TEN
The sun is already baking my forehead by the time we step outside and the air is thick enough to chew, but the gum trees hanging overhead remain unbothered – their woody limbs at home with the red soil.
Ella, in a loose-fitting pair of jeans and a soft yellow button-down shirt, tosses a bag into the red helicopter and waves her adorable cowboy hat at me and Abbey as we walk over.
‘Why am I not surprised?’ she says, grinning.
I glance down at the little white sundress and Blundstone boots combo I changed into after breakfast, then at Abbey – denim overalls, bob turned into two cute plaits – and shrug. ‘What?’
Ella shakes her head as Dax pops his head out of the blue helicopter and whistles.
‘Who kidnapped the milkmaids?’
Abbey doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Why? You hungry?’
‘Always.’ He winks.
Across the lawn, I spot Lauren – the woman from the reception who’d talked about cattle as if they were close personal friends – waving as she approaches.
‘How was the rest of your night?’ she asks me as Abbey gravitates closer to Dax.
I think about Luke’s hands on my hips. His mouth. His everything. ‘
Good,’ I say casually, like a farm boy hadn’t ruined me.
Lauren’s smile widens. ‘You and Luke looked like you were having fun in the pool.’
There’s a flicker of something in her tone I can’t quite place. I keep my expression breezy. ‘It helped that he’s as competitive as I am.’
She laughs, light and a little too knowing. ‘He always has been. Ever since we were kids.’
Okay. Breadcrumbs.
‘So, you’ve known everyone here a while?’ I ask, pretending not to push.
Lauren shrugs, graceful as a swan. ‘My family’s been in cattle transport for generations. I grew up with Darcy, Luke … most of the crew.’
‘Sounds … eventful.’
‘It was,’ she says. ‘It’s a small world out here.’
I nod slowly. ‘How so?’
She meets my eyes as the sun catches the copper glow of her hair. The slight breeze sends a handful of strands across the smattering of freckles above her dimpled cheeks. ‘Luke and I used to date. Ages ago. Nothing serious. Still – things can get awkward sometimes. But we’re moving past it.’
Ah.
There it is.
The coded message. The classic I’m just letting you know … in case you thought this was your sandbox now.
And honestly? She doesn’t need to worry.
I give her the warm smile I save for overly chatty Uber drivers and ex-boyfriends’ new fiancées.
‘Oh, I hear you. Men, am I right?’
Lauren’s shoulders ease the slightest fraction before she nods. ‘Amen. Honestly, it’s just nice seeing him smile like that again.’
I file the comment in a mental folder labelled ‘For the Shredder’. Because I’m flying home tomorrow.
Because I don’t do attachment.
Because I don’t care … Right?
Darcy’s voice cuts through my thoughts. ‘Alright. Everyone ready?’
We move towards the helicopters. I follow Abbey to the blue one only to find her already buckled in beside Dax, headphones on as if she owns the skies now.
I step towards them, then an arm snakes gently around my shoulders.
‘You’re in this one,’ Luke murmurs in my ear, guiding me to the red chopper.
His voice is soft. His touch – completely unfair.
Before I can object, he’s buckling me in himself as if we’re in a rom-com flight-school montage. Then he fits the headset over my ears and locks eyes with me for half a second too long.
His lips curve.
So, of course, my brain – traitor that it is – immediately flashes to where his mouth was only hours ago.
I smile back; I’m weak.
Luke gives me a thumbs up, then rounds the chopper and climbs in on the other side. The blades start spinning. The ground shifts slightly under us.
And then—
‘Um …’ I look around in panic. ‘You didn’t shut the doors?’
Ella turns in the front seat, her voice totally calm as it filters through the headset. ‘There are no doors.’
I whip my head towards her, then at Luke, then back at the yawning, doorless gap beside me.
When did we as a society decide that flying without barriers was a good idea?
Luke reaches out and finds my hand, threading our fingers together.
I hold on. It’s not even romantic. It’s pure survival.
I focus on the view as we lift off. Wide, open nothingness. Endless stretches of land dotted with specks that slowly sharpen into cattle, fences and men on horseback. A few kelpies chase the stragglers with Olympic precision.
It’s breathtaking. And it would be lovely if I weren’t convinced that I was about to fall out of the helicopter and join the specks on the ground.
‘How many people work here?’ I ask, needing a distraction from the rush of wind and mortality.
Ella glances at Darcy, who’s flying the chopper like it’s a casual Sunday drive.
‘Excluding the contractors, forty or so,’ he says. Then, glancing at me, he adds, ‘You interested in joining the team?’
I laugh. Hard. ‘God, no.’ Then I wince. ‘I mean – no offence. I would actually die out here.’
There’s a pause.
Luke lets go of my hand. And maybe it’s the altitude, but it stings more than it should.
But me in the outback? That’s like asking the Spice Girls to sing live.
Some things aren’t meant to survive in the wild.
A crackle from the radio breaks through the steady thrum of the blades, a garbled voice spitting out something I can’t understand. Darcy grabs the mic and responds in fluent Outback Morse Code.
Luke leans forward in his seat, eyes lighting up.
Then the helicopter lurches mid-air as Darcy veers us away from the blue chopper we were following.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
Ella twists in her seat, wearing a smile that makes me very nervous. ‘You’re about to see your first croc.’
I blink. ‘I’m sorry – my first what?’
I must look like someone just handed me a live grenade, because Ella chuckles. ‘You’ll be fine. There’s four of us.’
That statistic is not comforting.
I grip the seat as we descend towards a riverbank, the rotors sending red dust and my own panic spiralling in equal measure as we land.
The engine powers down and Ella, Darcy and Luke hop out as if it’s just another day.
The three of them head towards a circle of metal fencing semi-submerged in water.
Cool. Great.
I do not get out of the helicopter.
Luke returns a minute later, tugging the headset gently off my head. I’m still staring at the river.
He leans in beside me, unclicking my seatbelt with complete calm.
‘You’re safe,’ he says, as if he’s promising me the weather will stay nice. ‘The croc’s on the other side of that fence.’
I finally drag my eyes away from the water and look into his. ‘You don’t know that. There could be more. Watching us. Plotting.’
‘I don’t,’ he agrees, lips quirking. ‘But do you trust me?’
I snort. ‘You said you don’t know if there are more crocodiles, and now you want me to trust you?’
His hand finds my knee, squeezes gently. ‘You’ll be fine. Probably.’
‘That’s not the reassurance I was hoping for.’
Ella returns to the chopper, pops open a compartment and grabs a concerning collection of suspicious items: duct tape, two ropes and … a rag?
She gives me a gentler smile this time. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But …’ And here it comes. ‘Imagine the bragging rights you’ll have over Abbey if you do.’
There it is. Low blow. Effective low blow.
I sigh and loosen my death grip on the seat. ‘Fine. But if I get eaten, I’m haunting all three of you. Aggressively. Relentlessly.’
Luke steps back to let me out, smirking. ‘I’m okay with that.’
I flip him my middle finger and follow Ella, regretting every life choice that led me to this literal life-or-death situation.
Darcy’s already got a stick in his hand and is fiddling with a length of rope that has a loop on the end. He sees me and grins. ‘Big one, this guy.’
‘Awesome,’ I deadpan. ‘Thank you for that information I did not ask for.’
Luke appears beside me, tying a knot like he’s done it a thousand times. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. ‘You’ll be okay. It’s just a croc.’
I scoff. ‘Yeah, and hell is just a sauna.’
He laughs, the sound low and delighted, then walks over to the cage.
‘C’mon,’ he calls back. ‘You don’t wanna miss this.’
I do, actually. Very much.
But I also kind of … don’t.
So, I follow him towards the edge of the water. Because nothing says ‘romantic comedy’ like aggressively flirty eye contact beside a predator and possible death.
The crocodile thrashes inside the fence, slamming its body against the metal with a bone-shaking clang. Water explodes over the edge, soaking the ground – and my shoes. Its jaws snap open, flashing prehistoric death, reptilian eyes locked on Darcy.
Darcy crouches on top of the fence, lowering a loop of rope towards the animal’s mouth. The second it catches he yanks tight and jumps down into the shallow water as the croc launches into a death roll.
‘Ella! Grab the rope!’ Darcy barks, fighting to hold on.
Ella doesn’t hesitate – she bolts forward and grabs on, the two of them digging in their heels as the croc thrashes wildly. And then Luke’s there – of course he is – darting in to tie a second rope around the croc’s snout, forcing its jaws shut with terrifying efficiency.
With both ropes taut and the croc pulled tight against the fence, Darcy grabs the duct tape and starts wrapping it, fast and rough, around the animal’s snout. It’s chaos – but it seems they’ve done this a hundred times before. Like this is just … another day in paradise.
‘Okay.’ Darcy pants. ‘Now let’s get him out. Nice and easy.’
Together, the three of them begin dragging the croc out of its enclosure, its body sliding up the sandy bank inch by horrifying inch.
Easily five metres long, the crocodile is the kind of animal that gives you flashbacks to every horror movie you should’ve never watched alone.
‘That thing is huge,’ I say, taking a heroic step backwards.
‘Luke!’ Darcy calls. ‘Toss us the rope and grab the rag, yeah?’
Luke throws him the end of his rope with one hand and scoops up the rag like this is a normal part of his day.
He steps towards the animal, but it starts rolling again and he has to leap back.
Still, his focus doesn’t break. His eyes track every movement the croc makes, like they’re playing chess and he’s already three moves ahead.
Didn’t he say we were safe?
The second the croc stops rolling, Luke moves. Calm, controlled, terrifyingly hot. He drops the rag over the croc’s eyes, and it instantly goes still.
My mouth is open, but I snap it shut when Luke turns, grinning, and points at me. ‘Come here.’
Absolutely not.
‘Nope,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Hard pass. Big no.’
‘Jamie,’ Ella says through gritted teeth, still holding the rope like a champion who is three months pregnant and not fazed in the slightest. ‘The quicker the better.’
Luke doesn’t seem bothered that we’re working on a timer. He strolls over, cool as hell, and says softly, ‘I’ll be right next to you the whole time.’
Why is he like this? Why am I like this?
Maybe it’s dehydration. Maybe it’s trauma bonding. Maybe it’s Maybelline.
Either way, I nod.
Because I’m a fool.
Luke leads me towards the croc, then leans in close to me. ‘Okay. When I say “now”, we’re going to jump on its back so Darcy can tape the rest of its jaw.’
‘I’m sorry, we’re going to what now?’
‘Jump on it.’
‘I apologise if these boots gave you the impression that I’m outdoorsy, but I promise you, I’m more Miranda Priestly than Steve Irwin.’
Ella scoffs. ‘We know. Just do what he says.’
Luke rests his hands on my shoulders and meets my eyes, serious now. ‘I’m right here.’
And damn it, I believe him.
The croc twitches. Rolls again.
I think I black out a little.
‘Wait until I cover the eyes again,’ Luke says quietly, stepping closer to the croc. His voice drops. ‘Steady. Steady …’
The second the croc stops rolling, he throws the rag back over its eyes and then—
‘Now!’
Like the absolute lunatic I am, I launch myself onto the back of a five-metre saltwater crocodile while wearing a white cotton sundress that was giving coastal chic but is now more Jurassic Park: Australian Edition.
Luke is right behind me, his chest pressed tight against my back as his hands reach forward to grab some weird bony horn thing on the side of the croc’s face.
He lifts its head enough for Darcy to wrap duct tape in wide, confident loops around the snout and then secure the rag tight over its eyes with more tape.
The croc thrashes once, twice. We hold on. I feel like I’ve auditioned for a reality show I never signed up for.
But Luke is … warm. Solid. Calm. Which, unfortunately, is doing things to me.
Is crocodile wrestling a kink?
Because suddenly, I’m very into it. And I don’t think it’s the adrenaline talking anymore.
Once Darcy gives the all clear, Luke rises to his feet and pulls me up with him. I’m still shaking. He wraps his arms around me without a word, chest flush against mine.
‘I’m proud of you,’ he murmurs in my ear.
I freeze.
That’s it. Apparently, all it takes is praise from a competent man with boots and rope burns, and I’m done for. Someone call my therapist, I’m about to sign up to Farmer Wants a Wife.
Before I can say anything, the crunch of tyres on dry earth breaks the spell. A ute pulls up, and two guys hop out.
Luke steps away from me, grabbing the rope from Ella like he didn’t just praise me into a hormonal spiral.
Ella walks over, ponytail swaying. ‘See?’ She grins. ‘How fun was that?’
My heart is still trying to escape through my ribs. ‘That was the most fucked up thing I’ve ever done.’
She laughs and claps me on the back like our old netball coach. ‘Exactly. That’s what makes it so fun.’
‘And why was any of that necessary?’
‘We set traps along this river so that the crocs don’t get too close to the livestock. When one triggers the trap, we get an alert, catch ’em, tag ’em, then relocate.’
Ella’s already winding the rope back up, completely unaware of how easily she’s slipped into this life over the years.
We watch as the croc – still taped and gloriously pissed – gets pulled up the riverbank and onto the back of the truck by four grunting men. Darcy radios back to the main house about relocating the croc and someone chimes back that they’ll re-bait the trap tomorrow.
Then we pile back into the chopper. The hem of my dress is soaked, filthy and possibly irredeemable. I should care. I don’t.
Because I jumped on a motherfucking dinosaur. And I survived.
I sit back, body still buzzing, and let the wind whip across my face like a high-five from the universe. The no-door situation is somehow now a vibe.
When I open my eyes, I catch Luke watching me.
His headset is on, and that slow, almost secret smile curves across his face. The kind of smile you don’t earn by being polite or witty – you earn it by wrestling a crocodile in a dress.
‘What?’ I ask, voice crackling through the mic.
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink.
‘Nothing.’
But the smile stays – matching mine.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to be anywhere else but here, straddling a thrill I didn’t ask for.