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“Did ye hear? A low pressure system is coming.” Chooky raised an eyebrow. “Could even hold snow.”
“Yeah, we’ve heard,” said Ryan, walking back to us. “But do you think they’re blowing hot air about the cold stuff, or might it actually happen? We get the same prediction every year that snow is coming. They hype it up to bring the tourists to town thinking they’ll find ski fields here.”
Chooky chuckled. “That they do. But, reckon there might be something in it. ‘Arctic blast’ they’re calling it. If we’re going to do this muster, we’ve got to get up there before the snow. Or, you’re just gonna lose your flock because they’ll freeze to death.”
“We can do it.”We absolutely needed to do it.“Got some local guys keen to help for a bit of extra cash, but I’d like your team of dogs with me.”
“Well, then, when are ye thinkin’?”
“As soon as possible, before this Arctic blast.”
Chooky sniffed and grunted. “Best I can do is to be back here in a week. And we go. That good enough?”
That was cutting it fine with the snow front on its way, but I nodded. “Lock it in.”
Chooky stuck out his hand. “I always shook on it with yer old man. And I’ll shake on it with ye, Tom.”
I cut a glance at Ryan, catching a flicker of a smile. Grandpa Cec beamed with pride.
If Chooky Anderson wanted to shake your hand, that was binding. He believed in your promise on something.
“Done deal, Chooky.” I clasped his hand and shook firmly. My first handshake as the future Turner of Turner’s Creek Station. “Done deal.”
“You boys done?” Mum called out from the veranda.
“Yeah, Mum. Meet Ruby,” Ryan called back.
“Well, bring Ruby and the rest of you over for some tea and a bite to eat.”
Chooky looked delighted, and Grandpa Cec was keen to gossip a little while longer.
After settling everyone on the veranda with tea, biscuits and fresh sandwiches, Mum held up a shopping bag. “Rosie left a few things in her room. Would you mind running them over to the Zanettis shortly?”
I stared at the bag dangling from Mum’s finger. “Surely Amanda could—”
“Busy.”
“Maybe Stacey on her way to work—”
“Can’t. She’s installing curtains for a client in Stanmore this week.”
“Maybe Ryan—”
“Thomas Benjamin Turner. Take the bag and deliver it to Rosie.”
I sighed and took the bag, surprised it was heavier than expected, and looked inside. There was a cloth-bound square book, along with underwear and a tee shirt.
“Her boudoir photo book is in there, too. Deliver it directly to Rosie. Do not give that to her mother. Or father. Just her. Understand?”
“Got it.”
“And report back on how things are over there.”
“Things?”
“Yes. Things, Tom.” Mum rolled her eyes. “The fallout of the awards night and her engagement break-up. Please. Just check to see she’s okay and how her parents are.”
“Yeah, of course.”
