Page 37 of Stockman's Showdown

Fifteen

Even though she’d spent the past two days in the saddle, Bree galloped on Black Hand, skirting the far outer edges of Cattleman’s Keep. Before her, the hazy horizon stretched out like a summer blanket, where the day’s heatwaves had yet to meet the sun. Clusters of trees softly undulated like an olive-green ocean spreading southward, meeting a fortress of soft, custard-yellow ranges that lined up like an uneven row of eggs in a carton. It was the Stoneys.

Out here, there was nothing but pure countryside, void of any man-made sounds this far from the homestead, that somehow served a double dose of loneliness that sat heavily on her shoulders. A person could easily get lost out here.

Normally, Charlie would ride alongside her, but the old man was asleep and in dire need of rest. It had been a hard couple of days for her grandfather, with the muster, and finding his brother. Now all they could do was wait for the police, and plan Harry’s final resting place.

Nudging the ever-energetic Black Hand forwards, Bree continued to check on the aftermath from yesterday’s landslide.

So far, they’d been lucky enough to find it hadn’t interfered with any of the creeks or the many free-falling waterfalls.

The last time they’d had an explosion of some kind—that led to a landslide—was when their neighbour, Leo, and his cronies had destroyed the wall of Starvation Dam. It’s why she was visiting this man-made abomination today.

‘Whoa up…’

Black Hand slid in the soft rubble. He loved to slide and had to be her best horse yet.

Leaving Black Hand in the shade to pick at the greenery, she scrambled up the dam’s walls that efficiently captured the run-off from the extended limestone escarpment. From here, it channelled to other areas of the station to water the many troughs and crops.

Just shy of the height of a three-story building, the wind danced around her, as a lone, white-bellied sea eagle flew over her, its shadow stretched across the rocky ridge that made up the top of the dam’s wall that was wide enough to drive the razorback around.

The Riggs brothers had done a good job in repairing the dam. They’d made it twice the size and height, effectively capturing an area of water the size of a football field, while also allowing for the overflow to feed through to the Stoneys, just like it had always done.

As she walked around the top edge checking for any damage or telltale cracks in the dam wall, it gave her a grand view of the area. In the hazy distance lay Emu Plains, where a dirt track ran like a thick red ribbon through to the drafting yards, telling the story of yesterday’s muster.

Bree was waiting to see which brother was going to ask her to be part of the cattle draft, which was silly when they all knew she’d say no. Not even her grandfather could talk her into spending another day in the drafting yards, not now that she’d officially retired from sucking up yard dust.

Ryder was also getting a little too cosy for her tastes, claiming Drover’s Rest as his paddock, and then his sneaky house inspection on the cottage last night. Asking about a dishwasher as part of his plans to move in. Bah!

Even though she was grateful for what Ryder had done for Charlie yesterday, she’d also noticed Charlie had stopped calling Ryderlad, like he did with the other brothers, and had started calling himson.

Not even Cowboy Craig—who was like a son to Charlie—ever got called that. Charlie saidlad, fella, mate, bloke, and so on, but neverson. Yet, it came so easily to her grandfather that maybe Charlie hadn’t noticed it. Had Ryder?

Bree didn’t work for the Riggs brothers, and only saw them if she had to. The thing was, Ryder was getting harder and harder to avoid, that she hadn’t expected Ryder to stay for dinner, like she hadn’t expected that kiss at The Veil. And she hadn’t expected to warm to his company, with that level of respect growing for a man she did not want.

Bree wanted no one.

She had her grandfather, who she was hoping would outlive her, and that was enough.

Bree couldn’t be bothered with the graceless dance of dating. A long time ago she’d unsubscribed from the love library, because she didn’t have the patience to go through that clumsy phase of getting to know someone new, suffering through that self-conscious time of working out boundaries, which meant a lot of awkward polite talk—like Dex and Sophie were going through now.

Falling in love, then falling out of love, made a woman deal with a lot of healing, loathing, alcoholic soul-searching, along with a decent bout of self-sabotaging just to survive the tragedy of love. Bree should know.

That’s why she deliberately gave Ryder a hard time, hoping to drive him away.

Yet, if she was honest with herself, the first time they’d met—when Ryder and his brothers had arrived in their convoy of utes and trailers of boxes—she’d found the tall and broody a-hole attractive. His tousled brown hair, chiselled jaw, and untrusting icy stare were a potent combination, especially when he effortlessly exuded the unseen power of a man who could hold his ground. He was battle-worn, tough, and clever. And if she had a checklist to tick for rare alpha males, she was pretty sure Ryder would top that list, and he’d fight every other bastard to keep the title, too.

With his well-groomed beard framing a granite jaw, solid square shoulders, and lips good enough to bite, Ryder was every one of her fantasies come to life—which was exactly why she had to keep her distance. Since then, she’d done everything to avoid getting within six feet of him, and never for longer than ten minutes at a time, if that.

She just hadn’t expected Ryder to become attracted to the brutal ugliness of her smart mouth that never held back.

Was he like Leo? Who, no matter how much lip she gave their nasty neighbour, Leo, with his lethal mobster vibe, still kept asking her out. For Leo, it seemed like a game, a form of amusement. For Ryder? Well…

She kicked over a rock, and it rolled down the side of the dam wall, where it hit against something, giving an unnatural clunking sound.

She skidded down the rocky sides to where the dam wall met the open terrain to reach the spot where the rock she’d kicked had landed. And there she found a hidden PVC pipe, about four inches in diameter.

Grabbing her bushman’s knife from its sheath on her belt, she hacked at the hard soil and dug around the black pipe that was deeply embedded inside the dam’s wall.

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