”Where’s Harry gone!” Frank demanded of one of the small almost jockey like grooms that had made the unfortunate decision of loitering about the stable block. When the groom began to stammer Frank made a sound of disgust within his throat before shouldering past the boy and striding down the aisle. Chance’ stall was empty and the door stood ajar. Harrison didn’t need to know where his son had gone; he could make an educated guess. Scowling he turned on a heel and strode from the twilight interior of the stables, tweaking the brim of his stock hat as he stepped out into the harsh sun.

Hearing a call Frank turned his rather hard gaze towards the sound. Another female stood just within the fence that marked the central yard. To have gotten to the hub of the station one had to ride along the miles of undulating land he owned, guided by the worn cart tracks that split from the main road [if it could be called that.]

Another hard expression presided over Frank’s face as he turned his frame and trod the ground with his ground-consuming stride. Once within earshot of the girl Frank stopped and gave her an appraising look. Looking over her shoulder he spied a grey horse, he noticed a somewhat weak looking stallion crest so it was probable that the stud started as a Stallion but was now looking on poorer times. A rather cruel smile curved Harrison’s lips as the thought provoked images of Chance.

Schooling his features back into their hard brooding expression his brow puckered as he locked his gaze on the newcomer. “Come again?” He asked since he hadn’t heard her proclamation from earlier, though he had a good idea why she was here. He’d have to be more than a little blind to see she held herself like a Stock woman. But to be honest he was a little sick of so many females, the stock people under his employ were mostly females. The men he hired on a temporary basis where just that, temporary. So far the only people he’d hired under the impression of a long-standing employment had been woman. Though to be honest sometimes Rachel reminded him of a bush wise mountain man. Frank’s eye glinted slightly, mostly from the sun beating down on the two but also from his thoughts. Frank would freely admit that he was something of a chauvinist, though for the sake of the Station he’d learnt to get around it. Growing up as he did he didn’t suppose he could have turned out any other way.

“You have, have you.” Frank replied rhetorically, keeping his voice deliberately noncommittal. He removed his hat and whipped his brow with his forearm before replacing the wide brimmed hat, the once black material fading from its years of hard life. “What kind of work can you do?” Frank suddenly barked, his whole demeanour abruptly changing to an intensely intimidating persona, so much so that he seemed to loom over his victim. He didn’t much like the glint in her eye, reminded him too much of Rachel. He hated to admit it, and even then only in the very dark most secret recesses of his mind, but that woman could run rings around him.

“The work we do here is not some game, it’s work, a livelihood.” He told her, his lips compressed and his chin jutting out slightly. “That… horse,” He gestured to the grey gelding, “Leaves something to be desired.” He sneered and switched his gaze back to Trinity. “Looks more like a show pony than a working mount.” He spoke to her frankly, yes he sounded cruel but he was only being honest. Frank was nothing if not honest.

Though the horse –in Frank’s opinion- looked lacking he had to admit the girl looked capable. Mentally he scowled, his façade remaining unfeelingly detached. Damn-it he needed the ah.. human power. With only two employed stock people he found himself relying on the hired brawn and in the frequent arguments with his son over his involvement with the stock work he had little leverage while Harry had buckets.
Seemed there was only one thing for it. He’d hand the girl over to Rachel –much as that smarted- and the woman would decide Trinity’s fate. He’d learnt that Rachel was a good judge of human as much as she was with horseflesh, to his chagrin.

However that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for her. “Harrison Francis Williams.” He grunted, slanting a look at her that pretty much demanded for her reciprocated name.

“You said that twice.” Frank told her with something reminiscent of a grunt. If she really could do even half of the things she’d just told him –and do them efficiently- she’d be a worthwhile addition to his workforce. His lips curled in a cruel little smile upon noticing her nerves, the kind that never reaches ones eyes and left them two cold panels.

“We basically deal in beef here, we’re sending our first small herd of steers into the mountains this season. Less than 30 head but if they prove to produce good beef I plane on purchasing some more breeding stock.” He told her, his eyes appraising the experienced way she attempted to stare him down. Reminded him of the way Harry met his gaze, the same way his mother had. A wave of depression washed unexpectedly through Frank’s mind, un-shuttering his eyes for a nanosecond showcasing all the loneliness, pain and self-doubt of an aging man and father.
As fast as it’d come the doors slammed down over that particular port and years of conditioning had Frank’s inner turmoil locked back in the vault he’d built for himself.

He squared his shoulders almost in retaliation to the bitter aftertaste that short-lived reminder had left him with.
How he missed, No! He had to stop thinking of the past, it would get him no-where. Tilting his head slightly down Frank cast his eyes in shadow, the harsh Aussie sun beating down with all its usual heat.

“I can’t make you any promises mind, but grab your weedy gelding and bring him into the stable.” Harrison told her gruffly, jerking his head towards Wolf.
He waiting long enough –in his estimation- for her to retrieve the horse before he turned on his heals and began to head towards the Australian version stable, not bothering to check if she was following.

He’d been talking to Rachel not long ago; or rather he’d been talking at her. All conversations with the woman seemed very one sided. A businessman at heart he’d gone to her on a purely advisory note to acquire her advice on the next mare he put Louis to. She’d mentioned something about a mare called what was it? Crescent? Anywho she had a rather good standing as a brood mare amongst the mountain folk and Harrison knew well enough that the mountain bred horse lines could add a certain quality and stamina to a breed. He’d asked Rachel to look into that for him. At the time she’d been in the stable oiling her gear, she should logically still be there.