If there had ever been a better day for diving, Maggie West wasn’t sure she remembered it, and as she reached under the coral ledge and wriggled the lobster pot free from where it was snagged, she wondered why she’d chased a career in agriculture instead of aquaculture.

She tugged on the rope, letting her son, Ben, know the snag was unhitched, but instead of holding the craypot and enjoying the ride to the surface, she dived further down, searching for the huge crayfish that had been raiding their catch.

Where did you go, you big brute? Maggie’s brown ponytail swirled around her face as she scanned the underside of the ledge, trying to glimpse the enormous southern rock lobster. Even after thirty-seven crayfish-filled summers— and an unlimited supply of seafood from her family’s fishing business— she hadn’t shaken the thrill of the chase. Catching a cray of that size— especially when she was only helping for the day— would give her endless bragging rights on the West family group chat.

Maggie’s lungs began to burn. One last pass, she told herself, peering into the coral crevasse.

Seaweed floated past on the current, fish flitted in and out of the reef and abalone clung to the ledges, but there was no sign of the foot-long antennae belonging to the giant she’d sighted earlier.

Maggie kicked her way up, gasping for breath when she finally broke the surface.

‘Geez, Mum, did you get lost down there?’

Still panting, Maggie pushed the eye mask onto her forehead, accepting her son’s assistance as she clambered aboard the Lady Karena. What Ben lacked in height, he more than made up for in strength, and he hauled her out of the water as if she were just another cray pot.

She grinned, towelled the water from her body and slipped her clothes on over her swimsuit. ‘Mark this spot in the GPS, muscles. We’ll come back tomorrow, see if we can track him down.’

Ben handed her the sunscreen. ‘Or you could take some of today’s catch home with you.’ He gestured to the pot full of large, red crustaceans noisily flapping their tails.

Maggie noticed a big glob of lotion in the wispy goatee he’d grown. She was about to reach across to rub it in— a lifetime of mothering habits hadn’t dulled even though her boy was now twenty— when the captain, Todd, called out from the boat’s cabin.

‘Don’t even think about touching today’s catch! Cray just hit a hundred and twenty dollars a kilo. And haven’t you got your housewarming party tomorrow?’

Darn it. Maggie’s ex-husband had an annoying habit of being right about most things.

‘Mark the coordinates down anyway and we’ll come back another time,’ Maggie said, slathering her face in sunscreen. ‘It’s been ages since I tagged along. It’s magic out here.’

‘You could switch your Blundstone boots for a set of these bad boys and dive in after stuck pots any time you like,’ Ben suggested, lifting a foot to showcase his chunky white gumboots. ‘Won’t catch me diving in there unless Dad falls overboard.’

She laughed, pulling on the spare gumboots kept onboard for guests. ‘And elbow my kid out of a job? Not a chance. It’s fun to join you guys and retrieve snagged pots on beautiful days like this, but I’m sure the novelty would wear off quickly if I was on the payroll. I’ll stick to collies and cattle, and leave the professional fishing to you two.’

Maggie adjusted her ponytail—the same ponytail that sufficed for cattle work, netball and family barbecues—while Ben unloaded the crayfish, restocked the bait and prepared the pot for its return to the water. Like his father and grandfather, Ben was a fisherman through and through, though he had her colouring: olive skin that tanned the moment summer rolled around and dusty brown hair that tended towards blond under the sun’s rays.

‘We’ll put this one near the reef again,’ Todd called, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the controls as he carefully angled the Lady Karena into position. He slowed the engine, looking intently at the colourful screens that mapped the ocean floor. ‘Yep, this’ll do.’

Ben released the cray pot, and it quickly sank out of sight, taking the rope with it. Maggie grabbed the railing as they powered away, a little unsteady on her feet, while her son crossed the deck as steadily as if he were walking on dry land. They worked side by side, Maggie hosing down the deck while Ben prepared more bait.

‘Can you chat with your sister about school?’ Maggie asked over the roar of the engine.

‘Isobel’s still giving you grief about that?’ Ben sighed and tossed a slimy fish head to the waiting flock of albatrosses. ‘Issy wouldn’t last two seconds in the workforce, not at sixteen.’

‘I’m sure she was joking, but if you could give her a rev-up at the housewarming party, that’d be great.’

‘Or I can put Dad on her case,’ Ben said. ‘He can have a stern word?’

They turned to the cabin where Todd stood, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding an iced-coffee bottle as a microphone as he swayed to reggae music.

Maggie laughed. ‘I’d have more chance of growing frangipanis here on the Limestone Coast than your father getting stern with your sister. I don’t want to push her too far. She’ll gallop off into the sunset.’

Ben sighed as he scanned the horizon. ‘Issy’s probably forgotten which way the saddle goes, it’s been so long since she’s been horseriding.’ A smile swept across his handsome young face. ‘Check it out, Mum!’

Maggie turned to see a pod of dolphins soaring through the waves.

‘Now there’s something you don’t see in your paddocks,’ Ben said, shielding his eyes against the sun for a better look. Ben loved dolphins the same way Maggie loved newborn calves, wriggly lamb tails and litters of border collie pups, and the way Isobel loved horses.

Used to love horses…