The game wasn’t over yet, but for now Porter could just put it in his back pocket for later and enjoy this big day out to see how the other side lived.
Wearing cowboy boots and jeans, with an Amara-made stockman’s hat.His stockman’s shirt still held the sharp creases from Amara’s ironing—because apparently that was now non-negotiable.
But he’d drawn the line at the jeans, and taught her the gospel ofdrip-drying.Saving them both from a life of starched denim.
And today?
It washerturn to teachhimsomething: how to ride a horse and play cowboy with the rest of the Stock Squad.
Him.Bah!Porter had never ridden a horse in his life, it had never interested him.But give him fuel and the roar of a V8, and his pulse would kick off like Metallica’sFuel—loud, fast, and wild.
Why start playing with ponies now, he’d debated heavily against the idea with Amara.But when his lady was on a mission, there was no stopping her.And let’s face it, she pretty much had him bending to her will in return for a simple smile.
It also didn’t help that he’d invested in not one, but two horses for her.
He could blame Lydia and Brodie, who’d shown him the sisters at the Elsie Creek Stockyards—a pair of hacks, they’d called them—but he couldn’t bring himself to split them up.They were the last ones left in an empty stockyard, and someone had muttered they’d be off to the glue factory if no one took them.
Porter couldn’t leave them there.Not when he had a newly renovated stable to fill.
At first he didn’t know if he’d done the right thing, because Amara had cried when she found them in the stables.
He’d been kicking himself for doing that to her, until he realised they were happy tears.She loved them, even if they were just hacks.Porter didn’t care, and surprisingly, the ex-polo national contender didn’t either.
But Amara hadn’t named them yet.That wasn’t his job.It was hers.
Porter didn’t lose sleep, either, over the new horses settling in, not with the Hellhound roaring past.Because those paddock puppies were his kind of people.
They’d paw at the dirt, itching to race the Hellhound along the fence line like it was a game made just for them, where every damn time it had him grinning like an idiot.
But Amara was the one in charge of saddling, brushing and whatever it was you did with horses.She had a system, and she didn’t want him mucking it up, the same way he’d once told her not to mess with his meal plans.
Now, they shared that too.Working out a menu together, to cook side by side so they didn’t have to think about it again for the rest of the week.
For the Stock Squad’s colour-coded micromanager, she wasn’t too bad in the kitchen they shared.And with his shiftwork, the setup worked just fine.
Their house had no garden, not even a lawn, and it didn’t have a white picket fence either.But it did have a bright pink stockman’s hat on the wall that made them both smile each morning as they dragged themselves out of bed—slipping into uniforms, sipping on coffees, while tossing around the idea of starting a new cold case like a couple of career cops who loved their job.
And at night?
Well… Going home to Amara truly meant something to him because they shared their hobbies.Be it a spin in the Hellhound, fixing up the stables, doing some fencing, or setting up her new hat-making studio as part of her she-shed.There were plenty of times they’d just sit on old crates in the man cave’s open doorway sharing a beer together as they watched their paddock puppies settle at sundown.
He hadn’t planned it this way—but damn if he wasn’t living the dream with the woman he loved, in a way that worked for them both, faults and all, with no need to change who they were underneath.
He’d found that happiness came in many layers.In the soft smile she’d give him when she tucked her hair behind one ear.In the way she leaned into him when he’d put a hand on her leg, or brushed at his shoulders, or walked beside him like they belonged to each other in the way their bodies moved together.
And at night, lying with her in his arms, he couldn’t help but thank the stars for letting go of the angel who now shared his bed.
But with horse riding, he wasn’t so sure.
‘Why can’t we do this at home?’he grumbled.
‘Why?Are you worried everyone’s going to see you fall off?’Amara grinned as she finished saddling the horse.
A vehicle rolled over the gravelly terrain towards them.It was Izzy, who rushed around her car to open the passenger door and out came Tilly.Her long cane in hand, spine straight, stockman’s hat on her head that did nothing to dull the gleam in her eyes, with a look sharp enough to make a bull think twice.
Everyone walked over to greet her—Amara, Craig, Finn, Stone, and even Romy paused from playing with her drone set up.
‘What brings you out here, Tilly?’Porter asked, leaning against the fence.
