Page 32 of Rough Stock

‘I don’t have a hat yet.’

‘We’ll fix that soon enough, Izzy.’ Craig winked at her, making her all warm inside. Yet, she knew he was hurting, the way he stepped away from that vest as if it was contaminated.

‘So what else do you make, Lydia?’ She didn’t want the poor woman’s feelings to get hurt when she’d gone to so much trouble for Craig.

‘Well, lots of leather sheaths for stockmen’s knives to slide over their belts and some customised radio halters for when they’re out mustering. They’re like a shoulder brace. Stone, one of the local crocodile wranglers, I made him some X-back trouser braces to include a radio halter. And I made that nice Policeman Porter a police belt to help him with all his police gear when he went through his first build-up, too. Oh, did you hear, Craig? Porter has just made detective. That postmistress, Tess, blew her chances on that man. I warned Tess, I told her Porter was going to be quite the catch one day, even her grandmother sided with me…’

Izzy had no idea who Lydia was talking about. But she held her arms up while Lydia took her body measurements. Izzy respected the skill, regularly investing in the services of a good tailor. She’d found people took her more seriously when she wore trousers to court than skirts, and honestly, she felt sexier in trousers and her braces.

Case in point… Craig’s gaze dragged slowly over Izzy’s body as she held her arms up, back straight, and chest out. His eyes lingered over her chest, then up to her lips and stayed. ‘Lydia made me my saddlebags.’ He licked his lips while staring at Izzy’s lips. ‘And belt, and this hatband, and my vest…’ Didn’t that kill his smile, dragging his attention back to the black leather vest he’d left lying on the desk.

‘Do you still do bull ropes, Craig?’ Lydia had the tape measure in one hand, pencil in the other. All that was missing were bobby pins and chalk.

‘I do. Why?’

‘I’ve got a few fellas who’d like some.’

‘What ropes are you talking about?’ Izzy had heard them mentioned twice now.

‘Bull ropes. Craig makes these specialised ropes that rodeo riders use to hold on to the beast.’

‘Only for a few friends.’ Craig shrugged.

‘I think you should sell them. I’d be happy to display them on the board with my stockwhips and belts.’ Lydia pointed to a noticeboard that stood beside the door.

‘How do you manage to sell belts in here?’ It was an office in a stockyard at the back of an outback train station, not a store.

‘You should come here on train day, luv. It’s jam-packed with road-train drivers, stock inspectors, stock agents, and stockmen all wanting to sell, ship, or buy livestock. While they wait, they’ll buy a new belt, or order a radio harness, custom made, of course.’ Lydia finished the measurements, then looped the tape measure around her neck. ‘Muster season, gotta love it.’ Lydia made a stabbing motion with her pencil as if making a big dot on the page and smiled. ‘And we’re all done, luv. Gimme a week and you can come and collect it.’

‘Do you want a deposit?’ Izzy rummaged in her bag for her purse.

Lydia pressed her hand against Izzy’s, stopping her. ‘All good, luv. Consider it a welcome to Elsie Creek prezzie. This town could do with a new face, and a lawyer, too.’ Rolling up her tape measure, Lydia paused to frown. ‘Otis, our town lawyer, should have retired years ago. He’s more interested in watching re-runs ofDays of our Livesin his undies, than lawyering.’

‘I watch reality shows or documentaries about mushrooms, and I named my house plant Brian.’ It was a confession she didn’t mean to make. Only to inhale sharply in preparation for the rebuttal.

Lydia patted her heart and smiled so widely her eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, I’m a glutton for that show where they dump celebrities on an island and see if they can survive. And I have a fern called Nigel. He keeps me company in my leatherwork room at home.’

Now she really wanted to hug Lydia like that fun aunt, who didn’t make Izzy feel so weird.

‘Come on, time to go. Lydia’s a busy lady.’ Craig gave Lydia a peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you for fixing my vest, Lydia.’ He’d given it to Izzy to carry. It was heavier than she’d expected.

‘All good, luv. Just remember, you can drop a dozen of your bull ropes in next week when you pick up Izzy’s trouser braces.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Outside, Izzy slid on her sunglasses as Lydia waved them off. ‘Lydia’s lovely.’

‘She’s like everyone’s mother of the stockyards.’ He hobbled towards the ute.

‘Hey, Craig?’ A lanky-legged teenager waved his hat at Craig as he rushed over in dirty shirt and jeans. ‘Are you back on the job?’

‘I’m still recovering, mate.’ Craig tapped his aluminium crutch.

‘I’m real sorry about what happened. But I had to give you this.’ The kid thrust some rope into Craig’s hands. ‘It’s yours. I picked it up, and the pieces of your leather vest after… you know, while they were taking you away in the ambulance.’

‘What is it?’ Izzy asked.

‘My bull rope.’ Craig held the thick, coarse rope with maroon splatters on it.

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