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‘She’s the owner’s daughter, right?’ Amara put her backpack into the ute, then hovered behind Romy’s shoulder to watch the drone’s footage.

‘Lenora told me the same.’ Romy filmed Doug unlocking the gate, with Craig the first through to track the car tyre indents in the rich red soil.

It was the perfect excuse to zoom down low over the cowboy to get a brilliant image of his process.

‘Poor Lenora said she may have to get a job elsewhere.’

Craig peered back at them. ‘I know Malcolm can be a hard-arse, but why would he fire his own daughter?’

‘Dunno? Maybe ’cause the fashion houses will want some head to roll,’ said Doug.

‘Then again, Malcolm is retiring early. He told everyone Jed’s taking over.

Firing his oldest daughter might be his way of keeping things running smoothly for the business to stop any sibling conflict.

’ Doug shrugged. ‘Malcolm logic, I guess.’

Stone’s crocodile leather boots stirred a fine cloud of red dust as he swivelled around to face Doug. ‘Since when is Malcolm retiring? We just had his 55th birthday party not long ago.’

‘I remember. You mob were drunk for days. Messing up the house lawn where that barbecue never stopped. Crocodile wranglers,’ said Doug, shaking his head, ‘when you lot get together it’s crazy-meets-crazier, swapping crocodile stories of close encounters, while comparing scars, and crocodile leather clobber. ’

‘You know, we’re just a bunch of bogans spelled differently.’ Stone let rip that cheeky confident grin, while polishing off the dust from his specialty boots. ‘So when is Malcolm retiring?’

‘End of the year. Celeste can’t wait. It’d do that poor lady some good to relax. She works so hard.’

‘I know. It’s why I can’t see Malcolm retiring, not when he loves the job and this place. Him and Celeste started this farm decades ago, when it was just a melon farm.’

‘How do you know?’ Amara asked Stone.

‘Celeste showed me the photo albums. She’ll happily show you up at the house if you have a cuppa with her, Duchess. Just don’t judge the crockery or their decor, they’re really down-to-earth people.’

‘Malcolm hated being made to look posh,’ said Doug, rubbing the back of his thick neck. ‘He gets uncomfortable when the fashion houses show up.’

‘So why is Malcolm retiring?’

‘Dunno?’ Doug shrugged. ‘Malcolm won’t say much. But he reckons that giving it to Jed keeps the buyers happy.’

‘Wait!’ Amara put her hand up like a cop stopping traffic. ‘Are you saying Malcolm Rowntree is only giving this place to one of his children? The son.’

Doug gave a slight nod.

‘That is so unfair,’ muttered Romy while steering the drone.

‘That’s Malcolm for you,’ continued Doug. ‘Poor Lenora did wonders managing the hatchery, binging in all that modern technology, it made a huge improvement on their stock quality and birthing rates. It’s sad she’s not being recognised for it.’

‘Just before, Lenora was almost in tears over this theft,’ Romy said to Amara, who studiously nodded while taking down notes on her tablet.

‘It’s definitely a van.’ Craig crouched down to touch the tracks in the red dirt. ‘An Econovan or a similar work van. Romy, can you go higher, so we can see where this wallaby track leads?’

As the drone rose higher, the view opened to the countryside with cattle peppering sparse fields, some crop lands, mango orchards, and a lot more scrublands.

Except for a few dirt roads that ran in various directions, there were no houses, no phone towers, nothing but the untamed Northern Territory outback. ‘There’s nothing out there.’

‘Wait. Go back. See, there’s a bush camp tucked in there.’ Amara tapped on the screen, making Romy turn the drone around for a closer look.

‘Who’d live there?’ The place was just a campfire, under some trees, near the river.

Doug’s shadow came over the drone’s screen. ‘That’s our regular protestor, The Vegan. You know, come to think of it, she drives a van, too.’

‘Hey, Stone?’ Craig stood, dusting off his hands. ‘What do you say we take your chopper out for a spin, and say g’day to some locals?’

Amara chewed on her lower lip. ‘In the chopper? Interviewing potential suspects?’

‘Just some locals.’ Craig headed towards them with that hip-swaying swagger.

It wasn’t nearly as nice as Stone’s sexy saunter.

‘But you won’t know what to ask,’ said Amara.

‘I’m not shy in having a conversation,’ replied Stone. ‘And Craig’s been getting coaching.’

‘Izzy gave me a list of questions she uses for her investigations.’ Craig nodded, with his cowboy hat, the smile was as dazzling as his blue eyes. Seriously, the Stock Squad’s job requirements must include being stupidly good-looking—with Stone firmly at the top of the yes please list.

This is why Romy didn’t do videography for movies. She’d be too busy watching the stars of the show and not the scenery.

‘Sorry, Duchess, you can’t come for a ride today. The boss wants you to do the fingerprints and staff interviews. Don’t worry, Craig and I will do a show-and-tell at the playpen in the morning.’

Amara’s sigh was filled with disappointment.

‘Where is the chopper?’ Craig asked. ‘At the pub?’

Stone nodded as they headed back to the ute, with Doug locking the gate behind them. ‘I’ll pick you up from here, then we’ll follow that trail and do some house calls along the way. Come along, shortcake, I’ll drop you off first.’

Romy’s thumbs hovered over the drone’s controls as her eyes widened at the cheeky but charming chopper pilot. ‘Where are you taking me now?’