Amara shrugged.
‘So, how did you end up at Elsie Creek?’Taryn asked.
Amara paused, the nostalgia perhaps softening her pose.‘I didn’t even know this town existed until Finn told me we were heading here.It was my first time in the Northern Territory, too.But he’d been called in over some stolen stock at Elsie Creek Station…’ she trailed off, brow furrowing.‘Huh.I only just realised it was Bree who called him.That’s why we hauled interstate, taking turns to drive nonstop, except for fuel and food, to get here in record time, too.’
Taryn lifted her head.‘Who called?’
‘Bree.Finn’s ex-wife.She’s a blacksmith, who runs the local stock brand register.But back then she’d been accused of cattle theft by the station owners, the Riggs brothers, and Finn came to help.’
Taryn made a note.‘Did he now?’Her voice was level, but internally—ah, hello… Ex-wife.Cattle theft.A road trip for justice.
How noble.
‘Sounds like a personal call,’ she added casually.
‘Finn didn’t see it that way.Because the stock theft—it was a big one.And it mattered.’Amara leaned closer, the excitement in her voice.‘We’re talking eighty head worth close to a million dollars.Prime stock, tied to an illegal fighting pit that Finn and Marcus shut down in one hit.It was a big enough win for Finn to take back to the Commissioner to ask for a bigger team and a permanent posting.Here…’ She patted the table.‘At Elsie Creek.’
‘Why here?’Was it the ex-wife, perhaps?Especially if Finn had hauled butt to the other side of the country like that.
‘The Northern Territory Police don’t have a stock squad—though they should.Cattle is the second biggest industry out here, after mining.And Elsie Creek is the heart of it, with the stockyards just across the road making it a prominent position to have as our home base.’Amara pointed in the direction of the yards.‘Plus, the people in this place made it possible.They’re happy to have us here, and they’ll help if you’re here for therightreasons.’Amara’s look was sharp enough to draw blood.
There it was.The territorial warning wrapped in rural diplomacy.
Taryn offered a cool smile.‘And your position?Surely it came with a set of duties?’
‘No.’Amara shook her head.‘The job evolves all the time.There are no set duties and no set hours.Sure, there may be long days from sunset to sunrise, but seeing it stretch over the outback is… special.’She sighed again, this time with her posture softening.‘Knowing I’ve done the paperwork to send that prized stolen stallion home makes it all worth it.’Amara’s mouth curved slightly to surprise Taryn.
‘You know he called you his paperwork queen?’
Amara blinked a few times, shifting in her seat.‘He did?’
‘High praise, coming from a guy like Finn.’
Amara leaned back, arms crossing just slightly.‘Finn never says much.And he thinks on the move.Even when he can’t move, he’ll follow the lines on a map like he’s moving to think.But when he shares his plan… it counts.Finn does great work.He’s tough, fair, precise and I’ve learned a lot from him these past eighteen months.Even though the Stock Squad has only been officially running for a year, I hope it continues to serve in the long-term future.’
Constable Amara Montrose wasn’t just loyal, she wasearned loyalty.A young officer with a quiet strength.Smart.Focused.And clearly capable of corralling more than just paperwork.The constable loved her job and respected her boss by the bucketloads—and that was rare.
Taryn clicked her pen closed, sitting back.‘One last question.’
Amara tilted her head as if ready for the worst.
Taryn pulled out a crumpled set of fuel dockets, held together by a rogue paperclip that may have been made from fencing wire.‘Any chance the paperwork queen can help me decipher these?’She slid them across the table.‘Someone labelled one just:Fuel for the Hellhound.And this one:snacks and sand for therodeo tanks.’
Amara smiled, for real this time.‘That’d be Cowboy Craig.He likes to play on words.’
Five
Craig Callahan didn’t knock.
But he had Taryn’s attention the second he strolled into the interrogation room, like it was the back verandah of a cattle station, complete with dust on his jeans.Deeply suntanned, he had his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows.His champion rodeo buckle caught the light, drawing attention to places no self-respecting federal investigator should be looking.
He dropped into the chair opposite, tipping back his white cowboy hat in a way that cleverly haloed his sun-kissed curls, sky-blue eyes, and a smile so white it practically needed a licence to shine.
Well audit me sideways!This was Craig Callahan?
Cowboy.Rodeo champion.And a walking HR violation in boots.
Taryn cleared her throat, forcibly reminding herself she was here to audit.Not ogle.
