‘What I need is to pee.And I’m starving.’
Finn smirked.‘I’ll take that as a good sign.’
Dr Mannen chuckled.‘Once you’ve eaten and had a shower, Brodie, I’ll tell the nurse to take you to see Lydia.But I will warn you, she’s still critical, and it might be confronting.That said… I think she’d like knowing you’re close.’
Finn gave a sharp nod.‘Thanks, Doc.Call me if there’s any change, yeah?’
‘Will do.And maybe you can go home and change, too.’The doc nodded at Finn’s shirt, splattered with blood.
‘Just wanted to make sure…’ Finn rubbed the back of his neck, not wanting to say that he’d been watching over Brodie’s bed, without sounding like he was babysitting the boy who was practically a man.
‘Are you taking over Brodie’s care?’the doctor asked quietly.
‘I am.Until Lydia wakes up and tells us what to do.’Finn didn’t look at Brodie when he said it.But he meant it.
Brodie, already pale, clenched the edge of the sheet.
That was the thing about this kid, he’d already learned not to ask for anything from anyone.He’d sadly learned a hard lesson, that being wanted came with terms and conditions that weren’t always favourable.
But now…
Someone else was also choosing him, too.His small circle was growing.
Brodie didn’t say a word—just reached out and grabbed the word puzzle book.His fingers curled tight around it like it was the only thing anchoring him.That if someone like Finn was willing to give Brodie a go, he might give Finn’s book a go, too.
Finn didn’t call attention to it.He just pulled a pen from his police vest and passed it over.
Brodie took it.
And then the radio crackled to life.
It was Tanisha: ‘All units, be advised: public disturbance escalating at the Elsie Creek Hotel.Requesting immediate response.Locals are gathered—agitated and aggressive.’Then it was like she’d leaned into the microphone and said,‘Listen, guys, the stockmen are calling for Red’s head.’
Dr Mannen’s brows lifted.‘I didn’t think the pub opened this early.’
Finn looked back at Brodie.The stockmen adored Lydia.And they hated cattle thieves.
‘No one’s opened the stockyards today.’Brodie’s voice cracked.‘Not since…’
Dammit.It was a lynch mob about to tear this town apart.
Thirty-four
Taryn stood in the pub’s front doorway, blinking at a wall of broad shoulders and wide-brimmed hats, with voices that rumbled like thunder across a storm front.Packed with wall-to-wall stockmen, drovers, ringers, station hands, even truck drivers—and it wasn’t even 7 a.m.
She recognised a few faces from the food van’s queue by the train station, men who’d nodded at her over lukewarm coffee and bacon rolls.Now they stood shoulder to shoulder, boots scuffing the floorboards, as the tension in the air thickened it could’ve cracked glass.
‘Back in my day, we’d have chained rustlers to a micky bull and let the Territory sort him out…’ muttered one guy to a huddled crew of hats.
‘Strap ‘em to an ant mound and pour a tin of black treacle over the top.Let him feel every bloody bite,’ said another man, two rows back.
‘Red knew exactly what he was doing.Turned on his own.On Lydia.That’s why she’s in the hospital,’ grunted a third group.
Taryn muscled through the wall of testosterone and tension, her suitcase doing the heavy lifting against men in long-sleeved shirts, deep suntans, and assorted wide-brimmed hats.‘Excuse me.Move… I swear, if one more elbow hits this case—’
The crowd reluctantly shifted, like she was a fly interrupting a cattle sale.
A pair of cattle dogs lounged beneath a corner table, tongues lolling, eyes half-lidded like they were unimpressed by the lot of them.One gave a single thump of its tail as she passed, the only welcome she got from all these blokes in boots.
