Page 13 of Rough Stock

‘I can teach you to drive the tractor.’

‘Why do you even have a tractor? To do the farming thingy?’ Izzy finally looked at him, squinting at the harsh sunlight.

‘I had planned on planting feed crops.’ But the place looked after itself, even with its empty fenced yards, it was in good condition considering it had been neglected for years.

‘That would explain the tractor that’s taking up space in your shed. Or do you keep that big bulky mass of metal just so you can lean against it while you drink beer and pretend to be some farmer?’

He narrowed his eyes at her, gritting his teeth, and got the conversation back on track. ‘I meant I could teach you to drive the tractor so you could mow the weeds along the driveway.’

‘Oh…’ She spun on her boots to face the long drive, giving him a great view of her arse in those old shorts of his. ‘I’ve always liked that driveway. And those trees.’

He’d always liked her arse, and the long ponytail of dark hair that trailed down her back, tempting him to wrap it around his wrist to—

No.

Not a dingo’s chance in Hades was he going back there.

Craig cleared his throat, turning to face the long avenue of shady trees lining the wide track that made up the driveway. It was those trees that had sold them on the place before they’d even seen the house. And if he remembered correctly, weeping paperbarks were Izzy’s favourite trees. She said the nectar attracted bees, and the ever-curious Bee Queen had a thing for bees.

Every time they drove down that driveway, they’d roll down their windows, letting the sweet, honeyed fragrance wash over them as they cruised past open fields, picturing livestock grazing—perhaps a stockhorse or two. As the stress melted away, they’d share a soft smile knowing they were home.

After working on sprawling cattle stations most of his life, Dustfire’s size was a dream. A perfectly manageable patch of land that came with the right amount of working infrastructure, including a house with three bedrooms plus the sunroom-come-office. Even though it wasn’t in mobile phone range, Dustfire was only an hour’s drive from town, ticking off another item on his wish list for his ideal property.

It was Izzy who’d found Dustfire, when she’d heard about the property while working on a deceased estate case. The remaining family were keen to sell.

Back then they were a starry-eyed couple who’d been well and truly living in that sweet honeymoon phase of newlyweds for a few fantastic years, looking for a long-term legacy home to pass down to their children. They talked of orchards, beehives, vegetable gardens, fire pits, home offices, and paddocks that only contained a specialised livestock. Dustfire had a bright future. Once.

Sadly, they’d barely made it past their first anniversary as Dustfire’s owners, and their second as a married couple. Leaving the property to become nothing more than a place for the dust to settle over their long-forgotten dreams, buried under a pile of heartbreak.

Sure, they’d been madly in love but, sadly, love alone didn’t pay the bills. It didn’t help when his wife made the big money, while he was just a lowly stockman. That’s why he took the soulless job as a stock inspector in the city of Darwin—to be with his wife.

It didn’t take him long to climb the ranks in that job. Doing his best to cope with the time-wasting experience of peak hour traffic, bosses who didn’t know one end of a cow from another, Government officials always nosing around to spout some new departmental policy change, leading to more rules, more red tape, more regulations, along with a few vegan protesters for kicks and giggles. He was glad to quit that job and come back to Dustfire.

Sadly, alone.

By then, Izzy was already on the east coast of the country, poached by a high-end Sydney firm. He’d catch glimpses of her on the news after winning some big case. Izzy never spoke to the media, she never smiled when on camera, and she was never the face of their court cases, even though she should have been. Instead, Izzy let the others take the credit, when Craig knew full well it was Izzy who’d done all the hard work. Izzy only cared about the job, she was never one to want the rewards, the glory or the fame. She was one of those rare lawyers with no ambition for power or prestige. Her reward was the personal dopamine hit of solving a puzzle, to then wrap it up neatly before moving on to the next project. He’d seen it in her stance on the TV, living off that natural high.

He was so proud of what she’d achieved, but he also knew that she’d walk away from those press conferences to go crash on her couch and eat ice cream and binge-watch bad reality shows until the next shiny object caught her attention.

Right now, this property held Izzy’s attention. She didn’t look like a high-powered lawyer, wearing one of his old shirts and shorts, in a pair of boots she’d picked up from the hardware store, without a skerrick of makeup, and some dirt on her cheek. And she’d never looked more beautiful to him.

He reached out and wiped the dirt off her cheek, finding her skin so incredibly soft.

She stepped back from him, savagely wiping away his touch. ‘Can you trust me with a tractor?’

‘You drive my ute fine.’ He had no choice about her driving his ute around, because his leg still wasn’t up to using the clutch.

He hobbled down the cleaned paths towards the shed. Normally, he’d shorten his stride to walk beside a woman, but not this one. The good thing was he’d never had to shift his car seat after Izzy drove it either. ‘You’ll have to fuel it up first, but I’ll sit with you on the fender.’

‘Can you climb up onto the tractor?’

‘Buck me…’ Craig stopped dead in the middle of the yard, leaning on his crutch while dropping his head. Containing the fire in his chest had him grinding his teeth. He hated this.

‘It’s okay, honey.’ Her hand rested tenderly on his arm, gently steering him back to the house.

A fortnight ago, he would have pulled away from her touch—just like she did his. But he liked these small windows of time when she felt like the Izzy he’d known so well and still missed. Even if, right now, she was coaxing him back to the house he desperately needed to escape.

‘Have you done your physio exercises?’

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