want an airplane. Or a helicopter. I want to learn how to fly. Then I can go anywhere I want, just like that. I could even fly over the ocean and see America or Africa or the South Pole.”
“You could take me to my football games,” Brody said.
Teague reached out and ruffled Brody’s hair. “I could. But only if you give me free tickets.” He stared over at Callum. “What about you?”
“I know what I want,” Callum said.
“You have to say it.”
Callum sat down, draping his arms over his knees as he took in the view. “How do you think this rock really got here?”
“I think it’s a meteor,” Brody said, sitting down beside him. “It dropped out of the sky.”
Callum ran his hand over the smooth surface of the rock. “Maybe the Aborigines did move it here. Maybe it was like Stonehenge. You know, that place in England with all the rocks.”
“And I think a giant prehistoric bird took a crap and it fossilized,” Teague teased as he joined them. They all laughed, lying back on the rock and staring up at the cloudless sky.
Brody wrinkled his nose. “How can bird poop be magic, Teague?”
“Maybe it came from a magic bird.” His brother gave him a sideways glance. “All right. It’s a meteor. Or an asteroid. From another universe. Come on, Cal, you have to make your wish now.”
Callum drew a deep breath. “I wish that someday I could have a place like this.”
“You want a rock?” Brody asked.
“No, dickhead. A station. As big as Kerry Creek. Bigger, even. And I’d raise the best cattle in all of Queensland.”
“Why would you want to live on a station?” Brody asked.
“’Cause I like it here,” Callum replied.
Brody shook his head. His older brother had no imagination. Station life was horribly dull, the same thing day after day. There was never anything interesting to do. All the good stuff happened in cities like Brisbane and Sydney. Callum could have the station and Teague could have his plane. Brody knew his dream was the best.
“Dad told me he brought Mum out here when he asked her to marry him,” Callum said, sitting up to scan the horizon.
Teague and Brody glanced at each other, then looked away silently. Brody wasn’t sure why Callum had brought the subject up. Their parents hadn’t been getting along for nearly a year now. When they weren’t arguing, they were avoiding each other. Dinner was usually a shouting match or an endless meal marked by dead silence.
“I want to change my wish,” Brody murmured, sitting up beside Callum. “I wish that Mum and Dad wouldn’t fight anymore. I wish they’d be like they used to be.” He drew a deep breath, fighting back the tears that pressed at the corners of his eyes. “Remember when they used to kiss? When Dad would hug her so hard, she’d laugh? And they’d turn on the radio and dance around the kitchen?”
“Yeah.” Teague braced his elbows behind him. “I remember that.”
The first ten years of Brody’s life had been spent in what he’d believed was a happy family. But then he began to be more aware of his mother’s unhappiness and of his father’s frustration. She hated life on the station and his father didn’t know any other life but the station.
Callum grabbed Brody’s hand and then Teague’s and pressed all their hands together. “Wish it,” he said, dragging them closer. “Close your eyes and wish it really hard and it will happen.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in the rock,” Teague said.
“Do it!” Callum said. “Now.”
They all closed their eyes and focused on the one wish. But somehow, Brody knew this wish didn’t depend on the rock or the combined powers of the three Quinn brothers. It was up to their parents to make it come true.
When he opened his eyes, he found his brothers staring at him. Brody forced a smile, but it did nothing to relieve his fears. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it.
He rolled over onto his stomach and slid down the side of the rock, dropping to the dusty ground with a soft thud. His horse was tethered nearby and he grabbed the reins and swung up into the saddle. As he watched his brothers jump down, Brody couldn’t help but wonder whether the rock had heard them. It was just a rock. And though it didn’t belong where it was, there probably wasn’t anything special about it.
Pulling hard on the reins, he kicked his horse in the flanks and took off at a gallop. If his mother left the station, then he was going with her. She’d need someone to take care of her, and Brody had always been able to make her smile. She’d once whispered to him that he was her favorite. If that was true, then it was his duty to leave the station. He felt the tears tumbling from his eyes and drying on his cheeks as the wind rushed by.
The breeze caught the brim of his stockman’s hat and it flew off, the string catching around his neck. Brody closed his eyes and gave the horse control over their destination. Maybe the horse wouldn’t go home. Maybe it would just keep galloping, running to a place where life wasn’t quite so confusing.
Queensland, Australia—June, 2009
HIS BODY ACHED, from the throbbing in his head to the deep, dull pain in his knee. The various twinges in between—his back, his right elbow, the fingers of his left hand—felt worse than usual. Brody Quinn wondered if he’d always wake up with a reminder of the motorcycle accident that had ruined his future or, if someday, all the pain would magically be gone.
Hell, he’d just turned twenty-six and he felt like an old man. Reaching up, he rubbed his forehead, certain of only one thing—he’d spent the previous night sitting on his arse at the Spotted Dog getting himself drunk.
The sound of an Elvis Presley tune drifted through the air and Brody knew exactly where he’d slept it off—the Bilbarra jail. The town’s police chief, Angus Embley, was a huge fan of Presley, willing to debate the King’s singular place in the world of music with any bloke who dared to argue the point. Right now, Elvis was only exacerbating Brody’s headache.
“Angus!” he shouted. “Can you turn down the music?”
Since he’d returned home to his family’s cattle station in Queensland, he’d grown rather fond of the ac-commodations at the local jail. Though he usually ended up behind bars for some silly reason, it saved him the long drive home or sleeping it off in his SUV. “Angus!”
“He’s not here. He went out to get some breakfast.”
Brody rolled over to look into the adjoining cell, startled to hear a female voice. As he rubbed his bleary eyes, he focused on a slender woman standing just a few feet away, dressed in a pretty, flowered blouse and blue jeans. Her delicate fingers were wrapped around the bars that separated them, her dark eyes intently fixed on his.
“Christ,” he muttered, flopping back onto the bed. Now he’d really hit bottom, Brody mused, throwing his arm over his eyes. Getting royally pissed was one thing, but hallucinating a female prisoner was another. He was still drunk.
He closed his eyes, but the image of her swirled in his brain. Odd that he’d conjured up this particular apparition. She didn’t really fit his standard of beauty. He usually preferred blue-eyed blondes with large breasts and shapely backsides and long, long legs.
This woman was slim, with deep mahogany hair that fell in a riot of curls around her face and shoulders. By his calculations, she might come up to his chin at best. And her features were…odd. Her lips were almost too lush and her cheekbones too high. And her skin was so pale and perfect that he had to wonder