Stone, with his dry humour and smart mouth, made the hours fly, literally.She never knew if he was flirting with the world or just rich-boy bored, but he was sharp, fun, and impossible to hate.
Then there was Cowboy Craig, with his old-school country charm, who made her think that maybe the cowboy cliché had some merit.
You then had Romy who saw everything through her camera, the way the dust danced on a sunbeam in the window like it was all part of a magical realm—reminding Taryn that perspective was a choice, all in the way you looked at things.
And Amara, the Tiny Titan, with all her rules and steel nerves to do right, was finally growing her wings.Taryn couldn’t help but be a little proud to watch the constable develop every day.
Of course, she couldn’t forget Tanisha.How she’d raise her cactus mug, complaining about another cake left on the large muster table, because the hospital staff were on diets again.
There were the casual conversations over coffee made by Porter, where even the OIC, Senior Sergeant Marcus Moore, made a show of quizzing her on some legalities and budgets for his own station.
And Finn…
Finn who grunted more than he spoke.The man who didn’t trust easily, made mud for coffee, and preferred rolled maps than put faith in a GPS.The guy who’d checked under the hood of the old wagon, and put air in the tyres, before letting her drive it out of the police yard.
She was meant to shut Finn and the team down.All of it.Instead, she’d been standing shoulder to shoulder with him.
This place wasn’t just changing how she worked.It was changinghow she feltabout the work.Suddenly, her job didn’t look like justice anymore.It looked like paperwork that carried the expectation of ticking off KPIs.Following protocols designed by people who wouldn’t even know that Elsie Creek existed, who weren’t out for justice only results on a spreadsheet.
Bree watched with sharp green eyes and said softly, ‘It gets in, doesn’t it?The dust and the people who live here.But also the truth starts to reveal the story you didn’t come looking for.’
Taryn didn’t answer.Not when the ache in her chest said enough.
In the distance there was the unmistakable crunch of tyres on gravel coming down the drive.
It was the troopy.
‘And here comes Mr Panic himself.’Bree rolled her eyes.
Finn’s troopy skidded to a stop out front.The driver’s door flung open before the engine had finished dying.
‘Bree!What are you doing here?’Carrying a brown paper bag and a tray of takeaway coffees, Finn stormed inside like he expected to find a hostile hostage situation.His gaze snapped from the kitchen bench, to the Harley commanding space in the living room, then to Taryn standing beside Bree, like he was checking for damage.‘You’re supposed to be resting.’
Bree rolled her eyes.‘I’m not a bonsai, Finn.I don’t need constant misting.’
‘You’re overdue.’
‘And so is your taste in music, but here we are.’
Finn turned to Taryn, wearing an expression that was caught between resignation and horror.‘You let her carry boxes?!’
‘I was asleep.And she threatened to burn something and blame it on hormones.’
‘That’s true,’ Bree said.‘You gonna offer me a chair, or do you want my water to break on your floor?’
‘Here…’ Finn shoved the coffees and food at Taryn to escort Bree to a chair.‘Sit.I can scrounge up a pillow.Water?Food?’
‘Just show me that photo you couldn’t send before the cavalry arrives.’
‘Fine…’ He scrolled open the phone and handed it to Bree.
Taryn had to peek over their shoulders.‘What is it?’
‘I’ll explain later.’Finn dismissed her, while hovering over Bree as if she was made of fragile crystal.
Bree zoomed in on the image on the phone’s screen.
It was a picture of a young man in a stockman’s hat, with the dust baked so deep into his tanned skin, it might’ve been holding him together.Nicotine-yellowed fingers curled around a smouldering, hand-rolled cigarette.Eyes a pale blue, almost grey, but full of that quiet, unsettling bush wisdom.
