Then he sighed, a sign Finn was lost in his thoughts again.
She’d never met a man who was such a heavy thinker as Finn.A cop who thought in motion, always moving, pacing, and thinking.And lately drinking.
The spotlights met with swirls of red dust that made up the road.Along the sides, the lights caught the tops of fluffy leafed eucalyptus trees as they drove deeper into the outback under the black night sky.While Porter’s car lights remained steady in the rear-view mirror.
‘I went through the auction lists for tomorrow.’
‘Hmm.’Finn’s eyes cautiously flashed her way, as if trying to keep himself awake.
‘There’s a horse, sir…’
‘Stockhorse?’
‘No, sir.A Thoroughbred cross Criollo.’
Finn shrugged.‘Not a stockhorse then.’
‘Definitely not.’She shook her head as she gripped the steering wheel.‘That’s an elite Argentine polo bloodline.And for a horse like that, it’s going cheap.’
‘Have you got a horse?’
‘I used to.’
‘Can’t keep a horse at the pub, unless you use the stables next door.’
Those weren’t stables, they were more of a holding yard for rugged stockhorses, not pedigrees.‘Do you have a horse?’
‘I did.Now I have lots of horsepower made of steel.’He leaned his head back, giving a lazy grin.
Of course, he was talking about his Harleys.And Finn had a few.
‘You like this horse, huh?’
She shrugged, desperate to keep her breath even, her grip loose, and her posture straight.But Finn was a smart man who could pick up the teeniest of clues from one glance at a person.She’d learned so much in the short time she’d been working for him, and did not want to mess this job up.
‘You should buy it then,’ he said with his eyes shut.
She swung her head fast to gawk at him.How did he know?Was he suddenly telepathic?
‘Hit up Craig for agistment, until you find somewhere else to live.’
‘But—’
‘You can’t live at the pub forever, Constable.’
You can’t drink at the pub like this every night either, sir!
But she bit her tongue.
Only to defend herself.‘Living at the pub is handy for work.It’d be even better if there were officer’s quarters at the station.’
‘Hmph.Don’t make my mistakes, Constable.Get a life outside the job.And if this horse has your attention…’ He inhaled deeply, as if dropping off to sleep.
She drove the rest of the way in silence, cruising down the dirt driveway to the small house with a side verandah that doubled as a carport.
Porter lit up the front door with his police wagon’s roof-mounted spotlights, so Amara could open it—while Porter had the pleasure of dragging the behemoth inside.
‘Typical.’A massive Harley motorcycle, in various stages of repair, sat on a tarp in the middle of the living room.
