‘And now?’
‘I’m happy.I’ve got my house, my mates, my job, my hobbies—and I don’t mind wearing the odd Armani suit now and again.But there’s space for you too, Amara—not as a girlfriend, just as a mate.You could deck out the stables into whatever you want.You can turn it into a hat studio orshe-shed, like I’ve got my man cave.And we can find you another horse, so you can go riding again and do what makes you happy.’
Again, adjusting her weight, he was surprised by her silence, instead of her need to interrupt and defend herself.He took it as a sign that for once she was truly listening.
‘If there’s anything I’ve learned, Montrose, is that people don’t make you happy.You’ve got to find that for yourself.Then, if you’re lucky, the right person might walk through the door…’ He grinned as he said, ‘Even if they’re carrying a pink stockman’s hat.’
Deadset, didn’t he just put his foot in it?
Or did he?
‘You didn’t make that hat to remember something bad, did you?’
‘No.When I made that hat, it was a reminder to live.To be loud.To say:hey world, I’m still here.Not as a Montrose, but me.’
She let out a breath, soft and hollow.‘It was the end of the worst year of my life, which started with my horses getting stolen… then Mum was gone, my fiancé dumped me, Dad turned to the bottle, and the bank foreclosed on the station.I was one step away from being homeless.’
She paused, again the weight of her words pressing down, as he carried her forwards.
‘I’d just packed Dad off to a flat on the coast—to drink and fish his life away...’
Fish his life away.
No wonder she hated fishing.
‘I was standing in the kitchen of the old house—our home—while the removalists loaded up anything we hadn’t already lost to the bank.’Her voice dipped even quieter as she said, ‘The walls were bare.And the place that had held generations of our family’s laughter… echoed nothing but silence between the remaining boxes.’
She paused as Porter kept on walking, listening to her story, not hearing the crunch under his shoes or feeling her weight on his back.
‘I don’t know why I did it, but I sat at the kitchen bench and pulled out the material.I shaped it like a proper stockman’s hat.Used steam, an iron, the whole deal.It took me ages to get the crown right, and how that bend to the brim teased me.I kept burning my fingers like an idiot, working with shaky hands and ugly tears, but I didn’t stop, and worked throughout the night.’
She paused as if to smile faintly at the memory, her grip tightening a little around his shoulders.‘In the end I had a bright, hideously pink felt hat.Too loud for the bush, too bold for a Montrose.But that was the point of it.’
There was a soft laugh, but it fell short as she continued.‘I stitched on the hatband last—hand-plaited leather from one of Mum’s old reins I’d managed to save.And then as the sun rose that morning, I put it on, and walked out of that house with my head held high, and never looked back…’ Her voice dropped to a faint whisper, ‘Even if I didn’t quite believe it at the time, I needed some hope.’
Again, she gave a soft laugh, this one tinged with something gentler.‘I put it up for auction, you know?Thought it was symbolic—like letting go of the name and the history.All of it.’She paused.‘But then I stupidly bought it back… Maybe I wasn’t ready to let it all go, after all,’ she admitted.‘Pretty weak, huh?’
‘No, not weak,’ he said, his voice low.‘That pink stockman’s hat you made was a sign of hope.For choosing to keep the good parts and to walk away from the rest.That hat’s got a home with me for as long as you want, Montrose.’
‘But it’s all…’ She glanced out at the wilderness, and he knew what she was going to say, that their situation was hopeless.
‘Hey, you’re still here.Even if it we’re in the middle of bloody nowhere, we’re not giving up without a fight.’Deadset.If he had to carry her all the way to town, he’d do it.
The silence fell again, but this time it was that easy silence you only got with someone you were comfortable with.It was nice, and it wasn’t empty.It was just time shared, even if it was against their wills.
Then, softly, she asked, ‘Did you mean it, when you said I looked beautiful tonight?’
He huffed, as a ghost of a smile tugged at his cracked lips.
‘Montrose, I’ve never seen anything like you.Beautiful doesn’t even come close to how I’d describe it.’He could almost feel her smile from behind his back.
He wanted to turn and look at her, but he knew she’d hide it, which was a crime itself.
‘How about I build a hat rack—one that does that pink thing justice?’He took a breath, another step, as the dirt crunched under his boots, sweat dripping off his nose, but he kept up the pace.Head down, one foot after the other and up a slow incline, but with the weight on his back, it may as well had been a mountain.‘We’ll put that pink hat somewhere, so it can be that symbol of hope, for both of us.’
Andhopeis what they needed right now.
Just as he said it, his boots carried them over the small rise…
