Lang Downs Read online

  They played in silence for a few more minutes, cheers and playful boos echoing after each shot. Caine was pleased to hear his good shots got as many cheers as Aidan’s did. When they had cleared the table, Aidan offered his hand again. “You’re not half-bad. Let me shout you a beer to welcome you to Australia.”

  Before Caine could accept, Macklin loomed over them suddenly. “Lunch is on the table.”

  “I’m g-going to have a b-b-beer with my new friends,” Caine said, feeling a bit like a teenager defying his parents for the first time. He reminded himself again that he was thirty-two and that, while he might need Macklin’s help and approval once they got to Lang Downs, he didn’t need it in the Yass Hotel. “I’ll come g-get my p-p-plate.”

  Macklin looked like he wanted to protest, but he let it go, much to Caine’s relief. While he didn’t want Macklin viewing him as a child or worse, he also knew he would need the man’s help out on the station, so he couldn’t afford to alienate him completely. “You c-could join us.”

  “No thanks,” Macklin said, returning to the table and his lunch.

  Caine started to take offense, but he shrugged it off. Macklin had no reason to like him or trust him and probably plenty of reasons not to. They’d have to discuss it if it started interfering with their business relationship, but this was neither the time nor the place. Instead he grabbed his plate and joined Aidan and the others at the bar. The server handed Caine a Tooheys Old. Caine wasn’t all that adventurous a beer drinker, but he’d come this far. There was no backing down now. For a dark beer, it wasn’t as heavy as Caine had feared, more ale-like than stout, much to his relief, and he found the taste more palatable than he would have expected. Maybe adapting to Australia wouldn’t be as hard as he’d worried it would be.

  “So what brings you to Yass?” Aidan asked, tapping their glasses together.

  “My uncle was from outside of B-boorowa,” Caine explained. “Well, my great-uncle really. My mom is his only remaining relative, but she’s not cut out for life on a sheep station.”

  The men chuckled. “And you think you are?”

  Caine shrugged. “Probably not yet, but I c-can learn. If anyone is willing to t-teach me,” he added with a bitter glance over his shoulder at Macklin. The foreman sat slumped at the table, eating his food absently and glaring in Caine’s direction every so often.

  Aidan leaned closer. “I’ll let you in on something. Aussies act like they’re the most open, friendly people in the world because they don’t get hung up on all that formality bullshit our Pommy ancestors considered so important, but underneath that, they’re just as closed off. They aren’t going to be willing to teach you anything, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still learn. Don’t let them ignore you or shut you out. You don’t have to piss them off, but stay in their faces just like a dog nipping at the heels of stubborn sheep until you’re part of them without them realizing it.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Caine asked suspiciously. “You don’t know me from Adam.”

  “Because I like the way you play pool,” Aidan said, “and because it takes a hell of a lot of gumption to do what you’ve done. If they run you off your station, look me up on your way south. I might be able to find you a place on a different station, one that won’t make your life difficult just because you aren’t from around here.”

  “Thanks,” Caine said, taking the number Aidan jotted on the back of his bar coaster with a pen borrowed from the barman. “I hope it won’t come to that, but thank you, really.”

  Three

  SPIRITS BUOYED by his success at pool and in overcoming his instinctive shyness, Caine returned to the table where Macklin still sat, glaring at his lunch plate.

  “I’m ready when you are,” Caine said, the beer he’d drunk easing his nerves enough to smooth over his stutter for the moment. He knew it wouldn’t last, but it was still a boost to his confidence to get the sentence out without a problem.

  “Let’s go,” Macklin said, pushing back from the table and tossing some money down for the bill.

  Caine shook his head and handed the bills back to the foreman. “You c-came all this way to get me. I’ll shout you lunch.” The Australian idiom felt odd on his tongue, but he was determined to follow Aidan’s advice and do everything he could to fit in.

  “A few Aussie phrases aren’t going to make you any less of a Yank,” Macklin said with a half sneer, raising Caine’s hackles even more. “Don’t pretend to be something you’re not.”

  Caine’s anger simmered to the surface, but he kept a lid on it for the moment, paying for their lunch and waiting until they’d returned to Macklin’s Jeep to turn on the foreman. “What is your p-p-problem?” he demanded. “You d-don’t even know me. Why are you acting like I’ve d-done something wrong?”

  Macklin opened to his mouth to reply, closed it again, and snagged his hat off his head, running fingers through the shaggy blond strands that looked like they’d been cut with kitchen shears rather than by a barber’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding sincere enough that Caine felt his anger start to fade. “I admired your uncle for a lot of different reasons, and losing him was hard. The thought of maybe losing everything he worked his whole life to build is even harder, but that’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  Macklin started the Jeep and began the drive north to Boorowa. Caine sat in silence next to him for several minutes before continuing. “Uncle Michael and I wrote letters religiously when I was in middle school and high school,” he said softly. “I wanted to come see him more than anything. He told me I could come for the summer or even for a year if Mom would agree. We’d started making plans, and then I got accepted to the Ohio University Summer Honors Academy. My s-s-st—” He couldn’t get the word out, shaking his head fiercely. “My voice was covered by an education plan so they let me in despite it. I had a wonderful summer that got me excited for college, and I told myself and Uncle Michael I’d come another year. He understood, but it never seemed to work out after that. I sh-should have come then when I had the chance. Everything would b-b-be easier now if I had.”

  “We all have regrets,” Macklin said when Caine had finished. “It probably would be easier now if you’d come then, but that’s water under the bridge. We’ll just have to make the best of it.”

  “I m-meant what I said before,” Caine said. “I d-don’t want to t-t-take over. I want to learn and work b-b-b—with you and the other hands.” He cursed inwardly at having to fight his stutter so hard, but Macklin didn’t seem to be judging him for that at least. For everything else, but not for that. “Lang D-downs is my future now too.”

  The silence fell between them again as they continued the drive. Caine stared out the window, watching the town fall away and the majesty of the bushland come into view. He’d seen it some on the bus, but the Hume Highway was a major road, nothing like the more intimate feeling of the Lachlan Valley Way that led them steadily north toward Boorowa. As they drove further north, the trees—Caine had no idea what kind they were, although they vaguely resembled the cypress trees he remembered seeing when he visited Florida as a child—thinned out, leaving great open spaces. “Is all this range land?” he asked.

  “Most of it,” Macklin replied. “There are smaller homes hidden between the hills, but for the most part, there’s nothing out here but us and the sheep.”

  “I d-don’t think I’ve ever seen so much open sky,” Caine admitted. “I grew up in a city, went to college in another city, and then lived in a third city. This is amazing.”

  Macklin laughed. “We’ll see how ‘amazing’ you think it is when the storms knock the power out and it takes days or weeks to repair.”

  “What d-d-do you do then?” Caine asked nervously. “No power for weeks?”

  “We have generators,” Macklin assured him. “Solar panels, windmills, and actual gas generators to keep essential systems running, but for the most part, we wait it out. The canteen is tied to the gene
rators, the hot water heaters, and the heating systems for winter. Other than that, we don’t need a lot.”

  “Lights?” Caine suggested. “Or maybe a computer? A TV?”

  “Most nights we’re too buggered to watch TV or get on a computer,” Macklin said. “We work outside all day, we eat dinner, and then we sleep because we have to get up and do it all again the next day. I finally made Michael buy a computer two years ago because his handwriting got so bad I couldn’t read his ledgers anymore, but that’s about all we use it for. You sure you’re ready for this?”

  “No,” Caine said, “but it’s got to better than working in the mail room. I’m better than working in the mail room.”

  Macklin chuckled. “It won’t be a mail room, that’s for sure, pup.”

  Caine considered taking umbrage at the nickname, but it didn’t seem malicious, not like the earlier attack, and next to Macklin, he was little more than a puppy following the more experienced dogs around. “I did some reading before I came,” he said, “but it was all focused on North American sheep farming. I didn’t know how much would carry over. Certainly not the dates when they cited certain things occurring.”

  “I can see that,” Macklin agreed. “It would be spring in the States, right?”

  “Yes, the snow had finally melted when I left home,” Caine said. “So it was all about lambing and shearing right now.”

  “You’re six months off from us,” Macklin said. “We’re in the middle of breeding and settling the sheep for the winter.”

  “What kind of accommodations do you have for them?” Caine asked.

  “If it’s a mild winter as far as snow is concerned, we leave them outside most of the time,” Macklin said. “If we get enough snow to be dangerous for them, we have barns and sheds where we can shelter them until it melts enough for them to go outside again.”

  “Do you breed naturally or do you use insemination?” Caine asked.

  “Naturally,” Macklin said. “We have too many sheep to inseminate them and no reason to do it since about seventy percent of our ewes breed the first time out, and most of the rest do the second time. If they don’t, there’s usually something wrong with them.”

  “That must cut down on the work,” Caine said. “That’s g-good. I’m sure there’s enough work as it is.”

  “We certainly aren’t sitting around on our hands,” Macklin agreed, sharing a quick grin with Caine. “We’ll make it to Boorowa in another ten minutes or so. Tell me what you have in your kit so I know what we need to scare up for you.”

  “Not much that will suit for out here,” Caine admitted. “I have a couple of pairs of jeans, nice ones, but not new. I don’t mind if they get dirty. I have some sweaters, sweatshirts, T-shirts, but most everything else is stuff I wore to the office. Khaki pants, button-down shirts. I know they aren’t practical for the station, but I didn’t have anything else to bring.”

  “What about boots?” Macklin asked.

  Caine shook his head. “A good pair of sneakers and some loafers, but nothing for hard work. I wasn’t kidding when I told you I was a greenhorn.”

  “That you are, pup,” Macklin agreed. “No worries. We’ll get you sorted in Boorowa, but it won’t be cheap if you insist on buying it all at once on your own penny.”

  “I’ll buy what I need to get through the winter,” Caine decided, “and I’ll deal with the rest when it warms up in… when does it warm up? September? October?”

  “September,” Macklin concurred, “although that’s always variable. I’m sure it does that at home for you as well.”

  “Lang Downs is home now,” Caine insisted, “but yes, it was true in Philadelphia too.”

  Caine expected Macklin to challenge his statement, but to his surprise, the foreman let it pass without comment.

  Boorowa was an even smaller version of Yass, with enough bustle to make it clear the town was in no danger of dying out while being anything but a city. Macklin pulled up in front of a country store that reminded Caine of the dry goods stores in the old Western novels he used to read as a boy. He kept the comparison to himself, quite sure Macklin would not appreciate it.

  “So what d-d-do we need first?” he asked, nervous again now that they were back in public. Macklin seemed far less approachable when others were around than he did in the relative privacy of the Jeep.

  “Relax, pup,” Macklin said, obviously having picked up on the fact that Caine’s stutter got worse when he was ill at ease. “Nobody’s going to bother you here.”

  “I know,” Caine said, “but I don’t fit in.”

  “That hasn’t bothered you before now,” Macklin pointed out. “You didn’t deal with those blokes in Yass like you cared if you fit in. You brought them to you instead. You came a long way to follow a dream. Maybe I wonder if you know what you’re getting into, but you’ve got to respect a man for rolling the dice that way.”

  Caine took a deep breath. “So what do we need first?” he asked, relieved that his voice was steady this time.

  “Moleskin jeans, some heavier work shirts so you don’t ruin your fancy ones, two pairs of boots, and a hat, or you’ll be so burned in a day or two you’ll be sick with it.”

  “I thought it was fall,” Caine said, looking around at the sparse foliage that had started to change color.

  “It is, but that doesn’t make the sun less of an issue,” Macklin said. “The sun can burn you all year round.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I brought sunscreen,” Caine muttered.

  Macklin knocked him on the shoulder with his hat. “Buy a hat. Akubra’s a good one.”

  Caine sighed and followed Macklin inside the store. The foreman obviously knew the shop owner, greeting him with a smile and a handshake and starting into a list of things he’d need for the “blow-in.” Caine smiled politely and took the pile of clothes and gear the owner handed him. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, and all the rest of the shirt sizes told him nothing when he was used to asking for a fifteen-and-a-half. He figured he’d just try clothes on and go from there. Of course if he hardened up anywhere to the degree Macklin was, he’d need new clothes by the time next winter rolled around. “Is there s-somewhere I can t-t-try them on? Since I don’t know what size I need here.”

  The owner pointed toward a dressing room Caine could use. Caine kept his head high through sheer determination as he went to the back of the store, sure he could hear Macklin and the shopkeeper exchanging jokes at his expense. He pulled the curtain to assure his privacy and rested his head against the cool mirror on the wall. He’d been a fool to come. He couldn’t do this alone, and Macklin, whom he’d hoped to rely on for pretty much everything, blew hot and cold, not giving Caine the rock to lean on he needed.

  “Grow up,” he muttered. “You might be a ‘blow-in’, but you aren’t a stupid kid who made a spur-of-the-moment decision. You knew this would be hard. You aren’t going to give up before the adventure even begins.”

  With that self-scolding fresh in his mind, he tried on the jeans and shirts Macklin and the shopkeeper had given him. He ended up with a size thirty-nine to be able to button it around his neck, but it hung loosely on his admittedly scrawny shoulders, making him wish he was built more like Macklin. The pants were even more confusing, with the waist measurement in centimeters and the length in a generic regular or long, neither of which fit his legs right. “I guess I’d better buy a sewing kit too,” he added with a huff that would earn him a swat from his mother for sulking if she could see him, but she wasn’t here to see his disgrace, fortunately. Setting aside the clothes that fit best, Caine put his own jeans and shirt back on and summoned a smile. “I’ll need something to take up the hem of the pants,” he said as he walked back out of dressing room. “I’m not quite the same shape as the average Australian man, apparently.”

  “You and half the men in Australia,” the owner said with a grin.

  “We have what you need at the station,” Macklin added. “No need to spend your money on tha
t. Now, what about boots, Paul? Do you have any Blundstones or RM Williams? No idea what size he’ll need, but a pair of sneakers isn’t going to cut it out in the paddock.”

  “We’ll get him sorted,” Paul promised. “Let me see those shoes you’re wearing, son. I can try to find the right size from there.”

  Still feeling out of sorts but sensing that the mood in the room had shifted while he was trying on clothes, Caine slipped out of the sensible brown loafers he’d chosen to wear and handed one to the shop keeper.

  “You said I’d need a hat too,” Caine said, turning back to Macklin while Paul was busy with his shoes.

  “They’re over here,” Macklin said, leading Caine to a display of hats under the label Akubra. The brand meant nothing to Caine, but the hats matched the one Macklin was wearing, if in better shape, so Caine figured they were good ones. He tried a couple on, not sure how they were supposed to fit, until Macklin nodded.

  “That’ll do, pup,” he said. “That one fits you all right. It’ll shade your eyes without falling in your face all the time.”

  Caine couldn’t explain the surge of pride at getting Macklin’s approval for something as simple as picking a good hat, but it was there nonetheless. If the man’s attitude were a little more consistent, Caine wouldn’t have worried so much, but the hints of hostility beneath the surface worried him a little. “Thanks. Anything else I need?”

  “A drizabone,” Paul said, coming back with several pairs of short-sided boots with elastic around the ankles. “And some thick socks. It doesn’t snow much where you’re going, but it can get cold, and there’s nothing as miserable as frozen feet.”

  “What’s a drizabone?” Caine asked.

  “A coat,” Macklin said, “a waterproof one. Try on the boots and then we’ll find you one.”