Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-six
‘May I have this dance, Duchess?’ Stone held out his hand, even half-bowing with a grin that should’ve come with a warning label.
Amara stayed firmly anchored at the table with all the Stock Squad members, and their partners in tow. Even Marcus had his wife Wren tucked at his side, and Tanisha had brought the fabulous Felix, who was somehow holding court with half the room, while Craig was busy dancing with his wife, Izzy.
The only one without a date was Finn—but he didn’t need one. Finn was too busy leaning against the outdoor bar, with sleeves rolled up and collared shirt open, showing off his heavy ink, talking to stockmen like he belonged there.
Undercover cop, she reminded herself. That was what Finn did so well—he fit in. Sliding into conversations like it was nothing.
Her? She barely knew how to do small talk, unless it came with a regulation handbook and a polite nod expected of ladies at formal functions, that she’d pretty much mastered by the age of twelve.
But she could watch the stockmen—how they moved from table to table, especially those that talked in the shadows.
She narrowed her eyes at Stone, unconvinced, while quite comfortable sitting here. ‘Are you going to stand on my toes or rip the hem of my gown?’
‘Nope. Just a dance.’ Stone’s grin widened.
Amara crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. ‘How can I trust that it’s not some ruse?’
This was Stone, after all—the squad’s teaser and general office menace. He’d once swapped out her mouse for a rubber snake. And the week before that, he’d rearranged her filing labels into movie quotes. Trust wasn’t exactly their thing.
‘Unless you want me to fall to my knees and pretend I’m proposing to you in front of the entire room, Duchess, take my hand now.’
‘Go on, Montrose, I’ll have your back if he tries anything.’ Porter gave a nod.
She hesitantly placed her hand in Stone’s and reluctantly let him guide her onto the dance floor—a wide timber platform laid out beneath the stars. It was ringed with fairy lights, crowded with couples and a few line dancers doing their thing.
‘How are you liking the small-town ball?’
‘It’s not what I expected.’
‘Obviously, if you’re wearing a ballgown worth more than a wedding dress,’ Stone murmured, his voice low enough to blend with the music.
Amara shot him a glare, even as he steered her through a gentle turn. ‘And you spend your time flicking through bridal magazines to know the prices, huh?’
Stone grinned like he was enjoying this a little too much. ‘Hanging out with Porter is good for you. You’re starting to lighten up.’
Her steps faltered. She didn’t know how to respond to that. When she’d thought Stone was showing small, teeny increments of improvement by being with Romy.
Instead, she glanced around the room, searching for a distraction, but Stone’s hand stayed firm at her back, guiding her through the next slow turn.
‘Made any friends yet?’ he asked, his tone casual, even as he smoothly sidestepped a passing couple.
She shrugged. ‘This isn’t really my crowd.’ Too many memories of nights like these, and none of them fond ones either.
‘Look, I’m sorry about your horse. Just know, we’ll do everything we can to get him back.’
Amara’s throat tightened as they moved around the dance floor. ‘I can’t keep him,’ she muttered the bitter tasting words. ‘Lot 728 has to go back to his owners in Queensland.’ A harsh lesson to never get attached again.
‘I know about your other horses. The ones that were stolen.’ His voice softened, while his hold on her remained steady. ‘It’s why you became a cop, right?’
She nodded, unable to look at him.
‘It’s what makes you a good one, too, Amara.’
‘Where’s the Duchess nametag?’ He rarely said her name, unless he wanted something.
Stone smirked, leading her through another smooth sweep across the dance floor with his hand at her waist, effortlessly keeping her upright. He’d been trained well.
‘What’s the joke?’ she hissed.
‘No joke. You’ve got something Craig and I don’t have—you’re a bona fide officer of the law.
’ Stone guided her through another smooth turn with ease.
‘You also know station work, but from the unique point of view of the managers’ and owners’ side—where you can relate to the families that way.
And you know how to chase paperwork, people, and clues.
Without you? This squad wouldn’t run half as smooth. ’
‘Who are you?’
Stone shrugged, with that grin curling back into place. ‘Listen, Duchess—’
‘Yes, Pebbles?’ She narrowed her eyes.
He chuckled. ‘Knew you had a sense of humour in there somewhere. And for the record, I only call you Duchess as a compliment. If it bothers you—well, sorry.’
Did she hear that right?
But Stone wasn’t done. Not when he was leaning in, like he had a secret to share. ‘But for what it’s worth, Duchess… in that gown, you’re the belle of the ball.’
‘Behave.’
‘I try.’ He gave a shrug, but his eyes held steady. ‘Just know, you’re like a sister to me. Annoying, sharp as hell—but family. And only we get to call you Duchess.’
The music stopped, leaving them standing in the quiet.
Stone offered his arm, gentleman-like. ‘Come on, I’ll take you back. And not to offend your delicate sensibilities—but you do look pretty tonight. You make the Stock Squad look good, when that’s normally my job.’
He escorted her back, grinning as if he hadn’t just spun her a little sideways.
‘Everything okay?’ Porter asked quietly, as she sat beside him.
‘Um, yeah.’
‘Stone was a gentleman, right?’ The tone in Porter’s voice was almost territorial, defensive even. ‘He’d wanna be or I’ll—’
She put her hand on his arm to stop him from moving. ‘Stone was a perfect gentleman. In fact, he apologised for the name Duchess, even if I know he’s still going to use it.’
‘Tanisha told me she’d love that nickname—Duchess.
’ Porter then leaned closer and said, ‘You should own it, because in that gown, tonight, you’re definitely royalty, Montrose.
’ His eyes travelled over her with admiration, only for him to shut it down.
‘Gotta see a man about his dingo.’ And he was gone, just like that.
She watched Porter move to the bar, where a group of men had gathered. He shook hands, patted backs, and chatted like he belonged.
Then she noticed him crouching down to talk to a few of the older stockmen in walkers. She recognised a few of the silver-haired gentlemen from not only the livestock auction, but from the Lodge where she’d met Tilly.
Tonight, almost every table had one or two Lodge residents as their guests. Bree was at a table with a very fine-looking gene pool of men. Her husband, the infamous Ryder Riggs—well, he had Amara looking at him twice—and his brothers.
At their table was a petite woman swallowed by a red gown with more drama than a debutante.
It was like the gown was alive the way it moved on the lady who had to be in her eighties.
She walked with a limp and leaned on a cane with a gorgeous duck-shaped handle that reminded Amara of Tilly’s long cane.
But she wasn’t sidelined. In fact, everyone took a turn at leading the woman-in-red across the dance floor.
But it wasn’t just that. Lots of others had made space for the retired stockmen, the ones in walkers and wheelchairs to sit at their table. And how the other locals all made that effort to stop for a chat, as if they still belonged.
Again, that layer of community spirit somehow made this town all the more precious. No matter the age, they were still included, still part of the industry that made up a big part of this town.
Porter was right, and so was Stone. She needed to lighten up and make more of an effort to get to know the townspeople.
They didn’t know who she was—with no clue about her past. All they saw was who she was now, like her life had only started the day she’d set foot in Elsie Creek.
And maybe, for them, that was all that mattered.
She pushed up from the table and headed to the far side where the publican, Samantha, sat with some of her staff. ‘Evening all.’
‘There’s the ex-tenant. We miss you, kid.’ It was Billy, the white-haired yardie, habitually lifting his trouser suspender straps higher on his shoulders.
‘Thank you.’ In a way, she missed them, too. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to dance with me, Billy?’
‘Struth.’ His jaw dropped a bit, while Samantha gave a knowing nod, raising her glass to Amara in a silent salute.
‘I’d be honoured.’ Billy removed his fedora, wiped down his shirt, then held out his elbow and proudly escorted Amara to the dance floor.
Then it was Craig’s turn. He turned out to be a remarkably good dancer and the perfect gentleman, before escorting Amara back to their table, where she’d been seated beside Craig’s wife, Izzy, the lawyer, with Porter on her other side.
Throughout the evening, Porter had been polite, taking the time to introduce her to people, and a few times she’d forgotten it was a job. It felt more like a social outing. Porter was good at this, always making sure she was comfortable.
But he never asked her to dance, and he was colder than normal.
Gone were his usual smart remarks, always ensuring he wasn’t sitting too close to touch her.
Good. They had a job to do.
But then why did her skin wish for his arms to brush against hers? Where was that tender smile? That knowing nod as their eyes locked across the room.
Instead, he’d turn away, let his eyes glaze over or talk to someone else, and joke around with Craig and Stone like one of the boys all over again.
This was what she wanted—for Porter to be Policeman Porter, not the man she’d come to know from living under his roof.
‘I need to go to the ladies.’ She went to move, but Porter was there first, pulling back her chair like a proper gentleman.