Chapter 4
The River Bend
A week after the tailing incident, the work turned to checking the bores and fences in the far paddocks. It was slower, solitary work, and Jax, to Elara's surprise, asked if she wanted to come.
They rode for hours in a silence that was no longer hostile, but contemplative. The landscape changed, dipping into a rocky gorge where a thin, silver thread of water carved its way through the red rock. The River Gum Creek. Their place.
He reined in his horse at the bend where the water pooled, deep and cool under the shade of a massive, ancient river gum. It was here, under this very tree, that he’d first kissed her. Where they’d dreamed out loud about their future on the station.
“We should let the horses drink,” he said, his voice gruff.
They dismounted, the horses lowering their heads to the water with soft, grateful snorts. The heat was less intense here, the air moist and cool. Elara sat on a sun-warmed rock, taking off her hat and running a hand through her damp hair.
Jax stood a few feet away, staring into the water. “I brought your grandfather’s ashes here,” he said suddenly. “After the funeral. Seemed right.”
The confession hung in the air, a raw, intimate detail of a life she’d missed. Guilt, sharp and fresh, twisted in her gut. “I should have been here.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, but there was no accusation in it now. Just a simple, painful fact. “He asked for you. At the end.”
A sob caught in her throat. She looked away, across the water, her vision blurring.
“He understood, you know,” Jax continued, his voice softer. “More than I did. He said you had wings, and this place was a cage for a bird like you. He never blamed you for leaving.”
“But you did,” she whispered, finally meeting his gaze.
He was silent for a long moment, his jaw working.
“I blamed you for making me believe you wanted to be in the cage with me. For letting me think our dream was the same dream.” He kicked a stone into the water, the plop echoing in the quiet gorge.
“Then I got older. And I realized maybe he was right. Maybe I was asking you to clip your own wings.”
His understanding was a greater burden than his anger had ever been. It meant he had truly loved her enough to let her go, even if it had broken him.
“It wasn’t the place, Jax,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was me. I was young and scared. Scared of being so… known. Of being so loved. It felt like such a huge responsibility. In the city, I could be anyone. Here, I could only ever be… yours.”
The words, once spoken, seemed to change the very air. He turned fully to face her, his expression unreadable.
“And now?” he asked, the question a bare whisper.
“Now…” She stood, walking to the water’s edge, standing beside him.
“Now I’ve spent ten years being anyone, and no one.
And I’ve never felt more lost.” She looked up at him, at the familiar lines of his face, the steadfastness in his eyes.
“Coming back here… it’s the first time in a decade I’ve felt like I’m standing on solid ground. ”
He reached out then, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her dusty cheek. The touch was electric, a spark jumping the gap of ten lonely years.
“The ground’s still here, Lara,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her skin. “It never moved.”
Her breath hitched. She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing for a second. When she opened them, his face was closer, his gaze dropping to her lips.
The past and the present collided in that single, suspended moment at the river bend. The memory of their first kiss under this tree, and the terrifying, thrilling possibility of a second.
But just as his head started to bend towards hers, the shrill ring of his satellite phone shattered the silence.
He jerked back, his hand falling away. He fumbled for the phone, his expression shifting back to the practical stockman. “Jax here.”
He listened for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Right. A break in the boundary fence near the windmill? Mick’s on it? I’ll head over.” He ended the call, the moment irrevocably broken.
“Trouble?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“Always is,” he said, his tone all business again. He turned and whistled for his horse. “We need to ride.”
As they mounted up and left the peaceful gorge behind, the air between them was once again thick with things unsaid.
But the wall was gone. In its place was a chasm they had both almost dared to cross, and the memory of his touch on her skin was a brand, a promise of a conversation that was far from over.