Chapter 19
Nineteen
In his police ute, Porter steered them down the small town’s main street. The small cluster of stores ran on both sides as he headed for the only four-way intersection in Elsie Creek.
On the right stood the hardware store, on the other corner stood the mighty pub, towering over the intersection.
The small town park occupied the left corner, which carried through to the train station’s passenger terminal, where Porter turned left, crossed the railway line tracks, then left again into the train station, and headed for the main entrance to the stockyards.
‘Who’s Bree?’ Amara peered out the passenger window as they passed the vintage train, now turned into a playground, that stood beside the passenger terminal. The terminal held the old tea house, converted into a small museum, where Lucy’s food van lived at the end of the long stretch of lawn.
‘Bree is Finn’s ex-wife.’ He scoffed at her. ‘You already know that, Montrose, so ask me the real question that’s on your mind.’
‘Fine,’ she said with a huff. ‘What does Bree’s pregnancy have to do with Finn’s drinking?’
‘You don’t know.’ Porter’s stomach dropped as he swallowed down that foul taste in his mouth.
‘I’m asking. Normally, I wouldn’t ask. I respect people’s privacy, especially Finn’s. But Bree—that woman back in the office—’
‘Who is really nice.’
‘She took over the office, when she’s not my boss.’
‘Bree may be bossy, but her heart is in the right place. So be careful what you say about her in front of me. Bree is a friend of mine, a good one too.’ His tone was low and loaded with warning, as he was protective of his friends.
‘You’re such a popular guy.’ The snark in her voice was unexpected.
‘You’d have friends in this town too, if you weren’t so cut and dry, you know.’
The look she shot him was positively lethal. It’s obvious she was hurting, looking to lash out, and once again he was the lucky bastard who’d won that door prize.
‘I’m not your enemy, Amara. I didn’t steal your horse, so don’t take it out on me when I’m trying to help you.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Surprisingly, she hid her face in her hands and leant over her knees, pulling the seatbelt tight.
He quickly parked in the stockyards. ‘Hey…’ He unclipped his seatbelt and gently rubbed her back.
Was Amara crying?
Her back rose in a slow hump and dropped again in a deep and steady movement, like she was forcing herself to breathe, while hunched over her lap in the passenger seat. ‘I’m okay… I’m okay…’ She repeated like a mantra.
Porter just rubbed her back in slow circles, hoping to soothe her some.
A minute later, she sat up and pulled down the passenger’s visor to check her tight bun in the mirror. Still not a hair out of place. ‘You never finished telling me what Bree’s pregnancy has to do with Finn’s drinking. And she’s not wearing a wedding ring, so is she really married?’
Porter nodded. ‘Bree can’t wear rings with her work. They burn her.’
‘So she’s a legit, hammer and anvil—’
‘Blacksmith. Third or fourth generation, I think. She’s been doing it since she was a kid, and she’s a master at it.’
‘For cattle brands.’
‘Art too. And it’s top notch.’
‘I felt the calluses on her hand.’
‘Bree works hard.’
‘And her husband?’
‘Ryder Riggs. He’d be as big and mean as Finn, I reckon.’
‘Really?’
Porter smirked, removing the keys from the ignition, giving Amara a sideways glance. ‘If Ryder Riggs and Finn ever duked it out, it’d be like Godzilla versus King Kong—two heavyweights built for destruction, just from different jungles.’
Amara raised a brow. ‘I’ve never met this Ryder Riggs.’
‘They’re the same build. Except Ryder is military-trained with business smarts.
He’d probably plan five moves ahead before even throwing a punch.
Finn?’ Porter let out a short laugh. ‘Finn’s a crack street brawler, who’ll fight like he’s got nothing to lose, ‘cause half the time, he doesn’t.
Different styles, same result—absolute carnage.
’ He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t wanna be in the same postcode if those two ever went at it. ’
‘Why would they? Finn and Bree are divorced.’
‘Well, rumour has it, Finn chose Elsie Creek to be the Stock Squad’s home base just so he could be close to Bree.’
‘Bull.’ Amara’s frown was fierce in her protectiveness over her boss. ‘Finn chose this location because it’s the heart of cattle country, and Elsie Creek Police Station had the room. I could give you a two-page list of the practical reasons why the Stock Squad is set up in Elsie Creek.’
‘I did say it was a rumour, right?’
‘Hmph.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘So, Finn’s drinking…’
‘Not a rumour.’
‘I know that!’ She snapped. ‘I just don’t know why!’
Porter would not raise his voice at her, not when she was upset, and spoke in the same calm tone as always. ‘I think Bree’s pregnancy may be a trigger to Finn’s drinking, because…’ He swallowed, hating to even speak of it, but she deserved to know. ‘Finn and Bree had a child. A son. Liam.’
The fire and fight melted right off her shoulders. ‘I didn’t know Finn has a son.’
‘Had. Liam died of leukaemia. It was so aggressive, he got sick really fast. Finn was undercover, deep undercover. You know, the kind that doesn’t allow him to call his wife too easy.’
‘Are you saying Finn never knew?’
‘Not until the bust was over. By then it was too late…’
She shook her head, the frown fleeting, as if grappling between logic and simple police procedures. ‘Surely Bree would have contacted his supervisor. Someone.’
‘She did. But Finn’s OIC held back the messages because they were so close to making their bust on an eighteen-month operation.
But when they made their arrests, and Finn found out that his OIC had blocked all calls from Bree about his son, Finn lost it.
He punched out his OIC and landed his arse in prison. ’
‘I knew Finn went to prison for assaulting his superior officer. I just never knew why.’ Her eyes widened, just for a second, like the truth hadn’t just punched the breath out of her and she was forcing herself not to show it.
She blinked slowly, lips parting as if to say something more… then shut them again.
Porter watched her fingers flex against her thigh. He could see it—she was filing the grief away, like a good cop. Tucking her emotions away somewhere neat and unreachable, where it wouldn’t interfere with the job. It’s what made her so black and white with the rules of life.
‘He’s pardoned, you know,’ Amara murmured. ‘Our boss got him pardoned.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Andrew Bannon. The Federal Agricultural Commissioner.’
‘Is that the one Stone calls Big Daddy?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ They sat in silence for a moment, gazing out over the empty stockyards. The main boom gate was down, barring the entrance, while the office—a squat, no-nonsense building, sat to their right, with the water tower rising behind it like a silent sentinel.
‘Are you okay?’
Amara nodded, while taking another deep breath.
‘It’s been a big day. We can take five and get a coffee—’
‘No. Let’s do this.’ She moved fast from the car wearing that cop face like armour with her stride steady and sure.
‘Before we go inside…’ Porter held the door handle to the Stock Office, effectively stopping Amara from barging inside. ‘Lydia is a really nice lady.’
‘I’m not going to march in there and accuse her of a crime. I need proof first.’
And that was such a classic Montrose move.
‘Yeah, well, you have that look.’
‘What look?’
‘Like everyone’s the enemy and you’re two seconds away from slapping cuffs on them.
’ He held his hands up in mock surrender before she could scowl any harder.
‘Understandable, considering what happened this morning. Just remember, I’m on your side.
Lydia will be too. So, take a deep breath and flash some of that Montrose charm you keep hidden from the world. ’
She scowled.
He grinned, pushing open the glass door. The bell clanged overhead, welcoming them with a rush of cool air and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee. ‘Hey, Lydia.’
She was already at the door to greet them.
‘Aww, I’m so sorry them mongrels pinched your horse, luv. C’mere, give us a hug.’ Lydia bundled Amara into a hug, like someone’s mother, smelling of lavender, leather and sunshine.
‘I’m so sorry this happened. I saw how happy you were when you bought that horse. Just so you know, luv, it’s always been a pet hate of mine, someone pinching livestock like that. It’s a mongrel act in my books.’
‘It’s okay, Lydia. But that’s not why we’re here. It seems the horse’s branding was tampered with…’ Porter explained the incident to Lydia, showing her the images on his phone as he leaned against Lydia’s large desk, covered in paperwork and colour-coded trays.
‘That’s downright disgraceful is what it is.’ Lydia straightened her long-sleeved shirt, the same as those worn by most of the cattlemen in town, including the same jeans and boots. ‘If you need anything, just let me know. I’m happy to help.’
‘Thank you.’ Amara stood awkwardly by the door, a little rumpled from her hug by a stranger.
‘So a polo pedigree, huh? Gotta hand it to you, luv, you have a good eye for class. I’m just sorry he’s…’ Lydia’s smile fell as she wiped her hands down her jeans and scooped up a folder.
‘I’ll just drag out all the paperwork for you.’ She rummaged through some filing cabinets, then cleared a space on her desk, and showed them through the various documents. ‘The thing is, luv, it’s all legit. All of it. If they didn’t pass muster, they wouldn’t be allowed into these yards.’
Amara flipped through the paperwork with a practised eye.
Porter hooked his thumb into his police utility belt, frowning at the neatly typed forms and official stamps that may as well be written in another language. ‘Do you understand this paperwork, Montrose?’