Page 109 of Stockman's Sandstorm

‘I’m making my way through the beer varieties. I didn’t know there were so many.’

Craig signalled the barmaid to order a beer for himself. ‘Why?’

‘I’m on holiday. Isn’t that what people do when on holidays? They drink some sort of alcoholic beverage …’ For breakfast.

‘Where are your chaperones from the station?’

Harper shrugged, again resting her chin on her hands to watch the bubbles rise in her new glass of beer. She didn’t even have Bree’s number. If she did, though, what would she say when she struggled to understand it herself? ‘Aren’t you a mate of the Riggs brothers?’

‘I’m a good mate of Jonathan’s, the youngest one.’

‘He owns Sandlot Station, right?’

Craig nodded. ‘I’ve even been to their parents’ place for a feed.’

‘What are they like? Mr and Mrs Riggs?’

‘Landon and Camilla Riggs are great people. Cammie loves her knitting, she’s obsessed with photographs of her family, and she’s always got something cooking on the stove. Nothing fancy, but enough to feed her tribe.’

‘I heard she liked photos.’

‘Big time. Only of her family. You should see it—next to her stove, Momma Riggs has plastered all of her children’s school photos for every year they went. It covers her entire kitchen wall.’

Harper sat up and sipped her beer. It was nice. Or was she getting used to the flavours? ‘Are you talking about Ash and Dex’s school photos?’

‘All of them, in this big collage. She even wallpapered their entire hallway with all of their favourite childhood drawings. Some are really old.’

‘I’ve never heard of such a thing.’ Her parents’ house had specific artworks, investment pieces, with only a few of her school photos kept in special frames, like her graduation. ‘You mean there is a mug shot of Dex in a school uniform, suffering with teenage pimples?’

‘Wearing one of the goofiest smiles, back when Dex did smile.’

‘No way.’ It was enough for her to smirk—not smile—smirk. ‘I’d love to see that.’

‘Well, now you’re living with the Riggs brothers, I’m sure you’ll see it soon.’

‘No.’ And she dropped her chin back onto her hands, holding the rail, to stare at her beer. ‘I got kicked out.’ And it was all her fault.

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Craig’s smile disappeared. ‘If you’re stuck for somewhere to stay …’

‘I’m a guest at the pub, and I’ve even got a beer tab.’

Yesterday, after crying an absolute river of tears, her entire chest ached as if punched by the tactical squad’s hammering arm they used to break down doors. She’d struggled to breathe.

But Policeman Porter had been an absolute gentleman. He’d made her pull over to the side of the dirt road, handing her tissues and a water bottle, waiting patiently while she howled and hiccupped for air.

It was the same uncontrollable flood of emotion, the heartache she’d suffered when she’d learned her parents and sister had been killed, leaving her alone to grieve all over again.

Thankfully, Porter had booked a room for her at the pub so she could avoid talking to anyone. He’d helped her upstairs, left her his business card, and closed the door behind him, leaving her to cry herself to sleep.

Today, she was emotionally drained and just numb.

But she’d found the energy to walk down the stairs and stare at her beer and to befriend the world’s best barmaid, Mean Rene. With arms full of ink, ear plugs, a tight leather vest, skin-tight jeans, and some seriously sexy head-kicking black boots, Mean Rene had become Harper’s well-tipped bodyguard, blocking any cowboy from coming near her.

‘Hey, can I ask you something?’

Harper didn’t have the energy to nod. ‘Sure.’

‘Have you heard any more about that mine trying to take the water from Elsie Creek Station?’

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