They both stared thoughtfully into the distance. Then she went on. ‘You asked about horses. We don’t keep horses, though some stations do. There aren’t so many of the Indigenous stockmen who ride horses now. The ones I know like the motorbikes and quads. Granny Mim would like to ride, but she had a nasty fall from her ancient horse, Red, and it took us a little time to find her. She takes the truck now because my mother insists on it.’

‘It’s all fascinating. A whole different world to my life in the city. You said you don’t have your own helicopter?’

‘Not since my pop’s gyro. We hire the helicopters for the aerial part of the muster. Since my grandfather’s death, Mim has been strongly against Jock getting his helicopter licence. I’m not game to stick up for him.’

‘Not game? I wouldn’t have thought you were afraid of anything.’

‘I’m afraid of doing the wrong thing by omission. It’s a cop-out, I know, but I’m not sure what else I can do. He’s his own man. And his wife’s,’ she added. ‘Hana is amazing. You’ll like her.’

‘You’re a good sister.’ He smiled at her and her insides turned to mush.

So she made fun of it. ‘And a good daughter. And a good granddaughter.’

He looked at her as if trying to read in her face what had been between them. ‘And a good nurse and midwife. But what about when you were with me?’ he asked. ‘Were we good together?’

She slowed the car again and she turned to face him, so their eyes met. ‘Yes, Zac, we were very good together. You made me feel like someone I didn’t know I was.’

Chapter Twenty-two

Zac

Someone she didn’t know she was? Was that a good thing? How far into this relationship had they been? Zac felt the ramifications of Ava’s statement lodge in his brain. Had they reached the point of sleeping together, then? So soon after Roslyn? The thought stunned him.

They drove along the dusty red track in silence for a few minutes. Past another square red hole in the earth with a solar pump, the dam quarter-filled with red water, but all around the land stretched dry, covered by saltbush and scarce tufts of olive-green bush.

On a small rise, Zac saw the long verandahs of the homestead resting among the scrubby trees and a cluster of smaller buildings that were scattered like petite mushrooms around the mother.

‘Here we are, then, Setabilly Station,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

And she drove this most weeks to come home? In Sydney, he used to complain about the half-hour travel to work, through traffic.