Jilted - Rachael Johns

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      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.

      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

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