“No.” He shook his head.
“Is that unusual?” Hana probed and he shrugged.
“Don’t know. We just never have. The horses and stockmen work fine together. It’s how my grandmother ran it.”
“The kuia?” Hana c****d her head and remembered the portrait in the lobby.
Logan’s eyes softened. “Yeah.”
Hana lay on her back and closed her eyes. “Wasn’t this an amazing place to grow up?” she asked, romantic visions of Enid Blyton novels in her mind’s eye. Logan seemed slow to reply and she stared across at him, squinting against the sunshine.
“Sometimes,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But not always.” He pushed a blade of grass into the corner of his mouth, his voice faraway and distracted. “I loved primary school in the township. Ma home-schooled us for intermediate. I rushed through my school work
