Page 19 of Stockman's Showdown

‘Thanks.’ He sipped on the brew, trying to simmer his temper. His brothers were still asleep. It was almost five. Sunrise wasn’t due for an hour, but they had a stock camp to pack-up and a muster to finish. It was going to be a long day.

‘Here’s the water you wanted, Pop.’ Bree came into the camp light carrying a bucket, only to huddle closer to the fire, warming her hands up. ‘The dew is thick out there.’

‘Here.’ Ryder flung the blanket around her shoulders, scowling at her. ‘I gave you this for a reason. Don’t you dare give it back?’

‘Well, didn’t you wake up on the wrong side of the swag, cupcake?’

He didn’t care. ‘You need to stay warm.’

‘I can look after myself, thank you.’

‘I know that. But you’re always looking out for everyone else, so who looks after you?’

She stared at him with her green eyes widening to reflect their campfire.

Look out, he must have hit a sore spot. Which made sense. Bree didn’t think of herself, only everyone else. Was that because she too had ghosts that chased her in the dark? Considering Bree’s background was filled with horrors that would’ve had bigger men crumbling, that it was remarkable how Bree still got up and kept on swinging, he admired her for that.

Watching her wrap that blanket—his blanket—around her shoulders and cinch it securely into her belt satisfied some deep, primal urge within him. Something raw, almost savage. It was like seeing a woman in his T-shirt, with her legs bare and messy bed hair on full display, only this was so much better

‘Here, take this.’ She passed him a plate with seared sandwich steak, crispy bacon, hot fried bread, and some good old-fashioned beans and greens to make a bushman’s version of bubble-and-squeak, topped with eggs sunny side up. Just the way he liked it. She remembered from their first muster to Wombat Flats, like she remembered the details of conversations. There was a clever woman behind that sly smile. ‘Now sit down over there and eat your brekkie, and stop annoying the cook.’

He took the plate, grinning to himself. Now she was looking after him.

There was no way his attraction to Bree was because of the convenience of her being the only single woman in the area. He’d had plenty of gold-diggers pursuing him, only too willing to burn through his cash. All of them had failed to meet her standards like it was a test. Only one had passed, and she didn’t even know she’d been trying out for the position.

Yet trying to approach the redhead with a temper of fire was tricky, where he’d been biding his time to find that right moment. Yesterday’s kiss had proven his patience was finally paying off.

Ryder sat beside Charlie as they ate breakfast and drank the best billy tea Charlie had ever made.

With daylight breaking, he packed up his swag and approached the horses where Bree had already saddled Charlie’s horse, and their packhorses, now working on her tough black horse that was a beast he wouldn’t mind riding one day.

‘Do you have much left to pack?’ Ryder dropped his swag beside his saddle, picked up a brush and chose a horse to ride for the day.

‘Nope. Our gear is already on the horses.’ Bree patted the nose of one of her sturdy stockhorses. They were well-trained animals.

‘You’re efficient at this,’ he said, brushing down a strong mocha-coloured mare. ‘My old sergeant would have approved.’

‘Wait, let me turn up my hearing for a second.’ Bree stopped brushing down her stallion to poke up the brim of her stockman’s hat with the hatband made of contrasting strips of cloth, lace, twine and leather, a few feathers, even a playing card and some matches, making it as unique as the stockwoman wearing his blanket like a poncho, tucked securely into herbelt. ‘You know, that’s the first time you’ve actually mentioned something about your time in the military.’

‘I can’t tell you my missions, but I can tell you anything else you want to know.’

‘Riiight.’

‘Hey.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘This is me trying to hold a conversation with you. So…’ He inhaled deeply. ‘I was a captain in the Australian Army in charge of an ordnance specialist team, before I retired.’

‘Is that something to do with weapons?’

‘I was responsible for the safety, security, and accountability of my unit’s weapons and ammunition.’ It was the word-for-word textbook response he still remembered from his days in basic training. ‘I found, after growing up in a junkyard repairing junk, that I had a knack for weaponry as a First Class Lieutenant. I made captain when I was recruited into the Special Forces. I’m no grunt, I was an officer.’ Leadership came easily to him, so said his superiors. Guess that’s what happens when you order around a tribe of siblings by the age of five.

‘Were you working on the super-secret squirrel stuff?’

He chuckled. ‘Yeah. The secret stuff.’

‘But it’s more than that. I’ve seen what you did to my shotgun. It’s a passion for you.’

He nodded, quietly pleased that she’d noticed.

‘And…?’

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