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The Harley rider pulled down his neck gaiter and unclipped his black bike helmet. His gigantic hands and muscular forearms were covered in ink work. ‘Hey, Craig.’

‘ Buck me. Finn? When did you roll into town?’ Craig shook hands with Finn and patted his back like an old friend.

‘A few days ago. Although, I’ve been in and out of the place for a few months now.’

‘How come?’

‘Bree called me when Elsie Creek Station had that mob of cattle stolen.’

‘I heard about that.’

‘Where were you, that you didn’t help Bree?’ Izzy asked Craig.

‘If I’d known, I would have helped, but I was out mustering with Jake at Danbunnan Station. We don’t have mobile reception out there, so I didn’t hear about it until weeks later.’ Craig turned to Finn. ‘What I don’t get is why would Bree call you.’

Finn was a big man, rolling up his shirt sleeves to reveal more ink work, with some peeking up from his shirt’s collar. He’d always had tatts, even back when they’d first met. He held out his hand to Izzy. ‘Hi, I’m Finn Wilde.’

‘Sorry, mate. This is Izzy Callahan.’ Craig nodded at Izzy, letting her know it was okay. ‘Finn and I used to work together as stockmen. Finn is Bree’s ex-husband.’ Craig always got on with Finn, and Bree was one of those rare people who stayed on good terms with her ex. It made him reassess his own view of Izzy with a lot more kindness.

‘You’re the lawyer, right?’ Finn cordially shook her hand.

Izzy slid on that lawyer's face again, it was so cold and unreadable. ‘I am.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at Finn, taking in the details that she’d turn over for the next six hours, as if fixated on him. Craig never got jealous, because it’s what she did.

‘Can we talk?’ Finn grabbed his tablet from the bike’s leather saddlebags.

‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Izzy headed inside.

Finn strolled beside Craig as he hobbled with the crutch. ‘Heard some rodeo bull got you.’

‘It did. But it’s given me time to supervise Izzy doing the house up.’ And she looked cute heading inside while wearing his hat, with her dark ponytail trailing down her back, and those shorts and boots. Damn, girl.

‘You know, I never knew you were married until Bree told me.’

Craig hardly told anyone—especially when he had no wife to show for it.

Inside, Craig let the crutch fall to the floor as he dropped into the nearest chair at the dining room table. A vase of wildflowers and some fruit sat in the middle of it. Yep, Izzy was really making it homely. It was nice.

‘Bree came and saw me the other week and told me of your situation.’

‘She did, did she?’ Craig peeked back at Izzy working behind the kitchen counter, catching her eye. Should he call Bree and give her a lecture for interfering?

‘Don’t get mad at Bree. We all know she means well,’ said Izzy. Another obvious example of how well she could read his mind.

‘And it was Bree who reminded me of your skills…’ Finn took a seat, placing his tablet face down on the table. ‘Which is why I’m here to offer you a job.’

‘Doing what?’ At this stage Craig would peel grapes or shell peas, as long as it was outside.

‘First, I’ll tell you what I do.’ Finn pulled out a fancy police badge unlike any Craig had seen before, with the ID clearly stating: Detective Sergeant Finn Wilde.

Izzy picked it up, her thumb brushing over the metal badge before putting it back on the table and returning to the kitchen. ‘Are you with the Federal Police?’

‘I was originally with the Queensland Police. Then I did a stint for Victoria Police, and now I’m starting a Stock Squad for the Federal Agriculture Commissioner.’

‘A what squad?’ Izzy asked Finn, as she set the teapot, cups, and milk on the table. She even cracked open a packet of biscuits she artfully displayed on a plate, being the queen of domestication.

‘I’m building a team of outback experts to help defend Australia’s livestock from theft and other outside threats on a federal level.’

‘Haven’t the NT Police got something like that already?’

‘Not anymore they don’t,’ mumbled Craig. ‘It got disbanded by some new politician or new police chief years ago. A lot of cattlemen still complain about it.’

‘I believe it’s to do with the lack of stockmen’s skills police have these days. Most of them can’t even ride a horse,’ said Finn, the stockman turned cop. ‘As this is a federally funded operation, we’ll have access to work across all borders, in particular the northern livestock industry. To help this trial succeed, I get to choose my team. And I would like you, Craig, to join the team.’

Craig blinked a few times, not sure if he’d heard right. ‘I’m not a cop.’

‘No. You’re what I’d class a specialist.’

‘Excuse me?’ His wife was the specialist. ‘I’m just a stockman.’

‘You’re a lot more than that, mate. You’re a senior stock inspector who ran Darwin’s export yards as the Territory’s Livestock Quarantine Manager. I know from hunting with you that you’re also an excellent tracker, and you also do rodeo.’

‘ Did ,’ butted in Izzy.

Craig narrowed his eyes at the woman trying to play nicey-wifey. ‘I’m pretty sure your line of work would involve paperwork. I don’t do paperwork, politics, or office policies that change all the time, so I never bother learning them.’

‘Believe me, I hate office politics and do my best to avoid the paperwork.’ Finn gave a sly grin. ‘Bree warned me of that. So, I have a solution for both of us about the paperwork. But I want you on board.’

‘Why?’

‘You know the locals, not only as a stock inspector, but as a local rodeo champion and a stockman who has worked most of this region. You know this country, but you also know most of the people we deal with. Cattlemen don’t open up to strangers, so having you with us will make it easier for the team to do our job.’

‘You forgot the part about his popularity with the females, too.’ Izzy’s words may seem sweet, but they carried a lot of venom.

Craig met her glare. She’d left for the sake of her career, and even though he’d tried to keep up the long-distance relationship, after that last disastrous trip, she’d suggested they lead separate lives—making him, heartbreakingly and technically, a single man.

Not that he ever had to try too hard with women. He never had. Except for Izzy. She was the only woman he’d ever chased, the only woman he’d ever loved. And the only one who’d burned him so badly, he couldn’t bring himself to let anyone that close again.

It was the reminder he needed—she was going to leave again. And this time, he had to be ready for it.

‘But there’s also another idea I’d like to run by you, too.’ Finn paused.

‘Go on,’ urged Craig.

‘I know you don’t have any stock in your yards.’ Finn pointed to the shiny windows that blessed them with a clear view of Dustfire’s lands. ‘I’m looking for a quarantine station for the stock we recover.’

‘What does that entail?’ Izzy asked.

‘We need to keep the animals somewhere safe as part of our enquiries. We’d pay agistment fees, with someone trusted enough to care for the stock, in a place that’d allow the vet to check out the animals, unhindered, for our reports. I believe you know the town’s vet?’ Finn asked Craig.

‘Ryan and I go way back.’

‘So Bree tells me.’

How much did Bree tell her ex-husband? It was so unlike Bree, who was usually good at keeping secrets.

‘As part of our investigations, we need to check over the animals, which, as you know, takes time. And the farmers will need to provide paperwork to prove ownership before they can claim their stock.’

‘How long would the animals stay in the quarantine station?’ Izzy asked.

Finn leaned back in his chair to let Craig answer that question.

‘Two to four weeks,’ replied Craig. ‘It’s standard practice. Any new animals brought to a station are quarantined. And you want to do that here?’

Finn nodded, again peering out the window. ‘Bree said Dustfire would be perfect as a quarantine station. She saw firsthand what I needed when we rescued Elsie Creek Station’s stolen cattle. I know Bree was thinking of making you an offer on this place, for after Charlie passed, but that’s before Ryder Riggs came along…’ Finn rubbed the scowl from his face, taking a deep gulp of his tea.

Obviously, Bree had left out the part about Izzy wanting to sell the place when talking to Finn. But Craig was going to grill Bree for the dirt later.

‘What condition are your holding yards in?’ Finn asked.

‘Good. I mean, it needs some work, but it won’t take much to bring it up to standard. It’s got solid fencing, plenty of watering points, and ample shade and grazing crops in each paddock—with plenty of room in between.’ The more he thought about it, getting paid to babysit other people’s stock might be that sweet gig he was searching for.

‘What happens to an animal if no one claims it?’ Of course, the lawyer at the table would ask the hard questions.

‘That’d be left up to the quarantine station manager.’ Finn shrugged, while barely sharing a sly grin at Craig. ‘Most livestock will be branded, and we both know Bree does a great job of keeping the local stock brand register up to date. Hey, I hear Bree’s making a cattle brand for Dustfire to match the sign. A legacy brand, too.’

The thought made Craig’s heart skip. As a master brand maker, Charlie had taught Bree to forge those rare, time-honoured cattle brands—the kind passed down through generations. He’d always promised to make Craig one for Dustfire someday.

But that day never came.

And Charlie was gone.

Damn, he missed that old man.

‘Craig, I know you are well skilled at looking after all sorts of animals. You also have a unique set of skills, especially with the case I’m working on now, that I need your help. It’s why I’m here instead of approaching you later when you’re feeling better.’

‘I’m fine.’ Ignoring Izzy’s frown, Craig rested his elbow on the table. ‘What’s going on?’

Finn swiped across his tablet’s screen, then turned it around to show a set of images. ‘Some livestock were reported stolen overnight.’

‘That’s rare they got to report it, when it happens a lot more than you know.’

‘I’m aware of the crime stats.’

‘I’m not.’ Of course, the lawyer would ask, to no doubt store the information into her cunning little memory bank to use later.

‘In Australia, over sixty per cent of rural crime—in particular stock theft—never gets reported to the police, because the victims believe we can’t do anything about it.’

‘Why is that?’ Izzy examined the images with keen interest.

‘Sadly, most of the time the farmers don’t realise they’ve lost stock until it’s too late to do anything responsive.’

‘Izzy…’ Craig patted her shoulder to soothe her inquisitive lawyer side, no doubt racking up the questions. ‘I get what Finn is saying. Most farmers don’t realise any stock is missing until it’s mustering time, so they’re not able to provide any details of when and how the crime was committed. When all their hard work is stolen like that—it’s heartbreaking for some. I’ve known men who have walked off their land, because the stolen livestock was the only thing stopping the banks from calling in their mortgages. Many have suicided over it, too. Livestock is a big deal to those landowners. It’s their livelihoods.’

‘Sadly, the crims who steal their stock get away with it most of the time,’ said Finn.

‘Mongrels.’ Craig scowled with heat.

The criminal lawyer at the table said nothing, grabbing another biscuit.

‘But the bull reported as missing, I believe you know.’ Finn showed Craig a large image on the tablet’s screen.

‘No way.’ Craig’s eyes widened at the picture.

‘What?’ Izzy asked, with a mouthful of crumbs.

‘It’s Wraith’s Wrath.’

‘Who?’

‘Wraith. He’s a rodeo bull.’

‘You’re not talking about the bucking bull that did that to you?’ She waved a hand over his body.

‘The same. Finn, when did this happen?’

‘The owner noticed he was gone this morning. Along with six high-bloodline bull calves and two prized heifers.’ Finn scrolled over the images of Brahman cattle. Each image showed the breed’s proud stance and solid bone structure. Their gleaming pale coats, clear eyes, shiny and moist noses, with alert ears, all clear indications of finely bred stock in prime condition.

‘It’s hard to believe anyone could take him.’ Craig shook his head. ‘Wraith is a top-tier champion bull, worth over two hundred grand, with a bright future. Ginny treats all of her rodeo bulls like kings, especially Wraith.’

‘The bull that almost killed you,’ snapped out Izzy.

‘It was my fault I got hurt. I wasn’t watching my back.’

‘Still, it attacked you. It’s a dangerous animal. If a dog did that in the city, it would—’

‘Stop.’ He held his hand up in her face, effectively getting her attention. She blinked at it a few times.

He then gathered her slender fingers into his hands and gave them a squeeze. ‘It was my fault, Izzy. Not that bull’s fault. He was just doing his job.’ He then faced Finn. ‘But I do know Wraith’s owners would have that bull under constant surveillance.’

‘For a bull?’ Izzy’s eyes were filled with curiosity. ‘I don’t get it.’

Of course she wouldn’t, not when Izzy lived in the city.

‘Sweetheart, that bull is worth a lot of money.’

‘For meat?’

‘Hell, no. He’s rough stock: a specially bred beast used for the rodeos’ rough stock category. And if they’re a good bull, like Wraith, they have a few sources of income while they’re alive.’

‘Really?’ She grabbed another biscuit. It had to be number four.

Izzy must have realised that, pushing the plate towards him while making a sly face as if to say do something with it .

Craig pushed it closer to Finn, as he explained to Izzy, ‘Wraith would make thousands as a sperm donor.’

‘What?’ She nearly choked on the cookie’s crumbs, taking a hasty gulp of her tea.

All the while, Finn calmly sipped from his teacup and watched their interaction.

‘Finn? You’d know how much Wraith is worth?’

‘He’s insured for just over a quarter of a million.’ Finn placed the cup on the saucer. His big hands made the china cup look so tiny. ‘The two heifers are worth a hundred K each, making the entire haul worth half a million dollars.’

‘Not to mention the money Ginny’s losing out on, especially in the dry season because she’d have Wraith working two jobs.’

‘No way, I never…’ Izzy looked at him with her sweet brown eyes so clear and curious, giving him her undivided attention, the chocolate biscuit forgotten. ‘How?’

‘Well…’ Craig leaned back in his chair to rub his knuckles over his sore leg. ‘A single straw of semen from a prized bull, like Wraith, could sell anywhere between one and three thousand. And that’s not counting the money he’d make for showing up to rodeos. With a bull like Wraith, his owner would not only earn top dollar, but he’d also be one of the few bucking bulls who’d score the rodeo bonus.’

‘What does that mean, rodeo bonus?’

‘You see, the more cunning the bull, the more skilled the riders need to be to take him on. And those kinds of riders are sponsored by some big names, who help promote those kinds of events to draw a bigger crowd.’ Like the charity rodeo he’d attended two weeks ago. ‘A lot of people may back the rodeo riders, but there’s an awful lot of money made on backing the bulls, too.’

Izzy sat back in her seat. ‘I had no idea.’

‘I just got a crash course myself,’ said Finn. ‘It’s why I’m here. I want your help, Craig, to find Wraith, and the other cattle. Unfortunately, we have little time before the trail gets cold. So, it’ll be a crash course for you, too. And our need to find a quarantine station is pressing. Are you interested?’