‘Because no one can stop him.Cecil’s an escape artist—broke every latch they ever tried.These days, he wanders with purpose.Visits the school.Joins birthday parties.’
‘And advertises shampoo specials on his sides, like he’s a mobile billboard.’It was odd yet endearing.
And so was Porter’s easy smile, with the shimmer in his eyes.‘Esther would take Cecil to school and use his sides as a chalkboard to keep the kids interested.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Deadset.We’re talking bush kids, so used to being outdoors all the time that they struggled to sit inside and focus.And it worked.Except Cecil never got the memo about school holidays—or retirement.But the town looks out for him.’
‘So that’s why the speed limit is at a crawling pace on the main street?’A strict ten kilometres.After doing over 130 on either side of town, then down to that speed, it felt like you could walk faster.But it seemed everyone obeyed that speed rule in town.‘It’s a bit slow that speed—’
‘Everyone in town voted on it.’
‘For an animal?’
‘Yep.For the water buffalo advertising toothpaste and meat tray draws.And we’ve never booked any locals breaking that speed limit either.Just the tourists—and Sarge’s wife, Wren, that one time.’He flashed her a grin filled with hometown pride.‘Makes the place kinda special, don’t you think?’
It did.But she wasn’t going to share that with Porter.‘I’ve heard people call this thenewlodge.Where is theoldlodge?’
‘Luke’s place.Esther’s old home.’
‘That’s your friend, the fireman?’She nodded towards the window, where the fire station sat across the road, right beside the police station.‘He doesn’t visit Esther?’
‘Trust me, Luke’s here most days.And not just during his shifts.He and his partner run a flower business.They meet the plane or the train before dawn for deliveries, then swing by here to have breakfast with Esther.They supply all the flowers, and Luke’s partner runs free floristry classes for the residents.’He gestured to the vibrant arrangements scattered throughout the Lodge—bold sculptures in tropical colours like living art.
‘That’s why Cecil is always wearing flowers around his horns?’
‘So hunters don’t mistake him for a feral and shoot him.’
She gasped at how casually he’d said that.
‘The sad part is, Esther doesn’t remember Luke visiting anymore.She usually thinks he’s Walden—Luke’s dad.But she’s never forgotten to brush down Cecil and decorate his horns every morning—no matter how bad her memory gets.’
‘Oh…’ She turned back to Esther in her gleaming ballgown, with her tiara catching the light, as she launched into a lively tune on the grand piano with the small group singing along with her like it was a concert or a jazz and blues bar.
‘She seems happy,’ Amara said softly, ‘And so shiny in that ballgown.’
‘Don’t judge.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Yeah, you are.Not that Esther would care.She wears ballgowns and tiaras all the time like stockmen wear jeans and boots, and she loves entertaining.’He nodded back at the singers.‘Esther helped put this place together for the locals.And if I ever end up in a home, this is where I’d want to be.’
‘Why?What makes this place so different?’Except the large open room with the view of the outback.
‘All those men there with their eyes on the sky?They’re stockmen.And most stockmen are bachelors who don’t have any family.Esther explained to me that if you put a stockman, who’s lived his entire life on the land, into a city home, it crushes their spirit.Here, in this place, they not only get to watch over the outback with that view, they’re also close enough to go hang out at the stockyards—’
‘Like the auctions.Some of those men were there.’She recognised a few of them with their walkers and wheelchairs.‘Craig told me that the livestock auctions were more than just sales.’
Porter nodded.And it wasn’t one of his know-it-all nods or smirks that went with it, either.‘These guys love Train Days.You should see them sigh when they watch a road train roll along the highway, dragging in a load of stock for the stockyards.The excitement and spring in their step as they lean over the rails and peek at the cattle, as if to guess its story.It’s good to see.Especially when the younger stockmen stop to have a chat, or shout them a beer in the pub, letting them know they belong.Like they still have a purpose, you know.’
‘It’s impressive.’Amara was just starting to realise the deep level of community cleverly laced within this outback town.
‘There she is… That’s MatildaTillyDixby.’Porter approached a woman seated away from the card players, in an upright wooden chair near the towering walls of open glass, allowing the cool breeze of the outback air inside.
Her hands were clasped over her long cane like it was a sceptre.Her silver-streaked hair was twisted into a no-nonsense bun like Amara’s.And just like the aged stockmen, Tilly dressed like she had a station to run—faded denim, pearl snap buttons, a wide-brimmed hat within arm’s reach, as if she might get up at any moment and start barking out orders.
Porter murmured beside Amara, shifting his weight to lean closer to her, his masculine scent enticing.‘She’s still got that look like she’d take a riding crop or a stockwhip to anyone who crosses her.’
