Australian Quinns: The Mighty Quinns: Brody

They ran into a man jogging up the front steps and he stopped and pulled off his hat, glancing back and forth between Payton and Brody, before noticing their linked hands. “Hello,” he said.

“Teague, this is Payton Harwell. Payton, this is my brother Teague.”

He held out his hand and Payton was forced to let go of Brody’s to shake it. “Pleasure,” he said with a wide grin.

“She’s going to be working with the horses,” Brody said.

“Good onya,” Teague replied. “That’s where I’ll be working for the next few days. You have much experience with stock ponies?”

Payton shook her head, grateful for the welcome but worried that she might not prove herself useful. “No. But I’ve been around horses since I was six or seven. Show jumpers. But horses are horses. They all have four legs and a tail, right?”

Teague chuckled, as if pleased with her little joke. “Yeah. They usually do. So I guess I can’t give you any of our three-legged ponies.”

Payton’s eyes went wide.

“Crocs,” Teague said, a serious expression on his face. “They’ll eat the legs right off a pony if you let them. One leg we can deal with. But a two-legged stock pony just doesn’t work.”

“Oh, no,” Payton said. “That’s horrible. Can’t you—”

“Don’t be a dipstick, Teague.” Brody shook his head.

An older woman appeared at the screen door. “Doc Daley is on the phone,” she said to Teague, motioning him inside. “Says it’s an emergency and he’s tied up in surgery this afternoon.”

Teague frowned, shaking his head. “Probably another croc attack,” he said. “Another three-legged pony. Mary, have you met Brody’s new friend?”

The woman stepped out onto the porch, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. She wiped her hands on her apron, then smoothed a strand of gray hair from her temple. “Well, now. It is a pleasure to meet you, dear. I’m Mary Hastings. No matter what these Quinn boys tell you, I’m the one in charge here.”

Payton shook her outstretched hand. “Payton Harwell.”

“Ah, an American. We seem to be attracting an interesting group of ladies. First, an Irish lass and now a Yank. If you need anything, you come to me, dear. We girls have to stick together.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And don’t believe a word about those three-legged ponies. These boys get too cheeky.”

Teague grabbed Mary around the waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. “And don’t you love it? Don’t worry, Mary, you’re still my girl.”

Brody took Payton’s hand and led her off the porch. “Come on, I’ll show you the bunkhouse.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Payton said, waving at Teague and Mary.

“See ya later, Payton,” Teague called.

“When you’re settled, you come back to the kitchen for tea,” Mary called.

They walked together to the south bunkhouse, a low building set near a small grove of trees and a neatly tilled vegetable garden. “That’s Mary’s garden,” he said. “You might want to avoid walking by when she’s working. She’ll have you pulling weeds all day long.”

“She’s nice,” Payton said.

“After my mum left the station, my dad hired her. She’s kept the house running.”

“Are your parents divorced?”

He shook his head. “Nope. They’re living together in Sydney. But there was a time when they were separated, my dad here and Mum in the city. Station life is hard, especially for women.”

Payton gave him a sideways glance, wondering if he was warning her off. She was just looking for a job. She didn’t intend to spend the rest of her life in the Australian outback. “I can imagine,” she replied.

Brody opened the front door of the bunkhouse, then stepped back to let her enter. Payton found the interior simple but clean. In one corner of the room, several overstuffed chairs were gathered around a small iron stove. There was a scarred desk beneath one of the windows and a dry sink beneath another, complete with bowl and pitcher. An old wardrobe stood near the backdoor. Each of the three walls held a bunk bed, crudely constructed of rough planks and a pair of mattresses. One of the lower bunks was made up with a colorful quilt and two pillows.

“That must be where the genealogy lady is sleeping,” Brody said. “Bedding is in the chest at the end of the bunk. The dunny is out back, through that door.”

“The dunny.”

“The toilet. There’s a shower back there, too.” He walked over to the wardrobe and rummaged through the contents until he found a pair of gloves and an old felt hat, like the one his brother Teague wore.

Brody set the hat on her head and handed her the gloves. “There you go,” he said, tugging on the brim. “Pretty spiffy.”

“I’d like to get to work,” she said.

“You don’t have to. It’s your first day. Take some time and settle in. We’ll have some lunch.”

“No, I’m ready to start,” she insisted, well aware that she’d have to prove herself to Callum.

“You’re not really dressed properly. We’ll need to find you something to wear.”

“I don’t really have anything else along,” Payton said, glancing down at the peasant blouse and jeans she’d bought in Brisbane. “Just a few dresses. This will have to do for now. I’ll find something later.”

“All right,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s go.”

They walked out of the bunkhouse and through the dusty yard. The station was almost like a small village. Brody pointed out each paddock and barn and shed, telling her what function it served. There were two more bunkhouses for the stockmen and a small cottage for the head stockman.

The stables consisted of a long building with stalls along one side and tack, feed and supplies stored on the opposite side. “We breed stock ponies here, so we keep a lot of mares. We break the ponies and then sell them to stations all around Queensland. Kerry Creek ponies fetch a good price.”

Payton pulled on her gloves and braced her hands on her hips. “All right. Well, I’d better jump right in.” She spotted a pitchfork in a corner and grabbed it. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

He seemed to be a bit surprised that she was blowing him off so quickly. Though Payton found him wildly attractive, she needed to keep this job and first impressions would count. If she had to ignore her desires for a few hours, it was a small price to pay.

“We eat dinner at six this time of year. I’ll come and fetch you.”

“That’s all right,” Payton said. “I’ll find my way.”

He turned and walked out of the stable. Payton folded her hands over the end of the pitchfork and watched his retreat. Her girlfriends had always told her how hot Sam was and she’d never quite understood what they meant. Sam was handsome, but Brody Quinn was hot. He oozed masculinity from every pore.

She tried to imagine him without the T-shirt, without the jeans, without any clothes at all. A shiver skittered down her spine and she felt her pulse quicken. Sleeping with the boss was never a good thing. But was Brody her boss or was Callum?

Payton made a mental note to find out as soon as she could. For now, she had a bed and free meals and something to occupy her time—along with a man who made her heart race and her body tingle. What more did she need?

LIKE EVERYONE ELSE at Kerry Creek, Brody had worked the station from the time he’d been able to walk. He’d started in the garden with his mother, then moved to the stables and on to working with the stock as soon as he could ride. But he’d spent most of his teen years in the city, and once he’d signed his first pro contract, he’d made only occasional visits to Queensland, stopping in before a holiday spent surfing or diving on the Great Barrier Reef.

His brothers teased him, insisting that city life had made him soft. Maybe it had. But now that he was living on the station again, it was all coming back to him. He’d spent the afternoon repairing fences with the newest jackaroo, a kid named Davey Thompson, who’d wandered in a few months before to join his older brother, Skip, on the station.

Davey had kept up a constant stream of chatter, moving from women to music to cars and back again. One thing was quite clear. He was glad to have moved up in the pecking order, his stable job handed off to Payton, who was now the lowest in seniority.