Page 70 of Stockman's Stormcloud

‘But he also did a fabulous job of reminding me thatwedon’tworkforyou.’

Flipping hell.

‘Pop, who owns the Razorback?’ Bree asked with her mean green eyes aimed at Dex. Her anger was so potent, Dex stepped back from the kitchen bench in case she took a swing.

‘Well, let me see…’ Charlie poured boiling water into the teapot, and put on the lid. ‘Me and Darcie bought it back in 1984 off this bloke in the pub, who’d originally won it over a game of poker at another station. Then a month later, I won it in a poker game at the stockman’s shack. It ran out of rego soon after that, not that it mattered, it never left the place. Then in 1985, we cut the roof off the thing to become a bull catcher where my granddaughter’s been modifying it with upgrades ever since she could touch the pedals to drive it. Why do you ask?’

‘Dex? Why don’t you explain it to my grandfather. But before you do, can you remember reading, in this station’s contract of sale, this little caveat that said:the property of the caretaker shall remain the property of the caretaker to be used solely by the caretaker.’

Dex hated his big brother right now. He’d always sided with his family over friends, but this was different. ‘Ryder will apologise when I’m done with him. He had no right to accuse you, Bree.’

‘Your brother, Ryder, said he’d kill you in one punch.’ Sophie’s fear was real, gripping his arm as if scared for him. No one feared for him, not like this. Wait, he’d seen the fear on Bree’s face just before they knocked him out.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Charlie plonked the mugs onto the kitchen bench. ‘It’s not like you, Dex, to be tiptoeing around Bree, who looks like she’s about to blow her stack that no one will recover from. Will someone tell me what’s going on?’

‘I told you, Pop, Ryder Riggs accused me of stealing their cattle.’

‘Bloody drongo. That man’s really gone and ticked you off. I can see it.’ Charlie gave his granddaughter’s shoulder a tender squeeze. ‘Before you plot that fella’s torturous demise, why don’t we cool our heels a bit, while you, lad, tell us how many cattle got stolen by them grubby cattle duffers?’ Charlie gave them all a cup of tea and headed towards the dining table. ‘Oh, we have a cat, do we?’

‘It’s mine. Mr Purrington.’ Sophie looked so out of place. But she was still here.

Dex had forgotten the cat was here. He narrowed his eyes at Bree, hoping she wasn't going to use it as crab bait.

‘I’ve always wanted a cat.’ Charlie picked up the ginger cat from the couch and gave it a scratch. ‘Aren’t you a friendly fella? Hey, it’s the hospital cat, right?’

‘It is,’ replied Dex. ‘Sophie says he’s a therapy cat.’

‘That’s just a fancy name for friendly cat. This little fella comes and sits with me when I have my check-ups.’ Charlie carried the cat to the table, where he dragged out one of his maps of the station and tickled the cat’s ears. The cat purred like a motorboat. ‘Show us where you mob lost your cattle.’

‘We didn’t lose them, Charlie.’ That anger flared in his chest at what those cattle rustlers had done. ‘There. Back block.’ Dex tapped the spot on the map. ‘They used some side track.’

‘And that’d be the ol’ stock route that leads you to Drinkastubbie Downs.’ Charlie traced down the side of the map.

‘I’m sorry. What did you call it?’ Sophie asked.

‘Drinkastubbie Downs. Believe me, girlie, we downed a few stubbies there, too.’ Charlie chuckled behind his tea mug before taking a sip.

Sophie tugged on Dex’s arm. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Beer. In stubbie bottles.’

‘Oh. Right, sorry. I’m new to all of this.’ Sophie hid her blush behind her tea mug.

Bree rolled her eyes at Dex. ‘Pop, why don’t you explain it to the tourist?’

‘I’d love to.’ Charlie brushed down the cupcake crumbs from his shirt, sitting higher in his seat, to resume scratching the cat. ‘Drinkastubbie Downs was named by the stockmen who regularly used that stock camp set near an old well. It’s where we’d start the long walk, mustering cattle from the back of Wait-a-while Waters, then down to the drafting yards.’ Charlie gave a dreamy smile. ‘There’s nothing like seeing that long line of cattle, nose to tail, stretching for miles to make any stockman sigh and smile.’

Dex leaned back in his seat. He’d seen it plenty of times as a stockman. As a cattle station owner, he’d love that sight more—if what little cattle they had didn’t get pinched!

‘You could almost call Drinkastubbie Downs an outstation.’

Bree huffed. ‘You can’t call a well, a fire pit, and a pile of old beer cans an outstation, Pop. It’s a stock camp.’ It was eerie how cool and controlled Bree seemed, when he knew how angry she was underneath.

‘Anyhoodle, on account of the watering well, there was a gentleman’s agreement allowing Bonny Plains Station and Sandlot Station, which the youngest Riggs brother owns, to use the place as a halfway point on the stock route, until they built the new roads.’

‘Who owns the stock route now?’

‘You mob do. It’s always been a part of Elsie Creek Station. Back then we got on with all our neighbours.’

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