by N. R. Walker
“Tell me,” Mrs Craig said. “How’s Travis fitting in over there?”
“Just fine, ma’am,” I said. “He’s fitting in real well.”
Travis snorted and whispered, “Like latex.” There was no way his mother could have heard it, but I damn near choked on my tea.
Thankfully, I heard Ma in the kitchen starting the breakfast round, so I excused myself and said goodbye. “Pleasure to meet you,” I said to Mrs Craig.
I wasn’t even to the door when she laughed. “Well, I think it makes sense now,” she said. “Why it had to be that ranch—”
“It’s called a station, Momma,” Travis corrected her.
It made me smile. Lord knows he’d been corrected on it himself a dozen times. I didn’t hear what was said after that; I went into the kitchen and kissed Ma on the cheek. “Mornin’.”
“Hey, love. You’re up earlier than usual.”
I sipped my tea. “Travis needed to use my laptop. It’s his mother’s birthday.” I realised I’d just kind of given myself away. “He, uh, he woke me up. Didn’t want to just use it without asking.”
“Hm mm,” Ma hummed in that of-course-he-did-I-ain’t-stupid tone she always used when she knew damn well I was lying. “Can you get the bacon out of the fridge for me?”
I loved how she never pushed. I put my tea down and helped her—or more or less got in her road—until Travis was standing in the door.
I leaned against the table. “Everything good back home?” I asked.
His smile became a grin. “Yep.”
“Do you miss them?” I asked. “Feeling homesick?”
“My mom’s making everyone visit her great-aunt today. Said it’s her birthday, they’ll all do what she wants,” Travis said. “Which is fine, but my great-aunt smells like pureed food and mothballs and insists on serving a cold fish dish that no one really knows what’s in it.” He frowned and shuddered like he could still taste that memory. “So no, being at home is the last place on the planet I’d want to be right now.”
Ma laughed. “And here I was going to serve cold fish for breakfast.”
“That’s fine,” Travis said, looking over the pan on the stove. “As long as it looks and tastes like bacon.”
I put my cup of tea to my lips to hide my smile, he looked right back at me and for a good long while, we just stared.
“There’s more coffee here,” Ma told him, seemingly oblivious to the way we were looking at each other.
Travis refilled his cup, then looked at me and mouthed the words, “My mom thinks you’re cute.”
I narrowed my eyes and gave a sharp, pointed nod toward Ma, silently telling him to behave.
He grinned and mouthed the words, “So do I.”
I took a calming breath, but I could feel my cheeks heating up. He thinks I’m cute. Fucking hell. I mouthed, “Shut up.”
He glanced around the room. “It’s the kitchen,” he mouthed. “I can say what I want.”
I growled at him and his laugh made Ma turn around. She looked from me to him, knowing damn well something was going on between us, and tried not to smile. “Boys, set the table for me.”
We did as she asked, and when George and everyone else came in for breakfast, Travis was back to basically ignoring me. Which was exactly what I’d asked him to do, so it was fine. But then halfway through eating, a foot hooked around the back of mine. He kept on eating and never missed a beat, but there in front of everyone, though no one could see, he went and did that. It was kinda like holdin’ hands, except with feet.
No one else would have known any different. He was acting so normal, I would have wondered if it was even his foot but for the fact he was sitting right next to me. That and the real slight way the corner of his mouth curled upwards in an I-know-a-secret kind of smile.
Something about his foot-holding gesture, something about him, made my heart thump funny. I pretended to sip my tea, but really I was just hiding my smile and catching my breath.
After breakfast when everyone else was gone and we were heading out the door, I grabbed my hat off my hook and got stuck staring at the empty hook on the right—where my father’s hat used to hang.
Travis stood beside me, holding the hat I’d leant him. “It’s not just an empty hook, is it?” he asked quietly.
I looked at him, then to the floor. I couldn’t answer.
“Dunno what scares me more,” he murmured. “The fact that hook just sits there empty, or the way you look at it.”
I took a reflexive step away from him—away from his words—shoved my hat on my head, pushed the screen door open and walked outside.
I was busy all day anyway, fixing fences in the holding pens, so it wasn’t like I was deliberately avoiding him. But when he was around with the other guys, I pretended to be really busy.
His words had stung.
Not because of the truth that was in them, but because they came from him.
Things weren’t supposed to be getting personal between us. Which was ridiculous, because every night for the past week, things got awfully personal between us.
I was having a hard time differentiating the two. Travis on the other hand, seemed to take it all in stride. I was all out of sorts, which I put down to bein’ all out of practice. I wasn’t used to physical stuff: the touching with hands and feet and the kissing and nose nudges. It gave me butterflies for the pure and simple reason that I wasn’t used to it.
It had been years since I’d been part of any of that.
Travis was all handsy and touchy-feely because he was used to it. He must have done it all the time with other guys. I mean, he was in Sydney for four days, slept for one of ’em and used two condoms in the two days before coming out here. Apparently he was very used to bein’ all friendly with other guys.
Which was something I tried real hard not to think about, because it made me cranky.
Like, irrationally pissed off. Which was stupid. As if the blistering sun and two thousand head of cattle weren’t enough to worry about, I spent the day trying to push down all these feelings and shit that I wasn’t rightfully prepared to deal with.
Then at dinner time, Travis wouldn’t look at me again. Not in a deliberate so-they-don’t-suspect-anything kind of way, but in a I-shouldn’t-have-said-what-I-said kind of way.
I kept up the ignoring-him-because-he’s-doing-my-head-in gig I had down pat until the house was quiet and I thought he’d gone to bed. I sat at my desk, staring at the office wall, when there was a quiet knock on the door. Travis stuck his head in, and probably guessed he could come in when I didn’t tell him to leave. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
He didn’t say anything. He just walked over to where I was sitting, put his hands on either side of my face and kissed me.
It was soft and trembly and when he pulled away, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” He still had his eyes closed, and he kissed me again. “I shouldn’t have said that this morning. I was out of line and I apologise.”
I put my hands up to cover his, taking them from my face but keeping his hands in mine. He looked at me then: his eyes were wide and sorry. “It’s okay,” I told him.
Still holding his hands, I stood up, but he never took a step back to give me any room. We were standing about as close as we possibly could; I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine, our noses were almost touching. And he just kept staring at me.
It was when he did shit like that that made my heart go beatin’ itself all out of rhythm.
“Will you please take me to bed?” he whispered.
I’d barely nodded when he pulled my hand and led me to the door. He dropped my hand when he walked out into the foyer, I presumed in case anyone was out there. But as soon as I followed him into my room, he turned and shut the door, pushing me up against it.
He was all over me. His hands, his mouth. It was heady to be so wanted, even if it was only a physical desire, it still felt fucking great.
I pushed us off th
e door and stepped him toward the bed, but then with my hands to his face, I pulled his lips from mine, struggling to catch my breath. “Travis, we need to stop.”
I could barely make his features out in the darkened room, but I could see the confusion and hurt as clear as day. He took a step back.
“Um,” I said, still a little breathless. “We can’t have sex tonight. You’ve got five days in saddle,” I told him. “Your arse will be sore enough. You can be pissed at me all you like now, but at the end of the week, you’ll be thanking me.”
He pouted and huffed. He knew I was right, he just didn’t like it.
I walked around him and kissed the back of his neck. I lifted the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing the t-shirt to the floor so I could kiss down the bare skin of his shoulder. “I never said you couldn’t come.”
His head fell back and I kissed his neck, savouring the heat, his smell, the way his breath hitched when I scraped my teeth on his skin. Five days mustering, five days with everyone around, night and day, five days with no chance of escape, five days without feeling him in my arms or the soft touch of his lips.
“Five days,” he said. I wondered if I’d said it out loud or if he’d read my mind.
Or if he was just thinking the same thing as me.
“Five days,” I repeated. I moved around his side, kissing his arm, then to his front, kissing his chest, his collarbone and his neck.
“That’s a really long time,” he said breathily. “Without… this.”
“It is,” I said, spreading my fingers wide on his sides, slowly raking over his skin, trying to relish every touch, every second, everything.
I ran my nose up his neck and over his jaw before I kissed him. I pushed him onto the bed and kissed down his chest and took him into my mouth. I brought him to the brink quickly, and his whole body shook when he came. Still convulsing and writhing, he pulled me by the tops of my arms so I could hold him.
He snuggled into me, which I was learning was a Travis thing to do, one of his touchy-feely things he did so well, and we lay like that for a long time. I refused to overthink things between us. All it did was mess with my head. I must have just dozed off at some point, but even in my sleep-riddled haze, I felt a warm, wet sensation engulf my dick.
I jerked awake and he was quick to put his hands on my chest. When I looked down, Travis had his mouth open over my half-hard cock and he smiled before sliding back down.
I fell back against my bed and let him have his way with me. I didn’t try and draw it out or prolong the pleasure; I just let it consume me. I let him consume me. It wasn’t long before I came, making Travis hum around me.
He crawled up my sated body and nestled his face into my neck, and my arms automatically went around him. “That was disappointing,” he said.
I opened my eyes. “Huh?”
“It went straight down my throat,” he said seriously. “I didn’t get to taste it.”
Boneless and sleepy, I still burst out laughing. “Terrible shame.”
“It is,” he said. “I might have to wake you up in the morning and try it again.”
I fell asleep with a smile, and true to his word, that’s exactly what he did.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Horses should do a lot of things. Coming home alone ain’t ever one of them.
I’d always loved droving cattle, especially as a kid when my dad would let me ride along with George.
And for all the solitude and loneliness this place brought with it, this was what I loved.
This is what I was born to do.
And there was something comforting in knowing—without any doubt—what you were put on this earth for.
The seven of us headed out after breakfast, me in the chopper, four on horseback, three on bikes, with two extra horses laden with swags, food, fuel and water. Shelby was saddled and tethered along for if and when I needed her. The thing about droving cattle in the Outback is that it hadn’t really changed a great deal in a hundred years. Well, apart from the introduction of dirt bikes, helicopters and GPS, it still took several men and women, and it still took a week. We still spent long days in the baking sun and cool nights, still sat around campfires under an entire sky of stars.
Out there in the absolute definition of open space was also the closest I felt to the people who worked for me, who helped me make Sutton Station what it was. There was a level of trust we put in each other out here, and mustering was the pinnacle of that.
On the first day, we’d started at the most northern boundary and started to come down, gathering the mob of cattle as we pushed south. It was the same route I’d been on twice a year, every year. It was the same route my father used. We’d come down the dry Arthur River bed into the also dry Lucy Creek and bring them home from there.
The landscape, baked under a scorching sun for a million years, was unchanged but ever different. From my seat in the chopper, I envied those on horseback. Even as hot as it was, there was something about sitting in a saddle, setting off for days in this godforsaken land that soothed me.
I took the chopper west and did a sweep for any cattle that hadn’t come across. Closing the water off up the tops a few weeks earlier did most of the hard work for us, since they started to come down on their own, but there was always a few that strayed. But it meant the distance they still had to travel was a good fifty kilometres. It was slow going on the ground on bikes and horses, but they handled it beautifully.
It was like Travis had done this his whole life, and even from my seat in the chopper I could see the smile on his face as Texas would break into a canter to round up a steer or two that’d broken out of the mob.
I kept an eye on him that first day, making sure he knew what he was doing and didn’t go off doin’ anything reckless. But he kept his cool, laughing most of the day, and did it all like he was born out here. He never hesitated, always the first to give Texas a nudge and shoot off to keep a few wayward cattle in line.
To be honest, I didn’t know if the way he adapted to the Outback so completely was a surprise, or knowing him, if it didn’t surprise me at all.
Bringing two thousand head of cattle down a dry river bed in forty-degree heat should have sent most men packing. But not him. He thrived.
I went back to the homestead the first night. I needed to refuel the chopper, but I landed in a clearing close by and made sure everyone was right, that bikes had fuel and horses had feed and water, that the cattle were settled and the campfire was lit and food was cooking.
Even with the comforts of home instead of a swag on the hard ground, I wished I was there with them and not in my soft bed. It wasn’t that as the owner and financial bearer of the cattle I lacked trust in my staff—it wasn’t that at all. I just loved being out there.
And Travis was there. And I… wasn’t.
So the next day, before the sun was up, I took George in the chopper with me, instead of him driving the Land Rover out. Ma loaded up fresh supplies and drove it herself. That way George could take over the chopper and leave me on the ground with my crew.
Shelby was one of the spare horses, already saddled because it was always the plan that I’d be joining them. It was just a day earlier than intended.
And as soon as we had the camp packed up, I was in the saddle and we were pushing the mob south. We’d arranged a rendezvous point with Ma for supplies and lunch and kept on with the slow drove south.
* * * *
That night around the campfire, we’d laid out our swags when we were getting ready for sleep. We were all kind of spread out around the fire, but Travis had put his closest to mine. He was still about six feet away from me and as we finally lay down for some shut-eye, he rolled over and faced me. To anyone else, he would have looked sound asleep, but he just lay there with his eyes open, looking at me. He’d smile every now and then and his blinks got longer, but he still just stared at me.
I guess I looked right back at him. If I couldn’t feel him next to
me, asleep in my bed, then this was the next best thing. He didn’t have his arms around me, he wasn’t sprawled out, hogging my bed, there were no sleepy kisses to my chest. But the way he just lay there looking at me kinda made me feel like he was.
We didn’t say anything—we were supposed to be asleep—but we just lay there looking at each other. Everything was quiet, except for the cattle and the sound of someone snoring—and the hammering of my heart.
I don’t know which one of us fell asleep first.
* * * *
The next day was the same, as was the night that followed. During the day, he had Texas turning on command like he’d hand-raised him, and at night we fell asleep just staring at the other.
On the third day, I woke up as hard as the ground I slept on. Watching Travis in the saddle, rising up, pushing with his thighs and the way the muscles in his forearms flexed under his rolled-up sleeves almost had me stir-crazy and aching, aching for relief.
As we bought the cattle down closer to home, to what would be our final temporary holding yard before we penned them, George had been scouting back to give any stragglers a push forward. “There’s still a few steers lagging,” he said over the radio. “But I gotta go refuel.”
“No worries,” I told him. “You go home. We’ll get ’em.” I pulled Shelby around and, while I grabbed some supplies, two swags and some water, told the others I’d have to head back to the rear of the herd and keep them gathered. Before anyone else could offer, I said, “Travis. You’re with me.”
* * * *
I loaded Shelby, settled back in the saddle and took off north, knowing he’d be right behind me. It wasn’t long until I could hear a horse following. I knew Travis was smiling without having to turn around. Between us, we easily rounded the last of the stray steers up before dusk and brought them back to the herd, but instead of heading back to camp, I headed the other direction.
