Arthur frowned. “Lara time?”
“Darcy’s daughter,” Sam said. “She’s ten, and if she can’t get through to you, no one can.”
Right. Sam wanted to subject some poor young girl to the cripple. “Which one is Darcy?”
“Brandon’s younger brother who stayed at the station. Brandon’s the oldest, then Darcy, then Charlie who died, then Ed who lives in Perth, and the youngest child is the only sister, Georgie.”
“I’ll stay here, thanks.”
“Not an option,” Sam replied. “I’ve already told Ames we’re coming, and she needs us to buy groceries on the way out.” Sam took a long swallow of his beer. “You don’t want to disappoint your sister, do you?”
Manipulative bastard. He shoved Sam harder than necessary. “Not fair.”
“Playing fair wasn’t getting anywhere. It’s time for a new tactic.”
“Don’t you want to see Penelope?” he asked.
“She’s busy tonight.”
Damn, Arthur had thought the mention of Sam’s new partner would work. He cracked the beer and chugged it down, studying his friend. Nope. No budging a determined Sam, and Sam had that set look on his face. If he didn’t go willingly, he’d likely find himself tackled and carried out to the car. He burped, handed Sam the empty bottle and went to get ready.
Not that he ever really would be.
By the time they reached the gate with a sign of an angry looking ram on it declaring Retribution Ridge, Arthur was regretting sculling the beer. It clashed with his pain meds, making waves in his stomach. “Pull over,” he demanded.
“We’re almost there,” Sam said.
“Pull over.” He retched and Sam swore, slamming on the brakes. Thrusting open the door, Arthur got his seatbelt off and the top half of his body out of the car before he threw up. Three waves of retching and a very strong yeasty smell followed. When it ended, Sam handed him a tissue.
“Nerves or the alcohol?”
“Both.” He shut the door again and took a deep breath.
Sam passed him a mint. “The Stokes are the best family I know. You’ll be fine.”
He fought against the compassion, the weakness. He shouldn’t need it, but Sam’s words soothed him.
“Ready?”
Arthur took a moment before he nodded, and Sam drove the remaining distance to the farmhouse.
Quaint. Slightly ramshackle, slightly hodgepodge as if it had been expanded on a whim in the distant past. His father would look down his nose at such a lack of order. His mother would have adored it. He itched to get out his notebook and sketch it.
Large shady trees grew in the fenced off garden, a feat in this dry, dusty land. Someone must have tended them lovingly to get them to grow and keep them alive.
Across from the house were a couple of large sheds and what looked to be accommodation—maybe shearers’ quarters, and behind all of that were camp sites full of caravans and tents. A small community in the middle of nowhere.
Trust Amy to find somewhere like this to put down her roots. It suited her sense of adventure.
As Sam pulled up outside the house, a blue heeler trotted down the steps to greet them. “That’s Bennett.” Sam said and the slam of his door made Arthur flinch.
Get it together. This was just dinner, not a mission where he risked his life.
His veins still thrummed with adrenaline.
Arthur cracked open the door, pushing it until it stayed in place and then lifted his prosthetic leg out. Ensuring he had a good angle, he stood and waited until his prosthesis held before he shut the door. The dog moved around the car, wagging its tail, and Arthur patted his soft, dusty fur. At least someone was happy to see him.
Sam waited for him at the base of the steps.
