Page 47 of Whispers of Sweetwater

Hayden gave a low whistle. ‘Always something with livestock. Are you heading out there now?’

She nodded. ‘Yup.’

He tilted his head. ‘Need backup?’

She smiled. ‘I think I’ve got this one, but thanks.’

He grinned. ‘All right, Doc. You know where to find me if those lambs start giving you sass.’

Brianna flashed a crooked smile as she turned towards the ute. ‘If they start mouthing off, I’ll send them your way.’

Hayden raised an eyebrow, following her with an easy smirk. ‘Hey now, I’ve wrangled worse than mouthy lambs.’

‘I bet you have,’ she called back, chuckling.

Molly’s ute grumbled in protest as it fired up again with the dashboard rattling like loose change in a pocket. After giving Hayden a wave goodbye, it took Brianna a little over twenty minutes to get to the property. Afterr rattling over a cattle grid, she headed down the straight-as-a-pin driveway, flanked on both sides by long, dry paddocks dotted with wiry grass and rusted fence posts. A windmill creaked in the distance, and a mob of curious cattle stared at her passing with dull, blinking eyes. The sun had set higher now, baking the corrugated tin roofs of the outbuildings that shimmered ahead like a mirage. She passed an old tractor parked haphazardly beneath a lone tree that had discarded all its leaves and noticed a collection of blue drums and spare tyres stacked against a lean-to. Everything had a distinctly weathered look. Functional but tired, held together with baling twine and history. And as she rolled closer to the paddocks, she spotted a familiar pair. Trev, the handyman, and Joe, the delivery driver, were leaning close together by a fence line. Both men stiffened when they noticed the ute approaching, their conversation cutting off like a switch.

Pulling up, she stepped out, and their faces shifted from cautious to surprised.

‘Oh,’ Trev said. ‘We thought you were Molly.’

Brianna paused, curiosity pricking. ‘She lent me the ute.’

‘Right. Well, uh, good luck with the ewe and her babies,’ Joe muttered, then both men turned back to the fence.

After pondering, bewilderedly, what a handyman and delivery driver would be doing here together, she tried to file the encounter away. Maybe Trev had been doing maintenance on one of the old sheds. These back properties always needed patching, and Joe might’ve been dropping off supplies. Still, the way they’d both snapped quiet so fast … It scratched at the back of her mind like a burr that wouldn’t shake loose. She was startled from her thoughts as the sound of boots on gravel drew her attention. A broad-shouldered man in his sixties appeared from behind the main shed, wiping his hands on a rag. His wide-brimmed hat was sweat-stained and shadowed a weather-worn face that spoke of years spent under the sun.

‘G’day,’ he called. ‘You must be the vet?’

‘That’s me. Brianna Steele,’ she said, extending a hand.

‘Ray Travers. Thanks for coming. The ewe is in the smaller holding shed, this way.’

He led her past a series of old troughs and a tractor missing one rear wheel. As they walked, he added, ‘Noticed she wasn’t moving much yesterday. Thought she’d pick up today, but this morning she was flat again. And the lambs, well, they don’t know what to do without her.’

Brianna nodded. ‘Let’s take a look.’

Inside the shed, the ewe was listless, her sides heaving. The lambs bleated faintly, circling her nervously. Brianna knelt down, speaking softly to the animals as she worked. The ewe needed fluids and an antibiotic, the lambs some coaxing with a warmed bottle. Brianna worked with quiet confidence, pulling her supplies from her worn leather bag and setting up with practised efficiency. She cleaned the injection site, her fingers sure despite the ewe’s weak shuffles. Her voice stayed low and steady as she administered the medication, one hand gently resting on the ewe’s side to soothe her.

With the lambs, she knelt low, careful not to startle them. She offered the bottle, coaxing them closer with soft murmurs, her patience unyielding. The smaller one resisted at first, bleating sharply, but she persisted until it finally latched and drank greedily. She smiled, just a little. These were the moments she loved – the quiet victories. It was routine for her, comforting in its normalcy.

Except nothing had felt normal since the break-in at Molly’s. Every person she passed in town. Every odd interaction. Every misplaced glance or bit of gossip, she questioned it all. She’d never been a paranoid person, not by nature. But lately, it felt like suspicion had become muscle memory. Sweetwater had felt so friendly at first. But now she had started to feel as if the town was asking something of her, asking something of all of them. Quiet loyalty. Unspoken rules. Look the other way. God only knew how Molly must feel.

Directing her thoughts back to the present, she focused on her three patients. And almost an hour later, as she waved goodbye to Ray and headed back towards Molly’s ute, her mobile buzzed in her back pocket.

She tugged off a glove and answered without checking the screen. ‘Brianna speaking.’

‘Hey, it’s me.’ Hayden’s voice came, warm and familiar. ‘You finished up?’

‘Just heading back to the ute now. Job’s done. The poor girl just needed a bit of TLC.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, then paused. ‘How do you feel about joining me, Gavin and his wife, Tilly, at the Rusty Rooster tonight? Just an easy pub dinner. You haven’t met Tilly yet, have you?’

Brianna blinked, surprised. ‘No, I haven’t. But I’ve heard good things from Molly.’

‘She’s been wanting to meet you,’ he said, tone light. ‘And Gavin swears it won’t be one of those nights with the footy blaring and half the town yelling over a game of pool, like it is at the Gum Boot. The Rusty Rooster is a little more quiet.’

She chuckled. ‘That does sound dangerously civilised. All right, I’m in.’