‘Stone would…’ The prick.‘I never realised how big this place was.The view from the station is deceiving.’She nodded in the direction of the police station that stood just on the other side of the railway line and outback highway.‘How big are these stockyards?’
‘Brodie, you tell her.’
‘Um, as the major hub of this here cattle country, the Elsie Creek Stockyards sit on eighty acres.We’ve got holding pens, sorting yards, plus the loading docks for both road trains and trucks, through to the train carriages.There’s the auction area, quarantine yards, feeding stations, and parking bays, where some days, like today, there are never enough places to park.’Brodie pointed to the road trains lining both sides of the highway.
‘These stockyards are bigger than the town.’Amara glanced at the sturdy steel fencing, the assorted loading ramps, and connecting water troughs.It was not only more complex, but it was easily ten times larger than the livestock auctions she’d seen as a kid.
‘They handle tens of thousands of cattle per year,’ explained Craig.‘There are days, like today, where the population of livestock outnumbers the people thirty times over.’
‘And Lydia manages all of this?’
‘The paperwork side of it, yeah.’Brodie nodded.‘Lydia’s a legend.’
‘You are too, in knowing where everything is in this place.’Again, Craig patted the teenager’s shoulder.
‘Yeah, I am, huh.’The kid grinned wide, then pointed at the last yard that faced the open outback.‘Here we are, lot 728.’
Her hand gripped the warm rail as she peered into the fenced holding yard.‘No way…’
A steel-grey stallion stood in the yard, its powerful frame shifting restlessly with dark legs, a long, silver-flecked mane, and eyes that held a fierce intelligence in them.This wasn’t just a horse—it was a prince.
‘Damn.Now that’s a horse.’Craig poked up the brim of his hat.
‘Prettiest horse I’ve ever seen.’Brodie opened the gate, letting them inside.‘He’s real friendly, too.’Pulling out a sugar cube from one of his pockets, he held it out and the steel grey ever so delicately ate out of his palm.
‘Has anyone else looked at him?’Amara curled her fingers, as if fighting the need to stroke the horse’s coat.
‘Nah.A few peeked over.But he’s not a stockhorse and this mob only wants stockhorses.This isn’t a stockhorse, is he?’he asked Craig.
‘No.That’s a… Amara?’
‘He’s a Thoroughbred cross Criollo.’He was a Rolls-Royce among the land of utes, who was just beautiful.
No longer able to resist, Amara stroked his steely grey coat, so smooth and glossy but wintry thick.
‘He may be pretty,’ said Craig, ‘but a horse like that out here, the heat will hurt him in the summer.It’s why stockmen only take stockhorses, that are tough enough to handle the outback’s conditions.’
‘Like you’ve got with Slim, eh?’Brodie grinned at Craig.
‘I love Slim.Best stockhorse I’ve ever owned.But this… Where did this one come from?’
Brodie shrugged.‘Got here around midnight, the day before.You’ll need to see Lydia.She does the paperwork.It’ll be in that box Finn’s carrying for her.’Brodie pointed to the shiny corrugated roof area that towered over the maze of stockyards, the auction area.
‘Are you interested in this one, Amara?’Craig asked.
‘Umm…’ She didn’t dare hope.
No.She couldn’t.
And, yet…
‘Can you see any obvious flaws?’Amara stepped closer, her fingers curled tight.
She could be clinical.Right?Just look at this like a horse inspection, the way a rev-head checks over a prestige car that they’d never buy.She could do that.
She checked the line of his legs, feeling the bone structure, checked his hooves, eyes, ears, teeth.
Craig ran a practised hand down the horse’s legs, checking for old injuries, testing the flex of his joints.‘Strong.Good lines.No swelling...If there’s a flaw, I ain’t seeing it.’
