‘Who owns the stockyards?’Somebody had to be making money on the place.And Finn knew Tanisha and Porter would love to know.‘I know it’s a trust.’
‘Um…’ Lydia hesitated.
‘God, does,’ replied Brodie.
‘You’re not old enough to know the publican,’ scolded Lydia.
The kid grinned.‘I’m not allowed in the front bar of her pub, either.But I do know Samantha owns the place.She just doesn’t tell anyone.Let’s them all think it’s Lydia, who doesn’t tell anyone, and so Red acts like he does.’Brodie grimaced.‘Sorry, Lydia.For the crack over Red.’
But she shooed it away.
‘I’ve never seen Samantha near the place,’ mumbled Finn.
‘She doesn’t visit,’ said Lydia.‘I go and see her at the pub if I have an issue.Other than that, Samantha never interferes.She’s the perfect business partner, really.’
‘But she does visit.’Brodie grinned like he was sitting on the secret of the century.‘All the time.’
‘When?’
‘Samantha brings me over a hot meal, some sweets from the kitchen, and a few scratched soda cans she reckons she can’t sell in the pub.But there’s nothing wrong with ‘em.’
‘When?’
‘Late at night, on Train Days.When the yards are full of stock, we’ll sit on the rails, chat, and eat.That’s how I know.She asks me about the stock numbers.And she’s real good with numbers.Samantha even taught me a trick or two on workin’ stuff out in my head.’Brodie tapped the side of his temple.
‘You’ve always been good with numbers.’
‘Thanks to Samantha.’
‘Are you saying the publican gives you private maths lessons?’Finn arched an eyebrow at the kid, who he knew was getting tips from Izzy to help him read and write.But this?
‘Yeah.’Again, Brodie nodded, with that cheesy grin shining under his bruises.‘Samantha scratches the figures out in the yard’s dirt like some schoolteacher—just prettier.Only she explains it all in beer and bush stuff.Like how many jerry cans you need to fuel a road train from town to Darwin.Or how many litres fit in a water tank for a couple hundred head?Or how to work out the time and distance on a roll of barbed wire to fence a yard.That sort of maths.Stuff I can see and use.’
‘Where?When?’demanded Lydia.
‘All under the floodlights with the cattle watchin’ on, while I’m scoffin’ tucker like a crow on the rail on Train Days.’
‘Is that why you’ll hold back on some of your maths assignments?’
‘Only the tough ones, coz Samantha helps me understand them.’
Finn wiped away the grin.‘Damn, Brodie.Don’t let the other stockmen hear that—they’ll either get jealous, or they’ll all be lining up for maths lessons in the bulldust from God herself.’
Brodie then leaned closer, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret with Lydia.‘I know Samantha doesn’t like to interfere.But she told me that as the boss you can make it bigger, hire more staff.You’ve been doing it for thirty-five years, and that you’re doing a great job.And if God is saying that, I’m agreeing.’
Lydia lay back, sinking into her pillow, and closed her eyes for a moment.‘She’s a clever young woman, that one, and I don’t think she’s even made thirty, you know…’
‘She’s not that old, is she?’Brodie’s nose wrinkled.
Finn shrugged.‘I was brought up to never ask a lady’s age.’
‘Good response.’Lydia nodded.‘Samantha first offered me the lease over six years ago, when the old manager retired, and every year since.But I always said no…’
‘Because you didn’t think you could?When we can all see you’re doing it now,’ said Brodie.
‘Because…’ Lydia paused.
‘Of Red,’ said Finn, blunt as ever.
