Jilted (22 page)

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. You probably don’t like talking about weddings.’

Lucy was right, she didn’t, but Ellie liked to think she was capable of doing so. Or maybe she just had other things on her mind right now. She shrugged. ‘It’ll be fine. What about you? Are you going?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’m too young, apparently.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’d much prefer to hang with Sam anyway.’

‘Umm … This was Ellie’s cue. She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks already, but if she wanted an excuse to approach Flynn, she needed to see this through. ‘About you and Sam …’ she started, ‘things are going well there?’

‘Fabulous.’ Lucy’s own cheeks flushed and her eyes twinkled. She glanced across the room, to where Sam was digging into a plate of scones, and beamed. It was almost identical to the glow the seventeen-year-old Ellie had had whenever Flynn was near. Ellie didn’t want to burst that bubble, but young love burned fast and bright. Aside from Flynn’s concerns, she cared about Lucy and didn’t want her ending up in a similar predicament to her own.

‘If you want to talk about anything to do with Sam, you know, about being … intimate, I’m here.’ God, this was awkward. Now Ellie knew how parents felt when they had to have
the talk
with their children.

Lucy giggled, clearly not nearly as uncomfortable as Ellie. ‘Thank you for your concern. Am I right in guessing this is coming from Flynn?’

Ellie didn’t say a word.

‘Tell him not to worry about me,’ Lucy continued. ‘Sam is the best, but I’m not rushing into sex. I’ll put out when I’m ready and when I’m ready only, not a moment before. If Sam can’t wait, his loss.’

Wow, she was so wise and confident. Flynn had never taken Ellie for granted but she’d been a ball of nerves and self-doubt at Lucy’s age. Ellie admired her, wishing all the more that things had turned out differently.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Ellie smiled. ‘But if you ever change your mind, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks.’ Lucy leaned forward and put her arms around Ellie. ‘You’re the greatest, you know that? I’m so happy you and Flynn are friends again.’

Chapter Nineteen

Rats and Whitney had planned a wedding that reflected who they were. They wanted it to be casual and fun, a celebration of their love, shared with the people they looked upon as their closest friends. The fact that they considered about two hundred locals to fit this definition meant Whitney’s family’s shearing shed – decked out in silver and pink balloons and a zillion fairy lights – was full to bursting when the bride turned up at dusk.

Flynn proudly stood beside the bloke who’d been his best mate since their first day at school, and grinned at the sheen of sweat across his brow. ‘You okay?’ he whispered. Whitney was only five minutes late, but if anyone could understand the groom’s anxiety, it was Flynn. If the improbable ever happened and Flynn came to be tying the knot himself (again), he’d learnt one thing: weddings should be held early in the day to reduce the opportunity for nervousness.

But Rats didn’t hear him. At the roar of the vintage ute on the gravel driveway he lifted his head and relaxed his shoulders. The tense line of his lips transformed into a crazy smile as he glanced out the doorway and caught sight of Whitney riding on the back of her dad’s 1960s Holden FB ute. That vehicle was legendary in these parts. It had been Whitney’s granddad’s last car; the poor bloke had rolled it and died. But Whitney’s dad refused to let the ute go with the old man, spending years lovingly bringing it back to life.

Still, Flynn shouldn’t be thinking about the transport when everyone else had their eyes glued to the bride. Whitney was a vision atop the ute in her white, ruffled dress, her two bridesmaids giggling on either side. It was a sight you’d only ever see in the sticks, but if Flynn knew Whitney, she’d have made sure that tray was cleaned to within an inch of its life, so that not so much as a single black speck could mark her pristine gown.

The guests held their breath as they watched Whitney and her bridesmaids disembark. Beside Flynn, Rats let out a wolf whistle, making everyone break into laughter. Whitney’s smile was the largest of all as her eyes followed the sound and caught on Rats, dressed to the nines in his swish, black suit. From that moment, everything about Rats and Whitney’s country wedding was relaxing and, Flynn had to admit, romantic. Not the mushy kind of romance his mum, gran and sister went gooey over, but ridgy-didge romance – the kind he’d seen between his parents growing up, the kind he’d always assumed he’d have himself one day.

As the ceremony began, some people stood, while others sat on hay bales in semicircular rows around the couple of the hour. When Rats spoke his personally written vows, there wasn’t a dry eye in the shed, including Flynn’s.

‘I, Jordan Kage O’Donnell, take you, Whitney Rebecca Browne, to be my lawful wedded wife. I promise to love and adore you, to be there whenever you need someone to laugh with or a shoulder
to cry on. I want to travel the world with you, to have babies and grandbabies with you, to grow old with you. I dream of us sitting on the verandah at the end of a long day, drinking beer and just being together. You are my best friend, my soulmate, and I would do anything to make you happy; yes, I’ll even wash the dirty dishes every night. I thought nothing could top the day you agreed to become my wife. But each day with you is better than the last, and I know we have so much to look forward to. Whitney, I love you with all my heart.’

Whitney’s response was hard to make out, choked up as she was from Rats’s heartfelt vows, but hers were equally genuine. And the look in her eyes when she gazed at her husband told Flynn, and everyone else in the shed, that these two would be very happy for a very long time.

Even the Anglican minister struggled to speak when the rings were called for. Flynn slipped the two simple gold bands out of his pocket and laid them on the Bible before him. When he stepped back he realised his hands were shaky, along with his legs. What the hell was wrong with him? He thought he’d gotten over his queasiness with weddings. This setting was about as far from his near miss in the church as one could get, and he couldn’t be happier for his friends. He tried to focus on his balance, watching in awe as Rats and Whitney placed the rings on each other’s fingers. Something inside him squeezed, something hurt. And then they kissed.

While everyone else was whistling and hooting cheers around him, while Rats’s mouth explored his new wife’s for a lot longer than necessary, Flynn had an epiphany. He still wanted this. He’d lived ten years in denial, thinking that happiness could be found in other things – first alcohol, then the farm – but it wasn’t true. Not for him anyway. The only real thing in life was love and family, and dammit, he wanted that more than anything.

Just not with Ellie
, he thought. As much as he loved her company, she’d hurt him irrevocably, and she’d moved on. The call from her agent had rammed home that fact: she would never be his again. What would he do once she went back to Sydney? And to think, he’d been that close to kissing her …

Flynn knew he couldn’t keep up the pretence of friendship, but now he felt that even avoidance wasn’t enough. He needed to move on. Not only did he need distance from Ellie, he had to stop comparing every woman he met to her. He had to make an effort.

‘Flynn, what are you waiting for?’ Lauren’s voice brought him back. He swallowed and looked up at her. In one hand she held a pink bouquet; the other was perched on her hip, her elbow held out to him. He realised they were supposed to link arms. This was his cue to follow Rats and Whitney down the aisle – the middle of the shed – and out into the paddocks where they were scheduled to have photos. Thankfully, everyone was too busy kissing and congratulating the newlyweds to notice that the best man and maid of honour were still dilly-dallying.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. ‘Sorry Lauren.’ Her took her arm.

‘What were you thinking about?’ she asked as they smiled and nodded at the gathered guests.

‘Nothing important,’ he muttered quietly, so as only she could hear.

‘What would you give me if I guessed?’ Lauren stopped and hugged Whitney’s mum. ‘Great wedding, Tanya.’

Flynn followed suit to hug the parents of the bride and groom, then turned back to Lauren. ‘What would you want?’

‘One dance.’

He took in Lauren’s curvaceous body in her hot pink bridesmaid’s gown. She was nothing like Ellie but … hell, he’d just made
a promise not to think about Ellie. In the last few years, Lauren had grown from the ditsy girl at school into a very attractive woman. Flynn had seen a different side to her at the ram sale too.

‘I thought, as best man, that I had to dance with you?’

‘Geez, don’t make it sound like such a hardship.’ She was trying to make a joke, but her disappointment was tangible.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. ‘Lauren, I’d love to dance with you. But,’ he saw the hope in her eyes, ‘first we have to suffer photos.’ She smiled at him and he felt a warm glow spread through his body. Maybe there was light at the end of the Ellie tunnel.

After agreeing with every guest that Whitney was the most divine bride ever created, and that, yes, Rats had scrubbed up quite well too, Flynn and Lauren emerged into the early evening air. On the horizon, orange and purple melded together to create the most amazing sunset Flynn had ever seen.

The photographer caught him looking and said, ‘I want to get a few snaps of the bride and groom before we lose the backdrop. You two,’ he directed two fingers at Lauren and Flynn, ‘stand by for group shots.’

Nodding, they sat down on a couple of old logs and watched the newlyweds smile, hug, kiss and generally play up for the camera.

‘How’s your family?’ Lauren eventually asked, breaking the silence.

‘Good, thanks. Busy. Mum keeps talking about you, saying we should invite you round for a thank you dinner. You know, for helping with the sale and all.’

‘As I said before, it was a blast. Since Dad sold the farm, I don’t get to go to many ram sales. To be honest, I miss them.’

‘Did you ever think about taking on the farm yourself?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. Dad never gave me the option anyway. He always said farming was men’s business. Although I couldn’t have done a much worse job than him.’

Flynn didn’t say anything. He’d never had much to do with Lauren’s father. The story round the traps was that he’d inherited the family property, only to discover that the love of farming hadn’t carried down the generations.

‘Mum and Dad are much happier now with their travel business.’

‘But you still stayed in Hope?’ Apart from Whitney and Lauren, most of the girls from school had fled the moment they got their P plates.

‘Of course I did. I may not have land anymore, but I’d choose the country over the city any day.’

Flynn couldn’t hide his surprise, but before they could continue, the photographer summoned the entire wedding party and began issuing orders. Flynn obeyed reluctantly. He never enjoyed being in front of the camera – he didn’t mind taking photos but always felt awkward when the lens was turned on him. Whitney’s little sister, Sharni, brought out a tray of pink champagne in crystal flutes. Rats downed a couple, and although Flynn thought he could do with a little Dutch courage himself, he steered clear and forced a brave face.

Thankfully the fading light was against them, and was soon no good for outdoor photos. Anyway, Whitney seemed to have had her fill – she was as eager as a Border Collie to get back into the shed and rejoin the celebration. The photographer told Whitney he’d do the formal family shots inside, but Flynn didn’t like his chances of pinning Whitney down again. She was a girl with love in her eyes and partying on her mind.

The reception wasn’t at all formal, and loud music was already pumping from large speakers at both ends of the shed. Half of Flynn’s class from school were bopping away when they entered. Trestle tables were laid out along one wall and the enticing smell of roast meat and veggies was wafting from the makeshift kitchen. Once again, the CWA ladies were outdoing themselves.

‘Why are you standing there like a roo in lights?’ asked Whitney, grabbing his hand. ‘Come dance.’

‘I thought the bride and groom had to dance together first?’

‘Pooh-pooh to tradition!’ Whitney shrieked, waving her ring finger in front of his face. ‘I’m a married woman and I’ll dance with whoever I damn well please.’

Rats threw back his head and laughed as Whitney dragged Flynn to the middle of the floor. Flynn relaxed a bit and got into the groove.

‘You’re a great dancer,’ Whitney said.

He’d never admit it, but Flynn didn’t mind dancing. When the music was good, and loud, letting go on the dance floor was a fabulous way to forget about life’s troubles. And in the absence of alcohol, he needed all the natural endorphins he could get.

‘Thanks,’ he replied, spinning her round under his arm.

She laughed, then caught Lauren’s eye. ‘Sweetheart, do you mind taking over? I think it might actually be time I danced with my husband.’ She swelled with pride on the last word.

Flynn knew a matchmaker when he saw one, but for once it didn’t bother him. It was hard to be annoyed at the blushing bride. He smiled encouragingly at Lauren.

‘I didn’t set that up,’ she gushed as he took her in his arms.

‘I know. Relax. It’s a party, let’s just have fun.’

He listened to his own advice and banished Ellie from his mind for the evening. He talked to nearly everyone in the room, danced some more, ate some delicious grub and stayed until the early hours, long after the bride and groom had hit the road. Throughout the night, Lauren had turned out to be far more fun and interesting than he’d imagined. And this time alcohol wasn’t blurring his judgement.

‘So what about all those emergency room scenes?’ he asked. They were sitting on hay bales, struggling to keep their eyes open
but not yet ready to leave. Somehow they’d gotten chatting about medical television dramas and how unrealistic they were.

‘Besides all the shagging on stretchers, you mean?’