Outback Secrets (EBOOK)

Chapter 1
Mitch

I swore I’d never set foot on the West Queensland cattle ranch I walked away from a decade ago. I wouldn’t be heading back now if my father hadn’t disappeared without a trace.
Not that I gave a damn about him.
I’m here for my sister, Cassidy. When she called three days ago, asking for help, her voice hadn’t sounded like the girl I’d grown up with. Cassidy had always been fierce, sharp-tongued, and more likely to throw a punch than ask for a favor. If she was worried, it had to be bad.
Six days ago, my father had saddled his horse and ridden out alone.
And the bastard had never come back.
My old man, Frank Branson, was the sole owner of Koolaroo Ranch, a sprawling beast of a property, stretching over a million hectares of Australian Outback cattle country. The Bransons had held onto this land for more than one hundred and thirty years. Five generations had sweated, bled, and had buried pieces of themselves in this red dirt, building a cattle ranch that looked damn impressive on paper. But some days, living there was more like a prison sentence than a legacy. That had little to do with the land, though, or my siblings, or even the livestock.
No, it was Frank who made living there hell. Our father ruled with an iron fist and a temper that could crack stone.
That bastard had taught me how to hate so deeply and hard that it had nearly hollowed me out.
I pulled my Harley to a stop in the red dirt just shy of the cattle grid marking Koolaroo's entrance. The engine rumbled beneath me as if it wanted to keep running. Hell, so did I. The driveway stretched another six kilometers to the main homestead, a distance that felt both too far and not far enough.
For three days, I'd been making my way from Brisbane to my childhood home, dodging my Harley around kangaroos, emus, road kill, and road trains, praying Cassidy would call and say Frank had been found. Preferably face-down, bloated and beyond saving, in one of the two rivers that crossed the property. I felt zero guilt over that thought.
But Cass hasn’t called. And here I am.
The front gates stood unchanged. Same rusted iron bars that groaned in the wind. Same dangling brass plate, reading Koolaroo Ranch, Est. 1889, like it was some goddamn legacy I should be proud of.
They even got the name wrong. No one in Australia called a cattle property like ours a ranch. We called them cattle stations. However, my great-great-grandfather had come from England, and he’d had big dreams and bigger delusions when he’d carved this place out of the dirt and tried to sell the world a fantasy of who the Bransons were.
I had once been proud of this place. Proud of what generations before me had built on this isolated stretch of earth, two hundred kilometers from the nearest town, Winton.
But my asshole father had taken that pride and crushed it to dust.
The sun had only broken the horizon two hours ago, yet it seared through my black T-shirt and helmet as if warning me to stay away. I wished I could listen.
I heaved a breath that tasted of dirt, fired up the Harley again, and readied myself to face whatever wrath my siblings would be justified in throwing at me.
My heart thundered as I drove my motorbike across the cattle grid. Metal clanged beneath my tires, and the sound echoed across the flat scrubland. That same sound had made my stomach clench when I’d been sixteen, returning late from a muster, knowing Frank would be waiting with his belt and his rage.
The long, dusty road stretched ahead, flanked by gum trees parched from months without decent rain. That wasn't unusual for January. The Outback summer meant scorching days and only the occasional afternoon thunderstorms that turned the sky into hellscapes similar to the ones I'd witnessed while trying to save victims from battlefields in Iraq and Syria.
My old man didn't need bullets to make Koolaroo into a war zone. Yet the same damn dread I'd had in Syria crept over me.
I may not make it out of here alive.
The homestead emerged from the red earth, looming against the horizon. The sprawling building remained as imposing as ever, more statement than family home, designed to make arriving guests feel small before they reached the front door.
I pulled over, killed the engine, and checked my phone one more time, praying for a miracle message from Cassidy.
Frank's been found. False alarm. Go home.
Nope. Nothing.
Before last Friday, I hadn't heard from Cassidy in over a year, and I hadn't spoken to my younger brothers, Declan and Kayden, in a full decade. I didn't blame them for their silence. The last time I’d torn out of Koolaroo, I’d left without a goodbye, with Frank's blood on my knuckles and rage burning so hot in my chest I’d thought it might actually kill me.
Red dirt and dying grass stretched endlessly around me. Somewhere out there was Frank Branson, either dead or wishing he was if he’d been bucked off his horse and was lying broken in the brutal sunshine.
Koolaroo land could be beautiful when the sunlight hit the rolling hills right, or when the afternoon storms rolled in, turning the sky electric. But she was also brutal. Getting stranded in the Outback usually meant getting dead. This land didn't forgive mistakes, and it sure as hell didn't care how many generations of this family had been trying to tame this sunburned property.
I started the engine again and drove the final stretch of driveway, hating every damn meter. As I reached the main house, Cassidy came storming out the front door like she'd been waiting for me. The way she strode with her cowboy hat pulled low and her arms swinging, I couldn't decide if she was going to punch me or wrap me in a bear hug.
When I removed my helmet, her storm-gray eyes lit up. She tried to hide her smile, but I caught it. She was relieved I was here. Maybe even glad.
"Didn't think you'd come," she said, wrapping her arms around me.
"Thought about turning around a few times." I pulled her to my chest. Despite everything screaming at me to get the hell out of there, it felt good to be here for her. After all, she was the only one who'd cared enough to contact me after I’d left.
She eased back and punched my upper arm. "You've been gone way too long, bro."
I nodded, thinking it wasn't long enough. Sweat trickled down my spine as I kicked the stand down and dismounted.
Declan appeared on the wrap-around verandah and looked down at me. His hair and beard were still scruffy, but the gangly accountant I remembered had been replaced by a man who looked as if he spent as much time working with the cattle as he did the farm’s books. He gave me that familiar, silent assessment that told me he was figuring things out, just like he did every day with Koolaroo's finances.
After a long moment, Declan shoved his hands in his pockets and gave me a nod. "Mitch."
"Hey, Declan, good to see you."
The screen door slammed open, and Kayden stormed out onto the verandah. "Bloody hell, am I hallucinating?"
"Hey, Kayden, how you doing?"
"I'm fine. But what the hell are you doing here?" Kayden rested against the railing, one boot hooked over the other, his gaze fixed like a man watching for trouble he knew was coming. The angry young man I'd left behind a decade ago had grown hard and weathered by the sun. His shoulders stretched his work shirt, and his biceps bulged beneath his rolled-up sleeves. That boyish face had squared out into a strong jaw, darkened by a five o'clock shadow that was much thicker than I remembered. My baby brother wasn't a kid anymore.
"I'm here to look for Frank." I grabbed my duffle from the Harley, strode to the weathered stairs, and propped my boot on the bottom step. The warped plank creaked under my weight as I met my brothers' stares.
"Worried you'll miss out on your inheritance?" Kayden's voice had grown as rough as the land itself.
"Nope." I hadn't even thought about the legal implications of my old man being dead, only about how happy I'd be.
"Bullshit." Kayden cocked his head, giving me that sneer he'd perfected before he’d become a teenager.
"Leave him alone," Cassidy snapped at our youngest brother. "I told Mitch to get his ass home and help look for Dad."
The air between us stretched as tight as razor wire.
"Or I can get back on my bike and piss off again …?" I shrugged.
"Hell no. You're here, so you can help us." Cassidy grabbed my arm and dragged me up the stairs. "Back off, you two. Mitch is staying to help."
"Yeah, and then what? You gonna leave us again?" Kayden asked.
Cassidy released my arm and stepped back, watching for my reaction. Clearly, she wanted that answer, too.
"No idea." I shrugged. It was the truth. I hadn't exactly left the Special Air Service on good terms. I’d torched that career on my way out. And for what? I’d given them ten years and made it to Sergeant First Class. I’d lost it all in one bullshit argument. "Let's find Frank first."
No one spoke, and the morning air shimmered between us like a mirage.
"Yeah, let's do that." Kayden shook his head, and his boots thundered across the deck as he disappeared inside.
"It's been a long time, Mitch." Declan's light blue eyes softened. He'd always been the peacemaker between Kayden and me. Some things never changed.
"I know.” I scraped my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair. “I'm sorry."
"You gonna tell us why you left?" Declan leveled his gaze at me.
I'd never told anyone why I’d pissed off out of here. Partly because admitting I'd been played made my gut burn. Partly because they'd have begged me to come home. But I couldn't. Not while Frank was still breathing.
"Come on." Cassidy grabbed my arm again. "You must be hungry and exhausted."
I met Declan's gaze with guilt churning in my stomach. I had my reasons for abandoning him and my other siblings. Damn good ones.
Stepping into the sprawling homestead yanked me back through time. Same worn floorboards that creaked under our feet, same bucket in the hallway to catch the drips when the rain got too heavy for the gutters to cope, same practical gear hanging on the walls: broom, mop, hats, rifles. The only family photo on the wall was a yellowing black-and-white photo of the founder of Koolaroo Ranch: Augustus Frank Branson, his wife, Eleanor, and their six kids, of whom only two made it to adulthood.
The old grandfather clock chimed off-key in the living room corner. That family heirloom had crossed the ocean from the Yorkshire Dales with Augustus Branson, Frank’s great-grandfather. It was a symbol of English dominance and noble bloodlines, and nothing like the Sicilian fire that came from his mother’s side. Those ancient ancestors had made Frank exactly who he was today—entitled, explosive, and dangerous as hell.
Evil bastard.
The cobwebs in the corners of the living room were new, though. Mom would’ve waged war on them. At least, I think she would have. It was getting harder to remember her, let alone recall her presence in this homestead.
Koolaroo had taken her share of lives, who, just like Mom, were remembered by a carved rock headstone in the family cemetery. Some of the plots were empty, including Mom’s. If Frank did turn up dead, I'd make damn sure his marker stood far from her headstone. That bastard wouldn’t get to lie near the woman whose goodness he’d spent years trying to extinguish.
Cassidy guided me into the long hallway leading to the homestead’s six bedrooms.
“I asked Bella to whip up some food.”
“Bella?” I frowned.
“She’s the new chef. Started last week on the farm-stay program. Quiet as a mouse, but her cooking’s unreal. Says she’s from Sicily.” Cassidy shrugged. “Wait till you try her cupcakes. They’ll knock you on your ass.”
She kept walking. “Anyway, I got Rose to freshen up the guest room. New sheets, clean towels, the works.”
It was good to know Rose was still around. She’d been servicing these rooms since I was a kid, and if she were gone, too, this place would feel even more broken.
We stepped into the first guest room. “I’m not sleeping here, Cass. I’ll head out to my lodge.”
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, I had Rose make up this room anyway. But after we finish our search, you're coming back for dinner anyway… non-negotiable." She gripped my wrist, yet her fingers were surprisingly gentle for a woman who wrestled cattle. "It’s really good to see you, Mitch. It’s been too long."
I let out a heavy breath. "Missed you, too. Sorry about... you know… the radio silence."
"No need to apologize. You’re here now." She released my wrist. "Make it up to me by sticking around for a bit. Alot's changed since you've been gone."
"Good changes, I hope?" I dodged her pointed statement.
Her smile wavered. "Good. Bad. It's Koolaroo. We take what she gives and deal with what she takes." She nodded at my duffel bag. “Pack a bag with enough for four days, that’s how long we plan to search.”
I nodded. Four days would barely get us through the Northern cattle run.
She punched my shoulder, harder than necessary. "You’ve got ten minutes to meet us in the dining room. And for God's sake, shower first. You smell like road kill."
Her boots clicked across the wood as she walked off, all confidence and sass. I couldn’t help but smile. Same old Cassidy, bossing her brothers around.
But as Cassidy walked away, I wondered what the hell I’d just walked back into.

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