The words, once spoken, seemed to change the very air. He turned fully to face her, his expression unreadable.
“And now?” he asked, the question a bare whisper.
“Now…” She stood, walking to the water’s edge, standing beside him.“Now I’ve spent ten years being anyone, and no one. And I’ve never felt more lost.” She looked up at him, at the familiar lines of his face, the steadfastness in his eyes.“Coming backhere… it’s the first time in a decade I’ve felt like I’m standing on solid ground.”
He reached out then, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her dusty cheek. The touch was electric, a spark jumping the gap of ten lonely years.
“The ground’s still here, Lara,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her skin.“It never moved.”
Her breath hitched. She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing for a second. When she opened them, his face was closer, his gaze dropping to her lips.
The past and the present collided in that single, suspended moment at the river bend. The memory of their first kiss under this tree, and the terrifying, thrilling possibility of a second.
But just as his head started to bend towards hers, the shrill ring of his satellite phone shattered the silence.
He jerked back, his hand falling away. He fumbled for the phone, his expression shifting back to the practical stockman.“Jax here.”
He listened for a moment, his brow furrowing.“Right. A break in the boundary fence near the windmill? Mick’s on it? I’ll head over.” He ended the call, the moment irrevocably broken.
“Trouble?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“Always is,” he said, his tone all business again. He turned and whistled for his horse.“We need to ride.”
As they mounted up and left the peaceful gorge behind, the air between them was once again thick with things unsaid. But the wall was gone. In its place was a chasm they had both almostdared to cross, and the memory of his touch on her skin was a brand, a promise of a conversation that was far from over.
Chapter 5:
The Dust Storm
The change came on the wind first—a hot, gritty breath that whispered of trouble. The sky to the west turned a bruised, ominous orange. Jax, who had been teaching Elara how to repair a busted stock trough, straightened up, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
“Dust storm,” he said, his voice clipped.“A big one. We need to batten down.”
The next hour was a frantic blur of activity. They secured loose equipment, herded the horses into the sturdy stables, and closed all the shutters on the homestead. The world outside grew darker, the sun blotted out by a towering wall of red dust that advanced like a biblical plague.
By the time they stumbled back inside, the storm was upon them. The wind howled like a banshee, rattling the iron roof and hurling sand against the windows with a sound like shotgun pellets. The world was reduced to a roaring, blood-red twilight.
In the sudden, oppressive darkness of the sealed-up living room, lit only by a single kerosene lamp, the vast space felt incredibly small. Elara stood by the fireplace, her arms wrapped around herself, listening to the fury outside. It was terrifying and awe-inspiring.
Jax was checking the lock on the back door, his movements calm and sure.“It’ll pass. They always do.”
“It sounds like the end of the world,” she breathed.
He came to stand beside her, looking not at her, but at the shuddering window.“It’s just the land reminding us who’s in charge.”
A particularly violent gust shook the house, and a fine spray of red dust seeped through a crack in the window frame, settling on everything like powdered rust. Elara flinched.
Without a word, Jax moved. He took the faded quilt from the back of the couch and draped it over her shoulders. His hands rested there for a moment, warm and heavy.
“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice low and close to her ear.
It was his touch that undid her. The days of gruelling work, the shared silence, the almost-kiss at the river bend, the sheer, overwhelming force of the storm—it all converged into a single, desperate need.
She turned within the circle of his arms, the quilt falling away. The lamp cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the dust on his lashes, the firm set of his mouth.
“Jax,” she whispered, her voice lost in the storm’s roar.
He looked down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light. The air crackled with a tension fiercer than the electricity that should have been powering the lights.
