‘About dinner, I’m not sure,’ she began as she opened the door. Pierce was leaning against the wall, dressed in jeans, one dusty boot having caught the lip of a red brick. His grey checked shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, hiding the perfectly toned chest she’d already been privy to. He was handsome in any light but it wasn’t an arrogant or cocky assurance he had. It was the confidence a man had when he knew himself. One who wasn’t searching for anything. One who had found what he was looking for. She wondered for a moment if Pierce had found himself in Uralla or had he arrived already content?
He dropped his booted foot to the ground and turned to face her. ‘I’m heading to the top pub for a quick meal and I thought you might like to join me.’
His smile was perfect but more than that it was genuine. Laine was accustomed to the perfect smile that a model managed to show on cue but with no actual meaning behind it. Her stomach fluttered. Another feeling she was not expecting or enjoying. Her mind told her to feign a headache and slam the door but the clear country evening with a hint of his cologne convinced her heart to accept his invitation.
‘I guess that would be okay.’
She was surprised by her own reaction. She was not spontaneous like this. She always weighed up all the options and then, after careful consideration through a jaded lens, she chose the one that would best fit her schedule. On the way to retrieve her purse from her backpack near the window, Laine heard alarm bells ringing in her head. They were as clear as every other sound she had heard since she had arrived in the quiet little town that morning, but they were in her own mind and her heart quickly shut them down as she slipped her espadrilles back on.
Something was driving her to spend time with the man at her door. And her cold New York reasoning was losing this battle. Her head was in a spin and she was going with it, even if it was against her usual calculated judgement.
‘I think this will go well,’ he remarked, as she closed the door to her room. ‘Neither of us has to drive as it’s walking distance so I can’t offend you again.’
Laine allowed her mouth to curve into a smile as they made their way up the bitumen driveway to the main road.
‘So they still call them the top pub and the bottom pub?’
‘Yes, not sure why really but no one ever says meet you at the Coachwood and Cedar or the Thunderbolt, it’s just the top or bottom pub.’
Laine smiled again at the way nothing had changed, but it was a bittersweet smile as they walked past the bottom pub and spied numerous patrons outside, enjoying a beer and a chat in the balmy evening breeze. She reminded herself she would only be in town for a few days and that after that her life would return to the one she knew. The life she had grown accustomed to. A life on her own on the other side of the world. And with any luck no one would recognise her tonight or any time over the next few days.
They meandered their way to their choice of venue for the evening, only a block away. It was a small town but the locals still managed to support two hotels and a number of cafés and restaurants.
Pierce held the door open and they stepped inside. It was hive of activity. It was mid-week and still busy. There was a drone of patrons’ happy chatter and clinking of glasses as they walked through the front bar towards the dining section.
‘G’day, Doc,’ came a gruff voice just before they reached the dining area, followed by a hearty pat on Pierce’s back. ‘Who’s the pretty lady? Even blind as a bat without my glasses I can see she’s beautiful. And just to let you know, I’ll be disappointed if you tell me she’s your sister.’
Laine saw the older man smiling in her direction. She recognised him immediately but realised he didn’t have the same recollection. Her stomach dropped. It was Jim Patterson, her father’s best friend. He had more silver in his still thick wavy hair and his face was a little more lined but the twinkle in his blue eyes hadn’t changed at all. For thirty years, the pair would relax over a cold beer on a Sunday afternoon on the back veranda. Jim was older than her father by quite a few years but they had struck up a friendship while working on the land as jackeroos when Arthur had just left school and Jim had been in his late twenties. Laine had gone to school with two of his four sons. She looked at Jim’s face and for a moment she thought he might have remembered but she could see there was nothing. She was relieved that his vision was challenged without his glasses.
‘Jim,’ Pierce said, stepping back to let the old man closer to Laine. ‘This is Laine. She’s a photographer from New York.’
‘New York, hey?’ He laughed. ‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you but old Uralla is a long way from your neck of the woods, young lady. What brings you from the Big Apple to our little town?’
‘An assignment actually,’ she replied, meeting the older man’s handshake. ‘I’m shooting a charity calendar to aid FCTP. Foster Children’s Transition Programme. Pierce is my final subject.’
The old man nudged Pierce in the ribs and laughed again. ‘So, you’re a pin-up now? Uralla’s own poster boy. Well, that’s a hoot.’ Then he turned his attention back to Laine. ‘You’re not shooting him in his boxers, though, are you, love? That wouldn’t be something I’d want on the wall, but then again maybe the ladies would like it.’
Laine smiled at Jim and remembered he always had a great sense of humour. When he lost Claire he was beside himself with grief but the townsfolk lifted his spirits and made sure he was never alone. They cooked meals, helped him take care of his sons as the youngest was only eight, and they carried him through the sadness to a better place. And clearly he had stayed there and was back to his old self.
‘Not his boxers. He’s in jeans but that’s about it.’ Laine smirked as she watched Pierce’s face fall.
‘Enough of that,’ he announced, changing the subject. ‘I’ll let you go, Jim, so we can get a table.’ Turning his full attention to Laine, he added, ‘Maybe we can talk about your history with Uralla? “Eons ago” was the term you used. I was hoping over a glass of wine you might elaborate on that just a little.’ Pierce pulled out a chair for Laine.
Laine suddenly felt a cold shiver run over her before a large lump formed in her throat. Accepting the dinner invitation had been a huge mistake. She had been fooling herself to think she could enjoy dinner with Pierce and not have to talk about herself and her connection to the town. She didn’t talk about herself. Not ever. Her private life was a closed book and she intended to keep it that way. She thought he had accepted that but apparently not. The night had to end. Now.
‘I’m sorry, Pierce, I completely forgot there’s a call I need to make to one of my editors in the US. I’ll be crucified if I don’t do it,’ she lied, moving away from the chair and Pierce. ‘You eat and if I finish quickly, I’ll come back and join you,’ she lied again, before she made her way back through the crowded front bar. Laine had no intention of returning for a dinner she anticipated would spiral into the Spanish Inquisition.
With that, she rushed out of the top pub, leaving Pierce alone, and made her way down the street. Anxiously she looked back over her shoulder once or twice and when she felt confident that Pierce was not following her, she ran into the bottom pub and sat down at the furthest table from the door. Her stomach was feeling empty from hunger and churning with nerves. She wasn’t sure if the motel restaurant would be open, so she decided to grab a quick meal at the pub then head back to her room.
Dinner with Pierce would have been impossible. She had been naïve to accept the invitation and not expect that it would mean bringing up the past. Losing her family in Uralla gave her more heartache than she’d thought possible for one person to bear and she had no intention of discussing it.
Putting her life in Australia behind her had been easy in a big city with her high-profile career to keep her busy. And that’s what she needed now. She didn’t need dinner and question time with a country doctor.
‘Here’s the menu,’ the young waitress