Fifteen
Ash rummaged through the workshop’s containers of nuts and bolts to find the sliding locks. Now all he needed was the screws. ‘Hey, Dex?’
‘Yeah.’ At the other bench, Dex grabbed the drill.
‘Can you do me a favour and get off Harper’s back?’
Dex turned around, wearing a cheesy, know-it-all, smart-arse grin. The kind of grin he used to stir up his opponents in the illegal fighting pits. ‘You’re not, are you?’
‘What are you on about, now?’
‘Falling for the nanny.’
‘I am not.’ Ash jutted out his jaw. ‘I think she’s snooty.’
‘That’s a nice way of calling Princess Harper a toffee-nosed—’
‘Stop. Right now.’ He scowled at his older brother, the professional bare-knuckle fighting champion. But the protectiveness he had over Harper was strong. ‘I mean it.’
‘Why?’
‘For Mason’s sake. The kid adores her, more than me.’ He sighed, hating to admit that Mason preferred Harper, even Cap, over him.
‘Maybe if you’d bothered to spend time with the kid, he’d like you too.’
‘I don’t know how. He’s a kid.’ He still got that squeezing sensation around his rib cage, whenever he looked at the boy. It put him off.
‘You’re the biggest kid I know, I don’t see any problem.’
‘I do.’ Eighteen days and counting.
‘Listen, brother, at his age, Mason will look up to you no matter who you are. And if you don’t stuff it up, he’ll look up to you for the rest of your life.’
‘Do you look up to Dad?’
‘Dad’s Dad.’ Dex shrugged as he flicked through a toolbox searching for the drill bits. ‘Dad treated us well. He took the time to hang out with us and teach us things. Now it’s your turn. You’ve got that drone, put the goggles on the kid and let him see. Or do what Cap’s doing, just taking the kid for a walk, or let him help by picking up cans. Kids don’t see our faults. Not at that age.’
‘How come you know all about this? Have you got some child hidden in the closet we don’t know about?’
Dex’s face was sullen. The cocky shine of mischief in his eyes was replaced by a deep, deep sadness. ‘I know, okay. I just do. That kid is your son, and it’s about time you stepped up and started being his father.’
‘VISITORS!’
‘Was that Harper?’ Ash spun around to face the farmhouse. His heart skipped a beat, worried for her. But she was okay, pointing down the driveway.
‘What is this place, flipping Grand Central Station?’ Dex mumbled, carrying an assortment of tools.
Ash jiggled the tools and the sheet of plywood under his arm. ‘Hey, Dex?’
‘What?’
‘Leave Harper alone.’
‘I moved out, didn’t I.’
‘You know what I mean. Harper knows about the bet.’ Ash grabbed his older brother by the upper arm that was nothing but solid muscle. ‘I mean that. Leave. Harper. Alone.’ The depth of his warning echoed around them.
‘I’ll steer clear of the nanny. But I’m not cancelling that bet, it’s up to two hundred now.’
‘Who with?’
‘Obviously not with you.’ Dex grinned over his shoulder as they approached the house, just as a stocky work ute parked in the yard.
Cap carted Mason on his shoulders back to the farmhouse, where the boy was greeted by the nanny. Harper gave the small boy his own special smile, before she carried him into the house for dinner.
For the first time Ash felt a different twinge in his ribs, as if something was fighting against the pressure. It had him wanting to walk across that dead grass to go hang out with Harper and Mason in the kitchen. But that was impossible.
Especially since Harper was doing her best to avoid him ever since he’d stupidly hit on her that night. She was here for Mason. Anyone could see that. And Ash also noticed how attached Mason was to Harper.
Did he want that same kind of attention? But from who, Harper or Mason? Or both?
‘What’s got you shoutin’ at me for, old fella?’ The middle-aged man climbed out of the cab of his work ute. Sliding on a well-worn stockman’s hat, he casually patted Sarge like he was a puppy.
‘Some killer guard dog, that is,’ mumbled Dex.
‘It’s Jonathan.’ Ash pointed at their baby brother climbing out of the passenger side of the ute, hoisting a beer carton over his shoulder before leading the big man in the bigger hat to the verandah, where Ryder was there to greet them.
‘Everyone, this here is the Station Hand.’ Jonathan pointed at the man with grey flecks in his hair, and suntanned skin like leather, dressed in dusty jeans, and a pair of crocodile-leather boots. It was the Station Hand.
Everyone knew about the Station Hand. He was a legendary stockman, one of the best mustering contractors in the country, who’d taught thousands the trade of running cattle.
‘Ron’s the name.’ Ron’s hands were huge, full of calluses, giving them a firm shake. He was as big as Ryder, with an air of authority around him, as he cracked open a beer. ‘I hear there’s some new mine after your water?’
‘I told him.’ Jonathan handed out a round of beers. ‘They haven’t hit us over our water yet. Our cousin, Monet, is going to do a flyover to suss out the mine to see who it’ll affect.’
‘Your station won’t be affected.’ Ryder shifted the many maps that covered the table. ‘Sandlot Station gets the river run-off from Elsie Creek herself. So do all these stations, here. We don’t. Our land has the headwater that runs into Elsie Creek with another river that runs all the way to the sea.’
‘Which is why you lot got the name,’ said Ron. ‘You’ve also got the river from the run-off, courtesy of the escarpment and Cattleman’s Keep. Pretty spot that peak is.’
‘The reason I’ve asked Ron to visit is because he was my consultant when Mandy and I invested in Sandlot. Ron knows Elsie Creek Station.’
‘You’ve mustered here?’ Ryder asked the Station Hand.
‘I did. With Darcie, the old owner, and ol’ Splinter. Where is Charlie Splint?’
‘Gone into town with Bree,’ said Ash.
‘Pity it’s not Saturday, Charlie would have his pizza oven happening. Have you been to one of his pizza nights at the caretaker’s cottage?’
‘No. We’ve been busy trying to get the place sorted out.’ Ryder’s frown was filthy as he sat at the head of the table. ‘Do you know anything about this mine?’
‘No one does, it’s that new. But when Jonathan told us what was happening, it got a lot of other local cattlemen worried that their water may also be under threat, too. We don’t want to be like them southern farmers who pay for water from a river that runs right past them.’
‘But we have a river that starts here. At this station,’ said Dex. ‘What I don’t get is how they can claim we’re infringing on their water rights.’
Ron shrugged his beefy shoulders. ‘What did you boys do differently?’
‘We fixed the dam they broke.’ Dex scowled, crossing arms over his toned chest.
Ron narrowed his eyes at Dex. ‘Can you prove it?’
‘I wish. What’s stopping them from wrecking it again? Think about it, we’ve just fixed the dam, which Charlie said hasn’t been working for six months. We’ve reduced the water flow.’
‘When did the mining lease start?’ Jonathan asked.
Ryder shuffled through the paperwork. ‘Nine months ago.’
‘How long was Elsie Creek Station up for sale?’
‘A year,’ replied Ron. ‘Not long after Darcie passed. Elsie Creek Station might be on the smaller scale where land mass is concerned, but she’s pristine cattle country with plenty of good Mitchell grass plains.’
‘Not without water.’ Jonathan sighed, dropping his elbows onto his thighs. ‘I know the issues we had about water at Sandlot Station. Hey, I should bring Flo out here to do some water divining for you guys.’
‘Elsie Creek Station has plenty of water. Always has,’ said Ron. ‘But if you’ve got a mine nearby, they could tap into the underground artesian water basins, which is what runs everyone’s bores.’
‘Oh, no.’ Cap moaned, dragging his palms down his face as if living some horror story. ‘Mines drain water basins, or contaminate them, rendering them useless. I can give you the data to prove this. It’s a well-known fact.’
That quietened them down.
‘Do you have any cattle?’ Ron asked. ‘I know Darcie’s son stripped the place bare.’
‘Were you in on that?’ Dex asked bluntly.
‘Absolutely not.’ Ron crossed his arms over his beefy chest. ‘We all knew what Darcie wanted for this station’s future and have a lot of respect for Charlie sticking to Darcie’s wishes. None of us locals took part in Darcie’s son stripping the place like that.’
‘To our advantage, it lowered the buying price,’ said Ryder, as the money man.
‘Brother, we bought a cattle station with no cattle,’ said Dex, wearing his typical scowl. ‘So, Ron, if you didn’t muster the cattle, who did?’
‘Darcie’s son hired a mob of musterers from Queensland.’ Ron slowly shook his head with sadness. ‘Darcie would’ve rolled over in his grave for that.’ He took a long pull of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Didn’t that mob leave you with any cattle?’
‘We’ve got a small herd we’ve paddocked here…’ Ryder tapped on the station’s map. ‘But we’ve just learned there’s maybe a thousand head in this place called Wombat Flats.’ None of them were letting their hopes get too far ahead until they saw it for themselves, and the condition of the cattle, too.
Ron adjusted his hat that hid his raised eyebrows. ‘Sheez. What are they doing out there?’
The brothers said nothing, for Charlie’s sake.
Ron gave a deep chuckle. ‘I get it, I do. I bet Charlie hid some cattle out there, to not leave the place bare. It’s what I’d do if I was in that situation. And I bet that bugger picked the best stock too.’
‘Are you sure about the quality of that cattle?’ Ryder narrowed his eyes at Ron. ‘Charlie said they were scrubbers. Ferals.’
Ron grinned. ‘Listen, fellas, Charlie is an old-school stockman who always talked down his herd’s quality, like poker players who don’t like to reveal their hand in a game. Trust me, Charlie would have kept a prime herd out there. He’s been breeding the stock on this property for over fifty years, he knows quality, and would do his best to make sure he kept the best.’
Ash looked at his brothers. They had a herd. A good one. He could feel the hope building, not only in himself but in his brothers, too. ‘This is good news, right?’
Even Ryder nodded.
‘Do you know who helped Charlie muster that herd?’ Ron asked.
‘His granddaughter,’ replied Ryder in his deep voice.
‘Bree. Good kid. Helps my daughter out.’
‘How so?’
Ron looked at them for a moment. ‘Do you know anything about the caretakers, and who Charlie is?’
‘We know he was head stockman before he retired, but I’d guess he did some rodeoing from the way he walks,’ replied Ryder.
‘You’d be correct. Charlie Splinter Splint was a champion bull rider.’
‘No way.’ Ash and Jonathan spoke with wide eyes.
‘Charlie started as a kid, following his old man and their family trade, where he used to blunt the horns on a bull for the rodeos, to not hurt the beast or its rider. And he was good at it. Quick, painless, and done in record time. Wasn’t long and he was riding the things, following the rodeo circuit, until he got the wrong end of a bull one day.’ Ron sat back. ‘Darcie gave Charlie the caretaker’s cottage when Charlie got hurt. Charlie’s wife, Bea, nursed him back to health so he could ride again. He never rode another bull, but he was a damned good stockman. Still is. And when Charlie became head stockman here, the place flourished, giving this place a good name in the cattle industry. I know from firsthand experience how good Charlie is. He taught me a trick or two in my time, especially with branding.’
‘Yeah, well, he’s got our brand and holding it for ransom.’ Dex snarled behind his beer as he rocked in his chair.
Ron chuckled. ‘And that ol’ bugger will probably keep it until he dies. Unless you come up with an offer he can’t refuse.’
‘How can he keep my brothers’ brand, Ron?’ Jonathan asked.
‘Because back in the day, a cattle brand was a family keepsake. A legacy brand is what you hand down from generation to generation, and Charlie’s father was a master brand maker.’
‘For real?’
Ron nodded. ‘Charlie and his father made all the brands for the entire North. And now Bree does it too, when she’s not concocting a batch of witch potions for my daughter.’
‘What?’ Ash blurted out as his brothers raised their eyebrows. ‘Bree’s a witch?’
‘Bree distils herbs and makes cooking oils that my daughter sells online. Bush herbs.’
‘Any other herbs?’ Dex’s mischievous grin grew.
‘Bree does make a wicked green ant gin. My wife, Queen Elizabeth, loves Bree’s rosella gin. I always order a crate when she makes a batch.’
‘Bree’s been holding out on us.’ Ash looked back at the distant caretaker’s cottage.
‘That’s a lot of grog. Is that legal?’ Dex asked.
‘Since when do you care if it’s legal?’ Jonathan playfully punched Dex’s shoulder.
‘If we’re looking at legal action, I want nothing that could affect us.’ Ryder stabbed at the map spread across the table. ‘The caretakers don’t own this place, we do.’
‘Well, if there’s an issue with the dam and the water rights, you’ll wanna get that herd of cattle out of Wombat Flats, pronto.’ Ron peered over the map. ‘Because if that dam is now refilling, and if those mongrels decide to tear it down again, it’s going to cause a flash flood through the Stoneys and out to—’
‘Wombat Flats.’
‘It looks like you mob are about to do a muster. But be warned fellas, that’s stockhorse-only country. I hope you’ve all got decent saddles and know how to whirl a stockwhip.’