The kind of scent no department store could ever sell.Tough, unpolished, and unbothered.Solid as a boulder and twice as immovable, along with a double dose of raw testosterone, that should’ve been bottled and labelled as:Unapologetic Masculinity—The Finn Edition.
As he started the monster truck, she glanced at the airport and noticed the back gate, directly to the tarmac, where that grey-overalled old man was whizzing around in an oversized golf cart.
‘That arsehole.’
‘Who?’
‘There’s a gate.’
‘So, the gate is the arsehole?’
‘No.I mean, I could’ve used that gate and skipped the whole outback trek where I had the pleasure of a heavy-breathing buffalo on my heels, walking kilometres in a blazer, choking on dust—thanks to a passing truck on steroids—after I got snubbed by that airport mechanic who probably just needs glasses to fix his suspicious squint.’She pointed at the man who’d made her walk, waving at them through the fence.
Finn nodded at the guy.‘Mickey’s got standards.Obviously, you didn’t meet ’em.And Cecil probably liked your perfume.’
She laughed before she could stop herself as Finn drove out of the yard.
On the map, the town appeared like a speck swallowed by the outback.Google hadn’t offered much either, just a vague dot in the middle of nowhere.
Curiosity had Taryn sitting a little taller as they rolled along the main street, lined with low shopfronts on either side.There was an assortment of stores, a small supermarket, a post office next to a craft shop, and a hardware store that looked more like a big shed with a drive-thru feed store sign out front.
There was even a zebra crossing waiting patiently for pedestrians that didn’t materialise.
At the far end came the real centrepiece: a two-storey pub that rose above everything else, like a king’s castle.
‘What makes Elsie Creek a town?’she asked, breaking the silence.‘Why build here?’
Finn kept his eyes on the road like he was talking to the town itself.‘Originally, it was just a piss stop on the rail line.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘A place to stretch your legs before heading further into nowhere.Then the Yanks came through in the war and set up camp for a bit.’Finn rested his hand loosely on the steering wheel as he nodded at the railway station on the left.‘With the railway, the cattle stations shifted their stock routes to meet the train, to feed the Army during the war.Soon, the stockyards were built, and the trains kept coming.Beef headed east and south, and the exports go north to Darwin Harbour.’
‘Didn’t peg you for a tour guide, Sergeant.’Through her passenger window, the town seemed small, weathered, and a little stubborn-looking—like it had refused to disappear.
But there was something about it.A sense of place, surrounded by all this space.Maybe it was the stockyards, or the way the shops faced the road like old friends.Maybe it was the way people waved at each other, even if they didn’t stop.She couldn’t help but admire it.
The troopy rolled to a stop out front of the pub.
Finn cut the engine and nodded at the building that seemed to tower over the town.‘The pub is run by Samantha.The locals call her God.’
‘Is that a nickname or a spiritual warning?’Taryn raised an eyebrow.
Finn smirked.‘Bit of both.She controls the only cold beer for five hundred k’s.And you never get between a stockman and his beer.’
He leaned on the steering wheel, his voice low and matter-of-fact.‘Samantha was born in that pub.It was built by her great-grandmother—the original Elsie, the town was named after.And she might just be the youngest publican in the country.’
‘Why so young?’
‘Her dad got sick.Rumour has it, she was running the place before she even got her driver’s licence or was legally allowed to drink.But she’s whip smart for business and politics.’
‘Why are you so invested in the publican’s story?Do you do that with the shopkeepers too?’
‘The woman has power in this town.Not that you’d know it to look at her.But she’s well respected.So, if you value a roof over your head, and don’t fancy your swag tossed into the scrub, play nice.’Finn climbed out and went to the back of the troopy.He slung her suitcase over one shoulder like it was filled with feathers, and grabbed her workbag before she could protest.
‘Seriously, I can carry—’
‘And I can do it without breaking a heel.’
