Page 7 of Stockman's Showdown

He loved their new bar, catching the grin from Dex, who too enjoyed the fact they could ride up with their horses, open the fridge to steal a coldie, and give the horse a quick drink, then ride off again.

Bree was a genius with her plans, dragging up furniture and metal sheeting, even slabs of wood from one of the back sheds to cleverly repurpose materials, saving Ryder thousands.

‘We’ll ride out to Emu Plains, where we’ll make our stock camp this side of Koala Creek. It’s a pretty place on the plains.’ Charlie pointed to the map. ‘We’ll then muster up those stragglers from One More No More Corner and Scary Forest, pushing them towards Koala Creek. Then tomorrow we’ll begin the long walk to the fencing channel to the drafting yards.’

‘Are there any crocodiles in Koala Creek?’ Mia asked.

‘Always.’ Bree sat on her fierce black horse like an amazonian warrior, with her thick red plait trailing over her shoulder.‘Unless you want me to start writing your obituaries, treat every waterhole, every creek, and every river as a hunting ground for those sneaky river puppies.’

‘So why are we camping near that creek, if there are crocodiles?’ Harper held out a small hat to Ash, who put it on their son’s head, Mason, who was strapped to his father’s chest in his carrier, ready and raring to go. That fast-growing boy was a future stockman in the making.

‘For Rijidij Dugout, of course.’ Bree let rip a playful grin that sparked in her eyes. If anyone knew how to play it was Bree.

‘The what?’ Dex asked.

‘Pop, you like telling stories.’ She nodded to her grandfather, always letting the old man take the lead.

‘Well, lemme see…’ Charlie pushed back the brim of his well-worn hat. ‘Darcie’s dad gave those hot springs the name, Rijidij Dugout. And it’s a good one too. Over the years, the stockmen of Elsie Creek Station kept digging it deeper, while building the small wall of river rocks to surround the natural hot springs where we’ll be camping. Darcie’s dad swore by it, whenever his arthritis played up.’

‘So it has healing properties?’ Sophie reached out to hold Dex’s hand. ‘That might have helped you, and me, after that last fight?’

Didn’t that remind Ryder that even though Sophie may be irritating, she’d earned her place at this station. In fact, all of his brothers’ ladies had helped save this station, one way or another.

‘After being in the saddle all day, Rijidij Dugout’s hot water is the best place to wallow while cracking open a cold beer, with Emu Plains spread out before you showing off the sunset.’ The old man sighed wistfully as if picturing it in his mind.

‘It gives the term being rock bottom new meaning,’ said Bree with a devilish grin, ‘it’s like a heated spa under the stars you won’t regret.’

‘Oh, I’m in. I love spa days. Good for the skin,’ said Harper, who was flawlessly dressed as always, having turned their farmhouse bathroom into a make-up studio. Their shower was filled with shampoos and conditioners, while assorted painful-looking electrical hair gadgets congested the bathroom bench. It was safer for Ryder to use the outdoor shower, because if he moved the wrong way inside the farmhouse bathroom, he’d cause an avalanche of hair care products and make-up.

‘But I’m going to cook, right?’ Harper may be politically savvy, and good with the books, but she couldn’t cook to save herself. She’d try, but it always ended up as muck that only the pampered house dogs would touch. No wonder they were getting fat.

‘I’ve told Bree to let you lot cook for a change,’ announced Charlie.

‘Aww, really?’ Dex screwed his nose up as Ryder frowned at the news. ‘That’s the only reason we wanted Bree to come, for her cooking.’

Sophie thumped his arm. ‘I can cook.’

‘You can’t camp cook like Bree, babe.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Can you cook on a campfire?’

‘I don’t mind learning. Like Harper is always having those cooking lessons.’

Ryder rolled his eyes, groaning at the mess he expected, knowing thosecooking lessonswere just a codename for long liquid lunches attended by Bree, Mia and Harper. He doubted any cooking got done, but lots of cocktails were consumed using Bree’s homemade gin.

‘Bree, please tell us you’ll be cooking?’ Or Ryder was going to drag out his army ration packs.

‘For you, cupcake? Never.’ Her eyes were like fire, and that grin was just as evil—together it was as sexy as sin, it sent his heart into a rat-a-tat spat of gunfire in his chest.

‘Play nice, Bree.’ Charlie folded up his map, before climbing back onto his horse. ‘The lad did fix your gun.’

‘That he pinched like a pickpocketing professional at the Paris Olympics.’

Ryder didn’t expect a thank you. After all, he’d done the wrong thing. Not when she’d done more for him just by wearing his blanket, and she didn’t even know it.

Giving his horse a slight nudge, he rode past Bree, barely catching a whiff of her scent—warm vanilla and pecans complemented that hint of something intoxicatingly spicy underneath.

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