Rachael Johns - Jilted

“Hold fire on the press release,” he said. “Tell the media I have nothing to say and take the name and number of anyone important.”

“Got it, captain.” Lucy saluted him.

He chuckled, trying to forget Ellie, forget the press and focus on the work that needed to be done. With not long until farmers from all around came to inspect his stock, he had plenty to organize.

“You’re a champ,” he told Lucy. “And I reckon you’ll knock everyone’s socks off at auditions.”

“I hope so,” she answered, before turning and walking back to the main house.

Alone again, Flynn thought of what the journalist had said and wondered if they were hassling Ellie, as well. Yeah, of course they were. The difference was, she probably relished the attention. But in spite of this, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Damn, she’d looked great yesterday. Not as polished as the photos he’d glimpsed over the years, her rich brown hair pulled back almost messily, her complexion paler, her body a little thinner than he liked but still...sexy as all hell. Sexy even in simple jeans and a rugby top. Sexier than any other woman he’d ever met. Just the thought of her had the blood pumping in a southerly direction. His hormones were only raring up now because yesterday they’d been suppressed by shock. He’d known sometime or other he’d bump into Ellie—Hope was a small town—but he hadn’t prepared himself well. He hadn’t thought about what he would say when the moment arose. Small talk should have been the go, to show her he’d moved on, that he didn’t feel anything in her presence and that he definitely didn’t want to rekindle their friendship. Discussion of the weather 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.”