Jilted. Rachael Johns

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      “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

      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 СКАЧАТЬ