‘You named your vibrator Derek.’
‘What?’I laugh.‘How do you even know that?’
Luke mounts Banjo with casual expertise, clearly very pleased with himself.‘Ella.’
‘I’m suing.’
He grins.‘Go ahead.Just don’t crash my quad.’
The dogs bark.The engine rumbles beneath me.Banjo shifts beneath Luke, hooves scuffing the dirt, breath misting in the chill air.Everything smells of dew and dust and the promise of doing something wholly outside my comfort zone.
‘Ready?’he calls.
I nod.‘Let’s go, cowboy.’
He spurs Banjo into a light canter, and I push the throttle forward, the quad bike growling beneath me as if it knows I have no business driving anything larger than an electric scooter around Darling Harbour.
The air hits my face like a slap – clean, dry, a little electric.The sky blooms brighter with every passing second, pink and gold unfurling over the red grevilleas.The dogs sit behind me, itching for any signal from Luke to leap off and get to work.
He rides Banjo to the left of me and slightly ahead, his back straight, completely at home.His silhouette cuts clean lines against the sunrise, all angles and motion and that damned hat.
And me?
I’m trailing behind, grinning like an idiot, half asleep, toast in my teeth, radio in my lap, and totally, completely in over my head.
The quad bumps over a divot in the track and jolts me out of my thoughts.
Ahead, the paddocks open up like some slow-motion country epic.Hectares of red earth stretch to the horizon, where the sun is finally dragging its lazy arse up into the sky.The mist is burning off now, peeling back to reveal a place so wide and raw it makes my city-girl brain feel very, very small.
I pull up beside Luke, who’s sitting high in the saddle, all relaxed thighs and straight spine as if he was born with reins in his hands.Banjo shifts under him, patient, knowing the real work is about to begin.
Luke doesn’t look down when he speaks.‘This is where it starts.’
‘This being what, exactly?’I ask, trying to keep my voice breezy.
Luke lifts his chin towards the fence line.‘We’ll drive the cattle from here and lead them through the left paddock, past the creek bed, then across to the troughs.The dogs will keep them in check.I’ll lead the herd from the front, you bring up the rear and radio in if there are any strays.’
‘Cool, cool.’I nod.‘I once babysat my nieces in a Westfield food court.I assume this is similar.’
His mouth curves.‘Fewer screaming parents, more cow shit.’
‘Sold.’
He adjusts his grip on the reins.‘If they split, try circling wide.Don’t panic.Use the horn sparingly.’
‘Panic.Use the horn,’ I recite.‘Got it.’
Luke finally glances down at me, eyes scanning my posture, assessing.‘You holding the radio like that on purpose?’
I glance at the chunky UHF awkwardly balanced in my lap.‘Is it upside down?’
‘Would explain why you’re talking into the battery pack.’
I scowl and fumble with the buttons, pressing one at random.It emits a burst of static.
Luke sighs, reins resting loosely in one hand as he leans over Banjo’s shoulder.‘Here.’
He reaches down and plucks the radio from my grip, fingers brushing mine – warm and callused and completely casual.He’s close enough now that I can see the golden stubble on his jawline catch the light, the faint crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes from too much squinting into too much sun.
