Chapter 25 #2
Bree waddled around the counter, hand on her lower back, the other on her baby bump. ‘You’re going to ask me if Finn went to prison because of our son?’
Taryn couldn’t ask about that. Not when that same mother was about to give birth to another child.
‘Fine, I’ll answer it for you, chicken.’ Bree even gave a smug grin that disappeared with her sigh.
‘It’s true. Four years ago, Finn and I lost our son, Liam.
’ Bree smiled softly down at her belly, but there was a touch of sadness dulling the shine in her eyes.
‘And, yes, Finn was sentenced to two-and-a-half years for assault, and only served eighteen months before…’
‘The pardon.’ That Taryn had yet to ask about. ‘Did Finn come straight back after his release?’
‘No. He called me and told me he was free. And said if I ever needed him to call him.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Finn needed a few months mustering in Queensland to clear his head and get as far away from anything brick for a while. He’d negotiated the break before starting the job, said he needed time to find his footing in the real world again.
And yet, while out there mustering, he ends up catching these duffers, stealing a trailer load of prime stock.
It re-triggered his old desire and got him motivated to start that road trip for research. ’
Bree leaned her hip against the counter.
‘You see, Finn has always wanted to be on a stock squad, back when he was a sixteen-year-old stockman who’d caught a string of cattle thieves.
It’s why Finn became a cop. It’s the same for Amara, although her motivation is to do with horses.
But they both have that inner drive for their dream job to do good. Do you know why you do what you do?’
Taryn used to, in a way that she’d feel it in her bones. Yet lately, it was only justice for Meghan that got her out of bed.
But then came the outback.
The heat and the endless red dust that stuck to her lashes and made her question every life choice by midday.
The stake-outs with spectacular views of sunsets that were too gorgeous to be real.
Chasing down road trains on dusty highways that didn’t officially exist. Feeding a water buffalo on her morning walk to the office—like it was normal. Because here it was.
As for the office…
Honestly, she liked the Batcave and each one of its chaotic team members.
Stone, with his dry humour and smart mouth, made the hours fly, literally. She never knew if he was flirting with the world or just rich-boy bored, but he was sharp, fun, and impossible to hate.
Then there was Cowboy Craig, with his old-school country charm, who made her think that maybe the cowboy cliché had some merit.
You then had Romy who saw everything through her camera, the way the dust danced on a sunbeam in the window like it was all part of a magical realm—reminding Taryn that perspective was a choice, all in the way you looked at things.
And Amara, the Tiny Titan, with all her rules and steel nerves to do right, was finally growing her wings. Taryn couldn’t help but be a little proud to watch the constable develop every day.
Of course, she couldn’t forget Tanisha. How she’d raise her cactus mug, complaining about another cake left on the large muster table, because the hospital staff were on diets again.
There were the casual conversations over coffee made by Porter, where even the OIC, Senior Sergeant Marcus Moore, made a show of quizzing her on some legalities and budgets for his own station.
And Finn…
Finn who grunted more than he spoke. The man who didn’t trust easily, made mud for coffee, and preferred rolled maps than put faith in a GPS. The guy who’d checked under the hood of the old wagon, and put air in the tyres, before letting her drive it out of the police yard.
She was meant to shut Finn and the team down. All of it. Instead, she’d been standing shoulder to shoulder with him.
This place wasn’t just changing how she worked.
It was changing how she felt about the work.
Suddenly, her job didn’t look like justice anymore.
It looked like paperwork that carried the expectation of ticking off KPIs.
Following protocols designed by people who wouldn’t even know that Elsie Creek existed, who weren’t out for justice only results on a spreadsheet.
Bree watched with sharp green eyes and said softly, ‘It gets in, doesn’t it? The dust and the people who live here. But also the truth starts to reveal the story you didn’t come looking for.’
Taryn didn’t answer. Not when the ache in her chest said enough.
In the distance there was the unmistakable crunch of tyres on gravel coming down the drive.
It was the troopy.
‘And here comes Mr Panic himself.’ Bree rolled her eyes.
Finn’s troopy skidded to a stop out front. The driver’s door flung open before the engine had finished dying.
‘Bree! What are you doing here?’ Carrying a brown paper bag and a tray of takeaway coffees, Finn stormed inside like he expected to find a hostile hostage situation.
His gaze snapped from the kitchen bench, to the Harley commanding space in the living room, then to Taryn standing beside Bree, like he was checking for damage. ‘You’re supposed to be resting.’
Bree rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not a bonsai, Finn. I don’t need constant misting.’
‘You’re overdue.’
‘And so is your taste in music, but here we are.’
Finn turned to Taryn, wearing an expression that was caught between resignation and horror. ‘You let her carry boxes?!’
‘I was asleep. And she threatened to burn something and blame it on hormones.’
‘That’s true,’ Bree said. ‘You gonna offer me a chair, or do you want my water to break on your floor?’
‘Here…’ Finn shoved the coffees and food at Taryn to escort Bree to a chair. ‘Sit. I can scrounge up a pillow. Water? Food?’
‘Just show me that photo you couldn’t send before the cavalry arrives.’
‘Fine…’ He scrolled open the phone and handed it to Bree.
Taryn had to peek over their shoulders. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ll explain later.’ Finn dismissed her, while hovering over Bree as if she was made of fragile crystal.
Bree zoomed in on the image on the phone’s screen.
It was a picture of a young man in a stockman’s hat, with the dust baked so deep into his tanned skin, it might’ve been holding him together. Nicotine-yellowed fingers curled around a smouldering, hand-rolled cigarette. Eyes a pale blue, almost grey, but full of that quiet, unsettling bush wisdom.
She could just hear David Attenborough narrating this himself: Here we have the lesser-spotted Territory ringer—dust-covered, and unbothered. Watch closely as he blends seamlessly into the scrub, communicating only through nods, cattle movement, and the occasional grunt.
He’d stand out in the city like a goat at a board meeting. But out here? He is camouflaged perfection.
‘That’s Bob.’ Bree nodded at the phone’s screen. ‘Or as some like to call him, Two-bob Bob.’
Taryn frowned. Two-Bob Bob. Just like that truck driver Tooley had mentioned. ‘Is that name for real?’
Bree gave a dry huff. ‘It’s his nickname, buttons.’
Taryn rolled her eyes while Finn shot her a questioning glance.
‘His real name is Samuel Ward,’ continued Bree. ‘He’s Seery’s cousin, if I remember correctly.’
‘As in Sawyer Dixby?’ Finn asked.
Taryn had read the name. He’d been the missing overseer of Dixby Downs on the Wild Stock case.
Bree nodded. ‘Bob was lead ringer, running muster crews out near Tinderflats Station. Quiet as a shadow, he is. Always looking like he’d just rolled out of the scrub.
But don’t let the looks fool you, he’s good, too.
Bob knows cattle like most men know their footy stats.
I’ve seen him read a mob and tell you which heifer would throw a good calf, and which one would cause havoc going up the rails. ’
‘What else do you know about him?’ Finn dragged a pillow from his swag and tucked it behind Bree’s back.
She eased into the chair with a wince, one hand on her baby bump. ‘By rights, Bob should’ve made head stockman out at Tinderflats.’
Finn dragged over another chair, and lifted Bree’s feet to rest. Then passed her a glass of water without her even asking.
And not once did Bree complain.
‘Bit young to be a top hand, isn’t he?’ Taryn asked Bree.
‘Believe me, Bob’s got the skills. And it was promised to him.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, the owner of Tinderflats—the Colonel, who never served a day in the military in his life—liked to run Tinderflats like it was a battalion until he semi-retired.’
‘And Bob was to get the job?’ Finn asked Bree.
‘That was until the Colonel’s son came home, fresh from another failed business venture in Darwin.
As a kid, the guy has zero stock sense and a chip on his shoulder the size of a rusty water tank.
But word is, the Colonel gave him the job, hoping being head stockman would straighten him out.
But now they’ve got long-time stockmen looking for work elsewhere, leaving Tinderflats to hustle for contractors. ’
Stockmen that angry, overlooked, and ready to walk—it was the perfect conditions. Especially if the Colonel had handed the reins to someone unfit, because then Tinderflats Station wouldn’t even know if their stock was missing.
‘Do you know the name of the contractors?’ Finn asked with that deep rumble.
‘No. Why would I?’
And then it clicked. Bob, or Two-bob Bob, was Samuel Ward. SW. The initials on the dockets for stolen stock. SW Rural Contracting. Her fingers itched to do a search on her laptop.
Before Finn or Taryn could ask another question, an engine roared down the track.
A black, beastly ute, the top-of-the-range kind, slid to a halt with dust curling in waves behind it.
‘And that,’ Bree muttered with a sigh, as she dropped her feet from the chair, ‘would be the cavalry.’
Finn helped Bree to her feet. ‘Did you tell him you were coming?’
Bree grinned.
‘Great. So now I’ve got to deal with Ryder Riggs.’
Taryn was unsure whether to back up Finn or watch like a spectator with popcorn and beer. Luckily, her coffee was closer.
Bree’s husband climbed out of his black ute, his boots hitting the dirt like the man was spoiling for a fight. Broad shoulders, thick arms, and a trimmed black beard that made him look like someone who’d chew through fence posts for breakfast. But all together, wow!
‘brEE!’
‘Are you going to be safe?’ Taryn muttered to Finn.
Finn gave an eye roll that said as if.
A younger version—probably a brother, with the same good-looking genes—jumped out of the passenger side of Ryder’s ute, looking equally concerned as he followed Ryder inside.
‘There you are.’ Bree sipped her water like she hadn’t just staged a domestic escape. ‘Took you long enough.’
‘You ran away,’ grumbled Ryder, his voice deep.
‘I drove off. The Kombi can only go so fast. It’s not exactly a tactical vehicle that’s gonna break some land-speed record now, is it?’
The towering man of brawn and beard stalked past Taryn, to wrap his arms gently around Bree, while checking her over like a mechanic inspecting a beloved engine.
‘You okay, babe?’
‘Fine. I was just having a lovely banter session with Taryn here.’ Bree angled her water glass toward her. ‘Taryn, this is Ryder Riggs. And his brother, Ash.’
Taryn gave them a small nod. ‘So you’re the cavalry?’
‘More like containment team,’ Ash muttered under his breath with a grin.
Ryder didn’t smile. He just grunted and assessed Taryn the way a bull might assess a new muster dog in the yard—curious, cautious, and not quite convinced she wasn’t going to nip.
‘What, no nicknames?’ Taryn asked Bree.
‘Cupcake and snowflake,’ Bree said sweetly.
Taryn giggled, as Bree bumped shoulders with her like they’d known each other for a decade. While the men grunted in stereo and made for the counter, grabbing fruit and opening jars like Vikings raiding a settlement.
Taryn watched them for a moment, spotting the similarities between Ryder and Finn. She then leaned toward Bree and said quietly, ‘You’ve got a type.’
Bree smirked. ‘What can I say? I like my men big and emotionally repressed.’
Ryder swiped the Kombi keys off the kitchen bench and tossed them to Ash. ‘Stash this somewhere she can’t find it.’
‘Oi, you can’t hide my Kombi like it’s an Easter egg,’ complained Bree. ‘It glows in the dark, you know.’
‘That thing has no airbags and a god complex,’ Ryder said, while gently steering his wife past the Harley in the lounge room, and towards the front door. ‘But while we’re in town, we’ll visit the hospital and have the midwife check you out.’
‘They got their dates wrong, not me.’ Bree didn’t fight him. Just grumbled about alpha males and public transportation as both Ryder and Finn helped her into Ryder’s passenger seat with more care than a sacred artefact.
Bree leaned out the passenger window and waved at Taryn with a grin. ‘Fun morning, buttons. Let’s do it again the next time I decide to make a prison break and play food fairy.’
‘Looking forward to it.’
‘Oh, FYI, Finn does a mean barbecue. Don’t let him fool you into thinking he’s not domesticated.’
Finn groaned. Ryder sighed. Ash meanwhile looked like he was considering an upgrade in his life insurance policy as he climbed into the Kombi.
As the black ute rumbled down the drive, with the put-put-put from the older, shockingly bright yellow van following, Taryn took a long breath as if a storm had passed.
Finn turned towards her, seriousness rolling off him like heat. ‘We need to talk.’
And just like that, the storm rolled back in.