Page 5 of Stockman's Showdown

‘Well, I promise to not spoil the ending.’ The gate clicked back into place and through another gate, they entered the stables. ‘Hello, my lovelies.’ The horses nickered, as some stamped their hooves with excitement. ‘Ready to earn your horse feed?’

‘They’re more than ready.’ Charlie’s bandy-legged swagger seemed more pronounced this morning as he went to greet his favourite stockhorse, Slim. ‘Mornin’, young fella. You ready to chase some long tails under the sun?’

The grey horse nickered as if it understood.

Bree wanted to help the old man saddle his horse, but Charlie would only get mad at her for interfering. Instead, she brushed down her favourite horse, Black Hand. Grandson to her first stockhorse, Black Mamba. He was as black as midnight and such a bad-arse. ‘Ready to do this, trouble?’

The horse rubbed his long nose against her arm. Black Hand was clever, fast, and fearless, all the traits she admired in a horse.

Bree reached for her saddle. ‘What the…’

She paused at the blanket, the wool coarse but so soft and thick, its colour a deep emerald green. She followed the edging, discovering a few small patches where the hand stitching was rough, but it held. On the underside, it bore the worn label:R.Riggs.

The blanket was old and worn, yet incredibly soft. It was gorgeous. She lifted the heavy weight of pure wool to reveal a shotgun. ‘No way.’ It was her old shotgun, smelling of gun oil, the barrel polished and clean, and the wooden handle incredibly smooth. She cocked it open, checking it was unloaded, but it looked and felt as if brand new. No, this was better than new, the trigger action was like listening to the precision of a Swiss watch tick.

‘What’s that, kid?’

‘My shotgun.’

Charlie poked up the brim of his hat, before taking the gun. ‘Where’s it been?’

‘Ryder pinched it.’

‘When?’

‘Months ago.’ When she’d aimed it at Mia’s ex-boyfriend. Back then, Ryder had snatched it out of her hands and stripped it down to parts in a matter of moments, while telling her off for breaking the rules to somemurder club. He’d been so quick it had stunned her into silence—only for a few moments—before she argued with him to give it back. But he never had… Until now.

Hmm, what did Ryder want from her now?

‘The lad’s done some work to it.’ Charlie peered down the shotgun’s barrel. ‘Straight as a pin, that.’ He levered the pump action a few times. ‘That’s smooth as butter. What did Ryder do wrong to give you this?’

Bree shrugged. ‘Do you need me to write a list?’

‘You’ve forgiven him for calling you a cattle rustler, right?’ Charlie rested the shotgun against the pole. ‘Ryder’s put a lot of effort into that gun. It looks like a peace-offering to me, kid.’

Only until Ryder started their war again.

‘You’d better thank him when you see him. He is the boss.’

‘Not my boss. I don’t work for those boys.’ She frowned, hoisting her saddle onto Black Hand. No one was her boss. Yet here she was, mustering for the Riggs brothers,again.

Individually, they’d each taken a shot at trying to convince Bree to come on this muster, where she’d flatly told all the Riggs brothersno. But those four sneaky boys knew how to manipulate Charlie, telling the old man he was the head stockman for this muster, which meant Charlie demanded Bree be on his team. And she was only doing this for Charlie.

Even though the Riggs brothers were getting under her skin, they shouldn’t. She wasn’t part of their staff as a muster cook, ora stockwoman. Yet here she was hoisting her arse into the saddle before dawn, clipping on her stockwhip, and sliding the newly returned shotgun into its saddle holster. Slipping on her riding gloves, she checked the tether of her four-horse train, which would follow her, then nodded at her grandfather from beneath the brim of her stockman’s hat to make a start on this long day ahead.

A stiff cool breeze blew down from the escarpment, it was always coldest before the dawn. She grabbed the gun’s blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders like a long shawl. It smelled like him. Gun oil, polished wood, leather, cigar smoke and bourbon, blending with a rich man’s smell, the one of a boss. Just notherboss. No one lorded over her—even though Ryder Riggs tried to.

‘Ready to greet the dawn, kid?’ Finally, her grandfather had that spark in his grey eyes again. Sitting proudly in the saddle, Charlie was more than ready to greet the day. This is what the stockman lived for.

‘Always.’ Nothing beat riding a horse towards a spectacular sunrise on this cattle station she called home—but only for as long as the caretaker’s caveat remained in place.

Three

It was a freaking circus! Gathered by the new bar near the boardroom, Ryder could only shake his head with embarrassment at how his younger brothers were acting like fools, completely unorganised as they attempted to get their women onto their respective horses.

‘You keep clicking away on your camera like that, Soph, and you won’t have any battery left.’ Dex checked over the saddle straps of his new lady’s saddle.

Typically, Sophie ignored Dex to aim her camera at the ground, the cobwebs, even the horse’s eyelashes. ‘But this is my first muster.’

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