Twenty-six
After feeding the horses and checking over her list of orders that were packaged ready for delivery today, Bree headed back to the cottage for breakfast, keen to hit the road before Ryder showed up. The early morning air was still crisp enough for her to wrap Ryder’s blanket around her shoulders.
‘Was there anything else you wanted to take, Pop?’ The warm scent of eggs and bacon greeted her as she cleaned her boots on the back doormat.
‘Look who showed up for brekkie.’ Pop served a fried egg from the heavy cast-iron frypan onto a plate filled with steak, bacon and greens.
‘Morning, Bree.’ It was Ryder, seated on the other side of the island bench, freshly showered, beard trimmed, in that tight black T-shirt that showed off every muscle in his torso. When did the guy work out?
‘You’re early.’ Bugger!
‘Didn’t want to miss you.’ His eyes shone with amusement over the lip of his tea mug.
‘Dig in, son. We grew all that produce, except the mushrooms and the smoked bacon. It’s what I call the stockman’s breakfast.’
‘Beats a drover’s brekkie that was just a smoke and a sip of billy tea with an eye on the sunrise,’ replied Ryder.
Charlie’s face lit up with joy that someone else understood his lingo. ‘And that’s much better than a dingo’s brekkie, which is just a drink of water and a look-see.’
The two men shared a grin and a nod on opposite sides of the kitchen counter.
‘You look nice, Bree.’ The timbre of Ryder’s voice did something to her, as did the way his eyes travelled down her body, then back up again.
‘Thank you.’ She self-consciously brushed down her favourite dress—flowy, playful, and flattering for her full figure—which usually put her in a good mood.
After last night’s escapade, she needed something to lift her mood and to stop worrying about Leo, her neighbour, who was a drug lord! She always knew he had that mobster vibe.
‘I like that you’re wearing that blanket.’ Ryder gave her an intense stare, before attacking his breakfast with gusto.
What was the deal over this blanket? ‘It was cool this morning…’ Not now. The heat was creeping up her skin, that she removed the blanket as she took her seat at the bench. Charlie served up her plate. ‘Did you get any sleep?’
‘I rarely do… You?’
She shrugged. ‘You timed that well.’ She nodded at him, eating.
‘I did, didn’t I?’ He grinned, loading up his fork. ‘Best breakfast, Charlie, except for Bree’s campfire brekkies. Your stockman’s brekkie is worth the visit.’
‘My beautiful Bea was never much of a morning person, so she made me promise to cook brekkie for her and our future children every morning—or she wasn’t going to marry me.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Ryder’s chuckle was deep and short.
‘Hey, I never complained, because I got to marry the most wonderful woman in the world. And my beautiful Bea got to sleep-in that little bit longer, and never complained about my cooking none either—even when the bread got burnt or the eggs were runny at first.’ Charlie sighed, gazing at the wedding picture he proudly kept on the bookshelf among his many rodeo trophies.
‘But I always made sure brekkie was better than what I got fed as a little tacker,’ continued Charlie. ‘My old man’s version of a stockman’s brekkie was freshly made damper dipped into the tin of golden syrup, washed down with some billy tea, while sitting around a campfire. I remember carting water in canteens, living off salty beef, and carrying carbide lamps. Every day, my father had us doing school by correspondence before sunrise. Spelling and maths we did in the saddle while droving, or in the truck driving to the next blacksmithing job, or some fencing contract we had to fill. If we were lucky, we’d have the radio to listen to at night. If not, we’d make up stories.’
‘Ever regret any of it?’
‘No, son.’
There, Charlie said it again. Son . It made her sit higher, carefully watching the two men for some reaction. But nothing.
‘No matter how many miles of fencing wire I’ve tangled with, or outback dust I’ve swallowed, it’s rotten rails and long snaking wire fences that still puts a smile on this old man’s dial.’ The many sun-hardened crinkles softened as he gave a dreamy smile. For Charlie, he could never retire, being a stockman wasn’t a job, it was a lifestyle he lived and loved.
‘What do you think is the worst thing about being a stockman?’ Ryder asked.
‘Well, um, lemme see…’ Charlie scratched at his head of white hair. ‘After eighty years working on stations, with plenty of bruises, cuts, lacerations and other painful experiences, including rodeoing…’ He pointed to the large black-and-white image of him riding a bucking bull. ‘Out of the top five for pain and discomfort, it’d have to go to that there bucking bull, Buckshot. Then I’d say it’s the buffalo fly in the ear.’
‘Really?’ Ryder paused with his fork full of food.
Charlie shoved a thick finger in his ear as if cleaning it out. ‘My old eardrums can’t handle their wing beating frequency or something. That’s when I’m looking for the nearest trough to sink my head underwater to drown the blighters.’
‘I agree, those buffalo flies suck. But the horsefly is the worst for their bite.’
‘Don’t I know it. One bite is enough to make a sleeping pony leap in the air like it’s been zapped.’ Charlie slurped on his mug. ‘Now, don’t get me started on them pesky midges, mate. And with the wet season coming, I’m not looking forward to the return of them mongrel sticky black flies either…’
Bree ate fast, doing her best to ignore the men’s gross conversation. Any second now, they’d start comparing scars as they bonded over breakfast.
Charlie had never been like this with her ex-husband, Finn.
Although Charlie behaved similarly with Cowboy Craig, who was the closest thing to a son for her grandfather. Charlie had taught Craig how to ride rodeo bulls and they shared a love of the sport. But Charlie never called Craig son .
‘And I’m done.’ She jumped off her stool.
‘I’ve got this, kid.’ Charlie took her plate, then turned to Ryder. ‘So we’ll be going in your ute, eh?’
Ryder used his toast to sop up the sauce on his plate. ‘Yep, it’s fully fuelled. Bree mentioned you had deliveries?’
‘We’ve got the post office and the pub today.’ Charlie again slurped from his banged-up enamel mug that he took everywhere. ‘You’ve got no complaints about an old man taking his cuppa with him for the drive?’
‘No, whatever you need, Charlie.’
‘Why are you taking us into town?’
‘Um…’ Ryder hesitated, glancing at Bree.
‘Ryder was going to visit his mate, Marcus. And I said we were visiting Porter at the police station—’
‘So I offered,’ said Ryder, finishing her sentence. ‘Why waste fuel if we’re going to the same place?’
‘Too right, you are.’ Charlie flicked on the kettle. ‘You’d better get them orders into Ryder’s ute then, kid.’
‘I’ll bring them down in the trolley.’ Grabbing the blanket, she pushed open the back screen door. The cool outside air was invigorating as she headed past the silent patio area where her empty trough sat before her widescreen. It wouldn’t be long, and she’d be dragging buckets of ice to fill the tub to cool down under an outback summer.
The irrigation for the vegetable garden brought a chill to the air, as a light hazy mist hung over the paddock, Drover’s Rest, that spread to the fringes of Scary Forest. The back gate squeaked, and her boot steps echoed inside the blacksmith’s workshop. She grabbed the small trolley to load the sturdy, boxed orders being posted today. The rolls of steel rods wrapped in bubble wrap were for the customers to collect from the pub.
‘What are those?’
‘What the hellfire!’ She dropped her rolls that clanged on the ground but held one up like a sword. ‘You could have warned me.’ She was jumpy after last night. Why hadn’t she heard the gate?
‘Sorry.’ Ryder leaned down to pick up her packages. ‘Are these branding irons?’
‘No. Some are fire pokers.’
‘Fire pokers?’
‘Yes, people like fancy fire pokers with their initials on them. It’s the must-have gift for the person who has money to burn,’ she said to the self-made billionaire who’d bought this cattle station with cash.
‘Dex told me you make swords.’ He wandered over to her workbench, where a sword waited for her to finish setting the faux jewels on the hilt and its matching shield. ‘Is it true you go jousting?’
She shrugged. ‘Not for a while.’
‘Hmm… So where is my specialised fire poker? Because we both know your grandfather is holding Elsie Creek Station’s branding iron to ransom in the caretaker’s cottage.’
‘That’s between you and Charlie. And as you’re not on my Christmas list for handmade goods, you should know there’s a four-month waiting list. I’m a girl in demand.’
‘Aww, that hurts.’
‘We both know you’re made of tougher stuff than that, Captain Cupcake.’
‘Hmph. I see you extended the nickname,’ he grumbled.
‘Just because I pretend to be a grown-up, doesn’t mean that I should stop expanding my vocabulary.’
He flashed her a grin, as he rubbed a hand over his jaw, his eyes all sparkly as they reflected the sunshine.
‘Now that is cool.’ He approached the back brick wall, charred from years of use from the blazing furnace. And on that wall hung a large, sculpted bull’s head. ‘Dex told me you made that for Charlie?’
Dex had a big mouth.
‘How old were you?’
‘Twelve.’
‘Young. How old were you when you started on the tools.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I had to help my dad and grandfather as a small boy. You?’
‘Um…’ Her brow ruffled, pulling back on her snarky attitude. ‘Ever since I came to live here, I’ve been working in this shed after school and school holidays, learning the trade that very few people need anymore.’
‘But you’ve found a way to be booked out for the next four months. Clever.’
‘Ooh, that’s high praise coming from someone like you. I’ll be living off that compliment for a month, you know.’
‘Better than you biting my head off,’ he mumbled, walking around the blacksmith’s shop. ‘Can you make me one of those bull heads? A longhorn?’
‘For where?’
‘You left a big space on the boardroom wall, that’ll be perfect for it.’
‘I’m busy.’ She grabbed the handle of the trolley, tucking the rolls under her arms.
‘Here, let me take that trolley.’
‘I can do it.’
‘Listen, lady, I happen to have a particular way of loading up my ute, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you’re the same with your Kombi.’
She shrugged, readjusting the weight of the packaged rods where some of the bubble wrap popped in her hands.
‘Here.’ He tucked the blanket over her shoulders. ‘I like you in this.’
‘Why?’ Her question made his eyes flare slightly. Hello. ‘What is the deal with this blanket?’
‘Um…’ He focused on adjusting the trolley’s load while she waited for a reply, with her arms full of fire pokers and branding irons.
‘I can see you won’t let this go.’
‘Not now, I’m not.’
His fingers softly grabbed the edges of the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders. ‘If I tell you, will you keep using it?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not giving it back, if that’s what you think.’
His grin grew into one of those sexy smiles that made her toes curl in her boots.
She swallowed hard, hoisting the bundles higher to create a barrier to any of Ryder’s unprovoked kisses. Even if he was a good kisser, she didn’t want him mussing up her hair and make-up. ‘So, the story on the blanket?’
Ryder exhaled heavily. As a man who wasn’t much for storytelling or conversations, she could tell he was struggling. But then, she’d never stood still long enough to hear his stories, so she waited.
The silence seemed long and empty.
‘When did you get it?’ If she asked questions, hopefully it’d make it easier for him to talk.
‘Just before I started basic training in the Army.’
‘Why the Army?’ Considering the guy seemed happy as a stockman.
Ryder peered out to the paddock where their stockhorses grazed. ‘With six younger brothers and sisters, always in my face, I wanted space… Don’t get me wrong, I love my family.’
‘I know you do.’ The guy bought an entire cattle station for his brothers to call home.
‘But I had to get out. My dad got paid to collect junk off the highway. My parents couldn’t afford to give me the education I wanted, and I wasn’t going to get it as a stockman, but I could in the Army. Unfortunately, some members of the family weren’t happy about it.’
‘Aww, they didn’t want to see their big brother go.’
‘So much so that they hid my mail, and I missed my date to show up for basic training.’
‘Not possible.’ Juggling the fire pokers in her arms, she tapped on her wrist, bare of any watch. ‘You’re a clock-watcher who is never late for anything.’
‘Thank you for noticing.’ He gave her a sideways grin. ‘I think one of my sisters hid that letter from the Army.’
‘That’s kind of sweet.’
‘Yeah, well, I was stuck in a strange city and had to wait for the next intake for basic training. That’s when I met Miss Laurel Thomas.’
‘The…’ Girlfriend ? Now why did that make her stomach churn?
‘The spinster. Laurel was coming out of the shopping centre and dropped something off her trolley. I helped her. Next thing she insisted I push it to her car, where I noticed she had a flat tyre.’
‘So you changed it?’
‘Of course.’ He shrugged with those big shoulders in that tight black shirt, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of the jeans made for the man. ‘Laurel asked what I was doing there, and I’d told her I was going to apply for a job at the supermarket, and asked if she knew of any work until I could start basic training.’
‘And…’
‘I’ve told no one this story.’ He winced, pulling off his stockman’s hat to scratch nails though his hair. ‘It’s silly—’
‘You can’t stop now.’ She stepped close enough to admire his masculine scent. ‘Go on.’
He adjusted his hat that cleverly shaded his eyes. ‘Well, to make a long story short, Laurel had very little, but she could offer me food and board for doing jobs around her house. Mostly to stop any of the local kids from hassling her, because her house looked like the scary witch house. It was that run-down.’
‘Witch, huh?’ Like Dex called her that nickname.
‘Not like that. Few people realised Laurel cooked for the local homeless shelter. Even though she’d retired, she still did it a few days of the week.’
‘Sounds like a sweet lady.’
‘Anything but. She was a brandy-swigging, foul-mouthed woman who gave people hell with her comments. You would’ve liked her.’
‘Why was she working there then, if she was giving lip to the customers?’
‘Laurel’s brother, Clyde, was an ex–combat vet. He wasn’t coping too well back in society, and preferred living on the streets.’
‘Where Laurel volunteered at this soup kitchen?’
He nodded.
‘Did she—’
‘She tried.’ His chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. ‘Laurel had a room for Clyde at her house, but her brother wouldn’t accept it. So, she made sure Clyde had plenty to eat, clothes and blankets to keep him warm, while keeping watch over him.’
‘And you stayed with her?’
‘For a few months. I painted Laurel’s house, fixed her plumbing, serviced her car, and tamed her garden, while scaring off some local kids who dared to hassle her. And Laurel also made me help her with her work at the soup kitchen.’ Again, he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Laurel made me see the world in a different way. I was a broke kid from the bush who didn’t know about city living.’
‘Do you regret leaving your family?’
‘No. It was my time. It might sound selfish, but I needed it. Like I told you, I never learned to play. I’ve always been too serious, too focused. I’m not like you and Dex, who know how to muck around and actually enjoy life. Now that I’m out of the Army, I wish I could let go a little—have more fun in my day.’
Why did that make her heart ache for the always serious and stern Ryder Riggs?
‘And the blanket?’ What was the connection?
‘When I was getting ready to leave, Laurel gave me this handful of cash. It wasn’t a lot. I knew she couldn’t afford much, but she insisted on taking me shopping to get my recruit kit together.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Toiletries, specific civilian clothing. I never had much. With no shopping malls anywhere near us, we were kids who shared clothes and lived off hand-me-downs. But Laurel insisted on helping, lecturing me on the difference between quality over quantity and to invest in something that would last. After living a life in the outback, in a house that never got cool enough in the summer, I wasn’t ready for the southern winters.’
‘I can relate.’ Wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
‘And, after having a chat with Clyde, huddled on a street corner, about his time in basic training, that’s when I bought that blanket you’re wearing now, and it went everywhere with me. Just like Laurel’s brother, Clyde, carried one with him living on the streets… You see, in the Army, most of the personnel had photos of their family, a special book, a watch, or some keepsake. I grew up in a junkyard, well aware of what people threw away and didn’t want much. Some of my bunkmates gave me a hard time being this dumb kid from the scrub carrying this blanket around.’
She bristled, with that blaze of protectiveness rising fast in her chest. ‘That’s not fair.’
He tilted his head at her with that grin growing. ‘Look at you.’
Only then realising she was being protective of Ryder. Nooo. She had to step back. ‘I hate bullies.’
He narrowed his eyes, his deep voice dropping lower, colder even. ‘Were you bullied?’
She shrugged.
‘Bree?’
‘When I went to boarding school, somehow, they found out about my parents and some of them picked on me. But not for long.’ No, she learned all about pranking those in the dormitory, and their weak spots, to ensure they never bothered her again.
‘They obviously had no idea who they were dealing with.’
‘No, they didn’t. What about you?’
‘I grew up being bullied. We were known as the junk brothers in school, until my mum decided we were all going to learn to box. After that we never got bullied again.’
‘So, you took on the bullies in the Army?’
‘No. Instead, I used it as a lesson.’
‘How?’
‘I learned quickly in the Army to never trust too fast, to quit no task too early, and to never expect too much from those around you. Most of all, to never talk too much.’
Well, that made a whole load of sense as to who he was now.
‘But that simple woollen blanket was not some child’s crutch, it was a small piece of home for me. It shaded me from the sun in the Afghan desert and sheltered me from the cold rains in Ireland. It was a beach blanket down in Mexico. The perfect pillow for a train ride through the Swiss Alps, and it was the cushion that saved my arse from getting burned on the ferry ride in Morocco. I thought I’d hang it up when I found a home…’ Leaving that sentence hanging in the air for a moment. ‘Yet, for something as simple as a blanket, it taught me the biggest lesson of all.’
‘What’s that?’
‘To understand the true value in things, which has nothing to do with the price tag,’ said the self-made billionaire who looked at her so deeply it unnerved her. ‘And when you find something worthy, you do your best to hold on to it.’
‘Here, take it back. It obviously means a lot to you.’
‘No. It’s yours, Bree.’ He tenderly squeezed her arm. ‘I want you to keep it.’ He stared at her for a long time, as if trying to say something. It was a look that revealed how truly and deeply he cared about her.
No one had ever looked at her like that before, it set her heart hammering in her chest. ‘We’d better get going.’