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‘Oh, lordy. Didn’t you hit the jackpot with this pretty lady, Craig. C’mere, luv, and give us a hug.’ Lydia bundled Izzy up into a hug, it was like meeting someone’s mother, who smelled of lavender, leather and sunshine.

‘Come inside the office, luv. I’ve just put on a fresh pot of coffee.’ Lydia led the way into the cool, air-conditioned office. ‘Coffee, Izzy?’

‘No, thank you.’ Even if it smelled divine, it was only mid-morning and she didn’t want to risk it.

‘I will, thanks, Lydia.’ Craig dropped into the guest chair on the opposite side of Lydia’s large desk, covered in paperwork and colour-coded trays. Along the wall ran a low bench filled with shelves, a stack of empty clipboards pinned across the top, while large filing cabinets stood like silent sentinels behind her workspace.

‘What is this place?’ The squat building sat before the sheds, while overlooking the empty stockyards, where a silent windmill loomed above a large water tank nestled beside the town’s train line.

‘Lydia runs the Elsie Creek Train Station’s Stockyards. She’s responsible for every beast that comes through this yard, where they get sold, bought or bartered, and then shipped to various destinations.’

‘I’m just a clerk, luv. Nothing that fancy.’ Lydia gave Craig his cup of coffee, then straightened her long-sleeved shirt, the same as those worn by most of the cattlemen in town, including the same jeans and boots, just like Craig.

Izzy felt the odd person out, in her tailored trousers and suspenders, but all she had in her suitcase were her work clothes. Otherwise, she wouldn’t need to borrow Craig’s shorts and shirts to work on their farm. House. Place. No, she couldn’t call it home , even if that word rolled like warm honey within her chest.

‘Are you sure I can’t offer you anything, luv?’

‘I’m good, thank you. We had an early morning tea with Ginny.’ Izzy had adored Ginny, who gave them a stack of eggs, a stash of scrumptiously scented mango oat bars for Wraith, along with some homemade sausage rolls that filled the ute with a heavenly aroma. There were pastry crumbs everywhere as Craig pigged out in the front seat while she drove them back into town as they discussed the many theories on how to steal prized rough stock—especially a bull like Wraith.

‘I heard they pinched Wraith and another eight beasts. Poor Ginny must be going out of her mind.’ Lydia gave a deep sigh as she sank slowly into her chair behind her desk, cradling her coffee cup in two hands. ‘Poor thing doesn’t need that. Not when she’s just finished paying off Frank’s medical bills. Did you see Frank? I heard he’s finally home from doing chemo.’

‘Frank looks good,’ said Craig. ‘He’s got colour back in his face now. I reckon it won’t take him long and he’ll get some muscle tone back.’

Hmm, if this was Izzy’s case, she’d want to investigate Ginny’s personal finances, just to tick off that box to prove that Ginny didn’t secretly sell her own stock to cash in on the insurance.

But that’d be silly, because Izzy had seen the list of rodeos Ginny was calling to cancel. Ginny was also losing money for not having Wraith around, as the rodeo bull that everyone wanted to see. Wraith was so good, he had his own fanbase that included riders who wanted to beat the bull and the clock.

‘So how long before you recover?’ Lydia nodded at Craig’s crutch leaning against her desk.

‘Four weeks,’ butted in Izzy.

‘ Two, ’ he snapped back. ‘Hey, Lydia? Have you met Finn Wilde yet?’

Lydia tapped on her chin, while staring at the ceiling. ‘Wild with an e?’

Craig nodded.

‘Now why do I know that surname? Is he a stockman?’

‘Was. You’d recognise the Wilde name because he’s Bree’s ex-husband.’

‘Of course.’ Lydia gave an all-knowing nod. ‘I’ve never met the fella, but I’ve seen him around. Rides that loud bike. He’d have more tattoos on his arms than the new fire chief, I reckon. But he’s got all the girls in the supermarket yakking about him, too. It’s not every day, luv, that we get a tall, dark and handsome stranger in town. That Finn has caused just as much buzz around town as you have, Izzy.’

‘I did what?’ She sat taller, her mind immediately wary of her condition and how people reacted.

‘Didn’t you know, luv, the whole town was in a spin when they learned that Cowboy Craig had a wife. You know you married a cheater, a—’

‘We’re separated. And we’re friends.’ Why was she constantly being reminded about this? But she truly appreciated how straightforward both Ginny and Lydia were in informing Izzy of her husband’s lifestyle with the ladies. It shouldn’t matter to her, because Craig was a single man who could see whoever he wanted. Just not with her.

‘Izzy and I are like Bree is with Finn—friends,’ said Craig.

‘Oh, I see.’ Lydia grinned behind her coffee cup. ‘Is that because your lawyer-lady is way too good for you? You married up, son, didn’t you?’

Izzy giggled. Lately, it was happening so easily. She’d never had so much fun interviewing people for a case—which wasn’t her case at all, or job, or whatever this was—because visiting these places and people felt more like a social outing, that involved food and drinks, gossip and gifts when you left.

Craig cleared his throat. ‘Finn’s starting up a local stock squad.’

‘Good. We need one. I hate people pinching livestock. It’s just not right.’ Lydia took another sip of her coffee. ‘You know, luv, you’d be good at that job, with your skills and vast experiences as a stockman. But even more now, with that leg injury, and at your age, it’ll bother you on musters.’

‘Charlie was still mustering at eighty-two.’ Craig frowned, taking a deep gulp from his coffee.

Poor Craig. Charlie had been not only like a father to Craig, but he’d also taught Craig to rodeo and muster. A passion both men shared. To lose all three so close together had to hurt.

But Craig was a great stock inspector. It was just that he hated the paperwork and the politics that came with the job. Maybe this stock squad would be good for him, especially with her pushing to sell their farm, as Craig needed to do something that was safe.

‘Finn offered Craig the job,’ Izzy blurted out. ‘Not sure on the job description, as you have a lot that needs to be negotiated, honey.’ Things like safety, wages, vehicle usage, insurance. Did he get a uniform? A badge? What were his powers of arrest? Could he carry a gun? Was he like a policeman?

Craig plonked his hand on her thigh, instantly snapping her out of her spiral of questions. Enough to pack it away for a few moments. But they were questions that needed to be asked.

‘Oh, so you’re here on official business, then,’ Lydia said.

Craig shrugged.

‘Craig wants to help Ginny find her bull.’ Izzy didn’t care if Craig was going to get annoyed at her for speaking out like this, but he needed to do something productive with his future. Plus, there was the bonus of hanging out with Finn at the police station, Craig would be safe there, especially in his delicate condition.

‘Good. I’m glad you don’t hold any malice towards Ginny and her family, not after that bull gave you the cowboy cuddle like that. Did you get my flowers I sent to the hospital?’

Izzy dropped her head in shame, the heat pricking at her cheeks. The flowers. Again.

‘Yes, thank you, Lydia. They were lovely,’ replied Craig.

Not that Craig would know which bunch they were, but the hospital staff were going to share them with the other residents, because yes, Izzy was jealous enough to refuse to take those many bunches of flowers home. Although she was kicking herself for not taking Ginny’s and Lydia’s, now that she’d met them. But as for that Christine, with her Hallmark card of how-to—

Again, Craig squeezed her leg, dragging her back to the conversation.

What did she miss?

‘I was just asking Lydia the last time she saw Wraith before he went missing?’

‘Well, only at the rodeo. Like everyone else, I guess.’

Craig looked at Izzy. The pause stretched out.

Again, he squeezed her leg.

Oh, poor guy, he’d never done this before and was looking at her for cues.

‘Did anyone new or unexpected come through the stockyards recently?’ Blurting out the usual questions that she’d learned from her job. Should she write him a list? Or should Craig be accompanying Finn, who’d normally ask these questions? ‘Maybe someone who doesn’t normally handle the bulls? Or beef or…’ She shrugged, pulling a face at Craig.

Thankfully, Craig knew her well enough to finish her sentence. ‘You know, any unusual activity in the stockyard? People who wouldn’t normally be here?’

‘Besides me.’ Because this was a whole new world to her.

Lydia gave such a soft motherly smile. ‘Don’t you worry, luv, it may seem daunting at first, but it’s not. They’re all good people around here. And the stockmen are proper gentlemen. Won’t be long and you’ll be part of the furniture like the rest of us.’

Doubt it. Izzy had a way of making a fool of herself with her oddities. And in a town this small, it wouldn’t take the locals long to start treating her like the plague. Back when they’d lived for their weekends at Dustfire, she had no need to go into Elsie Creek and hadn’t met any of the locals except for Bree and Charlie.

Again, Craig rubbed her leg. It was soothing, while successfully snapping her out of her self-pitying inner monologue. She never knew how he did that—but it was always his gift to her.

Pity she wrecked it by losing the poor guy. For what? A job that almost got her killed.

‘So, no one new?’ Craig’s thumb traced slow circles on Izzy’s thigh. Even though she wanted to push it off, it helped her focus on the conversation.

But his touch also stirred up some deep-seated heat that softly skated just beneath the surface of her trousers, signalling her body to wake up. Her skin was suddenly sensitive, her stomach slowly spun with each stroke of his thick fingers, that sent the heat to bloom throughout her body. When he looked at her, her heart lurched towards him, wanting him to hold her, to kiss her.

What was going on? It wasn’t right.

Had it been that long since anyone had touched her? Except for the hugs she’d gotten today from the two middle-aged women she’d just met, and Craig. So far, most of the touching between her and Craig had been purely platonic. But with his hand on her thigh, it was more than platonic. It was familiar… igniting a hunger she struggled to ignore.

‘Just that Finn fella. Some say he’s new to the town, and some say they knew him when younger working out at Elsie Creek Station. But I did hear he’s brought out a young female police officer, too. She’s from South Australia Police, I hear. Got a few of the stockmen keen to check her out, you know. We don’t get that many single females out here.’

Didn’t that dial down Izzy’s inner desires, especially with Craig and his reputation with the single ladies. She pushed his hand off her leg. ‘Really?’ She’d bet not all the flowers delivered to Craig’s room were from women who were just friends.

‘What do you think happened, Lydia? About Ginny’s bull?’

Nice change of subject, honey.

Lydia sighed, shaking her head sadly. ‘It’s horrible, is what I think. I know how hard these cattlemen work for their livestock.’

‘But you’ve spoken to Ginny. What do you think?’

Lydia tapped her chin, then patted down her hair, and tidied up her paperwork.

Izzy knew enough about body language to read the signs. ‘What is it, Lydia?’

Lydia blinked at Izzy as if busted for doing something wrong.

‘Izzy and I won’t say anything. It’ll just be between us.’

‘It had to be an inside job, someone who knew the layout of the paddocks and the cattle. And before you ask, I’ve been watching for any bull calves coming through on the trucks. All of us have.’

‘Were there any new companies making deliveries or pick-ups?’ Izzy asked.

‘Just the same locals from the same cattle stations.’

‘Was there anyone asking about the rough stock in the last few months? Anyone with ties to the rodeo? It would have to be someone with a special skill set to work with that kind of bull.’ Ginny bred rodeo bulls to be big and mean, trained to jump and twist like overgrown puppies in a playground. And they played rough—hence the classification of rough stock.

She tugged on an earlobe. Focus

‘Good point, Izzy.’ Craig shuffled in his seat, as he put his near-empty coffee cup on Lydia’s desk. ‘They weren’t regular stockmen. They’d have to know how to handle high-value bulls, especially bucking bulls.’

‘Which should narrow down the field of potential suspects, in a town filled with stockmen in the heart of cattle country?’ She hoped.

Craig shook his head. ‘The problem is, I know plenty of stockmen who know their bull ropes.’

Lydia sat up in her seat. ‘Oh, that reminds me, are you still making those bull ropes, luv?’

Craig shrugged.

Izzy butted in because she didn’t want to talk about ropes. ‘Does everyone ride bucking bulls around here?’

‘No. I mean, yes. Almost every stockman does it at least once in their career. But then you get the regulars, like Craig… Talking about rodeo riders, I did hear that Dane Carter sold his land, and quit as head stockman out at Grainger’s property.’

‘Who told you that?’ Craig’s face became sullen. All traces of humour gone.

‘Grainger. He was in here complaining about Dane quitting on him, leaving him high and dry for the mustering season. If you were fit enough, I would’ve told Grainger to call you. I know he’d take you on in a heartbeat. Lots of stations would.’

‘I’m out of commission for a while.’ Craig scowled at his leg as he slumped back into his seat.

‘Who’s Dane Carter?’ butted in Izzy.

A… Um…’ Lydia hesitated, casting a wary look at Craig.

Craig’s scowl was ferociously dark. ‘An ex-bull rider, banned from the sport for cheating.’

Oooh. In-ter-es-ting . ‘So, when did Dane quit his job?’

‘Not sure. It was after the sale of his property went through. I know he was whooping it up at the pub. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Dane around much. He must have left for that holiday already.’

‘Does Red know anything?’ Craig asked Lydia.

‘Who?’ Izzy looked between Craig and Lydia for an answer.

‘Grady Red Galloway. My husband. He’s got this big red bushman’s beard, he has.’ Lydia scooped up a picture frame from her desk to show a portrait of her and her husband. ‘I asked Red already about what happened to Ginny’s bull. He said it’d have to be an inside job. Everyone says the same.’ Lydia gently put the frame back, then leaned her forearms on the desk. ‘The thing is, I know Ginny doesn’t hire anyone. It’s always been family who worked for them. Just her boys. And they’re good boys, who are always polite when they come through here. I wish I knew something, for Ginny’s sake.’

‘Me too,’ said Craig. ‘But if you hear anything, can you call Finn?’

‘I’d hate to impose on a fella like that. Not when I haven’t met him, you know.’ Lydia shyly fiddled with her necklace. ‘He looks so mean.’

‘Finn looks like he should run a drug cartel, not a federal stock squad,’ said Izzy with a grin, while Craig rolled his eyes.

‘Yeah, that.’ Lydia giggled at the term.

‘You can call me, Lydia. Anytime.’ Craig gave that winning white-toothed smile the ladies loved.

But after so many years, Izzy was immune to that smile and rolled her eyes at the flirt in the cowboy hat.

‘Almost forgot…’ Lydia slapped the desktop as she got to her feet. She then opened a metal cupboard, unleashing a strong leather smell, like an old-fashioned shoemaker’s store. ‘I have a present for you, Craig.’ Lydia was like a diamond jeweller showing off a priceless bracelet in her collection, except it was a black leather vest.

Craig winced through the pain to stand from the low chair. ‘That’s not my rodeo vest? Is it?’

‘I patched it up for you.’

There was a dark patch on the ribs, obviously where the bull’s horns had punched through, given it was the same spot where Izzy had changed Craig’s chest bandages.

It was Craig’s champion rodeo rider’s black leather vest. Well-worn and scuffed from countless rides, with patches and logos of sponsors sewn across the chest. Covering the back was the white patch with the black number ‘1’. It was Craig’s ranking as a champion rodeo rider.

First place!

That was huge.

Back when they were dating, Craig’s patch number was in the hundreds. He’d worked hard for that ranking, devotedly following the rodeo circuit, getting whatever work was available to him, just so he could ride. No wonder he was struggling to let it go.

‘How did you get this?’ Craig’s voice was rough, as if biting through the pain.

‘After they cut it off to stop the bleeding in your chest—’

Izzy gasped as her stomach rolled with horror. Her hand went straight to his back as if to soothe them both.

‘Young Brodie gathered up the pieces for me. I took it home, cleaned it, then fixed it up for you.’ She held it out to Craig.

He faltered, as if refusing to touch his rodeo vest, that he used to be so proud of. He then gingerly held the vest as if it was made of hot steel that had somehow rendered him speechless.

Was Craig going to have some PTSD aftershocks from this?

‘Your stitching is exquisite, Lydia.’ Izzy sucked at small talk, but she had to do something to take the focus off Craig so he could have a moment.

‘Do you do leatherwork?’ Izzy leaned toward the open cupboard, where the rich scent of leather rose from a vast selection of belts and whips. She’d once interviewed a dominatrix over a sex scandal involving a politician, that Lydia’s collection reminded her of the Dungeon Mistress’s stash of assorted S&M tools. In the name of research, Izzy had learned so much about sex toys that day.

‘It’s a hobby.’ Lydia pulled out an entire rack of leather belts. ‘I’m always fixing belts or hatbands for the boys.’

‘Sorry, I don’t wear belts.’ Izzy slid her thumb under her trouser braces and gave them a well-practised flick. ‘I used to suffer with heat rash so badly and could never get comfortable wearing a belt.’

‘Those braces do look sharp on you. I could make you some leather ones, if you like?’

‘Really? The X-back braces?’ Izzy liked how they kept her posture in check, especially when sitting at a desk for hours. She had all her trousers and work skirts tailored for that type of brace.

‘Sure. Let me get my tape measure.’

While Lydia rummaged through the drawers of her desk, Izzy softly stroked Craig’s shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

Craig cleared his throat, his eyes on the vest. ‘What do I owe you for this, Lydia?’

‘Hush now, luv, it’s a get-well prezzie. I’m just sorry it happened.’ Lydia approached Izzy with her tape measure. ‘You know, my father used to wear trouser braces, too.’

‘Did he?’

‘He was quite partial to the Y-back braces. Used to wear them to church on Sundays, then in the build-up coz he’d get heat rash from his belts, too. You know, the pub’s yardie, Billy, he wears the X-back braces just like you do, and he’s got his fancy fedora to match.’

‘I don’t have a hat yet.’

‘We’ll fix that soon enough, Izzy.’ Craig winked at her, making her all warm inside. Yet, she knew he was hurting, the way he stepped away from that vest as if it was contaminated.

‘So what else do you make, Lydia?’ She didn’t want the poor woman’s feelings to get hurt when she’d gone to so much trouble for Craig.

‘Well, lots of leather sheaths for stockmen’s knives to slide over their belts and some customised radio halters for when they’re out mustering. They’re like a shoulder brace. Stone, one of the local crocodile wranglers, I made him some X-back trouser braces to include a radio halter. And I made that nice Policeman Porter a police belt to help him with all his police gear when he went through his first build-up, too. Oh, did you hear, Craig? Porter has just made detective. That postmistress, Tess, blew her chances on that man. I warned Tess, I told her Porter was going to be quite the catch one day, even her grandmother sided with me…’

Izzy had no idea who Lydia was talking about. But she held her arms up while Lydia took her body measurements. Izzy respected the skill, regularly investing in the services of a good tailor. She’d found people took her more seriously when she wore trousers to court than skirts, and honestly, she felt sexier in trousers and her braces.

Case in point… Craig’s gaze dragged slowly over Izzy’s body as she held her arms up, back straight, and chest out. His eyes lingered over her chest, then up to her lips and stayed. ‘Lydia made me my saddlebags.’ He licked his lips while staring at Izzy’s lips. ‘And belt, and this hatband, and my vest…’ Didn’t that kill his smile, dragging his attention back to the black leather vest he’d left lying on the desk.

‘Do you still do bull ropes, Craig?’ Lydia had the tape measure in one hand, pencil in the other. All that was missing were bobby pins and chalk.

‘I do. Why?’

‘I’ve got a few fellas who’d like some.’

‘What ropes are you talking about?’ Izzy had heard them mentioned twice now.

‘Bull ropes. Craig makes these specialised ropes that rodeo riders use to hold on to the beast.’

‘Only for a few friends.’ Craig shrugged.

‘I think you should sell them. I’d be happy to display them on the board with my stockwhips and belts.’ Lydia pointed to a noticeboard that stood beside the door.

‘How do you manage to sell belts in here?’ It was an office in a stockyard at the back of an outback train station, not a store.

‘You should come here on train day, luv. It’s jam-packed with road-train drivers, stock inspectors, stock agents, and stockmen all wanting to sell, ship, or buy livestock. While they wait, they’ll buy a new belt, or order a radio harness, custom made, of course.’ Lydia finished the measurements, then looped the tape measure around her neck. ‘Muster season, gotta love it.’ Lydia made a stabbing motion with her pencil as if making a big dot on the page and smiled. ‘And we’re all done, luv. Gimme a week and you can come and collect it.’

‘Do you want a deposit?’ Izzy rummaged in her bag for her purse.

Lydia pressed her hand against Izzy’s, stopping her. ‘All good, luv. Consider it a welcome to Elsie Creek prezzie. This town could do with a new face, and a lawyer, too.’ Rolling up her tape measure, Lydia paused to frown. ‘Otis, our town lawyer, should have retired years ago. He’s more interested in watching re-runs of Days of our Lives in his undies, than lawyering.’

‘I watch reality shows or documentaries about mushrooms, and I named my house plant Brian.’ It was a confession she didn’t mean to make. Only to inhale sharply in preparation for the rebuttal.

Lydia patted her heart and smiled so widely her eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, I’m a glutton for that show where they dump celebrities on an island and see if they can survive. And I have a fern called Nigel. He keeps me company in my leatherwork room at home.’

Now she really wanted to hug Lydia like that fun aunt, who didn’t make Izzy feel so weird.

‘Come on, time to go. Lydia’s a busy lady.’ Craig gave Lydia a peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you for fixing my vest, Lydia.’ He’d given it to Izzy to carry. It was heavier than she’d expected.

‘All good, luv. Just remember, you can drop a dozen of your bull ropes in next week when you pick up Izzy’s trouser braces.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Outside, Izzy slid on her sunglasses as Lydia waved them off. ‘Lydia’s lovely.’

‘She’s like everyone’s mother of the stockyards.’ He hobbled towards the ute.

‘Hey, Craig?’ A lanky-legged teenager waved his hat at Craig as he rushed over in dirty shirt and jeans. ‘Are you back on the job?’

‘I’m still recovering, mate.’ Craig tapped his aluminium crutch.

‘I’m real sorry about what happened. But I had to give you this.’ The kid thrust some rope into Craig’s hands. ‘It’s yours. I picked it up, and the pieces of your leather vest after… you know, while they were taking you away in the ambulance.’

‘What is it?’ Izzy asked.

‘My bull rope.’ Craig held the thick, coarse rope with maroon splatters on it.

‘I tried to get the blood out as much as I could.’ The kid dragged off his big hat, as if at a funeral. ‘You gonna rodeo again?’

‘Not the bulls. I’ve learned my lesson.’ Craig gently coiled the rope in his hand in a well-practised move, fighting through the pain of his ribs to do it, too.

Izzy cleared her throat at Craig.

‘Oh, sorry, Brodie Cross, this is—’

‘ The wife. ’ Brodie wore a big cheesy grin, his teeth so white against his deep tan, as he slapped his oversized hat back on his head. ‘You know you’ve gotta be ten times prettier than all the single women in this town.’

‘Thank you, Brodie.’

The kid blushed, scuffing the toe of one well-worn boot in the dirt.

Craig narrowed his eyes, his voice low. ‘Are you flirting with my wife, Brodie?’

Didn’t that make her back straighten after hearing the protectiveness in his tone? It was not only primal, but a turn-on for someone who’d been on her own for so long. She’d missed that.

Brodie tipped his hat at her. ‘Sorry, miss, I’m just teasing, is all.’

‘Leave him alone, Craig.’

Again, another blush, and another cute smile from Brodie.

‘Fine. I’ll let you off this once, only because the lady likes you.’

This time, Brodie went bright red and tugged at his collar.

The poor boy.

‘So, what’s the gossip in the stockyards?’ Craig asked, dumping the rope into the back of his ute.

‘Besides you and your…’ Brodie stopped to sigh all goofy-like at Izzy. ‘ Wife .’

Craig cleared his throat, a frown flickering under the shade of his hat’s brim.

‘One of Ginny’s rodeo bulls got nicked.’

‘I heard. Anything else new in town?’

‘They got a new Stock Squad moving into Elsie Creek Police Station with a new female cop. Not as pretty as…’ Again, Brodie shyly smiled at Izzy. ‘Is it true you’re a top-notch criminal lawyer?’

‘Was. I’m between jobs while I’m helping Craig.’

Craig arched an eyebrow at her in surprise. ‘Since when?’

Oops.

‘You should be our town lawyer, you know. You’d have your hands full, if you did.’ Brodie started ticking off names on his fingers, streaked with dirt. ‘The Blinstons are feuding over fence lines with the Margarites. The Donnovan’s are getting divorced. Mr Lawson wants a new will to disown his grandchildren for putting him into the new aged-care home they’ve got for stockmen, here in town. And Mrs Winton wants to know her rights over some new business buying up land for development. She’s worried it’s gonna be a new mine.’

Izzy was impressed with Brodie’s detailed gossip about the townsfolk.

‘Do you know who this developer is and if they want other properties?’ They could be a potential buyer for Dustfire.

Craig’s brow ruffled in disbelief.

Avoiding his eyes, she just didn’t have the heart to face him. Besides, Craig knew what her intentions were from day one. It’s why she was busy cleaning the place to make it more presentable. For a farm set in a remote location with no stock to sell, it was going to be a struggle to find a suitable buyer in this economy. Although, if they had the contract for the quarantine station it might help.

Brodie shook his head. ‘Mrs Winton doesn’t even know who her new neighbours are. She’s worried, coz she’d heard about that lithium mining fiasco trying to steal water from their neighbouring cattle station. Mrs Winton doesn’t want that happening to her. It’s not right, you know. She owns a hemp farm of the legit kind. She also plays softball with the other girls—you should play.’

‘Brodie? Stick to the one topic.’ Craig gently nudged Izzy’s side. ‘Brodie’s like you.’

‘You want to be a stockman, too?’

Izzy grinned at the boy. ‘No thanks. Being married to one is bad enough.’

Didn’t that comment make Craig smile, while sliding his hand over her lower back.

She hadn’t mean to say that, it just popped out. Especially when she’d been trying to distance herself from Craig, but it was hard when Craig needed her to drive him around. Plus, she was keen to see where this whole cow-stealing thing would lead them, even if she was meant to be hiding out from the bad guys.

‘Anyway, there’s plenty of work for that lawyering stuff. Not much crime…’ Brodie scratched beneath his sweaty stockman’s hat. ‘But then you’ve got Ginny’s bull gettin’ nicked. It’s bad news, that. Got a lot of the other stockmen talking about old-school traditions of what they did to cattle rustlers back in the day. Is it true that you’d get the death penalty for stealing someone’s stock?’

‘Used to. Australia abolished the death penalty at the federal level in 1973, then in all states and territories by 1985.’ She’d read that random fact only yesterday after Finn’s visit, that had her looking into the laws for stock theft.

‘So, what do they get now, if they get busted for stealing cattle?’

‘Fourteen years.’

Brodie squinted so hard his lip curled. ‘So it’s serious stuff, huh?’

‘Yes, it is, Brodie. But do me a favour? If you hear of anything, you let me know,’ said Craig. ‘I’d like to help Ginny get her stock back. Wraith deserves to go home.’

‘Too right he does. Wraith’s not a bad bull. He’s a flamin’ sook in the yards.’

‘How do you know?’ Izzy asked.

‘I get paid to muck out the stalls here and at the rodeo. Like an internship.’

‘We all had to start somewhere, mate. I know I did my fair share of time on the shovel, too.’ Craig patted the boy’s shoulder. ‘You take care, Brodie, and if you hear anything, call me.’

‘And if I ever need a lawyer, I’ll be sure to call you first, Izzy.’ Brodie chuckled, tipping his hat to her, before running off to the yards.

‘Oi. Stop flirting with my wife,’ Craig called after him.

Brodie’s laugh echoed as he disappeared behind some railed yards.

‘I like him.’

‘It’s obvious Brodie likes you, too.’

‘What’s his story?’

Craig slid his hands in his jeans, his smile gone. ‘Lydia found Brodie asleep in the back of the hay shed here, covered in cigarette burns and bruises.’

‘Who’d do that to a boy? Brodie seems so sweet.’ She paused, only for her frown to start because Craig had mentioned Brodie was just like her.

She suddenly understood what Craig was trying so hard not to say.

‘Brodie’s parents did that to him. For being different.’ She gritted her teeth, as that old festering wound burned beneath her skin.

‘Hey…’ Craig tenderly grabbed her wrist with one hand, while his other hand held her cheek. ‘You’re okay now. You’re safe.’

‘Is Brodie?’

Craig nodded. ‘Lydia takes care of him. She helped Brodie go to the police and has stood by that boy, even when Brodie’s parents went after her.’

‘Why? Is that because they wanted Brodie back so they could cash in their welfare cheques?’ The bitterness was still there in her voice, even after all this time.

‘They wanted Brodie to change his story.’

‘Did he?’

‘No. And you would’ve been proud of him, too, and Lydia, because she refused to let them get near that kid.’

‘They didn’t hurt Lydia, did they?’ Lydia seemed so genuinely nice. With Izzy coming from a corporate world of cutthroat lawyers, it made for a nice change.

Craig scowled, peering back towards Lydia’s office. ‘They threatened Lydia, slashed her tyres, threw bricks through her windows when they knew Red was working on the road. Mongrel move that.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Crashed on Lydia’s couch until Red came home. By then, everyone in the stockyards had gotten involved. Everyone adores Lydia and knows she only did it for Brodie—but the thing is Lydia would do it for any of us. She’s like a mother to many of us here in the stockyards.’

‘I can see why… Did they get his parents?’

Craig nodded. ‘They got jail time for assault, property damage, child abuse, and I know Marcus, the town’s top cop, told them to never come back. And since then, the town’s stockmen have kind of adopted Brodie. We all watch out for him.’

‘He doesn’t want to leave?’ Like she did to get away from her own past, to forget they ever existed.

‘Brodie wants to be a stockman, to get into muster choppers, but he has issues.’

‘Like what?’ She narrowed her eyes at him.

‘Reading and writing, mostly. Don’t say anything, Brodie gets embarrassed by it.’

‘I won’t.’ Yet, she was already trying to figure out how to help the poor guy. ‘Is it because he’s neurodivergent?’

‘Lydia thinks so, not that Brodie has been tested, but also that his parents never bothered to put the kid on the school bus. But Lydia’s got Brodie working in the stockyards, and with the help of the railway station manager, Brodie’s got somewhere to live in the back, and Lydia’s been helping him with his reading and writing. I said Brodie could stay at home, but he doesn’t have a driver’s licence or a vehicle to get around. He’s happy here, and I know Lydia checks on him every day.’

‘Poor guy.’

Craig turned to face her, hooking his thumbs in his jeans pockets. ‘Brodie doesn’t see it that way. Trust me, he’s never been happier. Brodie is a good kid with lots of people who watch out for him.’

‘Are you talking about the town?’

Craig nodded.

Through the stockyards, and over the train line, she peered beyond the thick red dust that seemed to layer this sleepy outback town. Craig had chosen Elsie Creek to be his home town, always speaking highly of this place.

‘They will be good to you here, Izzy.’ Craig’s deep voice was as soft as his hand that covered hers. ‘They won’t treat you differently. In fact, you’ll be surprised at how quickly the locals will accept you.’

‘Because of you.’ After all, Craig was a local hero, while she was the girl meant to be in hiding. Why get comfortable when she’d have to leave again. But first she needed to make sure Craig was safe. ‘I think we should go find Finn.’