Stockman’s Stormcloud (Stockmen #3)

Twenty-five

‘Come and check out this paddock I told you about.’ Dex led his brothers along the boundary fence of the caretaker’s cottage, just on sunrise.

Out the back, leaning against the wrought-iron fence containing the complex heritage vegetable garden, was Charlie, pushing back the brim of his stockman’s hat, holding his large tin mug. ‘Morning, fellas. Can I help you with something?’

‘Morning, Charlie.’ Dex leaned against the fence. ‘I was just telling my brothers about Drover’s Rest.’

‘Listen, about yesterday,’ said Ryder, approaching the station’s retired head stockman. ‘I’d like to apologise to you and Bree.’

‘Where is Bree?’ Dex couldn’t see the sassy redhead or her saddle in the nearby stables. ‘Out riding?’

‘Her horse lost a shoe this morning. She’s in the shed, reshoeing it now. I’d advise steering clear of the kid, while she’s playing with hammers and nails.’ Charlie chuckled.

‘Is Bree really upset?’ Ash asked. ‘We’ve all seen how easily she puts up with Dex’s wise-arse cracks all the time.’

‘And gives it back,’ said Dex.

‘Yeah, well, this is different.’ The old man nodded at the field. ‘You see this paddock?’

‘It’s why we’re here. Look at this growth in the grasses.’

Cap, the greenie, brushed his hand over the meadow’s lush green carpet. He tugged at a tuft, peeling it back to reveal the rich, dark soil beneath, its earthy scent mingling with the fresh grass. It was like a premiere sporting field in need of a mow, not a paddock in the outback. ‘It’s like turf.’

‘Told you so.’ Dex wanted to swap paddocks now he’d seen this. ‘I wasn’t kidding about Drover’s Rest.’

‘Dex said Darcie’s grandmother hand sowed this paddock?’ Cap asked.

Charlie nodded. ‘Granny Darcie wanted something to remind her of the green grasses of her European homeland, with grazing cattle she could watch from her kitchen window.’ He nodded at the view. ‘It’s pretty watching the cattle graze as the sun rises over the escarpment, with that hint of a cool mist, and that breath of silence you get, right before the buzz of the busy day begins.’ Charlie leaned his sturdy forearms on the fence rail, looking over the field as if he could clearly picture the cattle. But there were none.

‘Why is this paddock divided into sections?’ Ash pointed to the areas. ‘Did you do that?’

Again, Charlie nodded. ‘The area that runs from this garden fence was for the bottle babies. My wife, my daughter, my granddaughter, even my great-grandson used to run down here in the mornings to bottle-feed them little ones as the first part of stock school.’

Dex and his brothers grinned at the old storyteller getting ready to share another tale about the station.

‘That first red-headed girl was my beautiful wife, Beverly. She had a baby girl, Beatrice, who too had red hair that ran down her back like thick rope.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And then my granddaughter, Bree, came and learned, to then become the school’s principal.’

‘You see them babies got used to them red-haired girls over the years, that they learned to associate redheads as someone who looked after them.’ Charlie pointed at the fenced yard. ‘In this first pen, they played with the red-headed girl, following her up and down the railed yards we made into a maze.’

Dex arched an eyebrow at the smaller yard rails. It was a junior version of the drafting yards themselves.

‘Then when the calves got older, they’d get shifted like kids in a classroom, to move into the next pen near the stockhorses. That’s when the red-headed girl would introduce the stockhorses to the poddy calves. Daily she’d run little campdraft games, getting the beasts used to the horses and vice versa, all done before racing to the front fence to catch the school bus. And then they’d wait for her return, like proper grass puppies, too.’

Charlie grinned, as if watching some ghosts playing in the empty field of rich that grasses stretched out before him. ‘Those little, freckly faced, red-headed girls would then lead them babies up and down the gangway planks, and through the chutes.’ He pointed to the cattle trailer with its doors down like a bridge from one paddock to the next.

‘Then when them poddies grew up enough, they’d get their first ride in the old truck. So up the ramp they’d go, following this cheeky red-haired girl into that trailer. Bree would take ‘em for a spin, back when she could barely peek over the steering wheel, using bricks tied to her boots to help push on the pedals.’

They all chuckled.

‘Gotta hand it to her, she was determined to take them babies on a mini-tour of the station, to put them into that bigger grassier pen further away from the horses and the house, like extending them apron strings, where they grew up grazing on this grass.’

Again, another chortle, as a memory softened the crinkles around the octogenarian’s eyes. ‘Even though Bree would grumble as a teenager about doing chores, the cattle would see her bottle-feed their younger cousins. They’d hear her laughter as she played chasey through the maze, watching her as she worked the stockhorses teaching them cattle the art of tailing. Until they graduated to the big paddocks, where they’d breed and age like a fine wine.’ Charlie pointed to the land beyond the shed.

Then he sighed, tipping out the last of his tea. Charlie adjusted his hat, as the stern scowl soured the shine in his grey eyes. ‘Even though the cattle are older, those coachers still remember, so on a muster, you didn’t have to do much, you’d just put Bree in front, and they’d follow her wherever she led them—to the drafting yards, for a feed, then back out to a new paddock where they’d gladly dig in for a bit, or out to Wombat Flats, or deep into Scary Forest.’

‘They learned to listen for the sound of the cattle truck when she would deliver hay to them in the dry. They’d hear her singin’ lullabies while playing nightwatchman on a muster. And after we had that fire that burnt our stockfeed, for months they watched that red-headed girl sit in the saddle, playing drover as they picked along the long paddock, where she’d fiercely protect them from cars, dingoes, and rustlers.’

Ryder dropped his head.

‘Then when that first rain came, they followed her home here, to Drover’s Rest, where two old men were waiting for them.’

‘So Bree educated them?’ Dex asked.

Charlie nodded. ‘That’s what stock school does. It teaches the cattle to always be calm, because a calm cow is a fat cow. And we had the best reputation for our stock doing just that.’

‘Have you ever dealt with rustlers before?’

‘Yea, mongrels. Back in the day, neighbours had issues with cattle thieves earmarking and branding cattle as their own. But not with the Elsie Creek Station brand. Not the way my family designed the patterning of the letters. We made sure no one could tamper with that legacy brand.’ Charlie exhaled heavily, as he spoke to Ryder, ‘All our neighbours know the brand, they recognise the brand. Heck, Bree shows it off at all the local campdrafts to drum up customers. Most of all, the cattle remember that redhead. When we went out there yesterday to Drinkastubbie Downs, to protect your stock , they followed us back to the inner fence line easy as you please . ’ He pointed at the four brothers. ‘And that was after you’d gone and accused a third-generation stockwoman of cattle rustling. ’

‘I’m sorry.’ Ryder removed his hat, raking his fingers through his thick hair. ‘I truly am sorry for what I said to Bree. It was uncalled for.’

It was a flipping guilt trip, loaded not only on Ryder but also on Cap and Ash. Dex had to do something to repair the damage. ‘Is there any way we can fix this? How can we get Bree to listen to Ryder’s apology without her feeding him to the crocodiles?’ Which was unusual for him to ask, when normally it was Cap who played the peacemaker, not Dex. ‘Hey, did Carked-it take the bait?’

‘Not yet. Won’t be long, I reckon.’ Charlie even nodded with enthusiasm.

Then there was a loud rumble of an engine that grew closer.

‘Aw, come on. Why not just load a barrel of gunpowder and pull the trigger on this friggin’ day already?’ Charlie scowled, pushing open the gate, and walked along the outer fence line.

‘Are you expecting someone?’

‘That flamin’ devil’s coming.’ Charlie even spat, as if to curse the ground.

‘Is that a Harley?’ Ash asked.

The beefy motorbike rumble was easily recognisable.

‘Who is Charlie talking about?’ Cap asked Dex.

‘I don’t know.’ Dex shrugged. ‘I bet it’s the person Bree called. I know Charlie didn’t want her to ring this person, who he called the devil.’

‘The what?’ Ash screwed his nose up.

‘He’s got something to do with the stolen cattle.’

Ryder turned to Dex. ‘Our cattle?’

‘Yeah.’ Again, Dex shrugged. He didn’t know more than that, because asking Bree about her secrets was pointless, she’d rather walk away than answer questions, just like he did. Just like Charlie walking along the corrugated fence line.

‘What the hell is that woman up to now?’ Ryder’s scowl was dark. ‘And she wonders why I get so angry with her. Wait up, Charlie.’

Charlie disappeared around the corner to the front of the cottage.

The dog barked as a deep-throated, rumbling motorbike shattered the peace of their Sunday morning.

Dex couldn’t run, and he couldn’t walk as fast as his brothers, but with his hand cupping his ribs, he tried. To think he used to outrun them all, jogging every morning like Bree rode her horses. But he was finally free from those oxygen tanks—reminding him of yesterday and that heated kiss with Sophie. And with her leaving him the way she did, might be for the best.

The Harley came round the corner, its chrome work catching the early morning sunlight, its echo so loud that at the farmhouse his little nephew, Mason, stood at the front doors holding his ears. They couldn’t even hear the dog barking as it strained against the chain at the corner of the farmhouse.

The bike rumbled to a stop out front of the cottage. The engine switched off, leaving a silence so heavy it felt as though it had sucked all sound into a void.

‘Charlie.’ The man’s neck gaiter, featuring a skull, hid his face. In a black jacket, jeans, and boots, he removed his black helmet and wraparound glasses showing clipped hair and a few scars. He had some serious inked sleeves, and with the neck gaiter removed, it exposed tattoos on his neck, and a heavy set of knuckles. Dex quickly sized him up as a bloke who could scrap—old-school style.

‘Did you escape?’ Charlie grumbled as he approached the biker. ‘Coz there’s no way they’d let the likes of you out on good behaviour.’

The guy gave a brief smirk, hooking his helmet onto his handlebars. ‘Bree around?’

‘Here.’ Bree pushed open the front gate, her face expressionless and completely unreadable.

The new guy climbed off the bike. He had some height to him, and a stack of solid muscle, too. ‘Hello, baby.’

Bree rushed into the guy’s arms and kissed him. But it was no simple peck on a cheek Dex has seen her give friends or other men in town.

No siree.

Bree lunged at the guy, wrapping her arms around his big shoulders, where he effortlessly picked her up. Their lips clashed, shifted, and joined as she wrapped her legs around this guy’s hips, climbing him like a flipping tree.

Bree kissed the guy in a way that Dex had never kissed a woman in his life. It was like a romantic, mushy movie his mother would watch, that Dex avoided at all costs, but this, he couldn’t stop watching.

It was so hot, Cap cleared his throat while ducking his head. Ash tugged on his collar with keen eyes and wide jaw, while Ryder just scowled.

‘Come inside.’ Bree grabbed the biker’s hand and led him to the cottage. ‘Make yourself scarce, Pop.’ She closed the gate, and then slammed the front door shut behind them.

That broke Dex’s trance. No way! Who kissed like that? His brow ruffled, his lips tightening into a thin line. He wasn’t jealous of this guy, but he was protective over Bree like a sister. In fact, he was closer to Bree than he was with his own sisters.

‘Consider me gone, kid. I’m not staying while the devil is in the house. ’ Charlie swaggered angrily to the wrought-iron gate and grabbed his duffel bag and shouted at the closed door of the cottage, ‘Make sure that mongrel pays for what he breaks, coz I’ll call the cops on him if he steals anything, ya hear?’

There was no answer, which was rare for Bree who never ignored her grandfather.

With his bottom lip pouting, his brow furrowed, Charlie flung his duffel bag over his shoulder, adjusted his hat and swaggered off in his bandy-legged walk.

‘Where are you going?’ Dex asked Charlie.

‘To meet Lenny. He’s picking me up, so I can sit in the pub for a few days.’

Bree’s laughter and squeals of joy carried through the open windows of the cottage. It made Charlie shake his head and walk faster away from the house.

‘Phew.’ Ash exhaled heavily, kicking his boot in the dust. ‘I’ve never kissed Harper like that. Or any other woman. You, Cap?’

Cap just shook his head. Speechless.

‘CHARLIE!’ Ryder’s voice boomed like a shotgun blast in the air.

The old man stopped and turned.

Ryder stomped after him. ‘Who is that man?’

‘The devil.’ Charlie frowned towards the house, then his scowl deepened at Ryder. ‘He’s Bree’s husband, and it’s your fault he’s here.’