Forty-eight
Harper rested her chin on the back of her hands, which lay across the thick, cool brass rail that ran along the entire front of the bar. She stared at the tiny trail of bubbles rising in the amber liquid to become part of the creamy foam that made up her glass of beer. This particular ale had a rich malty aroma, with a hint of fruit, and was apparently brewed by a local mango farmer. So far, it was the only beer she liked.
It had become her mission, her personal tourist’s tour from the front bar of the Elsie Creek Hotel, hassling the poor barmaids as they tried to find the right beer for Harper’s picky palate.
Some beers were dark and yeasty, and some so thick you could stand a spoon in them, while others smelt like vomit, or earthy grass, even a dark caramel. It had kept her amused for hours, getting a crash course on beer while drowning out all background noises in the pub.
‘Well, aren’t you the saddest-looking thing I’ve seen in here for a long time.’
Harper barely moved her head. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Cowboy Craig.
‘Well, that’s not the normal reaction I get from the ladies.’ With a chuckle that shone in his blue eyes, he pushed up the brim of his hat, which highlighted his blond curls. He leaned against the bar beside her. His cologne was crisp and invigorating, but it was nothing like Ash. There was no one like Ash.
‘How’s the dog doing?’ Craig asked.
That made her eyebrows lift, but her chin remained resting on her hands.
‘Ryan told me about the snakebite. He also told me to expect your call, in case you were in trouble.’
‘Would you have really helped? Someone you’d just met.’ What was his angle? Because everyone had a hidden agenda. Heck, she should know.
Sipping on her beer, she wiped the back of her mouth with her hand like a sun-parched stockman! Yee haw.
Craig gave her that cocky grin, his bright blue eyes almost twinkling.
‘Stop. Please. Don’t bother flirting with me.’ Not while she was learning how to breathe with a broken heart, with loneliness as her new best friend. Great, she was heartbroken and homeless!
Craig shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have, you know.’
‘Wouldn’t have what?’
‘Made a play.’
‘Not good enough, huh?’ Typical. Men only spoke to her about her job. While she was too busy to hold a conversation, or know the art of small talk, because she’d never had time. But today, she had all the time in the world to sit on this stool and drink beer. Hooray.
Sculling back her beer, she pointed to the world’s greatest barmaid for another one. ‘Pourer’s choice. Can we make a note that this is a good one.’
The barmaid grinned as she opened a few fridge doors. ‘I have a list.’
Just like Ash had a list, the thought making her sink in her chair.
‘What are you doing?’ Craig asked.
‘I’m making my way through the beer varieties. I didn’t know there were so many.’
Craig signalled the barmaid to order a beer for himself. ‘Why?’
‘I’m on holiday. Isn’t that what people do when on holidays? They drink some sort of alcoholic beverage …’ For breakfast.
‘Where are your chaperones from the station?’
Harper shrugged, again resting her chin on her hands to watch the bubbles rise in her new glass of beer. She didn’t even have Bree’s number. If she did, though, what would she say when she struggled to understand it herself? ‘Aren’t you a mate of the Riggs brothers?’
‘I’m a good mate of Jonathan’s, the youngest one.’
‘He owns Sandlot Station, right?’
Craig nodded. ‘I’ve even been to their parents’ place for a feed.’
‘What are they like? Mr and Mrs Riggs?’
‘Landon and Camilla Riggs are great people. Cammie loves her knitting, she’s obsessed with photographs of her family, and she’s always got something cooking on the stove. Nothing fancy, but enough to feed her tribe.’
‘I heard she liked photos.’
‘Big time. Only of her family. You should see it—next to her stove, Momma Riggs has plastered all of her children’s school photos for every year they went. It covers her entire kitchen wall.’
Harper sat up and sipped her beer. It was nice. Or was she getting used to the flavours? ‘Are you talking about Ash and Dex’s school photos?’
‘All of them, in this big collage. She even wallpapered their entire hallway with all of their favourite childhood drawings. Some are really old.’
‘I’ve never heard of such a thing.’ Her parents’ house had specific artworks, investment pieces, with only a few of her school photos kept in special frames, like her graduation. ‘You mean there is a mug shot of Dex in a school uniform, suffering with teenage pimples?’
‘Wearing one of the goofiest smiles, back when Dex did smile.’
‘No way.’ It was enough for her to smirk—not smile—smirk. ‘I’d love to see that.’
‘Well, now you’re living with the Riggs brothers, I’m sure you’ll see it soon.’
‘No.’ And she dropped her chin back onto her hands, holding the rail, to stare at her beer. ‘I got kicked out.’ And it was all her fault.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Craig’s smile disappeared. ‘If you’re stuck for somewhere to stay …’
‘I’m a guest at the pub, and I’ve even got a beer tab.’
Yesterday, after crying an absolute river of tears, her entire chest ached as if punched by the tactical squad’s hammering arm they used to break down doors. She’d struggled to breathe.
But Policeman Porter had been an absolute gentleman. He’d made her pull over to the side of the dirt road, handing her tissues and a water bottle, waiting patiently while she howled and hiccupped for air.
It was the same uncontrollable flood of emotion, the heartache she’d suffered when she’d learned her parents and sister had been killed, leaving her alone to grieve all over again.
Thankfully, Porter had booked a room for her at the pub so she could avoid talking to anyone. He’d helped her upstairs, left her his business card, and closed the door behind him, leaving her to cry herself to sleep.
Today, she was emotionally drained and just numb.
But she’d found the energy to walk down the stairs and stare at her beer and to befriend the world’s best barmaid, Mean Rene. With arms full of ink, ear plugs, a tight leather vest, skin-tight jeans, and some seriously sexy head-kicking black boots, Mean Rene had become Harper’s well-tipped bodyguard, blocking any cowboy from coming near her.
‘Hey, can I ask you something?’
Harper didn’t have the energy to nod. ‘Sure.’
‘Have you heard any more about that mine trying to take the water from Elsie Creek Station?’
‘Why? Do you have a station that’ll lose their water, too?’
‘No. But my best mate owns Danbunnan Station.’
She shrugged. ‘I think Ryan mentioned it?’
‘Danbunnan Station is the largest family-owned cattle station in the Territory, and they’re about to sell their fancy bottled spring water to the southern markets.’
Didn’t that tug on her memory strings, along with the pain of missing Ash and Mason, because she knew how amazing the water tasted out here, especially at Grass Tree Creek, and then at Cascades Spur. And that amazing time they’d shared together. Ash had been right, that muster was a story to share for the rest of her life, one that would bring tears.
‘My concern is, if they can claim a stake in the water from Elsie Creek Station, what’s stopping them from doing the same to all the other stations in this region?’ Craig wasn’t being flirty, he looked worried.
‘Oh, wow.’ She finally found her spine to lift her head from the brass railing, to face Craig.
She glanced around the bar where other groups of stockmen were busily talking, showing the same look of concern that Craig had. And she’d been oblivious to it all, when she used to have such a well-trained ear for reading the room.
Maybe there was a reason she was here.
She’d read that government letter, then emailed a stack of queries as research back when she’d been so worried about poor Ruby. Again, her heart ached, pushing back her tears, missing Mason. Missing Ash.
She hadn’t opened her laptop to see if there had been any responses.
She dug around for her phone in her bag and switched it on. She had to do something to fix this mess.
It wasn’t just Elsie Creek Station involved, this involved an entire industry that included all the people of this town. She had to do something.
The phone came alive, and it dinged, and kept dinging—not with phone messages but emailed responses. This was a good start.
‘Hey, Craig? Do you know any water specialists? Someone who’d know where to find the historical data concerning the water for this region?’
‘I reckon I might…’ Craig adjusted his white hat, giving her a smile filled with hope. ‘It just so happens Ryan and I are best mates with the Federal Government’s leading water analyst in charge of the Top End’s extensive artesian water basins.’
‘I need to speak to him. Today.’