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CHAPTER ONE
FINN STEVENSON BROUGHT the motorcycle to a skidding stop, red dust flying in plumes around him. Cattle streamed in a steady line across the dry plain to his left, driven by the mustering team toward the holding yards. They were nearly back at camp. The long day was almost at an end. Finn lifted his helmet visor so he could wipe the sweat from his eyes. This heat was a killer.
“Watch out!” The call came from behind him. He turned to see an enormous bull bearing down on him at a dead run. Finn barely had time to twist the accelerator, the back wheel spitting dirt in a wide spray as he gunned the motorcycle and got out of the charging animal’s path just in time.
“You need to keep your wits about you,” a woman atop a brown horse yelled at him as she sped past in pursuit of the rogue bull, a kelpie dog at the horse’s heels. Indy Solomon on her horse Gypsy.
Finn’s heart was beating like a drum. Shit, that’d been close. Indy was right, he’d let his concentration slip. After a long day mustering cattle in the Queensland heat, he was hot, thirsty, and tired, longing for that first swig of cold beer back in camp and not focusing.
Putting the motorcycle back in gear, he took off after the bull and Indy. Following as close as he dared, he watched as she zigzagged through scrubby stands of acacia, trying to get alongside the animal and turn him toward the main herd.
He’d only met Indy for the first time around the campfire last night, but she’d definitely made an impression. One of the ringers employed full time at Stormcloud Station, unlike himself, who was a contract musterer, brought in to help with the yearly round-up. She was right at home amongst the cattle and living at a muster camp, and today, her superior horse skills had taken her up another few notches in his estimation; he wasn’t sure he’d seen a better rider anywhere. And don’t forget those chocolate-brown eyes that could melt a man into a puddle of desire at ten paces; sultry and dark beneath her Akubra. She was a petite little firecracker in a pair of blue jeans and cowboy boots. He had to admit, he was a tad intrigued.
Indy and the bull disappeared, swallowed up by more patches of tall, leggy acacia bushes. There were places her horse could go where his motorcycle couldn’t. He could see why some of the staff preferred their four-legged friends over a mechanical beast. Instead of following her into the bushes, he waited, patrolling the perimeter, watching carefully.
A noise alerted him just before the bull burst from the shrubs, heading back out onto the plain, searching for his freedom. Finn took off on his motorcycle, not waiting to see if Indy was on the bull’s tail. The animal put on a good turn of speed, now that he could smell liberty. This was a micky bull, a young, wild, unmarked male that’d been missed in last year’s muster. They were highly unpredictable and dangerous. He directed the motorcycle in a wide arc away from the bull’s trajectory, but then rounded in an arc to head it off. His bike bounced beneath him as he hit hidden potholes and dips in the earth. He stood up on the pedals, using his knees and thighs as shock absorbers to balance on the bucking machine. Gaining on the bull, he came in at an angle. The animal never turned its head or acknowledged his presence. Damn, was this bull going to get free after all? He revved the engine and put the bike on adirect course that meant they’d collide if they continued on their chosen paths. Finn held his breath.
At the last second, the bull lowered his massive head, then swung in a half-circle, slowing his breakneck charge to a lumbering trot, snorting his displeasure loudly, foam dripping from his muzzle. Finn took a long look at the sharp tips on the bull’s horns and was quietly glad he’d decided to comply in the end.
Now that the bull was cooperating, Finn had no trouble herding him back toward his buddies. Indy jogged toward him on her horse as he watched the micky bull trot up and join the growing group of cattle headed toward the camp, just over the next rise.
“Good work. Thanks.” Indy’s horse propped to a standstill beside him. “Sorry, Gypsy got turned around in the scrub.” She patted the brown mare’s neck. “It took us a while to bash our way out. But you seemed to have that bloody bull handled nicely.”
“No probs,” Finn replied, lifting his visor to get a better look at the woman atop her horse. Her kelpie popped up onto the pommel of her saddle and rested there, long tongue lolling from his endeavors.
She swiped a hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of ochre behind. Her light-blue Stormcloud shirt and denim jeans were also covered in a film of red dust. This woman worked hard, and it seemed she wasn’t afraid of anything. A real pro when it came to mustering and living on the land. Finn again found himself impressed. She lifted what looked to be an old-fashioned canvas water container from a small saddlebag attached to the rear of her saddle and took a long drink. Finn watched her throat work as she swigged the water. Even covered in dust, her long, graceful neck had him mesmerized.
“Want a drink?” She offered him her bag.
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.” He patted a water bottle strapped to the front tank of his bike in a leather holder.
“Your name’s Finn, right?” she asked. “Sorry, there were so many new names and faces to learn last night.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” It was true, the first night at a new camp was always full of meeting people and remembering faces. But he’d remembered her face, all right. The second he’d laid eyes on her, he’d felt as if there were an undertow pulling him toward her. Something about the flash of her dark eyes in the firelight and her gorgeous smile made it almost impossible to tear his gaze away.
Which was stupid, because he was here to do an important job. One that didn’t allow for dalliances with a woman. No matter how pretty, or how gutsy, she was.
“Just gotta get them yarded now,” she said. “See you back at camp.” Indy touched her horse’s flank and Gypsy leaped forward, away after another group of cattle who’d decided to make a break for it.
Finn watched her go. A strange thought that in another life she might’ve made a great cop suddenly flittered through his mind. With her sharp intellect and her own brand of courage, she’d make a brilliant detective. He laughed at his own stupidity before lowering his visor and taking off in a plume of dust. He wasn’t here to pick out new police recruits for his team; he was here to do a job.
Half an hour later, Finn cut the engine on his motorcycle and removed his helmet with a sigh. All the cattle were yarded. They still needed to be sorted, branded and loaded onto the big rig road trains—double-trailer trucks that took the cattle out to the nearest dockyard to be shipped out for the live trade, or sent to the slaughterhouse. But that was tomorrow’s job. He needed to wash all this dust off. But that could wait, too. Finn grabbed hisfolding chair and ambled toward the big tent in the center of the camp. The mess tent was the main hub of the camp, where everyone gathered to eat and sit and talk about their day. The amazing Stormcloud camp cook, Bindi, crafted some of the best meals he’d ever tasted. Most of the team was assembling around the campfire, which Dale, the owner’s stepson and leading hand, was building up with a couple of large logs in readiness for tonight.
The Stormcloud helicopter pilot who’d helped bring the mob in today had already returned to the lodge. Finn had learned the pilot, Aaron, was the boyfriend of one of the owner’s daughters, and was new to the task. But he thought Aaron had done a mighty fine job, if he truly was still learning the profession. He’d flown that little helicopter like a pro, dipping and swooping it close to the ground, to scare up the cattle and get them moving. He took it back to the lodge before nightfall, to refuel and sleep next to his lady.
“Helluva first day,” Dave drawled, raising his can of beer in Finn’s direction. “Did you see Carrot get charged by that angry heifer?” Dave asked with his boisterous laugh. “He jumped off Ryder to free the heifer from a tangle of wire, and she repaid him by trying to gore him,” Dave continued, sloshing beer on the ground as he waved his arms around, re-enacting Carrot’s tussle with the cow.
“Nope,” Finn replied, snagging himself a can from the cooler. The last station they’d mustered had been a dry camp, which meant no alcohol, not even one well-deserved beer after a hard day’s work. Finn understood why the rules were in place, but he was terribly glad that Stormcloud’s owner, Steve Clements, ran a slightly less military-style camp. As long as everyone drank responsibly and got out of their swags in time to put in a full day in the saddle, then Steve was lenient on his riders. Finn didn’tdoubt if anyone got too far out of line, that may well change, however.
Carrot—his real name was Hugh, but with all those freckles and shock of red hair, the nickname had been formed from an early age—appeared around the back of the mess tent and followed Finn’s lead, digging his hand into the ice for a beer. “Yeah, the bloody bitch. Lucky her horns were just starting to grow in, or she would’ve stuck me like a squealing pig.”
“I’m pretty sure Ididhear you squeal like a pig,” Dave shot back.
“Nah, mate, you were hearing things,” Carrot retorted. “Or else it was Indy screaming, because she was worried about me.”
Indy must still be up at the yards and so wasn’t around to defend herself. The men bantered back and forth between themselves while Finn took a few long swallows of his beer.
Finn had joined Dave and Carrot two months ago. They ran their own contract mustering business, and it’d been just the two of them for the past three years. But they’d been in high demand due to the good season last year, leading to high cattle numbers, and they’d needed someone to join their venture. Finn had been extra keen to get in with this pair; his research showed they worked well together, had no outstanding warrants, and weren’t heavy drinkers. He may have stretched the truth about his experience working with horses and cattle to get the job, but he was a fast learner, and he did have some experience working as a jackaroo, even if it’d been nearly ten years ago. They didn’t even mind that he preferred to ride a motorcycle. They owned a fleet of horses themselves, but it wasn’t hard for Finn to procure a used cross-country dirt bike that was up to the task.
