The Mighty Quinns: Brody

He pressed his forehead into the bars, hoping the cool iron would soothe the ache in his head. “Why don’t you just pay for what you ate?”

“I would have, but I didn’t have any cash. I left an IOU. And I said I’d come back and pay as soon as I found work. I guess that wasn’t good enough.”

Brody let his hands slide down until he was touching her, if only to prove that she was real and that he wasn’t dreaming. “What happened to all your money?” he asked, fixing his attention on her face as he ran his fingers over hers. It seemed natural to touch her, even though she was a complete stranger. Oddly, she didn’t seem to mind.

Her breath caught and then she sighed. “It’s all gone. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m not a dishonest person. I was just really, really hungry.”

She had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen, her lips soft and full…perfect for—He fought the urge to pull her closer and take a quick taste, just to see if she’d be…different. “What’s your name?”

“Payton,” she murmured.

“Payton,” he repeated, leaning back to take in details of her body. “Is that your last name or your first?”

“Payton Harwell,” she said.

“And you’re American?”

“I am.”

“And you’re in jail,” he said, stating the obvious.

She laughed softly and nodded as she glanced around. “It appears I am. At least for a while. Angus told me as soon as he finds a way for me to work off my debt, he’ll let me out. I told him I could wash dishes at the diner, but the owner doesn’t want me back there. I guess jobs are in short supply around here.”

Brody’s gaze drifted back to her face—he was oddly fascinated by her features. Had he seen her at a party or in a nightclub in Fremantle, he probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance. But given time to appreciate her attributes, he couldn’t seem to find a single flaw worth mentioning.

“Quinn!”

Brody glanced over his shoulder and watched as Angus strolled in, his freshly pressed uniform already rumpled after just a few hours of work. “Are you sober yet?”

“You didn’t have to lock me up,” Brody said, letting go of the bars.

“Brody Quinn, you started a brawl, you broke a mirror and you threw a bleedin’ drink in my face, after insulting my taste in music. You didn’t give me a choice.” Angus braced his hands on his hips. “There’ll be a fine. I figure a couple hundred should do it. And you’re gonna have to pay for Buddy’s mirror.” Angus scratched his chin. “And I want a promise you’re gonna behave yourself from now on and respect the law. Your brother’s here, so pay the fine and you can go.”

“Teague is here?” Brody asked.

“No, Callum is waiting. He’s not so chuffed he had to make a trip into town.”

“I could have driven myself home,” Brody said.

“Your buddy Billy tried to take your keys last night. That’s what started the fight. He flushed the keys, so Callum brought your spare.” Angus reached down and unlocked the cell. “Next time you kick up a stink, I’m holding you for a week. That’s a promise.”

Brody turned back and looked at Payton. “You can let her out. I’ll pay her fine, too.”

“First you have to settle up with Miss Shelly over at the coffeeshop and then you have to find this young lady a job. Then, I’ll let you pay her fine. Until you do all that, she’s gonna be a guest for a bit longer.”

“It’s all right,” Payton said in a cheerful voice. “I’m okay here. I’ve got a nice place to sleep and regular meals.”

Brody frowned as he shook his head. It just didn’t feel right leaving her locked up, even if she did want to stay. “Suit yourself,” he said, rubbing at the ache in his head.

Payton gave him a little wave, but it didn’t ease his qualms. Who was she? And what had brought her to Bilbarra? There were a lot of questions running through his mind without any reasonable answers.

He walked with Angus through the front office toward the door. “Let her out, Angus,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll fix any mess she’s made.”

“I think she wants to stay for a while. I’m not sure she has anywhere else to go. I figure, I’ll find her a job and at least she’ll eat.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, she doesn’t complain about my music. She actually likes Elvis. Smart girl.”

When they reached the front porch of the police station, Brody found his eldest brother, Callum, sitting in an old wooden chair, his feet propped up on the porch railing, his felt stockman’s hat pulled low over his eyes.

Brody sat down next to him, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Go ahead. Get it over with. Chuck a spaz and we’ll call it a day.”

Callum shoved his hat back and glanced at his little brother. “Jaysus, Brody, this is the third time this month. You keep this up, you might as well live here and save yourself the trouble driving the two hours into town every weekend. At least I wouldn’t worry about how you’re getting home.”

“It won’t happen again,” Brody mumbled.

“I can’t spare the time. And petrol doesn’t come cheap. And it’s not like I don’t have enough on my mind with this whole land mess boiling up again.”

Callum had been a grouch for the past month, ever since Harry Fraser had filed papers in court to contest what had to be the longest-running land dispute in the history of Australia. Harry ran the neighboring station and the Frasers and the Quinns had been feuding for close to a hundred years, mostly over a strip of land that lay between the stations—land with the most productive water bore within a couple hundred kilometers. Ownership of the property had passed back and forth over the years, dependant on the judge who heard the case. It was now the Quinns’ property to lose.

“He’s lost the last three times he tried. He hasn’t been able to find any decent proof of his claim. What makes you think that will change now?”

“I’m still going to have to hire a bloody solicitor and they don’t come cheap.” Callum sighed. “And then this genealogy woman just shows up on the doorstep yesterday morning and expects me to spend all my time telling stories about our family history.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“You’re turning into a fair wanker, you are. You could find something better to do with yourself. Like lending a hand on the station. We could use your help mustering now that Teague’s practice is starting to take off. He’s been taking calls almost every day. And when he’s home, he spends his time doing paperwork.”

“I haven’t decided on a plan,” Brody muttered. “But it bloody well doesn’t include stockman’s work. Now, can I have my keys? I’ve got some things to do.”

“Buddy doesn’t want you back at the Spotted Dog. You’re going to have to find yourself another place to get pissed—” Callum paused “—or you could give up the coldies. It would save you some money.”

Brody’s brother Teague had been back on Kerry Creek for about a year after working as an equine vet near Brisbane. He’d taken up with Doc Daley’s practice in Bilbarra, planning to buy him out so that the old man could retire. He’d saved enough in Brisbane to purchase a plane, making it possible to move about the outback quickly and efficiently.

Callum’s income came directly from working Kerry Creek, the Quinn family’s fifty-thousand-acre cattle station. Part of the profits went to their parents, now living in Sydney, where their mother taught school and their father had started a small landscaping business in his retirement.

And Brody, who’d once boasted a rather impressive bank account, was now unemployed, his million-dollar contract gone, many of his investments liquidated and his savings dwindling every day. He could survive another three or four years, if he lived frugally. But after that, he needed to find a decent job. Something that didn’t involve kicking a football between two goalposts.

When Brody had left the station as a teenager, there’d been no other choice. He’d hated station life almost as much as his mother had. And though he’d wanted to stay with his brothers, his mother needed someone to go with her, to watch out for her. It had been a way to realize his dream of a pro-football career and he’d grabbed the chance. If it hadn’t been for the accident, he’d still be living in Fremantle, enjoying his life and breaking every last scoring record for his team.

One stupid mistake and it had ended. He’d torn up his knee and spent the last year in rehab, trying to get back to form. He’d played in three games earlier in the season before the club dropped him. No new contract, no second chance, just a polite fare-thee-well.

“I’m sorry you’re not doing what you want to do,” Callum said, reaching out and putting his hand on Brody’s shoulder. “Sometimes life is just crap. But you pick yourself up and you get on with it. And you stop being such a dickhead.”

Brody gave his brother a shove, then stood up. “Give it a rest. If I needed a mother, I’d move back to Sydney and live with the one I already have.” Brody grabbed his keys from Callum’s hand then jogged down the front steps and out into the dusty street. “I’ll catch you later.”

As he walked down the main street of Bilbarra, his thoughts returned to the woman sitting in Angus’s cell. “Payton,” he whispered. He hadn’t been attracted to any woman since Vanessa had walked out on him a year ago, frustrated by his dark moods and eager to find a bloke with a better future and a bigger bank account.

But Payton Harwell didn’t know him, or football. All she cared about was a place to sleep and her next meal. And he certainly had the means to provide that.

PAYTON SIPPED at the bottle of orange juice that Angus had brought for her breakfast. She’d finished the egg sandwich first, then gobbled down the beans and bacon, enough nutrition to last her the entire day. Sooner or later, Angus would let her out and then she’d be back to scraping by for her meals. It was best to eat while she could.