Page 19 of Stockman's Sandstorm

They were animals.

But all this baby talk and one-sided conversation was mushing her brain.

What she’d give for a trip to town to see people and asphalt roads and buildings that weren’t covered in red dirt. She missed concrete, and the noise of traffic. She missed the smell of coffee shops and bakeries and the taste of buttery rich croissants in the morning on her way to work. Oh, and how she missed a man in a decently cut suit and tie.

She also missed her job, that didn’t involve conversations about cattle, toddler talk, toddler toilet reminders, toddler food, night nappies, fixing dams, musters or beer. A job that didn’t involve getting covered in toddler teething slobber and dog hair, stuck in yesterday’s clothes with her hair in desperate need of a good wash and a blow dry. If someone dared mention the term toddler tantrum she was going to curl up in the corner and give herself a time out.

How women did this job for free had to be a joke. They deserved a dozen medals, a massive pay rise, and two months’ annual leave just to catch up on some sleep!

But there was no way she was letting Dex win his bet.

‘Knock. Knock.’

‘Bree?’ Harper bounded to the back door, blinking at the other female. ‘Hi.’

‘Oh, you poor thing.’ Bree pointed at Harper as she stepped inside the kitchen.

‘What do you mean?’ Harper tried to tidy up her hair that she hadn’t even brushed, with her shirt covered in breakfast mush. Or was that last night’s dinner? ‘I’d offer you a chair, but they all live outside. And I’m not touching that table they congregate at.’

‘I wouldn’t either. I brought over some more frozen fruit pops for Mason’s teeth.’ Bree slid the bag of goodies into the empty freezer. ‘Haven’t those boys gone shopping yet?’

‘Not unless you like baby food. If I knew where Mason’s car seat was, I’d go to town myself.’ And never come back—which was possibly why they were hiding the toddler’s car seat.

Bree poked her head into the empty pantry. ‘Jeez, they’re like cavemen. I bet they’re hoping you’ll cook and clean for them, too.’

‘Well, they’ll be waiting a while if they expect me to cook.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I can’t cook. At least Mason’s food comes with instructions.’ Harper pointed to the empty packet on the kitchen sink, piled with dirty dishes. ‘Besides, it wasn’t part of the job description to cook and clean when I got talked into this.’

Bree giggled. ‘Well, they’re screwed, aren’t they? So are you.’

‘That’s just great.’ Harper collapsed heavily in her seat. She’d never felt so helpless.

At the sinks, Bree ran the tap and rinsed off a face washer then cleaned Mason’s sticky hands and face, then carried his breakfast bowl to the sink. ‘Well, come on then.’

‘Where are we going? Please tell me we’re going to a day spa, where we get waited on by a body-building Scottish man, in a kilt, who gives the best neck and shoulder massages.’

‘Ooh. Now that sounds like my kind of heaven. But we’ll be going a few hundred metres that way.’ She pointed out the screen door.

‘Why?’

‘It’s where I live, and where I can guarantee you won’t need a tetanus shot to eat the food.’ She picked up Mason from the highchair. ‘Come on, toddler, let’s get you toddling.’

‘Play, Arper?’

‘H-H Harper.’ She corrected him.

‘Play?’ He held out his little hand to Bree.

‘I’d like that very much.’ Bree gave such a sweet smile, with shiny eyes as she let the little boy grip her finger.

Harper had to admire Mason’s unbridled joy to find the adventures in his day.

‘You’ll need to tell Ash to put childproof locks on all the doors, because there is no fence out there to keep this little one contained.’ Bree held Mason’s tiny hand, his little shoes taking eager steps for the door, with Ruby’s pitter patter of paws following.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’ Harper couldn’t even find the energy to move from her chair.

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