Page 24 of Stockman's Stormcloud

He narrowed his eyes at Bree. He hated being told what to do, and he hated being treated like an invalid. ‘I’m meant to be testing my cattle cradle.’

‘And I’m willing to bet you’ll be there in a few days to annoy everyone again.’

Hope flared in his chest, because Bree won most of their bets.

‘But only if you sit there, drink water, take your pills and watch TV.’

‘I’m used to doing stuff.’ Dex was a hands-on kind of guy, who’d rather play with tools than play couch potato. He only did that when hungover, or while working towards his next hangover, generally around Christmas time.

‘I can get you shelling peas later, if you want?’

He arched an eyebrow at the woman enjoying herself at his expense.

‘Do you want me to pinch one of Ash’s computer games?’

Dex wanted to play another board game with Sophie.

No, he didn’t. Shaking his head to forcefully push away any memory, or need, of someone like Nurse Kitty in his life. No siree. He had a station to work on—not sit in the caretaker’scottage and watch cable all day.

‘Where are you going?’ He inhaled, then exhaled through the mask. It sucked that he couldn’t shout.

Bree scooped up the house phone, which she tucked into the lower leg pocket of her welder’s cargo pants, then slid on her steel capped workboots. ‘I’m going to call Harper to collect the paint on her way home from work. Then I’m going to finish my own jobs.’

He then noticed the three striking, hand-forged iron brands, made by master brand makers, hanging high along the wall like trophies.

Charlie’s family had been making cattle brands for generations. They were particularly known for creating the rare legacy brands that were handed down from generation to generation. More importantly, it was the type of brand rustlers couldn’t tamper with, making them instantly recognisable to anyone.

But it was the Elsie Creek Station cattle brand that had his attention, sitting high on the wall like a trophy sword, along with the other two.

‘Don’t think about pinching that brand. It’s busy spending its days as a dust collector—just like you are taking up space on my couch.’

He huffed. Huffing he could do—not puff like some powder puff as Nurse Kitty wanted him to do with his breathing exercise. And he sure as hell could snort with a huff, especially while clenching his teeth at the redhead who had the power to push his buttons. ‘It’s our brand, Bree. My brothers and I own the station now, we should have that brand hanging on our wall.’

‘Why? Don’t you have enough pearls to clutch, princess?’

If only he could, he’d drag his oxygen trolley out of here. But he didn’t think he’d get off this couch. And the redhead knew it.

‘Don’t take your frustrations out on me, Stormcloud. If you want the brand, you have to talk to Charlie.’

She was right. He ran his hands through his hair, lettingout a frustrated breath—a short one before his ribs reminded him of their pitiful condition.Breathe, brother.‘What are the other two brands for?’

‘That’s the Splint family brand and the Wilde family brand.’

‘Wilde? For you?’ Wilde was Bree’s surname.

‘Charlie made it for his grandson.’

‘Liam.’ Bree’s son.

She didn’t even look at them, sorting through a small pile of cloth skullcaps on the other side of the room.

‘I recognise the Splint brand. That’s the one we found in the car.’

‘Pandora.’ Bree frowned.

‘Why are you so against Charlie finding his brother?’ It was such an effort to hold a conversation that didn’t render him breathless.

‘Because I don’t want Charlie to be disappointed.’

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