Chapter 9
Nine
Amara gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white as she sped down the dusty track towards Dixby Downs.
She needed space. Space from Finn, space from the cramped police station and, most of all, space from Porter and his damn fridge notes.
She could still see his scrawled handwriting mocking her from the kitchen this morning. Passenger princess(es) must open and close all gates. (Excluding said dog.)
The audacity of this guy.
She’d yanked the list off the fridge and shoved it in her pocket, then into her car’s glovebox, hoping the satisfaction of hiding the evidence would cool her temper.
It hadn’t.
She was also mad at her own stupidity for not disposing of her list properly in the first place. Especially while living with a cop, which meant he was as nosy as she was when it came to paperwork.
So now she was back at Dixby Downs.
It’d been three months since the Cold Stock Case was signed off and boxed up. But the outstation kept playing on her mind. Sure, it was too long for a follow-up, by most standards, but she hadn’t let it go. Not while the outstation sat empty, like unfinished business.
It was a feeling she just couldn’t shake.
The wind whipped through the car’s open windows, carrying the sharp scent of dry grass, sunburnt soils and the hint of eucalyptus from the scattering of trees, as she pulled up beside the abandoned shed, with the holding pens on one side.
She climbed out, sliding on her wide-brimmed hat, and scanned the empty yards. The last time she was here, it had involved a stash of stolen crocodiles.
Then she noticed a large ute parked near the old drafting pens, by the water tanks. A familiar, dust-covered police patrol, four-wheel-drive ute with a cage on the back.
Amara’s heart sank.
Please, not today.
Porter leaned against the side of his ute, arms crossed over his shabby uniform, watching her with a knowing smirk.
‘Montrose,’ he drawled, pushing off the car like he had all the time in the world.
With his police cap shading his eyes, he removed his sunglasses and hooked them into his shirt’s top pocket.
‘Tell me you didn’t come out here to avoid me now?
Or did you just need more time to admire my contributions to your list? ’
Her teeth ground together. Of all the places in the Territory…
She squared her shoulders and kept her voice as professional as possible. ‘I’m following up on a loose end from the Cold Stock Case report.’
‘That so?’ Porter tipped his cap back, eyes glinting with something that wasn’t quite amusement, and it wasn’t quite work mode either.
It was silly she’d said that, because Porter had helped them transport the prisoners on that case. He’d know it was three months too long for her to be here. Or would he?
‘So, you’re in my crime scene, now.’ Porter gestured to the empty yard behind her.
Amara frowned. ‘Your crime scene? As if. And what crime?’
Porter crossed his arms again. ‘It’s a cold case. Missing overseer. Never found.’
Her pulse kicked up.
Stock theft and a missing person’s case on a deserted cattle station seemed more than just coincidence. And with Porter sniffing around, she had to know more. ‘Craig mentioned the story—which I’d assumed was just a story Stone used to impress his girlfriend, Romy.’
Porter looked at her for a long, hard second.
She didn’t feel comfortable with that look.
‘Why are you working on a cold case? I’d assume you’d be too busy doing patrols.’ That was his job as Territory Police, while she was on the federal payroll.
‘Does your boss know you’re out here?’ She never went off and did her own investigations without a superior officer knowing where she was going. Finn was very strict about that rule.
‘Does yours? Or is he sleeping off another hangover?’
‘Hey! Finn’s at the office.’ Even if she’d found the Stock Squad’s troopy parked at the pub this morning and had had to go and get him.
‘Did you drop Finn home last night?’ Other than Porter’s petty fridge notes this morning, it’d been nice waking up to a quiet house that didn’t smell like a brewery.
‘Hmph…’ He looked away from her.
‘I heard you got your detective’s ticket. Are you going to transfer out and use that for a promotion?’ Whoa, where would that leave her living arrangements?
‘Nope.’
‘But you could be a detective somewhere.’ And being an outback cop was pretty much the place where police careers went to die.
‘I did that to learn. Now I’m using those skills on this cold case—and to give Tilly some answers.’
‘Who?’
‘Tilly. Matilda Dixby. This is her land.’ He nodded back at the scrublands.
The open, flat land was sun-drenched and silent—the kind of place that looked empty yet danced in the heat’s shimmer.
Neat fence lines etched through spinifex and saltbush, with paddocks the colour of toasted wheat.
The sky pressed down like a weighted sheet of blue, still and endless on a property that had so much potential.
‘Where is Matilda Dixby now? I was told this place has been deserted for years.’ Her interest was piqued, as she’d never gotten to speak to the owner. Finn and Cowboy Craig did that as part of their stock theft investigation. ‘So, is it true about the missing overseer?’
Porter nodded. ‘Tilly lives in town. Her son, Sawyer Dixby, was the overseer who went missing. When does your horse get here?’
She glanced at her watch. ‘Craig is dropping him off this afternoon…’ If it wasn’t for that horse, she might have moved back to the pub after this morning’s love note from Porter.
She glared at him. ‘You should create your own list, starting with being nicer to housemates.’
‘Ah, but we agreed no secrets as housemates…’ He chuckled as he sauntered towards the shed. ‘You know, that’s what friends do. Have fun with each other.’
‘Fun. Ha.’ Friends? Pft!
‘You do have fun, don’t you, Montrose?’
‘Sure.’ Yet she struggled to picture the last thing she’d done for fun. ‘The horse will be my fun thing. And I love my job.’
She’d expected some sort of wisecrack from Porter. Instead, he gave her a look that wasn’t right. ‘What?’
He just shook his head and turned away, his taunting voice carrying over his shoulder. ‘On my Not-to-Love List—not that I’d ever make one—I’d have… Rule one: do not bother with a woman who keeps lists about who they can and can’t love.’
Her hands clenched into fists over this guy she so wanted to pummel. ‘And what would rule number two be? Pick a moron with no brains or emotions. Buy a blow-up doll and call her cutie-pie!’
‘Says the girl who bought a stallion to show her a good time.’
‘You arsehole! I don’t need this.’
He moved faster than expected, pulling on her arm to stop her from stomping back to her car. ‘I’m sorry. I was just teasing you, just like Stone does all the time.’
She exhaled heavily, confessing, ‘I struggle to differentiate between someone teasing me for sport, the uniform, or the name.’
‘Montrose, huh? Does it mean you’re rich?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It was on the list. The Montrose bank account.’
She frowned. ‘I’m a Montrose.’
‘I’m a Porter. So what?’ He shrugged as if clueless.
‘Montrose in some circles is, well, we were…’ She winced. ‘Connected.’
Again, he shrugged. ‘It’s just a surname.’
‘Montrose is, was—ugh, I don’t know—a big deal. Apparently.’
‘Go on.’ He folded his arms across his chest like a barrier between them, even worse when he took a step back, allowing her to breathe easier, while also making her feel more exposed. ‘How big a deal?’
‘The Montrose family had a series of sheep stations, one in particular that had been in the family for generations.’
‘Is it still in the family?’
She shook her head. ‘They’re gone. All of it. The Montrose name that used to carry so much weight, is now worthless.’
‘So, you got dumped over it? That’s why it’s on the list.’
‘I was engaged.’
‘Deadset.’
Deadset all right. She’d thought the guy had loved her, but he’d loved the name and the money more.
‘So that’s why Stone calls you Duchess.’
‘Yes.’
‘And those frock and fancy hat events you mentioned earlier, you went as a guest? That horse game—’
‘Polo.’
‘I don’t do horses, and I’ve never seen a game of polo before. So I haven’t got a clue what those events would be like.’
‘I loved the sport.’ The thud of hooves, the feel of the leather reins, the way her heartbeat matched her horse’s stride. With no time to second-guess anything, it was like flying while still connected to the ground.
‘And, being a Montrose, the name and money gave me the opportunity to become a player. But my rise through the levels was all me.’
‘Was that because you name-dropped like a nepo baby to get a spot on the team?’
She lifted her chin, her voice hardening. ‘I trained hard. And I put everything into that sport to make the state team, then as a national’s player, as number two in the women’s squad. Me.’ She stabbed at her chest. ‘I got there through sheer hard work, not because of my family’s name.’
His stance and tone softened. ‘So, something must have happened for you to end up… out here?’
‘My horses got stolen.’ Again, she exhaled heavily to calm herself down, even if the words still stung.
‘And that’s why you went for the Stock Squad.’
She barely nodded. ‘I know from personal experience how devastating it is to have an animal you love stolen from you. Not that I feel like I’m doing the Stock Squad any good some days, but—’
‘Hey, stop that.’ His tender touch on her shoulder was unexpected but also soothing. ‘You are a valuable member of the Stock Squad. They’d be lost without you.’
‘With paperwork, sure.’
‘And managing them as a team. Without you, they’d be a bunch of misfits scrambling to get anything done.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Organisation and procedures are there for a reason—they stop the chaos, especially in our line of work.’
‘I can’t believe you just said that. Who are you?’ She waved at his crumpled uniform, in dire need of an iron.