The Shearing Gun (22 page)

“Not too bad, boss. She’ll need several stitches and some purple paint if you have it, but she’s a tough girl, I’m sure.”

The young lad was back with my kit, which had a needle already threaded for just this reason. Someone ran to fetch the purple paint—which wasn’t actually purple paint, but a veterinary product for cuts and wounds that used to be bright purple. Middy knelt at my side and held the wound together while I stitched. Ten stitches and she was done. I applied the ointment and gently held her on her rump to finish shearing. I couldn’t lay her on the side, which was a bit awkward, but she had gone into a little bit of shock so laid quiet. The fleece was ruined anyway, so I just did what I could to get it off her.

Elliot was still standing at my side as I stood her up and walked her gently to the chute. She was wobbly going down, and fell, but got up and rejoined the flock.

“Will she be okay? Wouldn’t it be better to isolate her and make sure she’s healed?”

I grimaced at Elliot. “She’s a herd animal, Quackle. She feels safest surrounded by others of her kind. Isolating her will cause more stress than coping with an injury in the open.”

He looked at me chagrined. “I’ve never been the only doctor in the room and not been the one to do the stitches.”

“You’re in my world now, Quackle.” I gave him a brief smile as the broom boy used a rag to wipe the floor of blood. “I’d better get back to it. Someone promised me something really good if I made top score today.”

I watched as the blush stole across his cheekbones and thought to myself how lucky I was to have such an adorable guy in my life.

Chapter 18

B
Y
AFTERNOON
smoko I was on three twenty. If I could maintain forty-five an hour, I would have it in the bag. I was puffing and my back was already aching. The last quarter of the day was usually the hardest—and slowest.

But Elliot was watching… and waiting. He’d gotten pretty efficient at throwing a fleece during the day. He was filthy. He was sweaty. He was happy.

The best way a man could be.

My pen was full again and at 3:00 p.m. I hit the deck running. I zoned out and simply repeated the motion of the blows constantly. Leg, tight, strike, shuffle, head, neck. The words repeated over and over in my head. The sweat began to pour from my brow. Elliot brought me a towel, and I smiled my thanks as I threw myself back in the pen to catch my next. My throat began to parch, but I didn’t want to stop for a drink. That bloody total had been begging to be broken for years. Besides, there was more than just glory riding on today’s total.

Elliot fetched me water without me asking, making me wonder how bad I looked. He counted the sheep off for me.

“That’s three fifty, Hank.”

“Three sixty. We’re all rooting for you.”

“Four o’clock, Hank. You did forty-seven for the hour.”

Shit. I was slowing.

“Three eighty.”

There seemed to be a crowd in the shed. Even Mrs. D had come down for the show. My back was killing, and my arms felt like jelly. I hoped that the sheep in the pen were as tired as I was and didn’t struggle.

“Three ninety, Hank.”

“Three ninety-five. Ten to go, buddy! You have eighteen minutes.”

Fuck.
In some ways I hoped the day was over so I could say I failed and the torture could end.

“C’mon, Hank. You can do it! I wanna put my b-b-best buddy’s name on my shed wall!”

I charged into the pen, almost stumbling in my exhaustion.

“Three ninety-eight.”

“That’s four hundred, buddy! Come on! Five more! You’ve got ten minutes.”

Shit! It took me eight minutes to do five sheep. Did I have another five in me?

Did I want to break the record for the shed? Hell, yes.

Did I want Elliot to fuck me tonight? Did you need five sheep done or fifty, did you say?

“Three to go.”

“I’m getting the p-paint brush out, Hank!”

“Five minutes!”

I sensed, rather than saw, the other shearers pack it in for the day. The noise level quietened.

“Four-oh-four with four minutes to go, Hank.”

Four fucking minutes?

I did four-oh-five amid cheers and whistles, then glanced at the clock. “One more, boss?”

The floor boss nodded and grinned at me. Middy was already at the wall painting the W in Woods.

I grabbed another ewe and turned my handpiece on for the final time. The fleece came off and my audience cheered. I stood and stretched with the ewe still between my knees. “Fuck, Quackle. Come and shove this one outside for me, will ya? I think my back’s broken.”

Elliot laughed and took the ewe’s head. She didn’t require much persuading and trotted down the ramp to join the flock.

I grinned tiredly as they congratulated me, shaking my hand and promising me a round next time at the pub. It was five o’clock, but we still had clean up.

“How’d we do, boss?” I asked as the floor boss shook my hand. “How many more have we got to go tomorrow?”

“You lads were hauling ass today. Fifteen hundred in the bag. About another nine hundred to go tomorrow. Hopefully we can pack it in by three.”

My aching body was declaring that was good news. Di was folding up the last fleece, and I threw my arm around her shoulder. “How you doing?”

“Tired, man. You kept me on my toes today.”

“How’s the wool looking?”

“Good. Dave’ll be pleased.”

“Thanks for looking after the Doc for a bit today. I don’t think he’s ever touched a sheep before he came out west. D’ya reckon we can turn his blood and make him stay?”

She smiled coyly at me. “He’s a cutie. I reckon find him a wife.”

Heck, no.
With effort I kept my expression fixed and laughed at her comment. “What? He’d never forgive me.”

I gathered my gear and spoke a word of praise to each of the young lads helping out. They’d done a stupendous job. I followed Rooster out the door and waved good-bye to him as I headed for Elliot’s car. He was already behind the wheel.

My gut clenched as our eyes met, but neither of us had anything to say. Finally he broke. “See you at your place?”

“Yeah. I’ve gotta have a word with Middy and I’ll be two minutes behind you. The back door should be open.”

His smile was a bit nervous, and I wondered what the fuck
he
had to be nervous about. “Okay. I’ll find us something for dinner. You must be exhausted.”

My gaze flew to his. “Not too exhausted, Quackle.”

That brought a sparkle to his eyes. “See you at home, Hank.”

I threw my gear in the back of my car and strode over to where Middy was counting sheep for tomorrow’s work. I waited for him to finish. He wrote something in a notepad before grinning at me happily.

“Awesome total, Hank.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“I’ve b-been waiting for that tally to fall for a g-good five years. Glad it was you.”

My smile was tired and probably a bit forced. “Look, Mid. About what you said earlier. You know? That Elliot was my—”

“It’s okay, Hank,” he interrupted. He tucked his notebook in his pocket and turned to face me with a serious expression. “It’s okay. I’ve suspected f-for a while. It doesn’t change anything.”

I stared at him in confusion. It didn’t change anything? “What do you mean you suspected?”

“Mate, we’ve b-been friends over three years now. I wondered f-from the start. What guy g-gets kicked out of home for something he doesn’t want to talk about and g-goes running to his g-gay uncle for shelter? It never mattered to me if you were or weren’t. You’re just Hank—farmer, shearer, mate, and friend. As the years w-went on and you never dated, I was nearly positive. I even w-wondered if
you
knew.”

I kicked at the ground and turned bright red. This was not the sort of fucking conversation I usually had with Middy. “Elliot… well….”

What are best friends for apart from reading minds? “I ain’t gonna be b-blabbin’ my mouth, Hank. You’ve been sweet on the g-guy for some time, I reckon. I w-wondered, ’cause you were always talkin’ ’bout him doing this, him comin’ to your house and stuff. But you n-n-never brought him to the pub. You were s-spending all this time with him, but not including him when the g-g-guys all get together. You’ve kept him separate. More people are g-gonna figure it out if you d-d-do that.”

Shit. Why didn’t we think of that?

“Why didn’t you say something earlier, Mid?”

“Why didn’t you?”

Well, that was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. I looked at my best friend, whom I had underestimated. “Thanks, Dave.”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Hank.”

M
Y
HOUSE
was lit up by the time I pulled into the driveway. I could see smoke rising from the chimney, which meant Elliot had managed to light the potbelly. Sheesh—wasn’t that a trial by fire to teach a city boy about… well—about lighting a fire. I bashed my shoes on the back step to remove any muck and headed for the laundry. I stripped to my briefs, threw my clothes straight in the washing machine, and turned it on. On bare feet I padded into the kitchen where Elliot was defrosting steaks and peeling potatoes. He had showered and changed, which he needed since he’d worked damn hard for several hours. That Di was a nose-to-the-grindstone type of girl.

It felt great—and natural—to walk up behind him, place my hands on his hips and steal a kiss over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Go and jump in the shower. I’ll organize dinner.”

That earned him another kiss of complete gratitude, and I hurried to thrust my aching body under some hot water. After my shower, I mashed the potatoes for him while he turned the steaks and fried some tomatoes, then I slipped out to check on my chooks in the torchlight. There were five eggs waiting for me, although I had to slip my hand under a couple of disgruntled hens, but I bore them inside, as I was planning on eating them for breakfast.

I virtually inhaled my meal while Elliot chatted on about his experiences of the day. He’d finally learned to double my portions, but somehow it still took him longer to eat his food than it did me.

I washed the dishes while he hung my washing on the line and fed a grateful Buck.

“What time will you be up tomorrow?” he asked as he helped me dry the last plate.

“Five,” I replied. “I’ve gotta do a quick fence check, look over the stock, feed the chooks, water my veggies, and be on the road by six thirty.”

“So is it too early for bed, now?”

I yanked him hard against my body so that his breath stuttered with the impact. “With you? Never.”

Chapter 19

A
T
5:00
a.m. the radio alarm clock clicked on softly and woke me up. I rolled and snuck out of bed, careful not to wake Elliot. I took a long minute to stare at him. He was so cute. He always slept on his stomach, one arm above his head, and one foot sticking out of the blankets. It was still cool in the nights, so the covers were pulled up to his shoulders—only his curly-haired head sticking out, along with the required arm and foot. Every time he slept over, I took a minute to gaze upon him still sleeping. It gave me a heat in my stomach that I couldn’t readily identify and that I wasn’t ready to analyze yet.

I tiptoed into the kitchen and started the potbelly. The first couple of times Elliot had stayed over, including the night he got roaring drunk, the noise of my morning routine woke him. The familiar sounds no longer bothered his subconscious. He snored through any noise I made lighting the fire and preparing my breakfast.

Buck followed me readily as I jumped into the Rover and the sun lightened the sky over the hills. There was a new sensation for me to deal with this morning, and I was glad Elliot was still asleep while I came to terms with it. Sitting reminded me of a soreness I’d never experienced before, and I was still uncertain as to whether I liked it or not.

The night had been magical. Elliot had been patient and loving, while at the same time, forceful and freaking horny! I had liked and enjoyed every single thing that he had done to me—and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On one hand I knew for certain that I was gay. But there was a part of me that was still clinging to the idea that I wasn’t
completely
gay if I hadn’t bottomed. I could still crawl back to my father, beg his forgiveness, and tell him that I was wrong. Wrong in saying I was gay and that I was just confused.