“Hold still, I’m just braiding your hair.” Was barely heard through your mutters, and he was more focused on you tugging bits of hair from his scalp.

The drover let out a sigh and leaned back into your lap, folding his arms. “Right.” He mumbled. It wasn’t surprising that his thick Australian accent had shone through with just one word.

As much as he’d refuse to admit it, having your hands in his hair felt nice. Maybe just enough to send him to sleep with how much he had been working that day.