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Julie jumped down from the cab and stretched her back, kicking out her legs and giving them a shake. God, it was good to get moving again. Aaron did the same on the other side of the vehicle. She watched covertly, as he tipped his head backward and rubbed the side of his neck, then rolled each of his wide shoulders, one at a time. Funny, but Julie didn’t remember this shirt ever looking so good on Wazza. It stretched nicely over biceps that bulged through the fabric. Then Aaron leaned into the cabin of the vehicle, and it took Julie a second to figure out what he was doing. He’d flicked open the glove compartment and quickly and efficiently retrieved his gun, bending down and slotting it beneath his jeans. Julie made a small noise of annoyance. He didn’t need to carry a weapon, not out here. They’d had more than one heated conversation about it over the past few days. After much wrangling, Aaron had finally conceded that instead of wearing his large handgun in his shoulder holster—which would be obvious to anyone who knew what to look for—he’d wear his smaller, tactical SIG Sauer 9mm in an ankle holster instead. In her eyes, Aaron was taking his responsibilities to the extreme. What would he say if someone became suspicious? Aaron had shrugged off the question, clearly not worried about what the ringers might think of him carrying a gun. But he should be worried. They were a tight-knit bunch. In some ways, they were more accepting of people—it took all types to live the life they did—but in others, they were less tolerant, especially if they thought there was a threat to them, or their way of life.
“Have you got your pepper spray?” Aaron asked, coming around the front of the vehicle.
She frowned and put her hands on her hips. Really? Was that all he thought about? They’d only just arrived, and he was already thinking the worst. Why did he have to bring her mood down by reminding her she was a target?
“Well, have you?” he asked again, staring her down.
With a sigh, she patted the front pocket of her jeans. “Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. She’d popped it in there early this morning, just as she was leaving her bedroom.
A low buzzing sound filled the air, then a small white speck appeared on the horizon.
“Here comes Tony, the helicopter pilot,” she said, happy for a change in subject. “Right on time. Now we can really get this muster under way.” The little chopper landed lightly on the ground, raising a plume of bulldust around it. Aaron craned his neck, as if to get a better look at the chopper. Or the pilot, Julie wasn’t sure which. Steve ran over to chat to Tony, who alighted from the chopper, both of them ducking beneath the spinning blades, probably giving him instructions as to the best spot to start driving in the cattle. The chopper would round up the cattle in the farthest paddocks and drive them toward the waiting ground crew on horseback and on quad bikes, who would then gather them up into larger and larger groups and drive them toward the waiting yards, often a distance of up to twenty kilometers away. Chopper mustering had revolutionized this game. Made it possible to muster thousands of cattle in days instead of weeks.
“Give me a hand to unhitch the caravan,” Julie said.
“Will the chopper stay at the camp?” Aaron asked, placing his Akubra firmly on his head and following her around the back of the vehicle to help unhitch the safety chains and then loosen the tow ball, ready to uncouple it.
“Yes, for the next few days, at least,” she replied, struggling to undo the bolt holding the safety hitch. All the fine, red dust from the track had worked its way into the screw, making it near impossible to turn. “Why?” She straightened so she could regard him.
“Helicopters interest me,” he replied, regarding her from beneath the brim of his hat. “I’ve got a pilot’s license.”
“You can fly a helicopter?” She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.
“Yep,” he said in an offhanded manner. “It’s a hobby. Not something I need for my job,” he added in a hurry. “Purely for fun.”
“For fun, huh?” She regarded him through narrowed eyes. It was good to hear that Aaron could actually do something for fun. She’d been starting to believe he was deadly serious all the time.
“Want a hand?” Aaron tipped his chin in the direction of the caravan’s tow bar.
“Nope. I can do it.” She grunted as she hit the nut with a hammer and then tried it again. This time it moved, and she used a pair of pliers to untwist it completely. Success. But try as hard as she could, she couldn’t quite manage to lift the coupling hitch off the tow ball. It was stuck, and no matter how much she twisted it and grunted, lending all her weight to heaving upward on the handle, it wouldn’t budge.
“Now, do you want a hand?” Aaron said, not bothering to hide his smirk.
“Go ahead,” she huffed in a disgruntled tone. Sometimes brute strength won out in the end. He may as well put all those glorious muscles to work for once.
It was going to take a while to unpack the caravan and get it set up for the mammoth task of cooking for sixteen people. But Julie was glad for the convenience; she’d rather have the caravan to store all her foodstuffs, than have to set up under one of the large, white canvas awnings some of the ringers were already erecting. It was easier to keep the caravan clean and organized just how she liked it—no one else was allowed in without her permission. She could also sleep in the van if she liked. A double bed took up one end of the long caravan. But Julie would rather toss her swag down on the ground and be able to stare up at the stars.
“First things first. I need to get smoko organized. Then the riders can get going and we can set up everything else,” she said, watching as Aaron, with seemingly no effort, unhooked the caravan, pushed it back from the car a few inches and positioned the dolly wheel with the brake on, so it wouldn’t roll away. Smoko was already taken care of for this morning. Skylar had packed some of her famous pumpkin-and-wattleseed scones, which she’d baked this morning. Poor Skylar must’ve had to get up at three am to get them done in time. Julie hoped that the ringers who’d arrived last night had taken the initiative to get the campfire going this morning and hopefully set up a billy full of hot water so she could make tea and coffee.
“Right,” Aaron replied. “What can I do to help?”
“You can put chocks around the caravan wheels to keep it in place. Then get the fold-away tables out of the back of the Land Cruiser and set them up over there.” She pointed to where the ringers had almost finished setting up a large canvas awning. “Once we’ve had our morning break, we can set up the mess tent over the tables, so there’s shade for people to sit and eat,” she continued. “We’ll drive lunch out to them today. I’ll only have time to make sandwiches. But Skylar put in a couple of her delicious quiches as well, she always keeps some in the freezer, just in case. That should be enough to keep everyone full until dinnertime.”
“When you said that being the cook was a full-time job, I didn’t imagine that it would actually take up all of your time,” Aaron said with a twitch of his lips.
Julie grinned as he made his way around to the driver’s side of the Land Cruiser. His grumbling was becoming amusing. Today was considered a late start for them. They wouldn’t get a full day’s muster in; the stock hands were usually in the saddle just after sunrise.
“Wait until the hard work begins, you’ll love it,” Julie sang out as she climbed the stairs into the caravan. If he’d forgotten what it was like to be out on muster, then he was about to appreciate a good day's hard work. Which might be good for him, bring him down a peg or so off that high horse of his.
“I can do this all day.” She turned in time to see Aaron raise his arms and strike a pose resembling a prize fighter. That sounded like another Captain America quote. Her heart lifted even higher as she laughed at his silly antics.
