Page 1 of Stockman's Showdown

Zero

Elsie Creek Station—September 1962

This place was soulless. A place in the middle of nowhere, where a girl had to depend on herself while not die from boredom or loneliness. Forcing Penelope Price to repair her handbag, which was on its last legs, like her marriage, and pretty much everything else in her life.

Welcome to purgatory. Trapped with no means of escape in the stark remoteness of this outback cattle station, where red dust lazily swirled under a scorching sun. Months without rain had left the soil cracked and snaking across the dry, brittle ground, tempting the thought of finding somewhere to swim—despite the risk of getting cosy with crocodiles.

A sturdy set of boot steps coming down the stone path of the cottage drew her out of her thoughts. When she looked up, the sun was in her eyes, distorting the shadow of an approaching stockman in an enormous hat.

Oh no, was her husband back already?

Her eyes darted to the table where her handbag was in the middle of major surgery gone bad. Jack Price hated to see her playing with his tools or having any mess on the dining table except for food. Heaven forbid he finds out she’d beendaydreaming about a new handbag, one like Audrey Hepburn’s inBreakfast at Tiffany’s.

There was a knock on the door, and the clunk of a heavy toolbox. ‘Hello, Mrs Price?’

‘Harry?’ she squeaked. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Yesterday. Finished my linesman contract, got a few footy games in, and…’ Head lowered, his eyes met hers through the flyscreen door. ‘You know I couldn’t stay away long. Not from you.’

It made her step back deeper into the cool shade of the cottage, anything to get away from his heated stare. ‘You can’t be here.’

‘Your husband sent me over.’ The screen door opened, no longer shielding her from the cheeky smile that only served to define his firm jaw, dusted with stubble. His dark blond hair was long enough to escape his hat where the ends curled at his ears. Along with his eyes that were such a pretty summery blue, it made up the man who had stolen her heart—who was supposed to stay away from her for good.

Hand to her throat, she swallowed hard to push down the emotions she’d thought she’d buried. Months had passed, and in those months before he went away, they’d only flirted a little. Until he’d kissed her so passionately, they fell into each other’s arms. But then the musters finished, leaving her both sad and glad he’d gone to work for the telephone company, so she could be the dutiful wife again, always careful to never be one on one with any man, especially Harry Splint. ‘Why did my husband send you here?’ Was this a test?

‘I’m here to put in a new telephone.’

‘Really?’ Her eyes lit up at the thought of having something so modern in such a foreign and forgotten part of the outback.

‘I’ve just finished putting one up at the farmhouse. I even got you the latest model on the market.’ He grinned, holding up thechunky black phone with a rotary dial for numbers. ‘I said I’d do it for the boss man.’

Harry brushed off his boots on the doormat, removing his hat as he stepped inside. ‘Where do you want it, Mrs Price?’

‘Harry…’

His grin was positively sinful. ‘I’m here on official station business. And we all know how much your husband hates anyone not calling you Mrs Price.’

Closing her eyes, she took a deep, shuddering breath, longing to reclaim her own identity—even though her husband still owned her. ‘You can put the phone on my husband’s desk.’ Her voice was colder than she’d intended.

‘It’s okay, Pen.’ Harry offered her such a tender smile, as if he understood or could see that thick layer of loneliness she’d tried so hard to hide.

Yet, it was both exciting and terrifying to have someone see her, as if she was a person of flesh and blood and not some property belonging to a man who controlled her entire life. But with Harry, he’d left her a heartbroken mess, even though she’d told him to go.

But now he was back.

She dragged away her husband’s office chair as Harry began pulling out the large desk to get to the wall. The thick edge of the desk clipped the side table, knocking over the vase of flowers.

‘Oh no.’ She barely caught it, as did Harry, both of their hands holding the vase. The heat and warmth of his strong fingers were a stark contrast to the water leaking out all over the wooden floor, along with her pink grevilleas.

‘I’m so sorry, Pen. I didn’t mean to do that.’

‘It’s okay.’ Removing her apron, she used it to mop up the water. ‘So, I’m assuming you’re back on Charlie’s couch up at the stockman’s shack.’

‘I am.’ Harry picked up the flowers and put them back into the vase.

As she tried to mop up the water, she noticed it trickle under the large cabinet and disappear. ‘That’s strange.’

‘What is?’

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