Page 48 of Stockman's Showdown

But this was Ryder. And that was a no-go!

‘As we’re waiting for the sunlight to disappear, so we can do the sneaky fence hopping—’

‘You’re staying.’ Ryder slammed the fridge shut, as if making the decision final.

‘You need me to show you where that irrigation pipe is. Look, cupcake, consider it my reward for actually listening to you for once, bynotjumping the fence in broad daylight. Instead, here I am, informing management of what’s going on like a good little girl.’ They’d better not pat her on the head, or she’d have some stern words to spill.

Ryder narrowed his eyes at her. ‘If you really want to be a good girl,’ he said to the bad girl, ‘we’d like you to do the cattle draft calls.’

And there it was. She’d been waiting for this.

‘We could really use your help, Bree,’ pleaded Dex from the far end of the table.

‘That’s Charlie’s job. I’ve retired from the pound.’

‘We know,’ said Ryder. ‘But Charlie told me, only yesterday, that you do a much better job at the drafting calls than him.’

She was not taking this away from Charlie. That old man loved being a stockman. It was the reason he jumped out of bed in the mornings, to play stockman on a cattle station—except for today. ‘I don’t work for you boys.’

‘But I’ll pay you for your time, and I’m hoping you might know of a young jackeroo to run the pound and do some other jobs around the place.’

She arched an eyebrow.

It was time they got help. A cattle station of this size, when in full operation, should have over a dozen full-time staff—ringers, station hands, stockmen, fencers, bore runners, feed-lot handlers and more. ‘That’s a really good idea, guys.’

Ryder and Dex looked at her in disbelief at the rare compliment.

‘As much as you boys think you’re sun-fuelled Supermen, immune to kryptonite, as station owners you have other responsibilities to focus on than dealing with daily menial tasks.’

Plus, if they got someone in, it would save her shins, sinuses, and her sanity from manning those drafting gates.

‘Where would they camp?’ Dex asked.

‘You could lend them your old tent you used to live in. Wait, I burnt that in my cauldron, in some midnight ritual to the gods.’

‘Witch.’ Dex grinned at her as he rocked in his chair.

‘You could use the ringers’ rooms.’ She pointed to the open door. ‘It’s the structure at the far the end of the stables.’

‘I haven’t gone in there yet,’ said Dex.

‘Me neither.’ With hands on his denim hips, Ryder surveyed the area through the open door. His silhouette was strong, his hands even stronger as they rested on those hips.

How could the view of a tall and broody male, simply walking with those sturdy thighs and hips, become so sexy?

‘How many rooms are there?’ Ryder slid into his seat at the table, directly opposite her.

She had to clear her throat and look away from him, and if those cupcakes were still on the table, she’d be eating her feelings right about now. ‘Six. You can bunk two per room, four if you push it. One room has space for six. It’d need a good airing out. But there’s a communal bathroom, laundry, and a main dining room where they can cook their meals.’

‘Didn’t you have a station cook?’

‘Only a muster cook. The ringers were only here for the musters. Most of them had their own horses, which is why they put the ringers’ rooms by the stables. I can ask the Station Hand for any recommendations. He gets hit up all the time.’

‘But I heard you do, too, with the station’s email.’

‘That is now under your control.’ It was their station, not hers. ‘My turn… So, are you going to tell me what you were discussing about the murder?’

Ryder and Dex both shared a look.

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