Chapter 9
Cassidy
The silence after his stupid bloody declaration felt like the whole world had skidded to a halt.
I'm here because I believe Frank Branson is my father.
What a load of bullshit. I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for him to crack a smile and admit he was messing with me. But his face stayed dead serious, those blue eyes locked on mine like he was bracing for impact.
I burst into laughter. “You’re fucking funny. I’ll give you that.”
“I’m not joking.”
My laugh died in my throat. "You think you're Frank’s son?" My voice sounded strange even to my own ears.
"I think it's possible."
Possible.
The word felt like a detonator.
"That's ..." I couldn't find the words. My brain spun too fast, tripping over itself. I contemplated racing outside, needing space to think, but I was too tired to even get up. "That's ridiculous."
“Maybe.” Xavier shrugged.
His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before coming back to me. “There’s one other thing.”
“What?”
“If Frank is my father …” he paused, and looked at me like he was bracing for a magpie attack, “then that would make you my sis?—”
“Oh, hell no.”
His brows lifted.
“Absolutely not.” I tugged an annoying piece of hair away from my cheek.
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I don’t need you to.” I folded my arms. “There is no universe where you and I are related. So stop being a bloody idiot.”
"I know how it sounds?—"
"Do you?" I yanked off my other boot and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a thud. "Because it sounds like you're not just after whatever's in that suitcase. You want a piece of Koolaroo, too."
"That's not why I'm here."
"Bullshit." I stood and paced the narrow space between the bunks. "You show up out of nowhere, claiming Frank's your father. What's next? You want your share of Koolaroo? Your cut of everything?"
Xavier stood, raising his hands like he was trying to calm a spooked horse. "Cassidy, I'm not here to take anything from you."
"Then what the hell are you here for?"
"The truth." His voice softened, almost like he hated being here, too. "I need to know if he's my father. That's all."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "The truth. Right. And if he is your father, then what? You just walk away? Leave everything as it is?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Because we both knew that wasn't possible. Once that door was opened, and if Xavier was right, everything changed.
If Frank was his father, and Xavier was older than Mitch ...
My stomach dropped. Frank's will left everything to the oldest son.
Oh fuck.
This ... this stranger could inherit everything. The whole bloody cattle ranch. My life's work and my three brothers’. And Frank's. Koolaroo belonged to us.
It's my home.
I stopped pacing, put my hands on my hips, and squared off at him. "How old are you?"
Xavier blinked. "Thirty-six. Why?"
Thirty-six. Mitch is thirty-six, too.
Fuck.
I sank back onto my bunk, too exhausted to stand. My body suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. Every muscle ached. My head throbbed. This damn Yank was six feet from me, trying to destroy everything I knew about my family.
I'd already been through that once. I couldn't do it again.
"Cassidy—" He stepped closer.
"Don't." I held up my hand. "Just ... don't. I can't deal with this right now."
I needed to think. Needed to process.
If his bombshell was true, then I needed to figure out what the hell this meant for Mitch, for Koolaroo Ranch, for me and my life … for fucking everything.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"Oh yeah?" I glared up at him. "What for?"
He opened his mouth, blinked a few times, then shrugged. "I'm sorry that Frank being my father is even a possibility. I only found out a week ago that the man I'd been led to believe was my father wasn't even related at all. So yeah, I know how shocking this news is."
I squinted up at him, hearing the vulnerability in his tone. "Who told you Frank was your father?"
"My mother," he spat the words, grinding his teeth as if just mentioning her was painful.
The adrenaline was wearing off, and exhaustion crashed over me like a wave. I'd been running on empty for too long. "Look, I'm too tired to even think right now."
Nodding, he stepped back and undid the buttons on his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I scowled at him.
"I usually sleep naked."
"Not tonight, you don't, cupcake."
"I'll keep my pants on, but I can't sleep with a shirt." He tugged off his shirt and folded it at the head of his bunk.
Holy smokes, this city bloke was ripped. The contours of his abs looked like he'd been carved from granite. Maybe the fencing stuff he did was more physical than I'd pictured.
The canvas creaked beneath him as he sat.
I curled onto my side on my bunk, tucking my hands under my cheek. The fabric smelled like dust, old canvas, and the musty tang of mice shit or some other creature I didn't want to identify.
Xavier tugged his shoelaces apart and pulled off his shoes, slotting them beneath his bunk like he was a child who'd be walloped if he didn't.
I knew what it was like to be physically punished. I also knew exactly what it was like to have parents tell lies. I'd been carrying their shocking secret for years, and I was the only one who knew it. But if Xavier was Frank's son, that meant Frank had screwed around on our mom.
My brothers would not handle that shock very well.
Ever since Frank had vanished, his lies had started to unravel.
I just hoped mine stayed buried. If it didn't, my brothers would never forgive me.
Xavier rolled onto his side to face me, and the glow from the moonlight through the window made the blue in his eyes even more stunning. "Good night, Cassidy. I hope you have a peaceful sleep."
A tiny gasp escaped my lips. Never in my life had anyone made a comment so sweet. I could barely reconcile the gentleman across the room from me with the bombshell he was about to unleash on my family.
I couldn't fight my heavy eyelids anymore. "You, too. I hope those possums don't keep you awake," I said, forcing my gaze away from his bare chest.
"As long as they don't jump on me, I'll be fine."
"No promises. There are some pretty big gaps in the roof."
He chuckled and released a massive sigh, like he was happy with how the night was ending.
I curled onto my other side so I couldn't see him, closed my eyes, and let the darkness pull me under.
I forced myself to relax, inhaling a few deep breaths. Then my eyes shot open, and I sniffed the air.
What the hell? I sat up and sniffed again.
Fuck.
I bolted out of the bunk and raced for the front door.
"What's wrong?" Xavier blurted as he thundered across the floorboards after me. He reached my side within seconds.
"Smoke. You smell it?" I stepped onto the verandah.
The smell wasn't the pleasant, woody scent of a campfire. This was different. Acrid. Thick. The kind that clawed at your throat and made your eyes water.
I raced across the verandah to the northern end and leaned on the railing, peering into the darkness.
"Shit. Shit." My heart launched into my throat. At the top of the ridge, flames climbed into the sky. Orange and red and furious.
A screech split the air. Above us, cockatoos burst from the gum trees in a swarm of flapping white wings against the smoke-filled darkness.
"Those fucking Henderson bastards."
His face went pale. "You don't think they?—"
"They lit a bushfire to flush us out."
Bats followed the birds in a dark swarm, wheeling frantically.
The fire moved like a living thing, devouring everything in its path. Dozens of kangaroos thundered past the cottage, darting in all directions in a frantic effort to escape the inferno.
"Jesus Christ." Xavier stared at the flaming distance. "We need to go!"
"Go where?" I spun to face him. "You can't outrun a bushfire. It moves faster than you can sprint. The wind carries embers ahead of the main front. We'd be dead before we made it to Opal Ridge."
"Then what do we do?"
"We stay here. Come on." I raced back inside.
"But this place is timber. It'll go up like kindling."
I yanked on my boots. "Get your shoes on." I ran into the bathroom and grabbed the water bucket.
"We're going to fight the fire with buckets?" His jaw dropped.
"Get your fucking shoes on." In the kitchen, I grabbed the second bucket.
"Hell, you're serious."
I raced outside and sprinted around the building to the water tank. I turned on the tap, and as the bucket filled, I shot my gaze to the flaming ridge. That fire was spreading damn fast—already cresting the ridge and barreling down the southern side toward us.
Xavier ran up beside me, shoes on but no shirt. "What do we do?"
"There should be a hose around here somewhere. Look around. Help me find it." I dropped to my hands and knees and peered under the crawlspace.
The space was barely two feet high and crammed with rusty sheets of corrugated iron and forgotten junk. I ducked my head and crawled in, squinting into the darkness. The moonlight died a few feet in, leaving me groping blindly through cobwebs and around bits of metal and piping.
My hand bumped against something flat and smooth.
Sheets of plasterboard, stacked in the middle, propped off the ground by timber pallets.
I could barely make them out in the gloom.
That made zero sense. This cottage was older than I was—probably built in the sixties or seventies.
Plasterboard left out here should be a soggy, moldy mess by now.
On top of the stack sat an unused bucket of fibro glue. And was that a tin of paint?
Was someone planning to renovate this place?
"You find it?" Xavier called out.
"No. Some asshole didn't put it back." Probably Kayden. He thrived on chaos. His place was the poster child for it.
I scrambled back out. "Forget the hose. We don't have time.” I raced to the tank just as the water reached the brim of the bucket.
"Grab that water and soak the grass around the building," I ordered. "Hopefully it will stop embers from catching."
He grabbed the handle.
"Start around there." I pointed to the side directly in the line of fire.
I shoved the second bucket under the tap. Hoofbeats drummed against the earth. I looked up as wild brumbies thundered past, a blur of muscle and panic. At least they could outrun the fire.
Xavier raced back to me with the empty bucket. "You see those horses?" His eyes were wide.
"Yeah. Wild brumbies. They'll be fine." The distant roar of the inferno made my skin crawl.
We swapped buckets. "This is insane?—"
"You got a better idea?" As he sprinted away with the full bucket, my mind raced through everything I'd learned from Declan's bushfire training.
Six years ago, lightning had struck in the middle of the night.
We'd scrambled just like this, with buckets and hoses, driven by sheer panic. The flames had torn through two fences and torched one of the tractors before rain finally saved us. We’d gotten lucky.
Another ten minutes and the horse stables would've been ash.
After that night, Declan made sure we did fire safety training every year.
Wet down everything. Clear the fuel. Release the animals. Don't fucking panic.
One thing we always did was keep the grass down around the buildings.
The grass around this cottage was bone dry and at least a foot high.
That fire was going to race through here like a freight train, especially with the breeze coming over the northern ridge behind it—and we were standing right in its path.