Chapter 1 #2
I dropped from Jupiter's saddle and fell to my knees beside the cow, checking her over. Her belly rippled with movement. The calf was still alive.
"We got her," Gus said, breathing hard. "Now let's get those other three before those dingoes decide to try their luck again."
Gus waded back into the mud, getting around behind the other three.
A dingo crept into view, emboldened by the chaos, its yellow eyes glinting in the moonlight. They were waiting for the cows to be vulnerable.
I didn’t want to shoot the ugly scavenger, but I damn well would if it got too close.
I whistled, and Pluto came tearing down the paddock, teeth bared, chasing the dingo until I couldn’t see either of them.
The pregnant cow was grazing as if nothing had happened when the three trapped beasts broke free of the mud and staggered past me.
By the time we had the stray cattle back with the rest of the herd, dawn was bleeding into the sky.
I swung off Jupiter, gave her a pat, and tethered her to a tree. Finally, with a moment to breathe, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. The other men had dismounted, too, and were huddled on the ground. They were probably wondering whether I was letting them go back to sleep.
Nope. The sun was on its way up. We needed to get moving.
They could blame that dickhead Bevan for that.
I marched toward them, dusting my hands on my jeans, trying to ignore the growling in my stomach.
Bevan stumbled over from a patch of bushes, rubbing sleep from his eyes like he'd just woken up from a Sunday nap.
"What the hell happened?" I stared at him.
"What?" His mouth fell open.
"You were meant to be on watch. Instead, you were asleep."
He scoffed. "No, I wasn't."
"You were snoring, you dickhead. You nearly cost us three cows and a bull. Five if you include the calf."
His jaw tightened. "What do you expect? You push too hard. We'd been running all day and then you—"
"Pack your gear. You're done." I didn't raise my voice.
His face went red. "You can't sack me."
"I just did."
He stepped closer, chest puffed out, trying to intimidate me like I hadn't dealt with bigger bastards than him my whole life.
"You're a slave driver," he spat. "You don't give a damn if someone gets hurt."
I met his glare without blinking. "I give a damn about the stock, and you nearly got them killed. Get off my land."
For a second, I thought he might swing at me.
"You can ride Asteroid back to the ranch and take the first truck out of here."
He glared at me. I met his stare. Then he spat in the dirt and stormed off.
I didn't watch him go.
I returned my attention to the pregnant cow. As I studied her belly, watching for signs that she was about to drop, the adrenaline crash hit hard. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and I ached all over.
Gus came to my side. “You okay, boss?”
I stood, swept my hat off, ran my hand over my sweaty hair, and shoved it back on. "I could’ve done with a few more hours of sleep, that's for sure."
He rolled his eyes. "Ain't that the truth. What do you want us to do?"
I nodded toward the orange glow on the horizon. "We're up, and the sun's about to be. Let's get this herd moving again."
He nodded like he'd expected exactly that answer.
The rest of the day was uneventful but damn long.
The anger over losing another stock hand gnawed at me.
None of the men I worked with could keep up, and I was tired of proving myself.
I'd been rounding up cattle since I was six years old.
Thirty-five years on this land, and I still had to show I could hold my own on every single drive.
We reached the final gate with the sun still high but angling west, halfway through its afternoon descent.
Gus came alongside me. "I can take it from here if you like."
I blinked at him. Maybe he'd sensed my brooding.
He shrugged. "Why don't you ask Kayden to chopper up and get you. Take some time out. It's okay to do that, you know."
I forced a laugh and rolled my eyes. "You think I'm getting soft?"
"No. Just looking out for you, boss. You work damn hard. Ain't nobody disputing that. But even the best of us need to take the edge off sometimes."
"Okay, Confucius." I huffed. "When did you get so philosophical?"
He shrugged. "You taught me everything I know."
I laughed again, this time meaning it. "You know what? I'm going to take you up on that idea."
"Good. I'll look after Jupiter and the dogs for you."
"Thanks, Gus. You're a good man."
He tipped his hat. As he trotted away, I pulled the satellite phone from my saddlebag.
Three hours later, Kayden touched down the chopper back at the homestead.
I showered off days of dust and grime, but my brain was too wired for sleep. Gus's comment about needing to take the edge off thumped around my mind like a goddamned wrecking ball.
Deciding he was damn well right, I threw on jeans, a button-down shirt, and my favorite boots. Then I grabbed my dress cowboy hat, and motorbike helmet. Hoping I didn't run into any of my brothers, I darted through the homestead, out the back door, and made a beeline for my motorbike.
I needed some time without cattle, responsibility, and men who couldn't do their bloody jobs.
I needed time out. And a beer.
And maybe, if my stars were aligned, I could find a man who could give me some red-hot sex.
I put my hat into my carrier, jammed on my helmet, jumped on my bike, and kicked the motorbike to life. As it snarled beneath me, Kayden came out onto the verandah, raising his hands in a "what the hell" gesture. I indicated with my hands that I needed a drink.
He indicated with his hips that I was going for something else. I gave him the thumbs-up signal and shot away so fast that rocks kicked up behind me.
The road to the Rusty Swagman stretched long and empty, with dust curling behind me like a rooster's tail. The wind tore at my hair braids and dried the sweat on my skin. I leaned into the ride, letting the engine's growl drown out my thoughts.
But it didn't quiet that unease sitting low in my chest or the sour feeling I'd been pushing down for days that coiled tighter in my gut with every mile I crossed.
It had been over two weeks since Frank vanished.
My dad had never missed a cattle drive. Not once.
Mitch was convinced he must be dead. I’d been holding out hope, but not because I loved him.
No, I'd stopped loving him when I was fourteen, when the vile comments he'd made during a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear had changed everything.
If he were dead, then Koolaroo would be changed forever.
Two catastrophic events had already changed the course of my life, and I had a rotten feeling that I was headed for a third one.
The Rusty Swagman was in what Aussies called a one-pub town.
The eighty-year-old pub was the only place serving food or drink for a hundred miles.
A few houses sat nearby, situated way too close to the road for my liking.
Queensland Rail had a few buildings that held freight train parts that rumbled through town twice a week.
It was a place for drivers to stay when the train needed to stop, like the one now stationary on the tracks.
I was desperate for a pee by the time I pulled into a parking space out front an hour later. I killed the engine and scanned the cars to see who else was here.
I groaned.
Just my damn luck. Bruce Henderson's rusty old ute was there, parked like he'd driven in drunk, which wouldn’t surprise me.
Maybe I should turn around.
No. Screw that. I'd ridden a hundred miles. I deserved one damn drink without having to answer to anyone.
I put my helmet on the seat, settled my cowboy hat on my head, climbed the steps, and walked through the open door.
As usual, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of spilled beer.
And the crowd was loud. Typical pool playing, dart playing, football watching, drunk men.
I groaned. Every time I walked into this place, it was like my very own Groundhog Day.
After using the restroom, I took my usual seat at the bar, and Pete strolled over, swinging a dish towel over his shoulder. "Hey, Cass, good to see you. What'll I get ya?"
"Thanks, Pete. Beer please. Anything cold."
"Coming right up."
The Hendersons were on the other side of the bar at the pool table, being loud dickheads as usual.
I glanced over, and my gut twisted. Bloody hell.
Bevan was playing pool with them. How the hell had he gotten here so quickly?
Maybe that bastard had stolen a motorbike.
I made a mental note to watch him when he left.
Pete placed the beer in front of me. He didn't ask questions. That's why I liked this place.
I took a long drink and put my head down.
If I was lucky, I might find a decent man to take me home for one night and save me from this place.
Maybe one of the tourists who came to the surrounding farms for a country stay would work.
No names. No promises. Just enough distraction to burn off the edge and remind myself I was still alive. Nothing complicated.
The conversations paused, and I glanced up despite myself. A man had strolled into the bar.
He was tall and clean. Not a speck of red dust on him. His dark hair was styled and his fancy clothes probably cost more than most of the trucks parked outside.
He was wrong for this place in every possible way. He was mighty handsome, though. Like, movie star material. Maybe I could get lucky after all. I could give this sexy stranger a ride he’d never forget.
He removed his gold-rimmed sunglasses and stepped up to the bar.
Pete's curious expression said everything I was thinking. "G’day. What’ll it be, mate?"
His gold watch flashed under the harsh bar lights. "Actually, I was hoping you could help me." His fancy tone and American accent didn't belong this far west of anywhere.
"Oh, yeah? How?" Pete moved a used glass from the counter in front of the stranger and placed it in the sink.
The bloke probably had a flat tire. I took a sip of my beer, curious to see how Pete would handle that.
He ran his hand through his thick black hair, and the shiny waves fell back into place. "I’m trying to find a man named Frank Branson.”
I swallowed hard before the beer shot out of my mouth and nose.
Every muscle in my body went tight.
Bruce Henderson froze mid-shot.
Bloody hell. Could this day get any worse?
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