Page 8 of Rough Stock

Bree nodded. ‘I never realised how much Charlie’s passing affected Craig until he got on that bull.’

‘I know Craig loved Charlie. He was like a father to Craig.’

‘But I do know Charlie would be as thrilled as I am that you’re back home.’ Bree gave Izzy’s arm another tender squeeze. ‘So, I brought out a bush bassinet for the boy.’

‘A what?’

‘Camp bed, as per Craig’s request. But I also brought food and other goodies.’ Boxes of fresh fruit and vegetables filled the front seat, but when Bree slid open the van’s side door, boxes of cooking utensils, pot plants, and food jars crammed the back.

‘How did you know?’ It truly felt like an orphan’s Christmas with enough goodies to fill an empty farmhouse kitchen.

‘I’ve been here a few times with Charlie. Trust me, you’ll need it if you’re staying.’

‘I’ll pay you for this.’

‘No, you won’t.’ Bree dropped a large box of cooking utensils into Izzy’s arms. ‘You can give it back or pass it on to someone else when you’re done. I’m just glad you’re back.’

‘I’m just—’

‘Shh.’ Bree cut her off. ‘For the moment, let’s pretend you’re back. Craig needs you, even though he won’t admit it.’

‘Only until Craig has recovered.’

Bree plonked a hand on one hip. ‘Listen up, Einstein, Craig never recovered.’

‘What?’ Izzy scuffled to a standstill in the dust as she realised what Bree meant. Had leaving Craig hurt him that much? How was that possible? When Craig was the one who’d pushed her out the door.

‘I’ve even brought some seedlings to start that veggie garden you always wanted.’ With arms full, Bree headed to the house.

But this situation was only temporary until Izzy could fix her little life-and-death issue, or until she got the call telling her it was safe to go home, but she could hardly tell Bree that.

In the meantime, she needed to sell the house in order to get her name off the deed, to protect Craig. No one was going to buy a run-down farmhouse at top dollar, even if it was the perfect hideout for her until her situation resolved itself.

‘I didn’t order all this stuff.’ Craig frowned at the boxes being carried inside. ‘I just wanted to borrow a camp bed.’

‘Oh, please, sugarplum, I had plenty to share, and you both need this.’ Bree dumped the box on the kitchen bench, then glanced at Craig on his crutches. ‘You should get off that leg.’

‘Only if you brought me something to eat. My uninvited houseguest emptied my fridge already.’ Craig poked around the boxes on the bench, throwing her a smirk. ‘I don’t know if Izzy even knows how to cook anymore. Being a big-city lawyer, you probably live on takeout.’

‘I can cook. I’m just rusty, that’s all.’ There wasn’t much call for her to cook when she lived on a never-ending cycle of business lunches and dinners. ‘It’s been a long time since I had time to stand at a stove.’ Back in the day, they used to spend hours cooking together, side by side, trading insults and compliments over who made the better steaks or who botched the bread. But that was then. Now, all he had was a fridge full of nothing and a man she barely recognised.

‘I knew there was a reason for packing all my homegrown herbs. And I’ve got you a stack of preserved fruit and vegetables—from my garden, of course—to stock up your pantry.’ From one of the boxes, Bree held up a jar of preserved food. ‘All I ask is that you bring back the empty jars.’

‘Izzy can do that.’ Craig cracked open a jar of pickled cucumbers. The crunch was loud, with the pickled spices smelling refreshingly divine. ‘This is so good.’ Craig rolled his eyes, before pinching another one from the mason jar. ‘Now all I need is a beer.’

‘I don’t think there’s any in the house.’ Izzy shrugged.

‘What? A bloke in his own house has no beer? It’s sad is what it is.’ Even if he was trying to hide his smile, it was the first time she’d seen that smile since she’d been back.

‘Take a load off, cowboy, while Izzy and I unload the car.’ Bree took over. It’s what Bree had always done, from the moment Izzy had first met her, back when Izzy had started dating Craig.

Hanging out in the kitchen with Bree felt so familiar, as if they’d never been apart. They cooked dinner together while the conversation flowed freely, and music played in the background. Perched on his stool, Craig supervised from the other side of the kitchen counter, pinching bits of food, and adding to the conversation. It was just like old times that Izzy was truly tripling up on the dopamine today.

Long after sunset, with the dishes done and a bottle of red wine on the dining table, where tapered dinner candles flickered, Bree asked, ‘What are you going to do with yourself now, Craig?’

‘What do you mean?’ His sparkling blue eyes captured the candlelight as he focused on turning his wineglass around by the stem.

‘I’ve heard how extensive your injuries are. You can’t do rodeo anymore,’ said Bree.

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