Chapter 6
Cassidy
I shouldn’t have liked his laugh. That was my first mistake.
The second was deciding to take him anywhere near Koolaroo. I still had no idea what he wanted.
He’s lucky I know who he is. Otherwise, I’d be beating his name out of him by now. Maybe he thinks he has the upper hand with his sexy voice and careful questions.
He has no idea who he’s dealing with—especially out here.
There were a hundred ways this land could make him very uncomfortable. And if he kept feeding me bullshit, I might not feel inclined to steer him clear of the first clump of cathead burrs I saw. Those spikes could punch straight through his pretty white city shoes.
The ute rattled along the empty highway, engine grinding, suspension thumping every time I clipped a pothole I couldn’t avoid. Ghost gums lined both sides of the road, their white trunks glowing in the moonlight like silent witnesses.
He let the silence stretch.
I acted like it didn’t bother me.
"So where are we going?" he asked.
Finally! "Somewhere we can hide out ’til the Hendersons cool off."
"I thought you said they never give up."
"They don't." I tapped my fingers on the wheel. "But tonight, they'll get drunk and brag about what they're gonna do to us. The real trouble starts tomorrow."
He nodded but didn't fire off a dozen questions as I'd expected. He also didn't demand that I take him back to town or threaten to call the cops or do any of the things a normal person would do after getting shot at.
He just sat there like this was all normal.
Maybe he was in shock.
Or …. Oh shit. Maybe he was a hitman, like those two bastards who'd chased Bella halfway across the world and had nearly killed her and Declan.
I nearly burst out laughing. No way was this guy that deadly.
A red kangaroo bounded across the road. I tapped the brakes and swerved just in time to miss his back legs.
"Oh, look. A kangaroo." His face lit up like a kid at Christmas.
I chuckled. "First time seeing a roo in the wild?"
"Yeah. First time, period." He was still staring after it, flashing that sexy smile.
The roo bounded along the road ahead of us, its powerful legs eating up distance in easy hops. Then another joined the leader. Then three more, and a whole mob of them crossed from one paddock to another.
Hawthorne leaned his head out the open window, grinning like crazy.
"They're huge," he said, glancing at me.
"That's nothing. Wait ’til you see a male big red. We call them boomers. They can be built like a brick shithouse and are mean as hell during mating season." I kept my eyes on the mob ahead. "They can kill a dog with their back claws, too. So if you see one, don’t go trying to pat it."
"Jesus."
"Welcome to Australia. Everything wants to kill you out here."
His eyebrows thumped together. "I'm starting to notice that theme."
We fell into a comfortable silence, and as he watched the roos until they vanished into the scrub, the tension from earlier loosened just a fraction.
"You know," I said after he’d leaned back in his seat, "any normal person would've asked where I was taking them by now."
"You're assuming I'm normal." He ran his hand down his leg again.
"Fair point."
He shifted to face me better. "But you haven't asked where I want to go either. For example, my car is back at the pub. And my luggage."
"Yeah, well, I figure staying alive is more important than clean undies."
He laughed again.
Damn, I was beginning to like him, and that was dangerous.
I forced my gaze back to the road. "Unless you'd rather I drop you here …? And you can fend off those kangaroos with sticks ’til a road train picks you up."
"No thanks." He swept his hands through his hair. "I'm good with this plan."
"Even though you don't know what the plan is?"
"Even though."
I felt his eyes on me again, that same cataloging look from before. But this time, it felt less like being studied and more like he was trying to figure out if he trusted me.
The feeling was mutual.
Guess we'd both find out.
After about forty miles of nothing but darkness and road, I slowed and turned off onto a dirt track barely visible in the headlights. No sign, no markers. Just a gap in the fence that was easy to miss. Luckily, I knew how to find it.
The dirt road stretched ahead, with low scrub and silvered grass on either side bending in the faintest breeze, and catching moonlight like gentle waves.
Nothing out here was gentle, though. The land took what it wanted and gave nothing back unless you earned it. I'd put my whole life into this land—blood, sweat, and years of battling. And even then, it never seemed like enough.
Hawthorne had probably had everything handed to him. He likely had no idea what it was to fight like hell for respect, to prove you belonged. I'd spent my entire life fighting for acknowledgment that Koolaroo was just as much mine as it was Frank's and my brothers'.
This land was ours. My family's. Had been for generations. Every rock and creek bed, every stand of ghost gums twisting up from the red earth, every stretch of dirt that looked like nothing to outsiders but held a thousand memories for me.
Like Mitch teaching me to drive when I was ten and laughing hard at my jerky starts. Declan and I playing knuckles with pebbles, or pick-up sticks, until we got called in for dinner or more chores. Kayden and I exploring the creeks, searching for rocks we could skim across the surface.
Koolaroo was my home.
This polished, controlled stranger with his expensive clothes and cryptic questions wanted something from it.
I could feel it.
The engine coughed and made a rattling sound that was all wrong.
I frowned and checked the fuel gauge. Nothing on the console worked. Not the speedometer, not the tacko thingy. The fuel needle sat on empty.
But a little warning light flickered red.
"Ahhh, fuck a duck." I slapped the steering wheel.
"What?" Hawthorne leaned forward, trying to see what I saw.
"We're running on fumes."
His eyebrows lifted in that way city folk do when reality doesn't match their expectations. "We're out of gas? Tell me you're joking."
"Nope. Not joking. But none of the damn meters are reading, so it's hard to tell."
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closed it again. Weird. None of the men I knew ever held back.
The engine sputtered once. Twice. Then the whole car gave a violent shudder and died, like it had decided it'd done enough heroics for one night and wasn't interested in overtime.
We rolled to a stop in the middle of nowhere.
I sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, staring out at dark bushland that stretched in every direction. Nothing but scrub and sky and the kind of silence that pressed against your eardrums.
I killed the headlights and opened the door, and the cool night air rushed in, smelling of eucalyptus and dry grass.
He frowned. "What do we do now?"
"Wait for the bus." I tried to keep a straight face.
He scanned the empty dirt track ahead, and it took everything I had to hold back a laugh.
He turned back to me, one eyebrow raised. "I'm assuming that was a joke."
I clicked my tongue. "You got me. We're about a mile from an outstation. We walk from here."
"A mile." He said it like I'd suggested we walk to the moon.
"You'll survive." I adjusted my hat and slammed the door shut. Even with the bullet hole, my favorite hat was probably worth more than Bruce's rusty old ute. I’d say it was a fair trade, not that Bruce understood what being fair meant.
Hawthorne stepped out of the truck and turned in a full circle. Nothing but emptiness in every direction. No buildings, no lights, no power lines or cell towers—none of the things most people took for granted.
"This is remote," he said, shaking his head.
I tipped my hat back and started walking. "Welcome to Koolaroo."
We walked in silence, and his ridiculous white shoes were surprisingly quiet on the dirt. My boots weren't.
I kept a steady pace. Not too fast, but not slow enough to seem like I was accommodating him.
I knew this land. I could walk it blind if I had to. I knew every rise and dip, every creek bed that only ran after a good rain, every stand of trees that marked old boundaries or water sources or places that were important for our ranching.
As we walked, the moon lit his profile in silver—straight nose, strong jaw, and not even a hint of a beard.
That was a rare sight out here. Most Outback men forgot what a razor even looked like.
His expression was calm, too, as if he were studying the landscape, maybe searching for more kangaroos.
He didn't complain about the walk, the darkness, or anything.
Just kept pace beside me, breathing steadily, hands loose at his sides.
I hated how relaxed he was.
Hated that I noticed.
Hated that some stupid, traitorous part of me registered the way he moved with controlled grace and quiet confidence despite what we'd been through. What we were still going through.
His damn silence was getting to me.
I glared up at him. "I know who you are."
"Oh, yeah? Who?" He smirked like he'd been waiting for this.
"You're Hawthorne."
He nodded, looking at me properly now, like he was waiting for what came next.
"I remember your voice from that phone call about the suitcase we found.
" I tried to recall that conversation in Declan's office, as Kayden had dumped that battered suitcase with the Hawthorne Global logo embossed on the side onto Declan's desk so I could take a photo.
I remembered his smooth American voice on speakerphone, asking questions like he had no idea what we were talking about.
He nodded. "The suitcase you found in the old plane wreck?"
"Yes. That phone call."
"The call was rather unusual."
Rather unusual. That was putting it mildly.
"I sent you a photo of the case, and you said you'd get back to us if you had any information."
Recognition flickered across his face. "Correct. I did say that."
"Well, fuck me.” I threw my hands up in frustration. “Couldn't you have just picked up the phone and called?"
He smirked, but then his mouth tightened slightly, revealing the first real crack in his composure. "I'm here because I needed answers."
"Bullshit. I know exactly why you're here."
I strode away, aiming for the outstation that was just a faint outline in the distance. The windmill beside it was easy to see, though, silhouetted against the night sky.
Hawthorne caught up, matching my strides. "And what do you think I'm doing here, Cassidy Branson?"
Something in the way he said my surname made my spine straighten, like I was the one after something.
I halted and met his gaze. "You're here because of what was in that suitcase."
He stared at me, pretending to be confused. "I beg your pardon?"
"Don't play dumb with me."
His expression shifted to defensive, and his whole posture changed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Bullshit. You want that suitcase."
"You think I'm here to claim a battered suitcase?"
"No." I shook my head. "You want what was supposed to be in that case."
"Cassidy." Sharp authority crept into his voice.
“You're from Hawthorne Global, and you acted as if you’ve never had anything to do with Australia.” I stepped close enough to smell his clean soap and his fancy cologne. "But your company tried to buy part of Koolaroo Ranch thirty-seven years ago. So I know for a fact that you’re lying."
"I didn't know anything about that until?—"
He cut himself off as though he'd said too much.
"Until what?"
The wind picked up slightly, rustling through the grass around us, carrying scents of dust and cow dung. Somewhere in the darkness, a nightjar called, emitting that eerie, descending whistle that always sounded like a warning.
"When you called, I didn't know anything about that suitcase,” he said. “I promise."
"So why do you want to see Frank?" I demanded, folding my arms across my chest, determined to wait until he answered.
He didn't back away, but uncertainty shifted in his eyes. "Because I need to talk to him about something."
"What?"
He hesitated, and a sharp, ugly pain rattled through my chest. Does he know what happened to Dad? Why he's been missing for sixteen days?
"You know something." I jabbed his chest with my finger.
"I know a lot of things."
"Smart ass." I clenched my jaw. "You know something about where Frank is or what happened to him, and you're standing here lying to my face about it."
"I'm not lying."
"Then what are you doing?" My voice rose, but I didn't care. "You show up out of nowhere, asking for Frank, getting into fights with the Hendersons?—"
"That wasn't intentional?—"
"And now, after all that mess, you're telling me you don't know anything?" I was so close to him I could see his pupils dilated in the moonlight, the faint sheen of sweat on his nose, and his pulse beating steady at his throat. "Don't bullshit me."
"Wait." His eyes widened. "Is Frank missing?"
Fuck. Why did I open my big mouth?