Chapter 1 The Red Dust of Memory
Where the River Gum Grows
The Red Dust of Memory
The homestead appeared on the horizon, a low-slung, wide-veranda'd building of weathered timber and corrugated iron, baked by a century of sun. It looked smaller than she remembered. Or perhaps she had just grown.
She pulled up in a cloud of red dust, cutting the engine. The silence was immediate and absolute, broken only by the distant cry of a galah. This was it. The place she’d fled a decade ago, leaving behind a broken heart and a future she’d been too young and too terrified to claim.
The screen door of the homestead creaked open, and he stepped out.
Jax Munro.
Time had etched new lines at the corners of his eyes, and his shoulders were broader under his faded blue work shirt, but he was undeniably the same.
The same sun-bleached brown hair, the same steady, green-gold eyes that could see right through her.
He leaned against the porch post, arms crossed, not smiling.
“Elara,” he said. Her name was flat on his tongue, stripped of the warmth it once held.
“Jax.” She got out of the car, the heat wrapping around her like a blanket. “I got your message.”
“Aye. The lawyer said you’d come.” He didn’t move, his gaze sweeping over her city clothes—the linen trousers, the impractical shoes. “Didn’t think you would, though. Hated this place, as I recall.”
“I didn’t hate it,” she said, the old defensiveness rising. “I was just… suffocating.”
“Right.” The single word was heavy with a decade of unspoken accusations. He pushed off the post. “Well, you’re here now. Come on in. The will’s on the table.”
He turned and walked inside, leaving her standing in the blistering sun.
Elara took a shaky breath, the past rushing at her with the force of a desert storm.
She had come back to settle her grandfather’s estate, to sell her half of the station and sever the last tie.
She hadn’t expected the sight of Jax Munro to feel like a hoof to the chest.
Inside, the homestead was exactly as she remembered. Dark wood, worn leather couches, the faint, comforting smell of woodsmoke and beeswax. Her grandfather’s presence was everywhere. And so was Jax’s. His boots by the door, his hat on the hook, a half-read book on the side table.
He gestured to a thick manila envelope on the large kitchen table. “It’s all there. He left the station to both of us. Fifty-fifty.”
Elara’s heart sank. She’d hoped… she didn’t know what she’d hoped. A clean break. “I can’t stay, Jax. You know that. My life is in Sydney. My job…”
“I know what your life is,” he cut in, his voice quiet but firm. “But the will has a condition. We both have to agree to the sale. And I don’t.”
She stared at him, disbelief turning to anger. “What? Why? You can’t possibly run this place alone. It’s too much.”
“I’ve been running it alone with your grandfather for the last five years,” he said, a flash of old pain in his eyes.
“And I’m not alone. I’ve got a couple of ringers.
But it’s my home, Elara. It’s all I’ve got.
And I’m not letting you sell it out from under me to some corporate agri-business so you can buy a fancier apartment in the city. ”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” He took a step closer, and she was reminded of his sheer physical presence, the raw, grounded strength of him that had once made her feel so safe, and so trapped.
“You left. You made your choice. But this place, our history… you don’t get to just erase it with a signature.
You want to sell? Then you’re gonna have to stay.
For three months. The probate period. You help me through the mustering, the tailing, the lot.
You pull your weight. And if at the end of it, you still want to walk away… I’ll sign.”
The audacity of it left her speechless. Three months. Trapped here, with him, with all the ghosts.
“You’re insane.”
“It’s that, or we’re at a stalemate, and the station goes to wrack and ruin while the lawyers get rich. Your choice, Lara.” He used the old nickname, the one only he and her grandfather had called her, and it felt like a betrayal.
She looked around the room, at the photos on the mantel. One of her, at eighteen, tanned and laughing, tucked under Jax’s arm. They had been going to build a life here. Before her fear, and a university acceptance letter, had given her a way out.
Now, the outback had called her back. Not with a gentle whisper, but with the stubborn, unyielding gaze of the man she’d never stopped loving, and never forgiven herself for leaving.
She met his challenging stare, her own chin lifting. “Fine. Three months.”
A flicker of something—surprise, respect?—crossed his face before it shuttered again. “Fine.”
The deal was struck. The second chance, forced upon them by a dead man’s will, had begun. And the red dust of memory was already settling on her skin, seeping into her soul.