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“How’s the planning for the muster going?” Ryan asked.
“Muster? You’ve started to plan it?” Stacey piped up.
I was sweating. My mind reeled. From Rosie’s failed engagement to musters and plans from the farm. Dinner tonight was several serves of whiplash with a side of roast.
With a sprinkle of boudoir photo shoots as well.
“Not yet,” I said hastily. “But I will.”
Talk of boudoir shoots and Charlotte asking if I’d sent photos of me in my underwear had sent my brain into overdrive.
Oh Charlotte, your uncle has sent many photos not involving his underwear.
I made a mental note to clean up my phone’s photo albums in case Charlotte borrowed it to play a game but instead got an eyeful of Little Tom.
But a boudoir photo shoot was next level over a quick dick pic in response to a sext request. How would Rosie have posed? How did she express her sensuality and sexuality?
Christ on a cheese platter with cabanossi.I couldn’t think about this. My blood was pumping red hot.
I blinked and found Ryan glaring, which was just another Sunday at our house, really. “I mean, I have started planning the muster. Rough notes. I’d like a separate meeting, not make Sunday dinner a work discussion. You included, Stace. Need to lock in the shearing contractors on the dates.”
Stacey smiled and then focussed on her meal. It was so good to see her eating properly, thank god. She’d stopped eating for a while after Dad died. We’d all rallied around her, doing our best while dealing with our own grief.
After the recent fire and being in hospital last month, I couldn’t help but worry that she might fall into depression again and not eat. Thankfully, she’d regained her appetite after the loss of Granny Lynn. She was thriving with a new business after completing a design course online. And she was very happy being with Harry, the new doctor. I couldn’t help but smile.
“Before I forget, Chooky Anderson called about a new pup.” I chanced a look at Ryan, judging how he’d react to getting a new dog. “Name’s Ruby. Chooky reckons she’s a good dog for the muster.”
“Oh yeah?” Ryan didn’t look up from his dinner plate.
“Yeah, she’s a kelpie pup from good blood lines down south.”
“Got papers to prove it? And how much? Good dogs are not cheap.”
I dodged one of his questions. “Chooky says he’s got the papers. Haven’t seen them yet.”
I couldn’t focus on farm dogs. Guilt gnawed at me.
I demanded to know at Granny Lynn’s funeral if Rosie was happy. I hadn’t see any happiness in her eyes that day, but now, looking at her across the dining table, she was at peace. A little sad but relieved and, yes, genuinely happy.
Ryan gave up on musters and dog talk and put his knife and fork down, finished. “I didn’t ask where Harry and Stuart are today.”
“Stuart has been on Scotland time all weekend with meetings for the distillery. He’s on a video call for a couple of hours, I’m afraid. I’ll save him some dinner for later.”
“And reporting for Doctor Cain,” Stacey piped up. “Harry was asked to do an overnight shift at the hospital and won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”
While Amanda shared more news about the distillery and Scotland, I leant towards Rosie over the table.
“You’re welcome to check out Son of Hades’ burrow under the shearers’ quarters while you’re here.”
Rosie blinked and stared, saying nothing.
“I mean, if you’re interested. With your research and stuff.”
Rosie blinked again. “I will.”
“Cool.” I coughed. “Okay.”
A log in the fireplace shifted, sending up embers.
