“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.”