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‘Twenty-five an hour for general labour, more for skilled work. Flexible hours to work around other commitments. Minimum three-month contract, hopefully longer if people want to stay on.’
That got attention. Twenty-five an hour was decent money for Garnet Creek.
‘I might be interested,’ Danny said slowly. ‘If I could work around my hours at the servo.’
‘That’s exactly the kind of arrangement we’re looking for,’ Jake said.
‘I know some ringers who might want in,’ Mitch added. ‘Blokes who work stations seasonally. Between musters, they’re looking for work. And they’re hard workers—used to long days in tough conditions.’
‘Have them come talk to me,’ Jake said. ‘We’ll be setting up a site office at the pub next week. Anyone interested can come by, we’ll discuss the work, and answer questions.’
‘What about safety?’ Tom Wilson asked. ‘Building work’s dangerous. You got proper insurance, proper protocols?’
‘Full public liability insurance, workers’ comp, comprehensive safety programme,’ Jake confirmed. ‘I’ve been managing construction projects for ten years. Safety’s non-negotiable. Anyone who doesn’t follow protocols doesn’t work on my sites.’
Tom nodded, satisfied. ‘Good. Then count me in. I’m retired, but I’ve got forty years of building experience. Volunteer basis—don’t need the money, just want to see this place saved.’
‘Tom, we can pay you—’ Alex started.
‘Don’t want paying,’ Tom said firmly. ‘Want to help. There’s a difference.’
The conversation fragmented into smaller discussions—who might be interested, what the work would involve, and whether it was realistic. But the mood was optimistic. The project felt real now, not just an idea.
Margaret left early, clearly displeased. But others stayed, talking, asking questions, cautiously excited.
On the walk home, Amelia felt that same strange certainty she’d felt watching the stars that first night here.
‘It’s really happening,’ she said.
‘It’s really happening,’ Alex confirmed, smiling.
***
Monday’s engineering assessment took seven hours. The engineer from Rockhampton examined every structural element with the thoroughness Jake had promised. He measured, photographed, tested, and took samples.
By late afternoon, the verdict was delivered: ‘Structurally sound. Foundation excellent, framework good, roof needs complete replacement, but the supports are solid. Water damage is cosmetic, not structural. This building can absolutely be restored. Here’s my report.’
Jake read through it carefully, nodded, then looked at his father. ‘We’re cleared for construction. I’ll submit for permits tomorrow. We could start work in two weeks.’
‘Then let’s do it,’ Alex said. ‘Settlement is Friday. Can you come to the bank in Emerald with me while I sign all the documents?’
‘For sure.’
That evening, Jake held the first official project meeting in the pub’s cleared ground floor. Fifteen people attended—the three backpackers, Alex, Tom, Danny, Mitch, Lisa, Sassy, Ryan, Zara, and four men who’d come from surrounding stations after hearing about the work.
Jake stood at the front, professional and commanding.
‘Right. Thank you for coming. I’m Jake Miller, project manager for the Royal Hotel restoration. My father, Alex, has purchased the building and hired me to oversee its renovation into a functional hotel. This is a six-month project. We’ll be doing this properly—permits, inspections, safety protocols, quality workmanship. No shortcuts.’
He gestured to the building around them. ‘The work breaks down into phases. Phase one: roof and verandah replacement. Phase two: internal structural repairs. Phase three: electrical and plumbing installation. Phase four: interior finishing. Some phases will overlap, some will require specialist contractors, but we’ll need general labour throughout.’
One of the station workers raised his hand—a man in his thirties, weather-beaten and lean. ‘I’m Davo. Work at Cooranga Station. Musters are done for the season, won’t start again till autumn. I could give you three months, maybe four. Done farm maintenance, fencing, and stock yards. Not building work specifically, but I’m strong and can turn my hand to most things.’
‘Farm maintenance experience is useful,’ Jake said. ‘You understand hard work and following instructions. That’s half the battle. You’re in if you want it.’
‘I’m in.’
Another man spoke up—fifties, stocky, with hands like leather. ‘I’m Ratty. Been fossicking the Anakie gem fields for twenty years. It’s slow season right now. Could use the work, and I’m good with my hands. Built my own accommodation out at the fields.’
