"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. A lot has 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.
Chapter 2
Charlie
* * *
I traced the soft brush along the exposed bone in the red dirt, gently scraping away the caked-on clay, and gradually exposing the curved section of a skull that made no sense. I'd been extracting bone fragments from this area all week. I'd found ribs, a partial vertebra, jawbones and a scapula. But this jawbone was different from other finds in this area. It was longer. More angular.
I exchanged the brush for a field trowel, and my heart thudded as a few scrapes peeled back a chunk of compacted soil. Is that a tooth?
My breath hitched. This skull was too big to be Banjo.
Banjo, or more specifically, Australovenator Wintonensis, had been the king of carnivorous dinosaurs that roamed this remote west Queensland location millions of years ago.