‘Just wanted you lot to hear it from me first.’Her voice carried through the yard, her stance tall, looking twenty years younger from when he’d last seen her.
‘I’m reopening Dixby Downs.Don’t have any family left worth bothering with, so I’ve decided it won’t just be a station anymore—it’ll be a stockman’s school.A place where the next generation can learn from the last.Maybe even somewhere for future Stock Squad members to come from.’
Porter hadn’t expected that, Tilly thinking about the next generation.Not when he’d stood beside Tilly as she buried her son, dry-eyed, gripping that cane of hers, mumbling about how she wished she could have done more to help her son.
Maybe this was her way of doing just that.A second chance, not for her, but for kids who needed direction and a shot at something better.
He glanced at Amara and spotted the flicker of pride in her smile.Even the heavily inked Finn gave a rare nod, the kind that said more than words ever could.
But then Tilly’s expression tightened, and so did the grip on her tall cane.‘I’m truly sorry that they used Dixby Downs as a way station for stolen stock.There’s nothing worse than having livestock stolen on ya.So, I have to give something back to the community.’
‘You don’t need to—’
‘It’s done.’She waved a hand, cutting Porter off.‘Just so you know, I’ve roped in the Station Hand, who’s keen as mustard.Ron will run it like a headmaster.And those retired stockmen out at the Lodge?They’re sick of watching grass grow and are itching for a taste of yard dust again.’
Craig glanced at Stone and Porter, who both shrugged.
‘They’re retired,’ Craig said carefully.
‘Aren’t they too—’
Tilly’s cane cut the air, thumping down on one of the metal rails, narrowly missing Stone’s nose.
‘They’ve still got stories to tell, and plenty of skills to pass on, and this will give them a reason to get up in the morning again.And I want you lot keeping an eye on the place, too—make sure everything’s aboveboard.’Tilly turned to nod at Izzy.
‘Here, this is for you.’Izzy handed Amara a folder.
‘What’s this?’
‘The permits,’ Tilly said.‘Just gotta hassle the fella who does the permits to let them banteng stay on.Can’t catch him, never in the office.’
Porter grinned at Tilly, bulldozing bureaucracy like it was a fallen fencepost.
‘But it’s signed and all official, so we can give that mob of wild banteng a home.I heard they do good on the weeds.And what’s not branded or has an unrecognisable brand in the cattle, they can stay.The Station Hand will take over.’
Amara passed the paperwork to Porter.‘Your job, not mine.’
‘So...you’re taking the banteng?And the buffalo?’Holding the paperwork, he wasn’t sure what Tilly would do with them.Hell, Porter didn’t know whathewas doing.Yet he was about to saddle up for his first ride on a horse he owned, that didn’t even have a name yet.
Deadset.He was living some kind of cowboy dream.
‘D’ya need me to spell it out for ya?’Tilly glared up at him, but her lips curled to fight the smile.She looked so much lighter without that dark cloud across her face anymore.
And all he could do was smile back at the lady.
Tilly then waved at the stock.‘But them brumbies have gotta go.Simple.They’re not stayin’ here.’
‘We have to sort through them, first,’ said Amara.‘There are some fine-looking branded horses among them.’
‘Whatever.They get gone.My husband, lord rest his soul, never liked ‘em.He made me promise to never have ‘em on this land.We grow fodder for the herd, not for the ferals.’
‘That’s fair,’ muttered Finn, with Cowboy Craig nodding beside him, like typical stockmen, where cattle came first.
Before Amara could protest, Porter stepped up.‘The local ranger runs a private reserve just for brumbies,’ he said.‘She’ll take them where they’ll be safe.’
Amara shot Porter a questioning look, probably wondering if he was playing dumb.He wasn’t.Truth was, a few weeks ago, he’d barely known a fetlock from a forelock, and still had a lot to learn.But he was getting there—thanks to her.
‘Right, then.That’s sorted.’Tilly gave a sharp nod.‘I’ve got more paperwork to sign.’
