Page 4 of Stockman's Showdown

Then his watch pinged with an alarm.

It was time.

Tucking the wrapped shotgun under his arm, he turned off the wall of monitors that ran their surveillance cameras.He silenced the widescreen playing the business channel, then watched the large industrial lights dim. Since Bree had handed him the keys, he’d spent all his after-work hours here. He rarely went to the farmhouse anymore, except to sleep—if he slept, because his mind never stopped.

Ryder let the heavy door shut with a click behind him and pulled the key from the lock. Tucking the key into his denim pocket, he passed Bree’s latest remodelling project, which had all his brothers involved this time. It was their very own outdoor bar that ran along the back wall of their office, right next to the workshed that was Dex’s mechanical workshop, and where they parked their cars. It even included a watering trough for their horses.

The new bar was where they’d meet, drink beer and discuss work like they always did. Except they’d shifted from crowding the farmhouse’s front verandah to watch the sunrise and sunset, to one of best views of the open paddocks.

It’s where everyone was going to meet shortly as they were going on a muster to Emu Plains, and he was looking forward to it.

But first he had to deliver his gift.

Silently he jogged across to the far side of the homestead and down the long run of corrugated fencing that shielded two sides of the caretaker’s cottage, to meet the wire fence line that he effortlessly hiked over.

On his right, the lights were on in the stables where the well-trained stockhorses were waiting to be saddled. On the left stood the silent sheds that Charlie called the smithy’s workshop. In the middle, through the wooden fence rails and garden, he caught a glimpse of the open back door of the caretaker’s cottage. Bree and her grandfather’s voices carried outside on the slight pre-dawn breeze, which was perfumed by the assortmentof flourishing fruits and vegetables that cleverly disguised the scents of the stables.

Ryder could have dropped off Bree’s shotgun to her, but he didn’t want the rejection or the lecture he’d cop for taking so long in returning her gun, considering he’d pinched it from her in the first place.

He liked being unseen when it came to watching over Bree, and his days in the military had trained him well. If Bree ever caught him, she’d have him for stalking while probably aiming a shotgun at him.

A surprising grin forced his lips to curve.

Only Bree did that to him. She’d make him angry, only to make him smile when he didn’t want to.

But he was doing this because he had a lot of bridges to repair with Bree, who had the knack of bringing out the worst in him, and Ryder was pretty sure the woman he loved hated him.

Two

‘Come on, Pop.’ Bree slung her saddlebags over her shoulder as she pushed open the back screen door to head for the stables.

‘Have we got everything?’

‘Yes.’For the thousandth time. ‘The food and swags are ready to load onto the horses. We just need you.’ She stopped to wait for the old man who was hesitating by the back door, when normally Charlie would be leading the charge to the stables, telling her to hurry.

‘Are you sure we need to camp out overnight? We could just drive out to Emu Plains.’ She’d been riding out there daily to check on the herd, while checking her various fishing spots before breakfast.

‘Nah, I want this, kid. There’s nothin’ like sippin’ on a fresh cup of billy tea while laying on your swag watching a sunrise over the ranges.’ Charlie decisively closed the back door of the stone cottage, sliding on his old Akubra with the crocodile headband from the beast that had dared to bite him. He scooped up his saddlebags and swaggered towards her. ‘I’ll be teaching them girls how to make a proper campfire damper this time, so there’ll be less cooking for you.’

‘I don’t mind camp cooking over the coals. Just don’t tell those boys I said that, Pop.’ Otherwise, they’d be begging herto be their permanent muster cook, when she’d graduated from that job way back when she was a teenager.

Illuminated by the lights from the open stables, they followed the stone path through the vegetable garden where the heavy dew made the leafy vegetables seem shiny. Bree slowed down to match her grandfather’s gait, which was slower than normal. Was his heart okay?

‘I want you to let that mob cook this muster.’ Charlie paused to take a deep inhale of the air before resuming his stride. ‘They’ve gotta learn.’

‘We don’t even need to do a campfire.’ She should be calling off this overnight camp and bundling him back inside to rest.

‘Come on, kid, you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy it out there as much as me.’

That was true.

‘That last saddle-pack muster to Wombat Flats,’ he continued, ‘reminded me how good it is sleeping out under the stars, and how we’d tell stories sitting around the campfire. It won’t be long now, and the build-up’s weather will crowd our sky with clouds, making it too hot to camp out.’ Again, he peered up at the stars highlighting the night sky with that same look he had when he’d carry his cup of tea to this very same back fence to raise his tin mug to salute the sun as if to say,I made it another day. And Charlie had a ticking clock, because his poor heart was long past its expiry date.

Every day was a gift to Charlie, making their time together all the more precious, which is why Bree always gave in to him, like agreeing to go on this overnight muster.

She unlocked the back gate and swung it open. ‘Have you got any spooky stories to scare the tourists with, Pop?’

Charlie gave a wry grin, patting her shoulder as he walked past. ‘You’ve heard ‘em all, kid.’

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