It most certainly wasn’thisidea.Absolutely not.
And if she kept telling herself that enough times, she might start believing it.
She wiped down her auditor’s shirt with crisp precision, checked her hair was still neatly pinned, make-up on point.Still her.Still in control.
Yet Finn still took up unnecessary space in her head.The way he looked at her.The way he didn’t.And the way his jaw had clenched when she’d tossed that line about biting back.
Finn Wilde waseverythingshe couldn’t stand.Cocky.Closed-off.Infuriatingly hot in that sun-scorched, inked-up, ex-con kind of way.
Bringing down his squad was what she’d been ordered to do, and she’d do it cleanly, professionally, and by the book.
The hostility she was getting wasn’t new either.She was used to being considered the enemy, usually because those she dealt with were villains themselves.And the angrier they got, the more they treated her like the enemy, the clearer it was that she was doing her job right.
But this time… the job felt different.Less like justice, and somehow more like she was betraying the good guys.But her boss wouldn’t send her here if there wasn’t an issue, and it was her job to push past the niceties for their secrets.
In between shopping for new clothes, she’d picked up a few tips thanks to the pub’s yardie, Billy, and the Outback Mafia—four card-playing retirees who hung out at the hardware store and handed out gossip like currency.
One of them warned her about her next interviewee.Another offered her a tango lesson, complete with a wink and tips on how to handle the town’s wandering water buffalo.They were the ones who told her to wear boots and jeans—notFinn—pointing her toward the feed store that was part of the hardware store, which sold clothes, hats, and animal feed, with farmers driving through, filling the back of their utes with bags of chicken feed, and large slabs of dog food.
While she was in the change room trying on jeans, Speedy—the fast-talking cashier with a softball glove strapped to her hand—was out front yakking nonstop.Something about her softball team, the Stock Squad, and a dozen people Taryn had never heard of, all while tracking down her missing receipts.But the gossip was good.
So, after that visit with the locals, and a few strategic purchases, she was better prepared to tackle her time at Elsie Creek.
She started the morning off by carrying a bunch of chrysanthemums to greet Cecil.It really was the sweetest thing hand feeding a buffalo, with the manners of a labrador.
She’d then slid a catnip growing kit onto Tanisha’s desk for her feisty felines.The label promisedHappy Cats, Happy Humans, so it was worth the gamble.Hoping her strategy, was enough of a bribery-type gift to raise eyebrows the right way, in what Taryn liked to call diplomacy.
And now she was ready to interview the next member of the Stock Squad.
Stone Kipp.
Who was ten minutes late.
When he finally showed up, there was no apology.No excuse.Just a gust of hot air, filled with pure ego, as Stone Kipp strolled into the interview room, with the swagger of someone who thought he was the Stock Squad’s rock star.
‘Alright, what do I call you?’He dropped into the chair opposite her.‘Hayes?Fed?Destroyer of Dreams?’
Taryn looked up from her notes.‘I respond to ma’am if you’re scared.’
Stone grinned.‘Nah.Scared is not in my vocabulary.’
‘That explains the job of hugging it out with crocodiles.’
‘And the helicopter.And the beer deliveries.And the time I accidentally airlifted a goat.’
‘Is that in the records?’
‘If it gets me a pay rise, sure.’
She clicked her pen and flipped to his file—or rather, the thin collection of invoices and loose paperwork that passed for it.‘You weren’t officially interviewed for this position.’
‘That’s because I wasn’t officially hired.Finn tapped me on the shoulder and shouted me a beer at the pub and asked if I liked chaos.I said, only if it comes with altitude.’He leaned forward and tapped on the table.‘That’sal-titude, notat-titude.’
‘Shame,’ she said, not looking up from her notes.‘You seem overqualified for one and tragically burdened by the other.’
Stone let out a low whistle.‘Well, hell, don’t you have some claws?I like that.Romy will love that, too.’
‘Romy has my sympathy.’
