Page 49 of Stockman's Sandstorm

‘Ha-ha. I was talking about riding gear. I don’t have the right shoes for horse riding. Or whatever it is you wear on a muster.’

‘After lunch, I’ll take you to the stockfeed store.’

‘Stop.’ Even if Harper couldn’t stop giggling with Bree. The whole trip had been fun, starting with Bree making them sing to her eclectic playlist on the drive into town. ‘Now that sort of store sounds like fun. Not.’

‘It’s where you’ll get jeans. A decent set of workboots, sun-protective work shirts, and a hat.’

‘I’ve never bothered with hats.’ She touched her tender bald spot that surrounded the scar on her scalp, brushing over her hair to hide it.

‘We are not leaving town today without a hat for each of you. I won’t let you two go on this muster unless properly dressed. Not on my watch. You hear that, Mason? We’ll get you a proper hat and make you the best dressed stockman in the district.’ She playfully tickled the boy’s knee. ‘Don’t worry, blossom, I’m sure you’ll give it that polished politician’s look.’ Bree led them to the far corner of the front bar where the cowboys had turned to watch them.

Bree was oblivious to the attention, even if she was stunning with her red hair and that dress. ‘Oh, we’ve got a grog order to collect on our way out of town, too. You can pick up some wine for yourself.’

How Bree did everything without any notes, or a list, was a miracle. The redhead remembered everything, like she had a photographic memory.

She pulled out a chair for Harper, then expertly parked Mason’s pram at the table so he could see the room.

Bree controlled the pram with ease, while Harper didn’t even know where the pram’s brake was, let alone how to erect the thing when it came out of the car, or how to steer straight. She could drive all sorts of vehicles, had an overseas driver’s license and had driven in many countries, yet she was uncomfortable steering a freaking pram.

From the other side of the room, Bree carried over a highchair. ‘I’ll be prepping our camp meals tonight, now I have the supplies.’ She effortlessly set Mason in the highchair, with his sippy cup, crayons, and colouring paper.

‘You’ve ordered a lot of supplies.’ In the supermarket, Bree knew everyone and would stop and talk, introducing Harper. Normally Harper had a memory for names, but she struggled to keep up as Bree filled three trollies full of food that the supermarket staff were packing into special freezer boxes for the drive home, for them to collect after lunch.

‘The farmhouse has a big pantry that needed to be restocked.’ Seated at the table, Bree handed out laminated menus.

Harper sipped her wine, which was such a simple luxury to add to this impromptu day. ‘You care about the Riggs brothers, don’t you?’

‘Mason, you—sure. The boys? Meh. We’ll see what stock they’re made of on the muster. It’ll be a test, that’s for sure. It’s Ryder’s shout for lunch, by the way, so let’s go top shelf.’

???

‘I’ve never done this.’ Harper put her cutlery down on her lunch plate.

‘Done what?’ Bree whisked their empty plates away, putting them on a spare table to give them room. She had one foot on the pram’s footrest, rocking it gently back and forth as little Mason had fallen asleep not long into his lunch, hugging his crayons.

‘Had lunch in town. Even if it is the pub.’ The walls had large old black-and-white images of the town, a vintage train, and herds of cattle. Even old posters of rodeos and boxing shows. The antiquated collection gave the place character.

‘I try to every time I come into town. What’s your excuse, when you come from a land of takeaway stores and restaurants?’

‘I was always working. For lunch I’d scoff something at my desk—if I remembered to eat. Or I’d be picking at noodle boxes of Chinese takeaway in the boardroom while discussing work with the team. But this …’ Harper leaned back in her chair, fully satiated, sipping on her wine. She wanted to be like Mason and fall asleep in his pram.

Bree narrowed her eyes at Harper. ‘Don’t you do anything for yourself?’

Harper shrugged.

‘So, no lazing around on the couch, watching chick flicks, getting brain freeze while eating ice cream?’

‘No.’

‘When was the last movie you watched?’

‘It was on the plane …’

‘Do you remember its title?’

‘No. I fell asleep.’ Until the nightmares woke her.

But a rush of feel-good warmth filled her chest at the thought of Ash leaving out her shortbread biscuits, where she’d confessed her nightmare to him. It meant a lot that he’d done that for her. No one had done something like that before.

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