and a brow lift from Matilda. “I am,” she insisted. “If I hadn’t seen the dress, I wouldn’t have been in such a soppy and sentimental mood when I ran into him. It’s not like I didn’t know it was going to happen sooner or later.” She paused to collect herself. “Why did you keep it?”
“It wasn’t mine to throw away.”
“No, I know, but...but...” But what? She’d always assumed Matilda would have given it to the Salvation Army or something.
“At first I left it there because I thought you’d be back. You were so in love with him, no one was more surprised than me when you ran off like that. I knew you better than everyone, aside from Flynn, and he never suspected a problem. He was a wreck. So I was sure you’d be back.”
A familiar guilt gnawed at Ellie’s heart and she rested her hand against her stomach. Nausea was the standard reaction whenever she thought of what she’d done to Flynn. She did her best to live her life in denial but occasionally—usually on lonely weekends, when all she had was the company of bad black-and-white movies on the telly—her thoughts turned to him. More than once she’d been physically sick.
“Then,” continued Matilda, “by the time it became clear you’d made a life for yourself without him, the dress had been there so long. It probably sounds silly, but it made me feel closer to you. You were never as happy as the day you tried on that dress. Sometimes I’d come into the room, look at the dress and wonder if there was anything I could have done.”
“No,” Ellie rushed, “none of this was your fault.” The last thing she needed was for Matilda, who had always been there for her no matter what, to feel guilty, as well. So many times she’d almost spilled her heart out to Mat, but she’d never quite been able to find the words. Mat loved and trusted her more than anyone, so Ellie had been scared. Scared that Mat would think of her differently if she knew. “I don’t want you to ever—”
Matilda held up her hand to silence Ellie. “I need to say this. The years passed and you made no mention of coming back. I meant to clean out your room, I really did, but you know what I’m like with my own clutter, I couldn’t bear to sort and make decisions about yours. I’m sorry, I should have gotten rid of that dress, but something I can’t really explain stopped me.”
“It’s okay.” Ellie’s reply was a mere whisper. All choked up, she thought about the crumpled dress in the bottom of the wardrobe. What the hell should she do with it? “I understand,” she continued, “but I want you to know that none of what happened is your fault. If anyone besides me is to blame—for leaving, for staying away all these years—it’s my despicable excuse for a mother.”
“Your mother?” Matilda looked baffled. “I didn’t know you two were in touch. I thought the last time you saw Rhiannon was in Perth, just before your...”
Ellie knew she was about to say wedding. She shook her head and set her friend straight. “She never turned up.”
Matilda’s mouth dropped open like a sideshow clown and her eyes grew cold. “But I don’t understand. You told me you spent the weekend in the city together, that she apologized profusely about not being able to make it to your wedding. I wanted to hunt her down, give her what for about missing the most important day of your life.”
“All lies,” Ellie admitted. “I guess I felt like an idiot for thinking she’d care enough to meet up with me, and I wanted you all to think that she did. When she didn’t show, I waited in the bar for five hours, treating myself to cocktails to cheer up. I got quite drunk.” That was a massive understatement.
In the next hour or so, Ellie spilled the truth about what had happened that awful weekend in Perth. She left nothing out. She cried a lot. And so did Matilda, who cursed herself for not being there for Ellie when she’d needed her support. But not once did Matilda make her feel any less of a person for her mistakes. She didn’t pass judgment or even make many comments until the end, when Ellie said, “So you see how I couldn’t tell Flynn? He’d have hated me.”
Matilda frowned slightly. “I don’t see anything of the sort. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s to never presume what another person thinks, or how they’ll react in a certain situation.”
“I suppose.” But the truth was, Ellie couldn’t have coped with seeing the hurt and disappointment in Flynn’s eyes if she had stayed to face her problems.
“Personally,” Mat said, “and this is just my opinion, because as I said, I don’t know the inside of Flynn’s head, but I think he would rather have had you—and whatever came with that—than lose you. He made some bad choices himself after you left.”
Ellie’s head shot up from where it had been staring down into her lap and a fist full of tissues. “What kind of bad choices?”
* * *
ELLIE WOKE ON Monday morning feeling utterly drained. The past couple of days had been exhausting—physically, mentally and emotionally. And she’d be a fool to think the worst was over.
Her guilt had trebled when she heard that for two years after she left, Flynn had gone on a wild bender, becoming best friends with bottles of Jim Beam. And then his dad, Cyril, had been killed in a freak accident on the farm. She could only imagine the pain the Quartermaines would have felt at that deep loss. Flynn and Cyril had disagreed about some aspects of running the farm, and Cyril had been reluctant to take on a few of Flynn’s ideas, but mostly, father and son had been great mates. In a somewhat bittersweet turnaround, though, it was his father’s death that pulled Flynn out of his self-destructive spiral. Where many turn to alcohol in times of mourning, Cyril’s passing shook Flynn enough that he went completely dry. Ellie felt so relieved when Matilda told her that Flynn had reformed, but she couldn’t ignore the painful truth. If she hadn’t run away, he’d never have gone there in the first place.
Matilda believed the only way for Ellie to truly move on was for her to sit down with Flynn and tell him everything. She shuddered at the thought. Quite aside from the fact that pinning Flynn down would prove a mammoth task, she was scared that in telling him the truth, she risked bringing back hurtful memories for him. Sure, it might get some of the heaviness off her chest, but she couldn’t jeopardize his well-being simply to clear her conscience.
Bottom line was, she’d never stopped loving him. Seeing him yesterday had made that clear. And what was that old saying? If you loved something you let it go? She reckoned that included not rehashing the painful past.
Her decision made, she climbed out of bed, washed and dressed quickly, and then set to some housework. Matilda rose too and grumbled about being constrained by her cast, so Ellie gave her the important job of drafting the shopping list.
“Leave nothing you desire off that list,” Ellie instructed. “I do not want to be traipsing down to the Co-op every day for something we’ve forgotten.”
Just when Ellie thought the house was sparkling so much she couldn’t put off the shopping expedition any longer, the doorbell—a yodeling one that Matilda bought on a trip to Austria—sang out.
“That’ll be my friend Joyce,” Matilda announced, a beaming smile filling her face. “She’s going to be your chaperone.”
“Chaperone?” Ellie raised a brow while racking her brain for memories of Joyce.
“You haven’t met,” said Matilda, reading her mind. “She and her hubby, Howard, moved here three years ago when they bought the caravan park. Howard died last year but Joyce is a hoot, you’ll love her.”
Joyce let herself in. “Everyone adores me.”
Ellie looked at the fire-engine redhead. Her first thought was that she’d never seen a female built in quite such a...strong way. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect bodyguard. She smiled. “Well, shopping with me will soon change that. Nobody adores me.”
Joyce hooted with laughter. “I love her already.”
After ensuring Mat had everything within arm’s reach, Joyce and Ellie set off in the Premier.
“Mat phoned me last night,” Joyce announced as she clicked in her seat belt. “She didn’t tell me why you left the Quartermaine boy at the altar, but she said you have your reasons. I want you to know Mat’s word is good enough for me.”
Ellie’s mood plummeted at the idea that Matilda might have told Joyce more, and nausea set in at the thought of Joyce flapping her mouth about town, of Flynn hearing it all on the grapevine. But she quickly relaxed, knowing her godmother would never break her confidence.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Mat’s had a lot on her plate recently. She’s so happy you’re here but doesn’t want you being crucified just because she needs you. She wanted someone else in your corner.” Joyce’s voice was serious in a way Ellie hadn’t thought possible, judging by her brassy manner back at the cottage. “And I want you to know, I’m in your corner.”
An alien lump formed in Ellie’s throat. She couldn’t quite get another thanks past it.
“We all make mistakes,” continued Joyce, “and I don’t believe in beating oneself up about them. But that’s your business. If you want to talk, I won’t tell a soul your secret, but neither will I press you about it. I just want you to know.”
“Okay. I appreciate that.” Ellie stared ahead at the road. She didn’t really want to make small talk but she didn’t want silence right now, either. Besides, she wouldn’t mind deflecting the attention from herself. “So, what do you think of Hope? Do you like running the caravan park?”
“Love it. I’m a social butterfly so I adore meeting all the people that come through. And I find the dynamics of small-town life fascinating.”
“That’s one word for it,” Ellie snorted. Suffocating and narrow-minded were others.
“You obviously don’t miss it.”
“Actually, I didn’t mind it,” Ellie said, surprising herself. She’d forgotten. She’d let the horror of her drastic departure overshadow the fact that her years here were the best ones of her life. Busy years, with never a moment’s peace. There was always something going on in the town—whether it be a football game, a quiz night, someone’s party, a fund-raiser for the Hospital Auxiliary. It was impossible to be idle, and there was something about the way country people pulled together in an emergency that couldn’t help but warm your heart. She’d loved being part of that, even if now, looking back, she wondered if she’d merely imagined the act of fitting in.
“I could never go back,” Joyce mused. “Not to all those bright lights, crazy streets and people too busy to smile at a stranger.”
Ellie could tell from the affection in Joyce’s voice that Hope and its people had worked their magic on her. Joyce had fallen in love and the only way she’d ever leave was if they carried her out in a box.
As they found a parking space outside the Co-op, Ellie fought the desire to bite her nails. People were already turning in her direction. Heads were shaking. Lips were twisting downward.
“You know, Joyce,” Ellie said, “perhaps it’d be better if you distanced yourself from me inside. I don’t want my unpopularity to affect your business.”
“Don’t be silly, girl. Most of my business comes from out-of-towners. Besides, if people are that narrow-minded, I don’t want their friendship or their money. Give this town a bit of credit. Granted, we have a few silly biddies, but once they’ve had their moment, you’ll be old news. Come on, let’s get that moment over with.”
Ellie couldn’t deny that she felt better with Joyce by her side. As she locked the car—a somewhat unnecessary precaution in the country—Joyce came around to the driver’s side and took her arm.
“Just hold your head high and smile,” she instructed, and they ventured into the building.
Ellie was used to being the point of focus whenever she went out and about. In Sydney, even though most people didn’t go stupid over celebrities, she was always recognized. She didn’t mind the attention—she liked talking to fans, and was more than happy to give her autograph when requested. Not that she’d be getting any such requests around here.
The moment they stepped through the automatic doors, Ellie felt the chill of the frozen foods section against her cheeks, reminding her of the reception she was expecting. Her gaze moved to the checkout where she’d once worked after school and on Saturday mornings. There was a queue—two trolleys equaled a mad rush in Hope. The customers met Ellie’s eyes and then quickly looked away. She recognized the operator as a girl she’d gone to school with. They’d been quite friendly in the past, but now she wasn’t even giving Ellie the chance to toss that smile Joyce had recommended. The woman made sure her eyes didn’t come near Ellie’s.
Straightening her shoulders and jutting her chin forward, Ellie grabbed a trolley and glanced at Joyce. “Let’s do this.” The quicker the better, she thought.
In response, Joyce smiled encouragingly and held up their shopping list. As they traversed the aisles, customers stared and were more than generous with reproachful glares. One woman even tsked. Halfway round, Ellie decided she could either let them upset her or she could...
“Hi.” She offered a woman in aisle three a huge grin. “Emma, isn’t it? We went to school together.”
Emma, who had divine, jet-black hair in a catwalk bob, blinked and looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon whole. Ellie’s heart stopped midbeat as she waited for a response.
“I’m surprised you remember,” Emma said eventually. “Welcome back.” Her welcome couldn’t be described as warm, and there weren’t any polite comments about catching up, but she hadn’t spit in her face, either. Ellie put that down as a win.
As Emma walked briskly away, Ellie gave Joyce two thumbs-up. They raided items from the shelves and soon filled their trolley. Ellie smiled at a couple of customers she didn’t recognize and even stopped to talk to one of her old teachers while Joyce read the labels on different baked bean tins. The teacher—Mrs. Ellery, who taught English and drama—had aged about twenty years in the past ten but she could still talk for Olympic gold. She chewed Ellie’s ear off for what seemed an hour, pride shining through as she acknowledged one of her prodigies had made it big. It was funny, drama had never been Ellie’s favorite or best subject—not that Mrs. Ellery remembered it that way. Her break was, if anything, accidental.
When she’d arrived in Sydney, Ellie had started waitressing at a trendy, inner-city bar. Located next to a mainstream television production company, it had been the hangout of some top-notch producers. Out of the blue one night, one of them asked if she’d like to be an extra in a location episode he was shooting. Hungry for extra cash and happy she’d only be a shadow in the background, she agreed.
Pretty soon Ellie became a regular extra on Lake Street and, as the saying goes, one thing led to another. She was introduced as the long-lost daughter of a much-loved older character, and as the audience adored her, before too long she was a permanent resident on Australia’s favorite street.
But if you’d asked her at seventeen what she’d wanted to be, actress would never have crossed her mind.
“We’re reviving the theatrical society,” Mrs. Ellery said. She caught the first breath Ellie had heard her take in about five minutes and then added, “You should come along. We could do with your wisdom.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” It was all Ellie could do to stop breaking into nervous hysterics at the thought. Venturing out to buy groceries was one thing, but she could just imagine her reception if she tried to wheedle her way into the group. “I’m not here for long, and there are a couple of things I want to do in that time.” Painting Mat’s gutters and awnings was a much safer bet than what Mrs. Ellery had in mind.
“Think about it, dear.” Then, with a pat on Ellie’s forearm, Mrs. Ellery doddered off down the aisle pulling her tapestry trolley behind her.
Ellie did think about it, her thoughts distracting her as she and Joyce finished the shopping. She barely noticed the cold looks and people turning the other way when they saw her coming down the aisle. The town’s last production—Mary Poppins—had been the year before she’d skipped town. In the middle of winter, it had been the highlight of the cold season. She hadn’t been involved, but Matilda had directed and Ellie had often hung around watching rehearsals. The atmosphere whenever the cast and crew got together had been exhilarating.
“Think that’s us done now,” said Joyce, interrupting Ellie’s memory. “Unless there’s anything else you can think of.”
“No.” Ellie stared ahead at the checkout, trying to remember the name of the girl behind the counter. She knew if she acted friendly and not like the snob they all took her for, she’d stand a better chance of not being stoned. That started with addressing people by their names.
As she stopped the trolley at the front of the store, however, her gaze drifted to the newspapers on a stand next to the checkouts. Across the front page of the West Australian was her face, large and flushed against the pale cement of the service station floor. The headline: Stella’s Soap Opera Past in Rural WA. Flynn’s scowling—but still terribly sexy—face was inset at the bottom of the page.
Her heart plummeted at the publicity she neither needed nor wanted. Ten years ago, one particular hound of a journalist had almost uncovered the whole story when she was first starting to make a name for herself. Luckily a well-known cricket personality had indulged in an affair with a newsreader about the same time, and the story of Ellie and Flynn and their nonwedding had died a quick death.
Her mobile began to shrill from her handbag, the unmistakable tone of Lady Gaga interrupting her thoughts. She ripped the zip open and snatched the phone. Not at all surprised to see the caller was her agent, Dwayne Wright, she pressed Reject and shoved it back inside. There wasn’t time to deal with Dwayne’s fury right now—she had about five hundred newspapers to buy.
“I’ll take the lot,” she told the woman behind the checkout, gesturing to the newspapers. “And if you’ve got any out the back, I’ll take them, too.” Dammit, her name was Simone, she remembered a moment too late.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Simone scoffed, making a derogatory sound between her teeth. “I can’t sell you all the newspapers.”
“Why not?” Ellie’s heart tripped over itself. “My money’s as good as anyone’s.”
Not deeming her comment worthy of a reply, Simone leaned forward and spoke into the PA. “Gavin, can you please come to the checkout? Gavin.”
“Who’s Gavin?” Ellie hissed to Joyce.
“The manager,” Joyce whispered back.
Ah good, thought Ellie, surely he won’t turn down legitimate sales. But of course she was wrong. The manager, whom she recognized as a distant relative of Flynn’s mother, wasn’t even sure he wanted to let her buy one newspaper.
“I don’t want you causing havoc in my shop,” he announced, his pudgy arms folded over an impressive beer gut. “Perhaps you should just leave.”
To hell with being polite, Ellie had just about had it up to here with some of the people in this silly, back-of-beyond town. She thrust her finger at the sign that hung across the entrance. “Last time I checked, this was a co-operative.” She dragged the last word out, showing exactly what she thought of him. “And as I recall, co-operative means owned by the community, whereas you are just its manager. So I’m buying the damn food in this trolley and I’ll buy as many newspapers as I want.”
Upset and sweating, Ellie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the thick pile of papers. She yanked them up and dropped them on the checkout, narrowly missing Simone’s fingers. Her sunglasses tumbled off the top of her head and the newspapers fell off either side of the ancient conveyer belt making a mess on the floor.
“I’ll pick them up,” said Joyce, her voice taking on a warning tone. “You go wait in the car.”
At Joyce’s words Ellie cringed. She looked at the faces now glaring at her from all over the store. She’d totally lost it, confirming what most of the town probably thought—that she was some up-herself celebrity who thought money could buy everything. Truth was, all she wanted was the chance to prove them wrong. That she wasn’t the evil Jezebel they’d pegged her as. What happened to being human? What happened to everyone making mistakes?
Her eyes brimmed with tears she didn’t want to shed in public. Years on the small screen had made her very good at being able to turn the waterworks on when she didn’t really feel like it, and an expert at switching them off when in the public eye. But right now, she was losing the battle.
Opting to accept Joyce’s out, she stooped to pick up her sunglasses, almost poking herself in the eye in an effort to put them back on. She left the store, walking briskly and failing dismally to hold her head high.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_8de21987-6090-5ebd-b5d3-4fcbb5447db6)
AS FLYNN MADE his way out of the sheep yards, where he’d been getting his sheep ready for the big ram sale, he saw Lucy running toward him from the homestead. She was shouting something, her arms waving crazily over her head as she did so. He started in her direction.
“What’s up, little sis?”
Despite almost losing it on the weekend and running into Ellie, he’d woken up in a good mood, optimistic about inhabiting the same town as her. The initial meeting was over and, he had to say, it had been less traumatic than he’d anticipated. He’d handled it a lot better than she had, that’s for sure. Probably because, when push came to shove, she was the one with something to feel guilty about. If she hadn’t loved him enough to settle down with him, she should have been woman enough to say so to his face.
As the gap closed between the siblings, Flynn noticed his mobile in Lucy’s hand. Instinctively, he patted his pocket where the phone usually lived. “Careful with that,” he said, reaching for it when Lucy approached.
“I wasn’t the one who left it on the kitchen table where it’s been ringing incessantly and almost vibrating off the edge.” She puffed a little to catch her breath. “The house phone’s been going crazy since the crack of dawn, too.”
Flynn frowned and glanced at the screen. Twenty-two missed calls. That had to be a record.
“Women’s Weekly has rung, TV Week, the Australian and even Sunrise.” Excitement bounced off every word. “Kochie and Mel want to interview you. And Cara says you’re on the front page of the West. You’re famous.” Two words he didn’t want to hear. Especially not for the reasons he guessed. Why else would the journos come sniffing around?
“Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“School holidays,” Lucy said with a grin.
He sighed as the phone buzzed again. “No point prolonging the inevitable.” He answered. “Good morning, Flynn Quartermaine.”
“And a very good morning to you, too, Flynn,” sang a woman’s voice. “How does it feel to have your first love back in town?”
He gritted his teeth. The audacity of the woman not even bothering to introduce herself, hoping he’d spill some juicy news before realizing she wasn’t an old friend. Yeah, right.
“If you’re referring to Ellie Hughes, that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Please don’t call again.”
“But, Flynn...”
He snapped his phone shut. He didn’t have time for this in the middle of shearing. But he knew someone who did. “Lucy, what’s on your agenda for today?”
She pouted. “We’re supposed to be studying for mock exams, but I need to practice my audition for the play. Casting is tomorrow afternoon. Only I’ve rehearsed so many times, I have no idea whether I’m getting worse or better.” Her eyes lit up a moment. “Wanna watch?”
“Yes,” he said, and smiled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “If you screen my calls today, I’ll help you practice this evening. Deal?”
“Hell, yeah.” She held out her bawdy manicured hand—this time with glittery gold nails—for his phone. “I can handle the media. I can even write you up a press statement if you like. We learned about them last week in English.”
“Hold fire on the press release,” he said. “Tell the media I have nothing to say and take the name and number of anyone important.”
“Got it, captain.” Lucy saluted him.
He chuckled, trying to forget Ellie, forget the press and focus on the work that needed to be done. With not long until farmers from all around came to inspect his stock, he had plenty to organize.
“You’re a champ,” he told Lucy. “And I reckon you’ll knock everyone’s socks off at auditions.”
“I hope so,” she answered, before turning and walking back to the main house.
Alone again, Flynn thought of what the journalist had said and wondered if they were hassling Ellie, as well. Yeah, of course they were. The difference was, she probably relished the attention. But in spite of this, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Damn, she’d looked great yesterday. Not as polished as the photos he’d glimpsed over the years, her rich brown hair pulled back almost messily, her complexion paler, her body a little thinner than he liked but still...sexy as all hell. Sexy even in simple jeans and a rugby top. Sexier than any other woman he’d ever met. Just the thought of her had the blood pumping in a southerly direction. His hormones were only raring up now because yesterday they’d been suppressed by shock. He’d known sometime or other he’d bump into Ellie—Hope was a small town—but he hadn’t prepared himself well. He hadn’t thought about what he would say when the moment arose. Small talk should have been the go, to show her he’d moved on, that he didn’t feel anything in her presence and that he definitely didn’t want to rekindle their friendship. Discussion of the weather or the lack of rain would have been real insulting. Instead, he’d stared like some crazed pervert and pleaded, “Why?”
For a split second, he’d regretted the question. Maybe he didn’t want to know if there was an answer beyond the conclusions he’d already come to. Sometimes the truth was best left buried in the past. But he needn’t have worried. She’d looked through him as if he was a ghost—a blurry memory from long ago. Simply stared without the slightest inclination to acknowledge him. He’d felt small—real small—and the best thing had been to get out of there before he let loose on exactly what he thought of her.
But as he reflected on it now, and failed to get Ellie out of his head, the question still lay unanswered. Better left alone or not, he couldn’t rid himself of the urge to know if there’d been more to her departure than met the eye.
* * *
“SO, WHO’S IN charge of this revival?” Ellie asked as she helped Matilda into the wheelchair. It was Tuesday, just after lunch, and the first official meeting of the theatrical society had been scheduled in the hope of attracting some of the high schoolers to the production. They’d decided walking was easier than Matilda hauling her crutches in and out the car and having to hobble about once there. Ellie had practiced her deep breathing in front of the mirror only moments ago, telling herself it was silly to get all worked up over walking down the street.
“Precious Joyce and your old drama teacher, Eileen Ellery.” Matilda sighed. “I was supposed to be the third musketeer, but I’m useless as tits on a bull now. Still, I want to be there for moral support.”
Ellie scoffed. “Just because you can’t walk doesn’t mean you’re not worth your weight in gold. I remember all those productions that went off without a hitch due to your fabulous stage management.”
“Ah, you’re too kind, Els. Still, you’d be more use these days.” She paused and Ellie could guess what was coming next. “Why don’t you come in with me and help us judge the auditions?”
“No, thanks.” Ellie was firm as she opened the front door, pushed Matilda through and locked it behind them. A sucker for punishment she was not. “I’ll go home and start on the awnings.” Before Matilda could press any further, Ellie moved the conversation along. “What play are you putting on? Something traditional or something mod?”
As they strolled down the faded footpath, Ellie kept her head low and Matilda jabbered on happily about the play Joyce had written specifically for Hope Junction. “It’s a love story, in essence, but it captures rural life and the community spirit perfectly. It’s a story of drought and depression and the effect these have on relationships. Of course, there’s a happy ending. One big smooch and the curtains will come down in front of a most contented audience, I reckon.”
“Sounds good,” said Ellie, biting her lip as the Memorial Hall came into view—she wasn’t quite ready for another public humiliation. “Pity I won’t be here to see it.”
“Well...” Matilda started, but the sentence was lost as they both took in the sight ahead. Cameras flashed and two people Ellie instantly recognized as journalists huddled around a white ute. The same ute that had been at the service station that day she’d fainted. Flynn’s ute.
Were they harassing him already? Ellie’s heart raced so fast she could virtually hear it and she nearly stumbled on a crack in the concrete. She wished the crack were big enough to swallow her. If she knew the media, they would have found Flynn’s number and started practically stalking him. Thank God, any contact she had with the press always went through Dwayne.
Ellie and Matilda watched as Flynn stepped out of the car, faded jeans clinging to his buttocks and a scowl on his still incredibly gorgeous face. Not making eye contact with anyone, he strode around and opened the passenger door.
The racing of Ellie’s heart stopped as a beautiful young girl slipped out of the car, a smile as wide as a country street on her tanned face. She looked too young for Flynn, but Ellie still felt a jolt of jealousy shoot through her. Jealousy she had no right to—Flynn could date whoever he wanted, even if she did look juvenile enough to be his daughter.
“Have you talked to Ellie yet?” shouted a short, dumpy journo, overstepping the boundary of personal space as she leaned toward Flynn.
“Do you still love her?” called the other, angling his camera for a better shot.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Flynn’s voice roared over the top of everyone’s.
“Your sister mentioned it when I called yesterday,” said the first one. “Very chatty she was.”
The gorgeous girl at Flynn’s side hung her head and had the good sense to look sheepish. Lucy?
Ellie must have uttered the name aloud for Matilda nodded and said, “Yes, she’s grown up into a lovely girl. But a bit scatty apparently, can’t make up her mind what she wants to do with her life.”
“She can only be seventeen,” replied Ellie, recalling the seven-year-old with curly, golden pigtails who’d been like the little sister she’d always longed for. Leaving Flynn had been bad enough, but losing his sister and parents, too—it had been like losing a whole family. “She’s got plenty of time for serious decisions.”
“That’s if she lives to see tomorrow,” snorted Matilda.
Flynn had angled the journalists out of earshot and was speaking sternly to Lucy. Ellie couldn’t bear Flynn suffering this invasive attention and Lucy getting into trouble when she was probably tricked into revealing their whereabouts. Neither of them had asked for this. They weren’t the ones with a home on prime-time television. They weren’t the ones who’d run away.
Checking the brakes were secure on the wheelchair, Ellie sucked in a deep breath and marched forward. “I’ll give an interview,” she said, holding up her hands to the two members of the media. They spun around, eyes lighting when they saw her. Immediately the camera flashed. Dwayne would kill her for talking to the press before consulting him, but... “Only if you promise to leave Flynn and his sister out of it.”
As she spoke, Flynn turned to face the group and their eyes met. For a tormenting second she saw something there apart from anger. Was it regret? He quickly tugged the brim of his Akubra down to cover his eyes and whispered something to Lucy. Ellie could see the teenager was close to tears, but she nodded and ran into the hall.
“Don’t contact me again,” called Flynn as he headed back to his ute. Ellie wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to the journalists or her. Probably both. The ute started and its engine revved. Flynn did a three-point turn and sped off in the direction of his farm, leaving nothing but a blur of red dust.
Ellie addressed the eager journalists. “I’m going to take my godmother into the hall and then I’ll be back.”
“We’ll be waiting,” replied the woman.
I’ll bet.
“You want me to stay with you?” asked Matilda as Ellie took hold of the wheelchair once again.
“Nope, you go inside and get everyone focused on the auditions instead of on Flynn and me. This is embarrassing.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Matilda firmly.
Ellie shrugged. “They’re just doing their job. If I speak to them, hopefully they’ll go away, or at least leave Flynn alone.” For a moment she wondered if Dwayne had been right. Maybe she should have stayed in Sydney and simply ensured Matilda had competent hired help.
“Vultures,” Matilda spit as Ellie wheeled her past the journalists. They jumped back as if they’d been slapped.
As they entered the hall, Ellie was all too aware that the conversation dimmed. Some people stared while others looked pointedly away. She didn’t know which was worse. She pushed Matilda in the direction of Mrs. Ellery, who was holding a clipboard and waving one arm as she chatted to a couple of people near the stage.
Mrs. Ellery’s eyes lit up when they caught sight of Ellie. “Elenora!” She thrust the clipboard on the woman next to her and held out her arms. “My star pupil. Have you come to join the group?”
Ellie allowed a quick hug, although she couldn’t relax in the other woman’s embrace. Nothing about being in this town felt right anymore. She couldn’t forget that Eileen’s opinion of her was the minority one. “No,” she answered, extracting herself. “I’ve got some...um...things I need to attend to. Can I leave Matilda in your hands?”
“Of course, my dear,” Mrs. Ellery gushed. “We’re so glad you brought Mat along. The group wouldn’t be the same without her.”
As Mrs. Ellery stooped to consult Matilda about the program for the day, Ellie slipped back outside. It was too much to hope the journalists had grown bored and left. Sure enough, they were waiting to pounce the second she exited the building. Ellie made a silent vow to keep control and make sure she led the interview. She addressed the two as one. “Let’s go down to the park and talk. I haven’t got long.”
As they trotted down the road, the short and stumpy woman tried to make friends with Ellie, chatting about her character on Lake Street and how devastated she’d been to hear Stella was taking a break.
“You will be back, though, won’t you?” asked the journo-fan. “After your godmother has recovered, that is?”
“The interview will start at the park,” answered Ellie.
That shut her up. She knew she sounded frosty, but right now Ellie couldn’t care less. Her mind was like a DVD frozen on the one scene, unable to move on. All she saw was Flynn’s face for that brief moment he’d acknowledged her. Stupidly, for that minute moment in time, she’d forgotten their lives had moved on, forgotten she no longer had the right to run up to Flynn and fall into his arms. Her chest throbbed at the thought.
The three walked in silence, attracting the odd stare as a car slowed down to see if it really was Ellie Hughes returned. Country folk loved their gossip, and there was a particular validation from seeing certain things with your own eyes.
When they reached Apex Park, Ellie knew she couldn’t put the journalists off any longer. She felt uncomfortable with the subject matter, guilty for not running this past Dwayne first. Bar that one journalist aeons ago, no one had ever asked her about Flynn. She had no rote answers for this.
Ellie sat down on one side of a picnic table and waited for the two to sit. “Okay, this is how it’s going to work. I agree to answer three questions. You choose them carefully and promise that if I talk to you, you’ll stop bothering Flynn Quartermaine.”
“So, you do still care?” The Lake Street fan grinned as if she’d just won a Walkley Award.
Ellie looked at the woman. “Is that your first question?”
“Yes.”
“Of course I care.” Ellie swallowed but it didn’t clear the dry feeling in her throat. “Flynn Quartermaine was a huge part of my life. I came to Hope Junction a broken teenager. I was a mess, but Flynn and Matilda, my godmother, saw past the damage to what was inside. They helped me heal. Although Flynn and I didn’t work out, he’ll always hold a special place in my heart.”
“If he meant so much, why did you leave him standing at the altar?” asked the second reporter.
“Ever heard of cold feet?” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I was nineteen. I was in love but I was scared. I believe I do is forever and, to be honest—” she hesitated, thinking through the ramifications of her words “—I wasn’t sure I could spend my life in a small town indefinitely. I wanted to explore. I wanted to see the world.”
It was a blatant lie, but it was what everyone already believed and, therefore, convenient. The truth was far more distressing, something she couldn’t let herself think about in front of these gossip-hungry strangers.
“How did Flynn cope after you left?”
Both reporters were scribbling her words in their notebooks. They were just as Matilda had accused—vultures. They’d love to hear the truth about Flynn and cast her as the villain. She knew how the media worked. Australia had loved her for far too long, and any journalist would be stoked to write the story that brought the star down. Not to mention that rural Australia was all the rage at the moment. Farmer Wants a Wife had glamorized the Aussie men and women who worked the land in circumstances of drought, flood and other unkind conditions. The country would be extremely sympathetic to Flynn’s story. A zillion women would write to him offering to mend his broken heart.
“He coped fine, as far as I know,” replied Ellie, lifting her chin and trying not to give away any kind of emotion. Another lie.
There was a silence—they expected more. Ellie kept her mouth shut, looking from one reporter to the other. She couldn’t help feeling a tad victorious.
“I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here. This story was over long ago. Flynn won’t talk to you, and neither will the residents of Hope. I’ve returned simply to look after my godmother, who fell a week ago, spraining one ankle and breaking the other. She’ll be well again soon and I’ll be back on the set of Lake Street. And I think that’s our questions done.”
The journos shook their heads at Ellie’s saccharine smile, shoving their notebooks into their bags. “Thanks for your time,” offered the one who loved Lake Street. “Give your godmother our best wishes.”
Ellie politely shook their hands. They walked back to the hall and she watched to make sure the reporters took the road out of town and not the one to Flynn’s place. Then she made her way to Matilda’s to collect the Premier. The interview had gone much better than she’d expected, but talking to the journos had made her realize something. It was time she faced her fears.
If she were to stay in Hope Junction any longer, she needed to face her guilt and speak to Flynn.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_0d62be8b-ec68-5f25-a126-0792769a92d3)
A BITTER FLYNN stripped down to his undies and plunged into the dam. Today was uncharacteristically warm for August—and especially compared to the weekend—but it wouldn’t have made a difference if it were freezing. He needed to let off steam, to exert energy—and fast. The altercation with the journalists and seeing Ellie again had put him in a bad mood. Bad moods he didn’t like. He generally saw the positives in a situation when everyone else was full of woe—at least nowadays—but right now the positives could take a hike.
“Argh!” He let out a piercing roar as he came up for air. Why? How? How could he let Ellie take hold of him again like this? He’d promised Lucy he’d be there to see her audition, and instead he’d stormed off in a rage.
He swam a couple of laps, trying to sort his churning thoughts into some kind of order. But it didn’t work. The morning’s fiasco played over and over and over again in his throbbing head. Whether he left his eyes open or shut them tight all he saw was Ellie. Gorgeous and confident as she’d walked toward the journalists and taken control of the situation.
Even now, as he turned to swim another lap, there she was, standing on the edge of the dam, looking utterly delectable in tight jeans and that mysteriously irresistible rugby sweater. Ignoring the mirage, he dived back under and charged the other way, and then back again. Through the water, he thought he saw a golden Premier sitting on the dirt just behind the image of Ellie. He emerged and blinked, hoping she and the car would disappear. That his imagination would stop playing nasty tricks. Instead, Ellie was clearer than ever as she lifted a hand and waved tentatively at him.
She’s real!
Her top lifted slightly as she waved and he copped a glimpse of a toned, tanned, terrific stomach. The desire packed a punch and he almost went under.
“Are you okay?” she called out.
Flynn struggled back above the water and saw Ellie running toward him, her deep chocolate hair blowing behind her in the wind. He couldn’t believe she still knew where to find him. Dismissing that thought, Flynn swam to the side and scrambled out, yanking on his jeans over wet skin and tense muscle.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. She was kind enough to avert her gaze while he dressed, but Ellie finding him seminaked wasn’t the problem. It was her being here full stop. Smoothing his T-shirt over his wet chest, he stared at her and shivered. “Well?”
“I thought it was time we talked.” Her voice wavered, and Flynn swore he saw tears welling in her eyes. Eyes almost the same brown as her hair. Her hands were behind her back, making him wonder if she’d crossed her fingers. He remembered holding those hands...could still recall how soft they were.
Stop!
Determined not to let the memories get to him, he let out a derisive snort. “You’re ten years too late. Besides, I’m busy.”
“Five minutes, Flynn. Please?” The way she looked at him stalled his anger for a brief second. She took her chance. “I know I don’t deserve any time at all, that the way I left was unforgivable, but I need you to know it wasn’t because of you.”
“The old it’s-not-you-it’s-me, hey?” Flynn’s voice seeped disbelief as he bent to pull on his boots. She was once the best friend he’d ever had, and now he didn’t know her at all. “Is this supposed to make me feel better or just absolve you?”
“Both,” she replied honestly. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Flynn. There’s nothing I regret more in the world. I was totally messed up back then, and I truly didn’t want to bring you down with me. I thought by leaving I was doing you a favor.”
Flynn didn’t know which part of that to respond to. He took a moment. “What do you mean messed up? I thought you were happy. I thought we were happy.”
It was true, Flynn had never been happier than in those years he’d spent with Ellie. It was a high he’d never managed to reach since. She’d ruined him for anyone else.
“We were happy.” She bit her lip and her eyes brimmed with more tears. “But...you remember how I went to Perth to see my mother?”
He frowned, thinking back. “Yes. I was meant to go with you.”
She sniffed. “I wish you had.”
“Why?” Without thinking he gestured to a shady spot underneath a nearby tree. Despite everything, he could feel himself mellowing toward her. Although she was older and more refined, there was something about her that he still recognized. Something about her he still liked. Against his better judgment, he wanted to spend a little time with her.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/rachael-johns/jilted-39788577/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Rachael Johns
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: She’d left him at the altar, but her heart was always his…After more than ten years away, Australian soap opera star Ellie Hughes returns to the small town of Hope Junction, determined to fly under the radar while caring for her injured godmother, Matilda.But word spreads fast in the tight-knit community. It isn’t long before the people of Hope Junction are gossiping about the real reason for Ellie’s visit and why she broke the heart of golden boy Flynn Quartermaine all those years ago.Soon Ellie and Flynn are thrown back together, forced to deal with the unresolved emotions between them. Because Ellie is not the only one with secrets. Flynn has his own demons to battle, and Matilda is hiding something from her much-loved goddaughter.When all is uncovered, can the ill-fated lovers overcome the wounds of their past? Or is Flynn destined to be jilted again?