Chapter 3
The Stockman's Lesson
The days fell into a gruelling rhythm. Up before the sun, work until the harsh midday heat forced a break, then more work until dusk. Elara’s body ached in places she’d forgotten existed, but a stubborn pride kept her silent. She would not give Jax the satisfaction of seeing her quit.
He was a relentless taskmaster, his instructions terse and practical. "Don't look them in the eye, you'll spook 'em." "Shift your weight, not the reins." "Trust the horse, she knows more than you do."
It was during the tailing—the process of vaccinating and branding the new calves—that the real test came.
The yards were a swirling mass of dust, noise, and frantic energy.
Men wrestled calves to the ground, the air thick with the smell of singed hair and leather.
Elara was assigned to the gate, a simple but critical job of controlling the flow of animals into the crush.
She was tired, her focus wavering. A large, panicked cow, separated from her calf, charged the gate. Elara fumbled with the heavy latch, her city-soft hands slipping. The gate swung open, and a dozen cattle burst through, scattering into the larger yard, undoing an hour's work.
A string of curses erupted from the men. Jax strode over, his face a mask of controlled fury under the brim of his hat.
"What part of 'hold the gate' is too complicated for you, Flynn?" he snapped, the use of her surname a deliberate blow.
Tears of frustration and exhaustion pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely. "I'm trying, Jax!"
"Try harder!" he shot back, his voice low and sharp. "Or get out of the bloody way. This isn't a game. This is my livelihood."
The words landed like a physical blow. He turned his back on her to help the others re-secure the mob, leaving her standing there, humiliated and seething.
That evening, the silence in the homestead was heavier than ever. She couldn't bear it. She retreated to her old room, but the four walls felt like a prison. Needing air, she slipped out the back and walked towards the old machinery shed, a place she’d hidden as a child.
She heard the soft sound before she saw him.
A low, melodic humming. Peering around the corner of the shed, she saw Jax.
He was sitting on an upturned drum, a newborn lamb cradled in his lap.
Its mother had rejected it, and he was patiently feeding it from a bottle, his large, calloused hands impossibly gentle.
The anger on his face from the afternoon was gone, replaced by a quiet, weary tenderness. He spoke to the lamb in a soft murmur, comforting it. "Easy there, little mate. You're right. You're right."
Elara's breath caught. This was the Jax she remembered. The one who felt the weight of every life on this land, animal and human. The man whose heart was as vast as the outback sky, but who guarded it with barbed wire after she'd left.
He must have sensed her presence. His humming stopped, but he didn't look up. "She won't make it if she doesn't get this colostrum," he said, his voice neutral.
"I'm sorry," Elara whispered, the words inadequate. "About today. I'm not trying to sabotage you, Jax. I just… I feel so useless here."
He finally looked at her, the golden light of the setting sun catching the green in his eyes. "You're not useless. You're just rusty. And you're thinking too much." He gestured for her to come closer. "Here."
Hesitantly, she approached. He shifted, making space on the drum. "Sit."
She sat beside him, their shoulders almost touching. He transferred the warm, wriggling lamb into her arms. "Support its head. Just like that. Now, let it suckle. Don't force it."
Elara held the tiny creature, feeling its frantic heartbeat against her palm. She guided the rubber teat to its mouth, and it began to drink, its tail wiggling weakly. A profound sense of calm settled over her.
They sat in silence for a long time, the only sound the lamb's greedy sucking. The fierce outback stars began to prick the velvet sky.
"You used to love this," Jax said quietly, not looking at her. "The mustering, the animals. You were a natural. Better than me, sometimes."
"I loved it because I was with you," she said, the truth escaping before she could cage it.
The air went still. He turned his head, his gaze searching her face in the dim light.
"Yeah," he said, his voice rough. "I loved it for the same reason."
He stood up abruptly, taking the now-sleepy lamb from her. "We should get back."
But as they walked to the homestead in the starlight, the space between them was different.
The anger had burned itself out, leaving behind the embers of an old, familiar warmth.
He hadn't forgiven her. But for the first time, he had let her see the man behind the wall.
And she had remembered why she had fallen in love with him in the first place.