‘Why not?’Taryn scrutinised the young publican.
‘The police need to show they can handle this.Because if they can’t, then everything we’re holding together out here—the law, the processes, and the peace—starts looking optional.And that’s a terrible idea in a place that is considered the last frontier, where lawlessness can thrive in the wilderness, and where rules are easily forgotten.’
Taryn realised then… Samantha wasn’t just a player at the table.Not even the dealer.
She wasthe house.
The one who set the rules, where those house rules mattered, because the housealwayswon.
In Elsie Creek, the mayor might wear the sash—but Samantha wore its dusty crown, pouring the beer, holding a kind of quiet-queen energy that kept the game honest… all while cleverly letting everyone think it was their idea to play.
Samantha was protecting the town for the good of its people.No wonder they called her God.
‘Just so you know, you’re the only badge left in town.The rest are out on a manhunt.So, I suggest you tell them that there’s a better way to handle this than spilling blood on my floor built for beer, boots, and mateship—not revenge.’
‘Me?’WTF!
Samantha just raised an eyebrow at her, like ordering Taryn to do what had to be done.
Annoyingly, the young publican was right.
‘Don’t get me banned from my beer if I do this.’Taryn had no choice.She nodded at the publican, who only grinned at her.
Taryn had never talked down an angry mob of stockmen before.But she’d walked into boardrooms with a badge, a warrant, and zero patience.
She’d made plenty of arrests with a speech to match—enough to watch those smug suits speed-dial their lawyers, while the office girls looked ready to cry, and some pimply kid by the copier turned so pale his zits passed for freckles.
Her mother once told her the trick to commanding a room full of men in uniform was to speak like you owned the mission, not just the paperwork.That it didn’t matter if they wore brass buttons or dusty jeans and stockmen’s hats—men were still men.Prone to pride, and generally allergic to being told what to do by a woman.
And right now, this room didn’t need a speech from a cop like Finn—who didn’t do speeches and would level people with a stare that saiddon’t make me talk.
Lord help her…
She took a deep breath and marched straight to the bar—because of course the bar was the stage—and, without a word, climbed on top, praying she didn’t stack on the way up and face plant into someone’s dusty boot.
A few heads turned.Someone muttered.Probably wondering if she was there to confiscate their beer or worse, shut the pub!
Wouldn’t that start a riot.
‘Well, here goes nothing…’
Taryn pulled in a breath, shoved two fingers into her mouth, and whistled so piercingly sharp it cut through the conversations like a knife.
The pub fell quiet.A chair scraped.One of the muster dogs sat up alert, tail thumping, like it knew things were about to change.
But all eyes were on her.
She scanned the crowd, offering them a dry smile.‘Ladies.Gentlemen.Stockmen.Sleepwalkers.And whoever left their saddle outside—your horse is currently blocking a Hilux.’
A few chuckles gave her a foothold with their attention.
Taryn then reached into her pocket for her badge and snapped it into place on the hip of her jeans with a crisp flick.‘I know some of you have heard of me.The Fed.’
She raised a brow, letting the silence ride for a beat.
‘Look, I’m not here to ban you from your beer or tell you how to brand a beast.I’m here because I’ve seen what this town stands for.What it fights for.And this—’ she gestured around the room of gathered hats, ‘is something worth fighting for.The people in this town.And that includes you lot.’
She made eye contact with the hard men who lived weathered lives in a pub that was this outback town’s parliament of power.The hallowed front bar that was thick with tension as if the walls were waiting for permission to breathe.
