‘Back paddock,’ he says.‘Where we left the cattle.No hills.No traffic lights.No intersections.Just steer, don’t kill us, and you’ll pass.’
‘Excellent.Soothing words from a man with no life insurance.’
‘You don’t know that.’
I shoot him a look.‘You have life insurance?’
He grins.‘Why?Are you looking to make a claim?’
We bump our way out across the property, the dust kicking up behind us, the tray rattling as if it’s holding loose bones.When we reach the paddock gate, Luke hops out, opens it, then waves me through.
I do my best.I really do.But the second I ease the ute forward, it bunny hops again.
Luke squints at the ground, sighs like a man betrayed, and mutters, ‘Fucking hell.’
I hear it and laugh all the way through the gate.
He swings it shut behind us, but instead of getting back in the cab, he walks to my window.
‘Line her up next to the trough,’ he says, pointing to the long row of metal.‘Then stop and keep it in first.No accelerator.Ease your foot off the clutch and she’ll creep forward nice and slow.’
‘Cool.Sounds easy enough to mess up spectacularly.’
‘You won’t.’
‘And why can’t you do this?’
‘I’ll be on the back.’He thumbs towards the tray.‘Shovelling grain into the trough.’
Two cows wander lazily in front of the ute’s path, looking mildly curious.
‘What happens if they don’t move?’I ask.
‘They’ll move.They want to be near the grain.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Then honk.Or flash ’em your tits.’
‘Sick.’
Luke’s mouth quirks.
I chew my lip.‘Maybe I should shovel.I don’t want to—’
He cuts in gently.‘You don’t have to drive if you don’t want to.’
There’s no judgement in the statement.Just a genuine offer.And weirdly, that makes me want to do it more.I roll my eyes.‘Fine.I’ll drive.But if I kill a cow, it’s on you.’
‘Deal,’ he says, and then winks before jogging around the back and hopping up onto the tray.
He knocks on the roof with two firm taps.Go time.
We move slowly.Cattle shuffle aside.Grain pours from Luke’s shovel in steady arcs into the long metal troughs.The air smells of feed and dust and warmth.The engine hums softly.I grip the steering wheel tight, but I’m doing it.
We’re doing it.
And for all the chaos, all the awkward bunny hops and sunburn, there’s a rhythm to this.A type of teamwork.Luke shovels.I inch forward.The cattle crowd in as if it’s the hottest club in town.
