Page 4 of Stockman's Sandstorm

‘Listen to Charlie. He might only be the caretaker now, but he was this station’s head stockman for decades. He knows his stuff.’

‘Ryder Riggs!’

‘Oh, man. Who upset the redhead?’ Ash started backing away as the caretaker’s granddaughter stormed towards them, obviously in a rage.

‘At least she didn’t say my name.’ Dex grinned, leaning his shoulder against the post to settle in for the showdown.

Bree stomped towards them from the direction of the caretaker’s cottage. Her long leather welder’s apron hung loose, where she slapped her thick leather gloves against her thigh. Her brimless, cooling skull cap barely contained her mass of red curls the colour of the fiery sun, and her green eyes were bright.

‘Morning, Bree,’ called out Ash.

‘Are you still wearing the same clothes as yesterday?’

Ash grinned. ‘You noticed me.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, snowflake. You’re obviously some poor girl’s idea of a good time, just not mine, cowboy.’

Ash frowned at the insult. ‘I’m not a cowboy.’

‘You’re not a cattleman, either. But you—’ She swung around to point at Ryder. ‘My grandfather is not your slave.’

‘I never said he was.’

‘We don’t work for you.’

Ryder crossed his muscular arms. ‘Your grandfather is the caretaker. I won’t stop him, if he wants to work. And if he does, we’ll pay him.’

‘He’s already being paid, remember? The caretaker’s caveat, which includes that trust paying his re-tire-ment.’

‘I’m not stopping the man if he wants to help, just because you say so.’ Ryder leaned menacingly over her. It was a mean look.

You’d think she’d stop, like most people did, and back away from Ryder. Not Bree.

‘Charlie has orders to fill.’

‘You’ve just lectured us about overworking the man, and what are you doing?’ Dex piped in.

Bree glared at him with those fiery green eyes. ‘Do me a favour, Dex? Reinvent yourself over there, just not in my oxygen circle, buddy.’

That left Dex mumbling under his breath as Cap chuckled.

Her sassy comebacks even had Ryder smirking—which was as close to a smile as you’d ever get from the man with ice in his veins. ‘Charlie’s just showing Ash where the troughs are. That’s it.’

‘Really?’ She narrowed her eyes at Ryder for a long beat, then looked at the others, who nodded. ‘Okay …’ She stepped back from Ryder’s shade. ‘Just remember his age.’

‘It’d be good if you remembered his worth.’

She whipped up her finger like a dagger aimed at Ryder. ‘Listen, cupcake, if I—’ She peered over her shoulder to spot the rising red dust coming down the long dirt driveway. ‘Incoming.’

‘Who’s that?’ Ash trotted down the steps.

‘Quick! Where’s the shottie?’ Bree jumped up the front steps, kicked at a loose floorboard along the verandah, and reached underneath to remove a shotgun.

‘VISITORS!’ Old man Charlie wolf-whistled out the front of the caretaker’s cottage, waving his hat at Bree, who waved the shotgun at her grandfather. Signal received.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Cap stepped away from the determined redhead.

‘We don’t like visitors.’ Bree cracked open the shotgun’s barrel to check its shell cases. Snapping it back into place, she headed down the steps. ‘We got a lot of death threats before you boys bought this place.’

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