Chapter Fourteen

Townsville Airport, September 27, 10:30 a.m.

Of course, the flight was late. Layla had been fidgeting in the area reserved for family for nearly two hours now. The deafening buzz of conversation that had greeted her on her arrival was now a funereal hum, occasionally interrupted by announcements over the PA system. Even they had lessened in frequency as the delay increased.

Suddenly the PA burst into life. ‘Lavarack Barracks welcomes the returning soldiers from Multi-National Base Tarin Kowt. And here they are now.’ The concourse door opened and a whoop went up from the crowd lining the bollarded area. They clapped as the first khaki-clad soldier fairly flew up the red carpet and was instantly engulfed in the arms of his family. In groups of two or three, the soldiers emerged, their joy at being home on Aussie soil plastered all over their faces.

Heart pounding, Layla ran her hands down the floaty midnight blue sundress and prayed she’d be able to recognise Tate.

And that he’d recognise her. The strappy silver sandals and dress she’d donned were so far removed from her usual farm gear, she wasn’t sure she recognised herself. She’d wanted something that complemented the earrings that she always wore, so she’d worked her way through the boutiques in Sydney until she’d found it.

The perfect dress.

For the perfect day.

Tate was coming home.

She shifted from foot to foot as the sea of khaki flooded through the crowded airport. Whoops of joy, hugs, tears and laughter greeted each of the men and women as they came through the gate. Layla bit her lip as she surveyed the pandemonium. The more soldiers that came through, the more of a madhouse it was. She craned her neck, trying to keep the arriving soldiers in sight, but the crowd ebbed and flowed. She had to keep shifting and stretching and she resisted the urge to scream.

Three soldiers entered the terminal together, laughing and joking as they walked the red carpet. From their buzz cuts to their khaki uniforms and kit bags, they were identical. The knot in Layla’s stomach doubled in size.

Everyone else here knew who they were looking for.

She was the only one here with only a fuzzy memory of her soldier.

She fumbled with the clasp on her bag. Why hadn’t she insisted she meet Tate somewhere a bit quieter, like the coffee shop? Somewhere where she’d have a chance of recognising him? Thank God she’d thought to bring his photo. She shifted, trying to keep the red carpet in view, her heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears.

The clasp on the silver clutch remained stubbornly closed.

God, why was this going wrong now? They’d grown closer and closer as the year unfolded, shared everything from their memories of growing up to their dreams for the future. Tate was definitely the one for her.

If only she could remember what he looked like.

Her nerveless fingers finally managed the clasp and her phone, lipstick and room key spewed out onto the floor. Layla swallowed the curse that sprung to her lips and dropped onto her haunches.

As she rose to her feet, she wrestled the photo from the pocket of her clutch. Of course she hadn’t forgotten what he looked like. It was his smile that set him apart. She’d know that smile anywhere.

‘Looking for someone?’

Her heart jumped at the gravelly tone so close to her ear. She looked into his warm brown eyes and knew him instantly. ‘Tate.’

‘Layla.’ He dropped his kit, crushed her in his embrace and held her tight. ‘Oh, Layla.’

Eyes closed, heart pounding, she dropped her clutch and hugged him back, savouring the strength in his chest and the fresh, clean smell of him. ‘Welcome home, Tate,’ she whispered against his neck.

His arms tightened around her and the warmth of his breath feathered across the skin on the back of her neck. ‘It’s great to be home,’ Tate whispered into her hair. ‘Especially now I have you.’

Layla lifted her head from his chest and pressed a kiss against Tate’s lips. ‘I’m so happy to have you home.’

‘Well, isn’t that sweet.’ The acidic voice came from behind her.

Tate froze in her arms and she turned. An older woman with a frizzy blonde perm, wearing a black spandex mini-dress and three-inch red heels, was standing right behind them.

Tate tightened his grip on Layla’s arm and pushed her behind him.

His voice was dripping with ice when he finally spoke.

‘Hello, Mother.’