‘If we didn’t have company, you know I’d have suggestions for you,’ Paul said, waggling untidy eyebrows.
‘You wish your body could match your mouth. Actually,Iwish it could.’ Evie clapped her hands together. ‘Right, let’s get that kettle on. Who’s having what?’
‘I’d kill for a coffee,’ Lucie said with a sigh. ‘But nettle for me. Breastfeeding,’ she added, catching Jemma’s eye.
Jemma gave a tight smile; that was too much information. Only for her, apparently, as everyone else chimed in with congratulations on how little Gus was faring.
‘What does everyone else want to drink?’ Evie called out again, her first attempt lost in the noise. Voices echoed from around the table as orders were yelled and relayed an impossible number of times. Jack stood to help his grandmother.
‘Put the oven on, Jack,’ Sam yelled. ‘I popped a heap of pastries in Ma’s fridge. And Pierce brought over a tiramisu.’
‘Lucie made a batch of oat muffins this morning,’ Jack volunteered. ‘And an avocado mousse.’
Paul leaned closer to Jemma. ‘Don’t worry, you can eat the real food.’
‘Oh, I’m easy.’
‘Woman after my own heart,’ he murmured with a wink.
Jemma’s cheeks heated, Paul guffawed, and an unprecedented giggle bubbled in her chest.
‘Paul, you want to behave yourself over there,’ Evie called. ‘Remember, Jemma’s a lawyer. She’ll have you in jail for harassment if you’re not careful.’
Paul held out both gnarled hands, insides of his wrists pressed together, partially stilling the slight tremor. ‘Use the fluffy handcuffs, if you don’t mind. I’ve got thin skin nowadays.’
Jemma’s laughter erupted in a deep belly chuckle that was so unlike her, Dad momentarily broke off his animated conversation with Evie to glance her way. She grinned at him, feeling foolish, yet somehow … lighter.
Two hours later, Jemma wasn’t certain how much useful information she’d managed to impart, but she did know she’d eaten too much, drunk what was apparently a bottomless mug of tea and laughed so often that the hollows below her ribs actually ached.
‘You take care, then, love,’ Evie said as she accompanied them to the back door. ‘Your dad was telling me you work with some nasty characters.’
Jemma shot a dark look at Dad, not so much because of what he’d said, but because he’d unknowingly jolted her back to the reality of the dual issues that awaited her back in the city. The brief escape from the constant obsessing over the scant clues contained in the threatening notes had been a relief. But now, the weight of it all crept back in—along with a nagging sense of unease as she tried to predict Rohan’s next career move.
Paul leaned in to embrace her as though he’d known her all her life, and Jemma gasped.
Paul chuckled. ‘Got you breathless, have I?’
She murmured agreement, but her mind was whirling as the pieces suddenly fell into place.
She knew exactly who the threats were from.
Rohan had orchestrated his moves seamlessly, restricting her access to information before her meeting with their client, then informing Wilkins of her refusal to clear the incriminating evidence from his house, with the clear intention of inciting the client to make a complaint about her. But he had dangerously misjudged Wilkins. Intimidation—and worse—was the backbone of their client’s reputation. His history demonstrated that he believed himself above the law, and he wasn’t the type to waste time on a formal complaint.
He wouldn’t think twice about permanently removing anyone who crossed him.
10
Hamish
Not once had Hamish regretted his decision to hire another qualified mechanic to take his place in the family-owned workshop—the move had freed him to take on more of the farming work with Lachlan. With the MacKenzie heritage on the land stretching back to European settlement, he finally felt stable, as though he’d cemented his roots.
The sheer variety of farming tasks also played his impulsiveness far better than the repetitive strictures of working on vehicles, allowing him space to change priorities and refocus as his short attention span demanded. And the boredom factor that sparked his tendency toward hyperactivity had been completely erased: even in the ‘off’ season there was plenty to do on the farm, with vehicle and building maintenance, fencing, hitting the market to buy and sell livestock, tree planting, fertilising, burning off and anything else that was queued up. Plus, he still had to take care of the books for both the farm and the workshop, and he picked up the tools to help whenever they had a backlog in the garage. And, ofcourse, there was captainingPelicanetfor Sam and Pierce. That work was generally pre-booked months ahead, but last weekend had been a bonus. Of sorts. It hadn’t escaped his notice that when Jemma emerged from the saloon, she’d confined herself to the rear deck, where he couldn’t see her from the wheelhouse. Or perhaps it had just been more sheltered back there and he was overthinking it.
Either way, it didn’t matter; he’d had a job to do. And keeping an eye on the uptight lawyer wasn’t part of the brief.
He grinned with satisfaction at his own play on words and hoisted the backpack full of drench, wielding the attached thin metal tube like a wand. ‘Send another dozen down,’ he called to Lachlan.
‘Coming your way.’ On the far side of the pens outside the old stone shearing shed, Lachlan opened a gate. Encouraged by Bodie harassing their heels—although occasionally the dog forgot himself and jumped onto their backs—a handful of sheep pushed their way through the narrow, cage-like corridor.
