Chapter 17
Brianna stood barefoot on the front verandah, her fresh cup of coffee warming her hands and Sherlock sprawled lazily at her feet.
The sun was barely up, casting long shadows across her tropical backyard.
Everything was still, deceptively calm. But her mind refused to follow suit.
Her thoughts darted like startled birds.
There were way too many what-ifs, way too many unanswered questions.
She kept seeing Jack’s note in her mind’s eye, the words Cane Fire flashing like a warning light she couldn’t shut off.
How deep did this thing run? Who else was involved?
And why did she feel like they were all on borrowed time?
Even the peace of a country morning couldn’t calm the feeling crawling under her skin, that something was about to break open.
Trying to sway her mind to something calmer, something normal, she thought back to her patients the afternoon before.
She’d driven from one callout to another, her body on autopilot.
There’d been a calf with a torn dewclaw.
An old dog overdue for vaccines. A goat that wouldn’t stop limping.
This morning would be no different. She had two more callouts – an abscess on a station mare’s flank, and an elderly cattle dog with arthritis acting worse than usual. She’d reshuffled everything else.
She caught herself glancing towards the edges of her yard, half expecting movement in the shadows.
The weight of everything was pressing harder now.
And not just because of what they’d uncovered, but the implications of it.
Even though her work gave her a sense of accomplishment, of giving back to the world, every familiar task had felt surreal under the pressure of what she now knew.
That Jack hadn’t just been in over his head. He’d been hunted.
Her mind trailed to Hayden. To how he looked in the early-morning light when he’d slept on her couch, hair tousled, sleeves rolled, muscles shifting beneath a shirt that never quite hid what it needed to.
And she knew she shouldn’t be thinking about him like that, not now, not with everything else going on.
But she couldn’t help it. He was steady.
Kind. Protective in a way that wasn’t overbearing, instinctive in a way that fascinated her.
He was a man her father would be proud to call his son-in-law.
That was for sure. The thought made her heart clench.
She was getting way beyond herself, and reality.
The sound of footfalls pulled her from her reverie. Molly’s soft tread on the old timber floors, approaching from inside the cottage. Then the flyscreen door squeaked as she stepped out and joined her, a steaming mug of tea in hand.
‘Morning, Molly.’ Brianna glanced at her. ‘You sleep?’
‘Morning, Bri. A few hours, if that.’ She offered a tiny smile. ‘You?’
‘Barely slept a wink. My head won’t shut up long enough for me to rest.’
Molly nodded, then leant on the railing beside her. ‘It pains me to say, but I don’t think Jack’s death was an accident anymore.’ Her voice had no tremble, only quiet certainty. ‘I think someone wanted him gone, Bri. And I hope we’re about to find out who that bastard was.’
Brianna exhaled slowly, while the same soft breeze playing melodies on the wind chimes dangling from the ceiling also tugged gently at her hair. ‘We will, Moll. Whatever’s been buried in this town, it’s coming up now. And as scary as that it, we’re not walking away.’
Molly looked as if she was about to burst into tears, but she sniffed, hard, cleared her throat, then said, ‘Thank you.’
Brianna nodded as she stared out at the sunrise, her voice turning softer.
‘My dad, Logan, he’ll help. If we take this to him, I know he’ll do the right thing.
He’s solid. Always has been. If anyone can make this right, it’s him.
’ She paused, fingers tightening slightly around the mug.
‘But if we get him involved, there’s no going back.
He’s loyal to his badge, to protecting people.
Once he knows, he won’t rest until it’s handled, even if that means putting himself in the firing line. ’
Molly gave her a quiet, thoughtful look. ‘He raised a daughter with guts, that’s for sure. You’re just like him, especially when it counts.’
‘Thanks.’ Brianna gave a half-smile. ‘He’s always had this way of knowing when something wasn’t right. One way or another, if we ask for his help, he’ll see straight through all of this.’
‘That’s good to know,’ Molly said, her voice steady. ‘Because I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need that kind of sharp instinct very soon.’
Checking her watch, Brianna sucked in a breath. ‘Oh wow, I’ve lost track of time this morning. I better get ready for work.’
‘Yes, I better do the same,’ Molly said with a sigh. ‘The café doesn’t run without me.’
Brianna finished her coffee as she headed back inside.
She had a quick shower and donned her uniform, grabbed her vet bag and gave Sherlock a pat on the head before heading off for her morning rounds.
Her first stop was the Weaver property, a weathered homestead nestled against a ridge of ironbark and wattle, with paddocks stretching out towards the morning haze.
The place had a humble, lived-in charm with a rusted windmill creaking in the breeze and a pair of galahs squabbling on the verandah rail.
The Weavers themselves, Jim and Nell, were a quiet, salt-of-the-earth couple in their seventies who’d worked this land for more than forty years.
She’d learnt this when she’d met them at the shindig Molly had taken her to only four weeks earlier, although it felt like a lifetime ago.
Brianna had called them upon her arrival, and they’d met her at the gate with warm smiles and a quiet kind of trust. And now the old station horse stood patient while Brianna drained and cleaned the wound, murmuring to the animal with the practised calm of someone who’d done this a hundred times.
When she packed up, Nell insisted she take a slice of lemon and coconut cake for the road.
Her second stop was just outside town, where an aging cattle dog named Rusty limped stiffly towards her ute as she arrived.
His owner, Ken, looked worried, but Brianna reassured him after a thorough check.
‘Just arthritis, flaring from the cold snap last week. I’ll leave you some anti-inflammatories. ’
The midday sun was just making an appearance when she walked back to her Hilux.
Looking towards the golden glow with a hand shading her eyes, she exhaled deeply.
There was a softness in the light that reminded her of Riverstone Ridge, with its cool mornings, her mum’s herb garden, and the eucalyptus-lined road that led to their two-storey weatherboard house.
She missed it – of course she did. But something about Sweetwater had started to feel inevitable.
Like she hadn’t just landed here by chance, but rather the place had quietly reached out and claimed her.
Climbing behind the wheel, she dumped her vet bag on the passenger seat.
Heat shimmered on the road ahead, and for a brief moment she allowed her thoughts to drift, and then, as if it was out of her control, her mind’s eye went straight to Hayden as she turned the ignition and put the Hilux into gear.
Everything happening between them was wrapped in tension and awkward timing, but still, the truth glimmered beneath it.
She liked him. More than liked him. And that scared her.
It was all too soon and too messy, but when he looked at her with those quiet eyes and that steady patience, it felt like a safe place to land.
And more than that, there was a pull between them she couldn’t ignore.
It lived in the quiet moments, the times they sat together in companionable silence, his hand grazing hers when they passed something back and forth, the soft way he said her name.
What was building between them wasn’t just a crush, but something deeper.
A longing. A connection that was as unspoken as it was undeniable.
She caught herself smiling as she rattled over a cattle grid.
Turning towards the highway, she shook her head.
God help her, she was falling for him. And it wasn’t just the way he looked at her, or the way he was always there – dependable, caring, protective.
It was the weight of his presence. The way he made her feel like she wasn’t carrying this whole mess alone.
Like she was seen, understood, listened to, believed in, without needing to ever explain herself.
But there was something else to consider. Something she couldn’t quite pin down.
Casey.
He’d never mentioned his late wife. Not once in the six weeks she’d been in Sweetwater.
No remark in passing. Not even a name on his lips.
She knew about Casey only from Molly, and that made her wonder.
Was it grief? Guilt? Or something else? Maybe it wasn’t her place to ask yet.
But one day she might. One day, if she was lucky, she wanted to understand all of him, not just the parts he let her see.
And yet that thought terrified her more than anything else, because she had no idea what to do with it.
Her phone buzzed, startling her from her train of thought, and she pulled to the side of the road, smiling when she spotted the text from Tilly.
Hey, Bri. You good? Just checking in. Been thinking about you.
She hesitated, her finger hovering before typing back. She wanted to tell Tilly everything, to unload it all. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not when the wrong word might put Tilly, or Gavin and the kids, in danger.
A lot going on, but I’m doing okay. Thanks for checking in, Till. Means more than you know. Hope all is great for you, Gav and the kids.
Just as she set the phone aside and reached for the ignition, another message came through.