The midday sun bore down on the red earth, turning the air into a wavering haze that shimmered off the horizon. Drover wiped a streak of sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm, squinting at the drive yard where the others sat in the sliver of shade cast by the shed. The men were loud — the usual mix of curses, banter, and laughter — but his eyes weren't on them.

Nullah had mentioned earlier, in that way the boy did when he wasn't paying attention, that she was inside, avoiding the heat. There'd been a half-smile with it, as if he knew Drover would take the bait. Seemed like the kid noticed more than most.

Drover told himself he was looking for water. Maybe check on her and ensure the city-bred newcomer hasn't fainted from the Territory sun. But as he swung off his horse and crossed the packed dirt toward the house, boots leaving faint puffs of dust in his wake, he knew that wasn't the truth.

He could've stayed out with the others. He could've rested under the shed, eaten his rations, and ignored the pull in his chest that had been getting stronger since she had first stood in the middle of all this wild, unforgiving country, too proud to ask for help.

But he didn't.

The screen door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping into the dimmer interior. The temperature dropped slightly, but it felt like a relief — quiet, shaded, the faint scent of tea and parchment lingering in the air.

He found her by the table, sunlight spilling through the shutters in thin, golden lines across her face. She didn't notice him at first — too focused on whatever papers she had spread out, or maybe just lost in her thoughts. For a moment, Drover stood there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. He told himself he was only waiting for her to look up.

But the truth was, he was taking in how she looked when she wasn't bracing herself for the outback, when she wasn't squaring her shoulders like someone ready to prove a point. She looked... softer here. And, damn him, he realised he liked seeing it.

His boots scuffed the wooden floor as he stepped closer, breaking the silence.

"Hot out there. You'll melt if you keep hiding inside every time the sun bites."

He set his hat down on the table with a soft thud, glancing over at her. His mouth quirked into that half-smile he wore when he was teasing, though his voice carried a low warmth beneath it.

"Figured I'd come check on you. Nullah said you were holed up here, looking like a trapped bird. Thought maybe you'd need reminding this place doesn't bite... at least, not as hard as you think."

He dropped into the chair opposite her, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely. His eyes lingered — steady, searching — taking in the slight lines of strain at her brow, the way the sun caught in her hair.

"Can't say I blame you, though. Territory Sun's got a mean streak. Eats people alive if they don't respect it. But..."

He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving up a little more.

"You're not running back to wherever it is you came from. Not yet. Most would've. You're tougher than you let on."

For a long moment, he just sat there, his gaze never quite leaving hers. The sounds outside — the lowing of cattle, the distant laughter of the men — felt like they belonged to another world entirely. Only the quiet hum of the house, the faint creak of wood as the wind shifted outside, and the slow realisation settling in Drover's chest that he was starting to enjoy this. More than he wanted to admit.

His voice softened slightly, though it still carried that drawl of someone who didn't want to sound too sentimental.

"Reckon I don't mind checkin' in on you. Gives me somethin' better to do than listen to the boys argue about who can drink who under the table. Not sure what that says about me."

His gaze flicked down for a moment, then back to her, a rare flicker of hesitation in his usually unshakable eyes.

"But... I don't mind. Stayin' here a while, I mean. Even if it's just to share a bit of quiet."

He leaned back slightly in the chair, one arm draped along its back, his hat tipped a little forward on the table as his thumb brushed its brim.

"'Course, if you'd rather I leave you to your papers, just say so. But..." A faint, teasing spark returned to his tone. "Don't think I've seen you smile all morning. Could use a bit of company myself, truth be told."

He let the words hang there, not pushing, not demanding — just leaving the space open, as the silence stretched warm and heavy between them.