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.