Page 30 of Rough Stock

‘But you’ve spoken to Ginny. What do you think?’

Lydia tapped her chin, then patted down her hair, and tidied up her paperwork.

Izzy knew enough about body language to read the signs. ‘What is it, Lydia?’

Lydia blinked at Izzy as if busted for doing something wrong.

‘Izzy and I won’t say anything. It’ll just be between us.’

‘It had to be an inside job, someone who knew the layout of the paddocks and the cattle. And before you ask, I’ve been watching for any bull calves coming through on the trucks. All of us have.’

‘Were there any new companies making deliveries or pick-ups?’ Izzy asked.

‘Just the same locals from the same cattle stations.’

‘Was there anyone asking about the rough stock in the last few months? Anyone with ties to the rodeo? It would have to be someone with a special skill set to work with that kind of bull.’ Ginny bred rodeo bulls to be big and mean, trained to jump and twist like overgrown puppies in a playground. And they played rough—hence the classification of rough stock.

She tugged on an earlobe.Focus

‘Good point, Izzy.’ Craig shuffled in his seat, as he put his near-empty coffee cup on Lydia’s desk. ‘They weren’t regular stockmen. They’d have to know how to handle high-value bulls, especially bucking bulls.’

‘Which should narrow down the field of potential suspects, in a town filled with stockmen in the heart of cattle country?’ She hoped.

Craig shook his head. ‘The problem is, I know plenty of stockmen who know their bull ropes.’

Lydia sat up in her seat. ‘Oh, that reminds me, are you still making those bull ropes, luv?’

Craig shrugged.

Izzy butted in because she didn’t want to talk about ropes. ‘Does everyone ride bucking bulls around here?’

‘No. I mean, yes. Almost every stockman does it at least once in their career. But then you get the regulars, like Craig… Talking about rodeo riders, I did hear that Dane Carter sold his land, and quit as head stockman out at Grainger’s property.’

‘Who told you that?’ Craig’s face became sullen. All traces of humour gone.

‘Grainger. He was in here complaining about Dane quitting on him, leaving him high and dry for the mustering season. If you were fit enough, I would’ve told Grainger to call you. I know he’d take you on in a heartbeat. Lots of stations would.’

‘I’m out of commission for a while.’ Craig scowled at his leg as he slumped back into his seat.

‘Who’s Dane Carter?’ butted in Izzy.

A… Um…’ Lydia hesitated, casting a wary look at Craig.

Craig’s scowl was ferociously dark. ‘An ex-bull rider, banned from the sport for cheating.’

Oooh. In-ter-es-ting. ‘So, when did Dane quit his job?’

‘Not sure. It was after the sale of his property went through. I know he was whooping it up at the pub. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Dane around much. He must have left for that holiday already.’

‘Does Red know anything?’ Craig asked Lydia.

‘Who?’ Izzy looked between Craig and Lydia for an answer.

‘GradyRedGalloway. My husband. He’s got this big red bushman’s beard, he has.’ Lydia scooped up a picture frame from her desk to show a portrait of her and her husband. ‘I asked Red already about what happened to Ginny’s bull. He said it’d have to be an inside job. Everyone says the same.’ Lydia gently put the frame back, then leaned her forearms on the desk. ‘The thing is, I know Ginny doesn’t hire anyone. It’s always been family who worked for them. Just her boys. And they’re good boys, who are always polite when they come through here. I wish I knew something, for Ginny’s sake.’

‘Me too,’ said Craig. ‘But if you hear anything, can you call Finn?’

‘I’d hate to impose on a fella like that. Not when I haven’t met him, you know.’ Lydia shyly fiddled with her necklace. ‘He looks so mean.’

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