Page 61 of Stockman's Sandstorm

‘Who wouldn’t be your muster cook, if I stayed at the house?’

Ash barely nodded. But the dim light from the dashboard deepened the shadows of his knife-edged cheekbones. It was an edge that tempted her to trace them with her fingertips all the way to his pretty boy lips. But that would mean crossing a boundary that neither of them were going to break—especially not with a toddler sleeping between them.

The car rocked as it hit a ditch. She struggled to keep her seat.

‘Sorry.’ His hand rested protectively over Mason’s seat, keeping the boy in place.

She sighed, leaning against the door, holding the handle tight to keep from smacking her head against the passenger window, again. ‘I liked your reason for me coming out, the best.’

‘What’s that? The adventure.’

‘No. Because you wanted to spend quality time with your son, to bond.’

He stared at her for a long beat before glancing at his sleeping son. His eyes returned to the dark road and the massive headlights of the assorted vehicles highlighting the swirling dust.

She was clueless as to which direction they were travelling in. Some adventurous spirit, ha! Not when Harper was the fifth wheel, only here for other reasons than for her usefulness. And in this foreign world, she had no idea how to be useful.

But for the first time, she was going to try. Not just for Mason or Ash, but for herself. It was about time she started living by her own time schedules, without memos, or assistants. Maybe she could use this trip to push away the brain fog caused by that bombing, which had stolen time from her.

It was time to plan her own future—if she survived the next few days in a saddle.

Twenty-four

Charlie climbed easily into the saddle of a very fine-looking stockhorse. With a picky eye he looked over the horses and riders that made up the mustering team. Behind him the sun had barely breached the distant horizon, hidden behind the rich red escarpment that was part of Cattleman’s Keep.

Beyond that were the walls of the mighty Starvation Dam, where the overflow ran downstream to weave between the thick gum trees lining the banks to barely glisten under a sky the colour of cotton candy.

Parched open fields stretched to the left of them, with only a red road that led the way back to the homestead, it was the only sign of civilisation. Beside their assorted vehicles parked nearby, half a dozen cattle dogs lay in the trees’ shade line that ran along the edges of the sandy cliff face, that stretched like a wall of stone.

‘Welcome to the Stoneys,’ Charlie shouted from his place high in the saddle. ‘We’ll be riding down the guts. Walking only. No cowboying, ya hear?’

‘It’s not our first rodeo, Charlie.’ Dex rolled his eyes, sitting comfortably in the saddle. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

Ash couldn’t wait to climb into the saddle himself. But first, he checked on Harper’s stirrups, having saddled her horse. ‘Is that a good length?’ It looked good to him, admiring the way Harper’s new jeans hugged her legs.

‘I guess so.’ She was very unsure of herself.

‘You can do this, Harper.’ He patted her knee tenderly, hoping to give her some confidence. ‘Just promise to tell me if something’s not right and I’ll fix it.’ He gave her the reins.

‘I’ll do the same for Mason’s harness.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Ash hitched Bree’s specially rigged baby harness’s thick straps higher onto his shoulders, holding Mason snuggly to his chest. It made it a challenge to climb into the saddle of his own horse. But it was part of the deal.

Yet he could feel everyone watching him. And they were. ‘What?’ He scowled at his brothers.

It wasn’t his first time in a saddle, but it was his first time carrying a child.

For weeks he’d managed to avoid getting this close to the kid, but with the kid strapped to his chest, it was impossible to avoid him now.

Fourteen days to go before the welfare visit. Thankfully, he had the ride to Wombat Flats to keep his mind occupied.

‘I’ll take the lead,’ said Charlie. ‘Bree’s got the rear with our horse plant.’

‘Sorry, how are we planting horses?’ Harper asked with her shoulders high to her ears.

Ash chuckled. ‘A horse plant is what they call a herd of stockhorses.’

‘Back in the day they called the person in charge of the horse plant the horse tailor.’ Charlie nodded at his granddaughter who was sliding on her riding gloves. Bree’s well-worn Akubra sat low on her brow, with her red hair trailing in a thick plait between her shoulders. Just like her grandfather, she had two leather belts on her hips, one full of shotgun shells, the other for her stockwhips.

---