Page 108 of Stockman's Sandstorm

‘I did not.’

‘Denial is not a good look on you, snowflake. And don’t forget, Harper is part of Mason’s family. At least you now have a way to find out more about Mason’s mother.’

‘Why don’t you crawl back to that cottage where you belong?’ Dex’s voice was full of fury. ‘We don’t need you preaching to us.’

‘Dex is right,’ said Ash, holding his boy. ‘He’s my son. Not yours. Find your own.’

Bree then did the weirdest thing. She daintily picked up the skirt of her leather apron and gave a proper curtsy as if standing before royalty. ‘Your wish is my command, your lordships.’ She then kissed her middle fingers, flipping them a double bird, then walked away.

‘Why do I have a feeling that’s going to come back to bite us on the arse?’ Ryder pointed to Bree walking away.

‘Bree-Bree?’ Mason held out his hand to her, clearly upset. It was heartbreaking.

‘It’s okay, mate, Bree’s busy. She’s got to go to work.’ There went his idea of a babysitter. But he didn’t need one. ‘Let’s get you some brekkie, mate. Come on, you’re hanging out with me today, we’re going to clean some troughs.’

Forty-eight

Harper rested her chin on the back of her hands, which lay across the thick, cool brass rail that ran along the entire front of the bar. She stared at the tiny trail of bubbles rising in the amber liquid to become part of the creamy foam that made up her glass of beer. This particular ale had a rich malty aroma, with a hint of fruit, and was apparently brewed by a local mango farmer. So far, it was the only beer she liked.

It had become her mission, her personal tourist’s tour from the front bar of the Elsie Creek Hotel, hassling the poor barmaids as they tried to find the right beer for Harper’s picky palate.

Some beers were dark and yeasty, and some so thick you could stand a spoon in them, while others smelt like vomit, or earthy grass, even a dark caramel. It had kept her amused for hours, getting a crash course on beer while drowning out all background noises in the pub.

‘Well, aren’t you the saddest-looking thing I’ve seen in here for a long time.’

Harper barely moved her head. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Cowboy Craig.

‘Well, that’s not the normal reaction I get from the ladies.’ With a chuckle that shone in his blue eyes, he pushed up the brim of his hat, which highlighted his blond curls. He leaned against the bar beside her. His cologne was crisp and invigorating, but it was nothing like Ash. There was no one like Ash.

‘How’s the dog doing?’ Craig asked.

That made her eyebrows lift, but her chin remained resting on her hands.

‘Ryan told me about the snakebite. He also told me to expect your call, in case you were in trouble.’

‘Would you have really helped? Someone you’d just met.’ What was his angle? Because everyone had a hidden agenda. Heck, she should know.

Sipping on her beer, she wiped the back of her mouth with her hand like a sun-parched stockman! Yee haw.

Craig gave her that cocky grin, his bright blue eyes almost twinkling.

‘Stop. Please. Don’t bother flirting with me.’ Not while she was learning how to breathe with a broken heart, with loneliness as her new best friend. Great, she was heartbroken and homeless!

Craig shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have, you know.’

‘Wouldn’t have what?’

‘Made a play.’

‘Not good enough, huh?’ Typical. Men only spoke to her about her job. While she was too busy to hold a conversation, or know the art of small talk, because she’d never had time. But today, she had all the time in the world to sit on this stool and drink beer. Hooray.

Sculling back her beer, she pointed to the world’s greatest barmaid for another one. ‘Pourer’s choice. Can we make a note that this is a good one.’

The barmaid grinned as she opened a few fridge doors. ‘I have a list.’

Just like Ash had a list, the thought making her sink in her chair.

‘What are you doing?’ Craig asked.

---