The Shearing Gun (15 page)

Elliot’s beer bottle halted halfway to his mouth as he realized the message I was giving. He smiled slightly and allowed his eyes to drop from mine to trace a line down my body—exactly the same way he did that first afternoon in the clinic. I wasn’t as dressed up as I had been in the nightclub the night he discovered I was gay, but I still looked pretty good, if I did say so myself. And it appeared Elliot thought so too.

I could feel my dick harden involuntarily and cursed his ability to do that to me. I was going to have to do something about it. But should I drive to Perth, or fish closer to home?

Middy broke the spell by nudging me and saying, “Neil and Gloria? When d-did that happen?”

“I’m not quite sure,” I replied. “But they look good together.”

“They do,” he agreed. “Lucky bastard.”

Elliot and I just stared at each other and didn’t say a thing.

Chapter 13

I
WAS
sharpening tools in the shed when my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi! Is that Hank? It’s Gloria from the clinic here.”

I threw aside the file I was using and paused to talk. “Hey! It’s my favorite secret keeper. Have you come to your senses and dumped Neil, yet?”

I could feel Gloria’s blush from forty-three kilometers away and grinned to myself.

“Oi! This is a professional call, so watch the insults or I’ll note in your file that you have some very nasty STDs.”

I laughed.

“Anyway, I’m calling because Doctor Montgomery has asked me to make you an appointment to check your clavicle fracture.”

“Oh?” I questioned. “Maybe you should tell Doctor Montgomery to come out and visit his friends, and
then
he can check on my clavicle fracture.”

Did that just sound bitchy? Oh, fuck—it did. I was like a whiny little girl.

“Maybe Doctor Montgomery wants to get paid for his time and medical expertise so he needs you to come to the clinic where the X-ray machine is,” Gloria rebutted.

I had to concede she was right, so I made an appointment for the following afternoon, then messaged Elliot immediately afterward.

Wednesday is schnitzel night at the pub. Do you want to grab a meal with me tomorrow?

I had been feeling guilty at not being a better friend over the past weeks. Elliot had dropped into my house a couple of times—if you can call driving an eighty-kilometer round-trip dropping by—and we’d caught up twice at the footy on a Sunday afternoon. But other than that, I hadn’t seen him apart from Baby Timmy Davies’ funeral. Tim and Keira had opted to investigate their child’s death and had found the baby had fluid on his brain. Neil—the gossip-biddy—told me they had personally visited Elliot to assure him there was nothing that he could’ve done to save their son, but the look on Elliot’s pale face during the funeral told me he still blamed himself. Hundreds of friends and family had turned out to say good-bye to the little soul, and in the crush of the crowd, I’d found Elliot and sidled up to him to give his hand a squeeze of support in the tightness of the throng where no one could see.

He’d looked up in surprise and found me, smiled instantly, and grasped my fingers for a moment before someone claimed his attention.

I hadn’t managed to get near to him again that day. Gloria was right when she said there was a line of women just waiting for the opportunity to take care of him.

Elliot messaged me back and told me he owed me a meal. He would cook for me at his house.

I was a little more than apprehensive. Unlike after our first meeting, when I forgot all about him until he arrived on my doorstep, he had been lingering in the back of my mind for weeks. He was a nice bloke—a good friend, a decent person, and a pure soul. I was in awe of his ability and his knowledge as a doctor. I respected him for making the hard choice to live in the middle of nowhere for years and serve the community. I liked that he didn’t take my teasing without dishing some of his own. And most surprisingly I missed him when he wasn’t around.

The sexual attraction I felt toward Elliot bemused me. I kept thinking about his scrawny bum, thinking that it would nicely fit in my palm, plus other sexual thoughts. Like would the curls on his chest feel soft, like those on his head? Was he one of those flexible guys who I could fold in half so his knees were around his ears while I rammed into his arse? What would his come taste like? Was he a screamer?

Then that would lead to thoughts about the two of us having a relationship on the sly. He could visit me at my house without anyone knowing. Our town wasn’t really big enough to hide in, so I couldn’t visit him too often without someone commenting. But I could have a couple of beers at the pub and then walk to his house. There was always the possibility of a weekend in the city without anyone knowing.

Once those thoughts began to emerge, I knew I was in trouble. I was making plans, creating scenarios, and building sandcastles made of air. I began to wonder other things too. Would he come skinny-dipping with me in the dam? Could he spend the morning with me and collect the eggs at lunchtime like he wanted to? Would he like to see a lamb being born? Would he like to have a go at shearing one? Did he think it would be a wet spring? Was he staying around, or going home for Christmas?

Since it was only July, and I was making plans for Christmas, it seemed that the fish in my backyard were leaping from the pond onto my fishing rod.

I fussed with my appearance before heading into town for my appointment. I found my newest jeans and made sure they were clean. I pulled out the nice T-shirt that Jimmie and Murray had bought me for my birthday and laid it on the bed. Then I went to shower. It was as I was thoroughly soaping my genitals that I stopped lying to myself. I knew that if Elliot showed any interest tonight, I would be taking him up on that offer.

The haircut that Jimmie gave me last time I was in Perth was beginning to grow out, and I fussed with a lock of dark brown that kept flopping in my eye. I was tempted to take to it with a pair of scissors—but who knew how that would turn out—so I left it. Once I was dressed, I looked critically at myself in the mirror. The bulky jacket I was wearing made me look big—but was it big as in too-many-burgers big? I had shaved. But should I have used a brand new razor to get that extra smoothness? Did I look too dressed up?

My stomach was tied in knots, and I growled at my reflection. If this is what relationships were like, I didn’t want one.

I drove to town, internally shitting myself.

Sandy was on reception at the clinic, and she simply waved me to a chair, so I sat down, and sadly remembered that last time I was here was when the Palmer boy hurt himself. The time before that, I’d sat and talked with Keira Davies.

I grabbed a magazine off the pile—
Men’s Health
—and flicked through the pages, admiring their form but ignoring the articles that talked about vitamins, protein shakes, and testicular health. There was an article on STDs. I started to read it, but Elliot’s voice broke into my consciousness.

“Hank?”

I looked up and couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Shit, I was glad to see him. He was looking mighty fine in jeans, with a button-up shirt in light blue that he’d rolled up his forearms. Elliot’s answering smile did funny things to the bottom of my stomach, and I quickly glanced to Sandy to make sure she wasn’t observing this byplay.

Elliot’s smile turned to more of a smirk as he gestured for me to follow him down the corridor to the offices. I closed the door behind us and let a full-blown grin go.

“Heya, Quackle,” I said softly.

His eyes became hooded and suddenly filled with lust. I saw him swallow. “Hank,” he acknowledged. “So, how’s the arm?”

I didn’t want to steer away from the personal just yet. My damn arm could wait. “It’s fine. How are you? Are you still lonely?”

There was something burning brightly in his eyes. “Yes, although I have a friend coming over for dinner tonight.”

“That’s nice. I thought maybe you were avoiding me?”

“No. I didn’t want to impose, that’s all.”

“You don’t impose, Quackle. I’ve been waiting for you to drop by. I have a surprise for you at my house.”

“A surprise?”

“Yep.”

“What?”

“Not telling. You have to come and find out.”

“I’ll come, then.”

The chance for a sexual innuendo was too great. My voice became all husky. “I look forward to seeing you come, then.”

Elliot froze and his eyes widened. The penny dropped as he took in my appearance and my words and realized what I was saying. His lips parted in surprise, and for the first time, I looked at his mouth with sex on my mind. Oh, yes. That was a lovely mouth. I couldn’t wait to find out how it tasted.

“Fucking hell, Hank! I have three more patients coming in after you, and you pull this shit on me?”

“Whoops.” My tone was completely unrepentant. “Sorry, Doctor Montgomery. I’ll be the perfect patient from here on in. I’m here to get my collarbone checked out, sir. I’ll just take my shirt off, then?”

It took all of two seconds to shrug out of my jacket and peel the T-shirt over my head. Poor Elliot’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. I rubbed it in—by idly rubbing one of my nipples.

“Bit cool in here, Ell. My nipples have gone all hard.”

That wasn’t the only thing that had gone hard. The tight blue jeans Elliot wore did nothing to hide the erection growing beneath the material.

“Hank….”

“I’ll hop up on this table, shall I? Do you need my pants off, Doc? Shall I sit or lay back?”

This was more fun than I’d had in ages. I sat on the table and flexed my muscles. Elliot didn’t move; he was still fixated in his chair behind his desk. I’d seen plenty of porn pictures. I knew what was sexually arousing. I’d never tried it before, but it seemed like a good day to start. I lifted one arm and brushed my hair off my forehead, then gripped the back of my skull. The position brought definition to my muscles in both my arm and my chest and had the added bonus of showing off the hair in my pit. I’d read it was a source of pheromones, so exposing your underarm is a huge turn on.

From across the room, Elliot choked on nothing, so I concluded they were right.

With my left arm, I rubbed my muscled thigh a couple of times before placing my palm against my bare stomach, directly above the button on my jeans. As a final lure, I licked my lips wetly.

Elliot groaned, closed his eyes, and hunched over.

“You okay over there, Ell?”

“No.” His reply was half strangled, and I felt a surge of pleasure and satisfaction. I dropped the pose to grip the edge of the bed.

“Do you need me to come over to you?”

“Hell, no! That wouldn’t help my predicament at all.”

I could’ve giggled—if I’d been the giggling type. “And what’s your predicament? Can you tell me, or is it too hard?”

There were a few
fucks
whispered into the heavy atmosphere, and they didn’t come from me. Finally Elliot pulled himself together and stood up. He was still aroused, but that was more than fine with me. He approached the examination table warily, eyeing me like a feral ram.

“Hank, we need to be professional about this, okay? So just let me do my job, and we can talk later tonight.”

“Okay,” I lied.

He narrowed his eyes in my direction, seeming to assess my honesty. I beamed at him angelically. Silly man. He shouldn’t have trusted me. He stepped into my personal space and brought his hand up to my fracture. He probed around a bit, asked a couple of questions, then said, “Can you move your arm so your elbow is above your shoulder height?”

“Sure.” My left arm went up, and while Ell was distracted, I placed my right hand firmly on his rounded arse and brought him into my embrace. He shuddered and melted against me. His head dropped onto my shoulder—thankfully my uninjured shoulder—as he placed his warm hands on my bare stomach. I leaned down, feathered my lips over his ear, and felt him shiver with the sensation. I breathed in deeply, smelling scents of shampoo and the medicinal antiseptic tang that most hospitals had. But under that layer was a scent that was all Elliot—hot, horny male. I liked it.

He turned his head and sucked very lightly on the skin of my neck. “Hank,” he whispered, “not here.”

“I know, Quackle. Just a minute more and I’ll behave.”

He pressed a line of kisses along the column of my throat as I kneaded the globes of his buttocks, enjoying the feel of him in my arms. Eventually he pulled back and cleared his throat. “If this isn’t the definition of unethical, I don’t know what is.”

He persuaded me to keep my hands to myself as he finished his examination and walked me down the hall to the X-ray machine. Back in his office, he gathered my file and said, “I’ll have a look at those X-rays and let you know if there’s a problem, but I doubt it. It’s healing well. Rest it for another two weeks, then just light duties until you feel it come back to full strength. You won’t be able to haul fifty-kilo bags of grain around on it for at least another two months, but you’ll find you can lift lighter loads, increasing slowly. Start flexing the muscle by lifting your hand above your head each night, but stop if it twinges too much. You should be right to resume shearing by mid-August.”