Lang Downs Read online

  Macklin joined him at the small table and sipped his tea slowly. “Two more days and we should have all the sheep in winter pastures,” Macklin said finally.

  “That’s good,” Caine said. “Then we can start the breeding, right?”

  “Yes,” Macklin replied. “We’ll separate the ewes out into groups according to the rams we want to breed them with and then let the rams in and let nature take its course.”

  “It sounds labor-intensive,” Caine observed.

  “Time-consuming,” Macklin said, “but not hard. The biggest issue is keeping the bloodlines from getting inbred. We replenish our breeding stock by keeping the most likely lambs from one year to the next, which means that the sires of those ewes are here on the station. We don’t want to breed a ewe to its sire.”

  “That makes sense,” Caine said. “So you obviously keep records.”

  “We have a breeding book,” Macklin said. “Not really a book anymore—it’s all on the computer—but all the ewes have a tag, and we keep track by number of who their sires are so we can breed them to some other ram.”

  “It sounds like you need a biology degree to keep it all straight,” Caine said with a smile.

  “Or a lot of hands-on training,” Macklin replied. “Would you like to see the records?”

  “I’d love to,” Caine said.

  “I’ll get my laptop.”

  A knock on the door interrupted them. “After I see who that is,” Macklin added.

  “Sorry to disturb you, boss,” Neil said, “but Devlin Taylor is here asking to see Caine.”

  “We’ll come to the big house,” Macklin replied.

  “Our neighbor?” Caine asked. “What does he want?”

  “To stir up trouble, I’m sure,” Macklin muttered. “Bring your coffee, pup. He can talk a man’s ear off, so we might as well be comfortable while we’re listening.”

  “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Caine offered. “Neil said he wanted to talk to me.”

  “I don’t trust him not to sell you some load of sheep shit,” Macklin replied. “He wants Lang Downs, and I don’t know what stories he’d invent or bad information he’d give you to get it.”

  “He can say whatever he wants,” Caine said. “I’m not interested in selling, so it doesn’t matter what he says.”

  “It does if he gives you bad advice and we end up in trouble because of it.”

  “Macklin,” Caine said, grabbing Macklin’s arm and stopping him before he could open the door, “you’re my foreman, not him. Your dedication to Lang Downs is not in question. If I need advice, I’ll ask you¸ and if Taylor’s told me something different, you’re the one I’m going to listen to. Attraction aside, you’re the one I trust.”

  “Don’t mention that to Taylor,” Macklin warned, pulling free of Caine’s grip and opening the door.

  “I’m green, not stupid,” Caine retorted, grabbing his hat and following Macklin outside.

  If Caine hadn’t already met Macklin, Devlin Taylor would have been the epitome of an Australian grazier, as far as Caine could tell when he caught sight of the man standing on the veranda of the main house. Sun-darkened skin, sun-bleached hair, whipcord body, hipshot stance, but Caine had met Macklin first, and so when he looked at Taylor, he saw all the little ways he was less. His boots were similar to Macklin’s but without the scuffs that came from hard work. His shoulders were broad, but not quite as solid. His hips were trim, but Caine could see a slight paunch above his belt. Devlin Taylor might live in the outback, but he was no Macklin Armstrong.

  “Introduce me to your new boss, Armstrong,” Taylor said with false joviality. “My boys tell me you dropped by last month, so I thought I’d return the favor. Being a good neighbor and all.”

  Caine gritted his teeth at the overly hearty slap on the back Taylor gave him.

  “C-caine N-neiheisel,” Caine said, not wanting for Macklin to answer. He wanted Taylor to deal with him, not with his foreman.

  “Neiheisel,” Taylor repeated. “What kind of name is that?”

  “Cincinnati German,” Caine replied, hackles rising at the implied insult.

  Taylor shook his head. “So you’re old man Lang’s great-nephew, is that what I heard?”

  “That’s right,” Caine said. “My g-grandmother was his older s-s-sister.” He opened the door and gestured for Macklin and Taylor to go inside.

  “This must be quite the shock for you, all the inconveniences of the outback after living in the city all your life,” Taylor said as they went inside.

  “Not at all,” Caine replied. “It’s a thrilling adventure. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

  “A cup of tea if you have one.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Caine said.

  Caine left the two men alone in the living room and headed to the small kitchen reserved for his personal use to turn on the electric kettle. He could have checked with Kami in the big kitchen, but he didn’t want to bother the cook this close to dinner. He started back toward the living room when he overheard the two Aussies talking.

  “He’ll never make it, Armstrong. He’s a city boy through and through, and from what I dug up, a faggot on top of it. The jackaroos will never listen to him, and if you take his side, they won’t listen to you either. Help me convince him to sell out. I’ll pay him a good price. We’ll combine the stations and with the number of sheep we’ll be able to run, we’ll both be rich men.”

  “I wasn’t interested the first two times you made the offer,” Macklin snapped. “What makes you think I’ll be interested now?”

  “You hadn’t met him the first two times I suggested it,” Taylor replied. “How do you hold your head up, knowing you’re working for a poofter?”

  “I hold my head up knowing I’m working for Michael Lang’s nephew,” Macklin answered.

  Caine slunk back to the kitchen, not sure what to make of everything he had overheard. He hadn’t expected his sexuality to be a source of tension this early in his tenure. If he met anybody, sure, but he’d expected to have time to prove himself first, to be a known quantity to the men before it became an issue. He wasn’t hiding it—he’d told Macklin the first day because it came up logically in conversation—but he wasn’t advertising it either. Pouring two cups of tea, he carried them back to the living room, making sure to make enough noise that Macklin and Taylor heard him coming.

  “So what brings you by today, Mr. Taylor?” Caine asked politely.

  “I wanted to meet my new neighbor, like I said,” Taylor replied, “and to tell you I’d be happy to help out in any way I can. Advice, extra men, anything you need, you just send someone over to Taylor Peak.”

  “That’s a very generous offer,” Caine said, “but I’m sure it’s one we won’t have to take you up on. Macklin keeps everything running tight here.”

  “I’m sure he does, but your uncle and I were good friends, and in his memory, I’d like to help you out. We’ve been seeing packs of feral dogs up at the higher elevations. You’ll need to be careful about that so you don’t lose sheep.”

  “We’ll keep an eye out for them,” Caine said, not about to discuss Macklin’s decision to move the sheep down to lower elevations or the dead animals they’d found the month before. He didn’t think Taylor would do anything as underhanded as killing their sheep to convince Caine to sell, but he didn’t want to put ideas in the other man’s head either.

  Even if all his comments did was reveal the differences between their management decisions and Taylor’s, Caine preferred not to give the man the opportunity to offer unwelcome advice. If it had just been differences in management style, Caine might have listened, but Taylor had ulterior motives, and Caine didn’t trust that at all.

  “You must be lonely out here in the outback by yourself,” Taylor said.

  “I’m hardly all b-by myself,” Caine said with a forced laugh. He could already see where this was going, but he refused to give Taylor the satisfaction of t
rapping him into admitting something that was none of the other man’s business. If Taylor had the balls to ask outright, Caine might have answered, but he wasn’t going to dignify Taylor’s probing with a reaction. Macklin might read his nervousness in his stutter, but Taylor didn’t know him that well. “There are a good fifty people living here.”

  “That’s not company,” Taylor scoffed. “That’s jackaroos.”

  “No,” Caine replied, “that’s Macklin and Kami and Jason and Neil and all the others. Or are you one of those b-b-bosses who thinks you can’t be friends with your employees?”

  “Kind of hard to fire someone if you’re friends,” Taylor pointed out.

  “If you’re f-friends, they’ll work hard enough for you that you d-don’t have to fire them,” Caine countered. He turned to Macklin. “When was the last time you had to f-fire someone from Lang D-downs?”

  “We’ve had people choose to leave,” Macklin said, “or not come back after a season or two, but I haven’t fired anyone since I took over as foreman. I haven’t needed to. My people work too hard for that.”

  Caine looked at Taylor smugly. “There, you see, Mr. Taylor? There’s no harm in being friends with the people who work on the station.”

  “There’s friends and then there’s company,” Taylor tried again.

  “This is also t-t-true,” Caine agreed, “but I need to g-get settled in my new life before I worry about c-c-company. Are you married, Mr. Taylor?”

  “Divorced,” Taylor said, flushing beneath his tan. Caine hid a smile. Score one for the poofter. “My wife had a hard time coping with being so far from the city. She said Boorowa didn’t count.”

  “I suppose that would d-d-depend on your definition of a c-city,” Caine replied. “I enjoyed the day I spent there, although I do hope to visit Sydney again when I’m not jetlagged.”

  “You can come with me next month,” Macklin offered. “I go to Sydney for a week in the middle of winter. It’s my yearly vacation.”

  The offer surprised Caine, especially with Taylor there and in light of what Taylor had said about Caine’s sexuality. Maybe it was Macklin’s way of telling Taylor it didn’t matter. He smiled at Macklin, hoping that was the case, but even if it wasn’t, a week in Sydney with Macklin sounded like heaven. “Thank you. I’d l-like that. I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Taylor, but I have some work I have to do before d-d-dinner, so if there isn’t anything else, I’ll say good-bye.”

  “No, nothing else,” Taylor said, clearly surprised at the dismissal. “Although if you ever change your mind about staying, look me up. I’m sure we could work something out.”

  “If I ever change my m-mind, I’ll r-r-remember your offer,” Caine replied. Not that he would change his mind, but Taylor wouldn’t believe him if he said it, so he left it at that.

  Caine showed Taylor to the door, closing it firmly behind him rather than going out on the veranda to see the man off. His mother would fuss at his lack of manners, but Caine was ready to be rid of the man. He turned back around to find Macklin standing practically on top of him, all but pinning him to the door.

  “Do not even think about selling to Devlin Taylor.”

  Caine smiled and draped his arms around Macklin’s neck. The foreman reared back, but Caine held tight. “Didn’t I tell you I was staying?”

  Macklin shrugged free of Caine’s embrace, and Caine let him go. “Yes, but you told Taylor you’d remember his offer.”

  “Just because I remember it doesn’t mean I’d take it even if I did decide to leave,” Caine pointed out, “and after what I overheard while I was making tea, I wouldn’t sell to him if his was the only offer I had. How do you put up with his attitude?”

  “His attitude is pretty typical,” Macklin said. “Why do you think I go to Sydney once a year? And I don’t put up with his attitude. I don’t put up with him at all unless I have no other choice. How much did you overhear?”

  “Him trying to convince you to talk me into selling and then his tirade about me being gay,” Caine replied. “He doesn’t know about you, I take it?”

  “Nobody except Michael did,” Macklin replied, “and he didn’t care. He supported me completely.”

  “I’m glad to know that,” Caine said. “It makes it easier to know he wouldn’t have a problem with me being here now.”

  Macklin snorted. “He never told you, did he? I suppose that makes sense since he didn’t really know you. He was gay, too, pup. He and his foreman Donald were partners in every sense of the word. Donald died soon after I got here, so he wouldn’t have been in any of Michael’s letters about the station itself, but I assumed you knew.”

  “No, he never told me,” Caine said. “I don’t even remember him mentioning that name. Did everyone know?”

  “It wasn’t something anybody spoke of, but I can’t imagine that they didn’t know,” Macklin said. “The station wasn’t as big then, so there wasn’t a separate foreman’s house, just the big house and the bunkhouse. Donald and Michael lived here, the rest of the men lived in the bunkhouse. By the time the station grew big enough to build the extra houses, Donald was ill, and so the explanation was that Donald needed more space and care than the bunkhouse could provide. Most of the men here now arrived after Donald’s death. I’ve never asked them if they knew. Like I said, it’s not something people talk about.”

  “So the men don’t know about you either, then, do they?” Caine asked.

  “It’s not something people talk about,” Macklin repeated. “There was no reason to tell them. I don’t have someone like Donald.”

  “You could.”

  “You really want to give Taylor more ammunition for his attacks on you, pup?” Macklin asked.

  “I don’t give a damn about Taylor,” Caine replied. “I have to live my life. We could be good together, Macklin.”

  Macklin’s face tightened. “I already told you it couldn’t work.”

  “No, you told me you were afraid to try because it might go wrong,” Caine insisted. “It might go wrong. There are no guarantees, but it might go right. Uncle Michael and Donald made it work. Maybe we could too.”

  “Bloody hell, you’re tenacious, pup,” Macklin said. “This is a bad idea.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Caine said, approaching Macklin again and resting his hand on the other man’s forearm. “Take a chance on me, Macklin. Let me prove to you I’m worth it.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Macklin conceded.

  That was enough for Caine. As long as Macklin was thinking about it, Caine could keep wearing away the foreman’s resistance.

  Eleven

  THE DATABASE that held the breeding records was simple in its layout but incredibly complex in the amount of information it held. Macklin had computerized the records back to Lang Downs’s inception so that they could trace every sheep back generations. Caine had taken one look at it and handed the computer back to Macklin.

  “Tell me how we keep from breeding the wrong ewes and rams.”

  “Each sheep has an ear tag,” Macklin explained. “We tag them in lots so a particular range of numbers all came from the same ram. Then it’s a question of checking those numbers against the database to make sure we don’t put them in with their sire this year. It takes time to check, but it keeps the bloodlines safe for future breeding and for selling the lambs for food.”

  Caine nodded. “So do you take a printout or how do you consult the database when you’re out herding sheep?”

  “We have it on a PDA,” Macklin said. “The sheep come in, we check the number against the database, and route them accordingly.”

  “There are a lot of things I still don’t know how to do,” Caine said, “but surely I can figure that out.”

  “It’s not hard,” Macklin agreed. “I’m sure you can handle it.”

  It was boring, cold, dirty work, standing in the fields as the men brought the mob in a few sheep at a time. They’d call out the number from the ear tag, Caine would look it up and
identify the sire, and Macklin would order the ewe into one pen or another according to a system Caine still hadn’t figured out.

  Caine had guzzled two thermoses of coffee by lunchtime, and he was still frozen through. The other men were moving, herding the sheep while Caine stood still at the center of the enclosures and waited for the men to come to him.

  As they headed in to lunch, he sought out Macklin. “Can I s-switch with someone after lunch? I’m f-f-freezing, standing on one p-place the whole time. Jason has b-been t-teaching me to work with the d-dogs.”

  “Are you stuttering because you’re cold or because you’re really that worried I’ll say no?”

  “C-cold,” Caine said, glad it was the truth. Macklin still made him nervous at times, but not where the station was concerned. He might say no, but Caine had come to trust that Macklin wouldn’t automatically refuse him as a blow-in.

  “Stick with Neil,” Macklin decided, handing Caine more coffee. “I’ll see if Jason wants to take your job. I told him he could help this afternoon if he finished his lessons this morning.”

  “He’ll want to work with P-polly,” Caine said. “I don’t want to keep him from helping.”

  “He’s a hard worker and Polly’s learning fast,” Macklin replied, “but the first lesson any jackaroo has to learn is that you do the job you’re assigned. Even if it’s shoveling shit, and there will be plenty of that to do this winter, so don’t you forget it either.”

  The twinkle in Macklin’s eye was the only clue he was teasing Caine, but Caine saw it and smiled. “Yes, sir, Mr. Armstrong, sir. Whatever job I’m assigned.”

  “Get some tucker,” Macklin chided with a shake of his head and a shove in the direction of the food Kami had prepared. “You’ll need it if you’re going to herd sheep this afternoon.”

  Jason came in while Caine was eating, obviously excited about the afternoon. His face fell a little after he talked to Macklin, but he nodded and came to sit with Caine. “Mr. Armstrong says you’re going to help with the sheep this afternoon. You should take Polly with you. You know her better than any of the other dogs.”