Lang Downs Read online

  “All I did was keep my mouth shut,” Caine replied.

  “With that lot, that’s the best thing you could have done.”

  Caine shook his head and let it go. His hand had started to throb, making him a little sick to his stomach. He rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes, trying the same breathing exercises his speech therapist had taught him to help calm his stutter. He opened his eyes when he felt the Jeep slow, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could open the gate. The movement made his hand hurt worse, and he cursed again.

  “What’s the matter?” Macklin asked, turning to look at Caine this time.

  “I hurt my hand,” Caine admitted. “When I grabbed the barbed wire back there.”

  “Let me see,” Macklin demanded.

  Caine held out his hand to reveal the puncture in the center of his palm.

  Macklin shook his head. “Wear gloves next time. I only have a basic first aid kit in the car. I’ll patch it up as best I can, and then we’ll have a real go at it when we get to the station.”

  Caine wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but then he liked the thought of it getting infected even less.

  “When was your last tetanus shot?”

  “A c-couple of months ago,” Caine replied. “I made sure everything was up to date before I came here.”

  “That’s good at least,” Macklin said, opening the glove compartment above Caine’s knees and pulling out a first aid kit. “The doc comes to the station twice a year unless he has to fly in for an emergency. We try to avoid that.”

  “I’m sure,” Caine replied. Macklin pulled out a tube of some kind of ointment, some alcohol wipes that made Caine shudder just at the sight of them, and a small bandage.

  Caine bit his lip again as Macklin scrubbed at the wound until it bled slightly, not wanting to let on how much it hurt. “The blood will clean out the wound,” Macklin explained as he put cream on the spot and then covered it. “Keep it covered until it’s completely healed. It’s easy for cuts to get infected out here and hard to get the medicine to clear it up.”

  Caine nodded, his fingers tingling as Macklin held them. “I didn’t buy gloves in Boorowa.”

  “We’ll find a pair for you,” Macklin said. “We keep plenty of gloves on the station because we go through so many pairs. The leather might have a better chance against barbed wire than your skin, but it gets torn up too.”

  “My hand didn’t stand a chance,” Caine said, pulling back now that Macklin had finished with the bandage. “I’ll get the gate.”

  He hopped out before Macklin could tell him not to because of his hand. Yes, it hurt some when he had to use both hands to lift the gate enough to start it swinging, but he didn’t want Macklin thinking he couldn’t pull his own weight. The Jeep drove through, and Caine latched the gate behind him, noticing as he did that the latch was loose.

  “That gate didn’t close very well,” he told Macklin when he got back in.

  “Not our problem,” Macklin said. “It’s Taylor’s property on both sides of the fence. He has the gate to separate one pasture from another. I spend enough time mending damaged fences where his property meets Lang Downs. The rest of them are his problem.”

  “You don’t like him very much, do you?” Caine asked.

  Macklin shrugged, his eyes on the road. He waited so long to reply that Caine had given up on getting an answer. “I don’t hate him. I just don’t have any use for him. You’ll understand when we get to Lang Downs.”

  The answer he got gave Caine no more information than he’d had when he asked. He’d already decided that was par for the course where Macklin was concerned. Caine opened and closed two more gates before Macklin’s posture suddenly relaxed. Caine looked around, trying to see what might have made the difference, but he couldn’t put his finger on anything. Macklin didn’t provide any explanation either, but when they reached the top of the next rise, he stopped the Jeep and smiled. “Welcome to Lang Downs.”

  Caine scanned the vista before him. He couldn’t see anything that looked like it might be the main station, but he saw sheep scattered across the land in front of him, and, tucked into a dip between two hills, he caught sight of a small enclosure with a short chimney on top. “Does someone live there?”

  “Not permanently,” Macklin replied, “but we have drover’s huts like that scattered over the property so there’s shelter for the jackaroos on cold nights or in a storm when they’re out with the sheep. Neil is probably already back at the station by now, and Ian is probably on his way, so no one is there now, but someone will be before nightfall. We can’t prevent every problem, but we lose far fewer lambs than a lot of stations because we keep a closer eye on our mob.”

  “Do you have trouble keeping men because of it?” Caine asked. “I mean, it sounds like they have to work harder here.”

  “They do,” Macklin agreed, “but we pay a fair wage, and they take pride in their work. The ones who don’t rarely last more than a season. The ones who do end up making Lang Downs their home.”

  “It makes a difference when it’s home, doesn’t it?” Caine asked softly.

  “It does at that, pup,” Macklin said. “Ready to see the rest?”

  “Ready when you are.”

  As Macklin drove on, he pointed out various things to Caine: improvements to the station, reasons for various husbandry decisions, interesting landmarks and formations. Much of it went over Caine’s head where the actual sheep raising was concerned, but he appreciated the cessation in tension and Macklin’s willingness to talk to him about the station. Whenever Caine jumped out to open a gate, he smiled to see the latch in pristine condition and the gate hung well so it swung easily on its hinges.

  “That’s the last one,” Macklin said eventually. “We’re almost at the main station now.”

  Caine leaned forward, eager for a glimpse of his new home. They topped another rise and the road dipped sharply down into a narrow valley. Buildings stood scattered along the floor of the ravine, neatly framed by gravel roads and well tended flower beds. “This isn’t anything like the other station.”

  “No, it’s not,” Macklin agreed.

  As they reached the outmost of the buildings, Caine saw people engaged in a variety of tasks, but everyone they passed paused and waved before returning to whatever they were doing. Macklin waved back occasionally, especially to a group of young boys who looked to be seven or eight. “Do they all live on the station?”

  “Yes,” Macklin said. “Their parents work here, they were born here, and so they’re growing up thinking of Lang Downs as home.”

  “What about school? I mean, Boorowa isn’t exactly a bus ride away.”

  “They take classes online through the School of the Air,” Macklin replied, “and we make sure they learn everything else they need to know.”

  “That’s amazing,” Caine said. “I had no idea.”

  “We aren’t complete savages out here in the wild,” Macklin said.

  “I didn’t mean that,” Caine protested. “I’m fascinated with the solutions to problems that hadn’t even occurred to me to consider. Believe me, I’m not poking fun. So how many people live on the station?”

  “About fifty year-round,” Macklin replied. “More in the summer when we’re shearing, lambing, and the like. Once the breeding’s done, most of the seasonal ones will go home for the winter. A few might decide they like it here enough to stay on, a fair number like it enough to come back from year to year until they find something more permanent, and a few decide Lang Downs or sheep aren’t for them and we never see them again.”

  Macklin pulled up in front of the main house. “I’ll leave you here to get settled. Dinner is at seven in the canteen if you want to join us. Kami is probably already in the kitchen. Don’t disturb him or dinner will be late, and you’ll be very unpopular with the entire station.”

  “What do I need to do for my hand?” Caine asked, somewhat bemused by the sudden dismissal. “You said we’d nee
d to treat it better once we got here.”

  “Wash it with soap and water, use some peroxide on it, more ointment, and a Band-Aid,” Macklin said, his voice impatient as he dragged Caine’s suitcases from the back of the Jeep. “The bathrooms should be stocked with everything you need. If not, ask Kami.”

  Before Caine could answer, Macklin had hopped back in the Jeep and driven off. With a sigh, Caine shouldered his backpack and picked up the bags from the shopping trip in Boorowa. He’d get those inside first and then come back for his suitcases. He traipsed up the path to the veranda of the only two-story building in the main area, obviously the station house. He felt odd opening the door and walking in without knocking, but there wouldn’t be anyone to answer or care. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, blinking to help his eyes adjust to the dim interior. The front room was open and spacious with a rustic couch and chairs that had seen better days, and a big stone fireplace against the far wall. Caine smiled as he recognized the room his uncle had described to him in so many letters. Setting his backpack down, he took another step into the room until a honk and an angry shout outside reminded him of his suitcases. He rushed back outside. “Sorry,” he called to the driver of the truck. “I couldn’t carry everything at once.” He grabbed both suitcases, lugging them out of the road. Once the truck had rumbled on, Caine carried one, then the other inside.

  “So I guess I should figure out which room I’m going to use,” he muttered. “Or maybe I should tell Kami I’m here first. I don’t want him coming after me with a cleaver because he hears strange sounds in the house.”

  Deciding that was the wiser course of action, he wandered toward the back of the house in search of the kitchen. He found it, finally, at the end of what was obviously an addition to the original structure, a long, narrow hallway that opened out into a huge industrial kitchen. “Hello?” Caine called, peeking inside. “Kami?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m Caine Neiheisel, Michael’s—”

  “I know who you are,” the cook interrupted, stepping into sight from the pantry, his arms full of potatoes. His pitch-black skin was wrinkled around the eyes, like he’d spent too many days squinting in the sun, although he didn’t look that much older than Caine himself other than that. “I asked what you wanted.”

  “Just to let you know I’d arrived,” Caine said, “and to ask if there was a room I should use.”

  “Any room but this one,” Kami said, “and I knew you were here. I heard the door slam outside.”

  “Okay, then,” Caine said, not sure how to act in the face of the apparent hostility. “I’ll let you finish cooking. I’m going to unpack if you need me.”

  “What would I need you for?” Kami muttered, dumping the potatoes in the sink and beginning to scrub them.

  Caine didn’t have an answer for that, so he retreated, leaving the cook to his task. Regaining the living room, he peeked down the other halls and through the other doors, taking stock of the different rooms.

  In addition to the living room, which dominated the first floor, he found a dining room and a small, modern office with a relatively new computer and printer. Climbing the stairs, he counted four bedrooms including Uncle Michael’s. The closet in the master bedroom was as empty as the others, but Caine couldn’t bring himself to invade Uncle Michael’s space. He chose one of the smaller bedrooms instead.

  Deciding the first order of business was to treat his hand, which had started throbbing again, Caine rummaged in the bathroom cabinets until he found everything he needed. The hydrogen peroxide stung even worse than the alcohol as it bubbled deep in his hand. Caine made himself clean it three times before putting more antibiotic ointment on it and covering it again. His jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly by the time he was done, but he was at least relatively certain it was clean. He went back downstairs and carried his bags up, then flopped on the bed and stared at them, trying to work up the will to unpack.

  Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep fully dressed.

  SHOUTS FROM outside roused Caine from his dozing. He blinked a couple of times before remembering where he was. Sitting up, he scrubbed at his face, wincing when the movement put pressure on his injured hand. He glanced around for a clock. Five thirty. He had time before dinner still. He could start unpacking and still have time for a shower. He didn’t want their first impression of him to be half-muddled from sleep. He was starving, but after the conversation with Kami before his nap, he decided against looking for a snack now. He’d wait it out until dinner.

  He slid his new boots off, rubbing at his ankles. The tight elastic had chafed even through his socks. Maybe he’d wear his tennis shoes to dinner instead of his boots. It would be one more thing setting him apart, but it had to be better than rubbing blisters on his ankles so badly that he couldn’t wear his boots tomorrow when he went out to work with the others.

  He hoped Macklin’s dismissal of him this afternoon hadn’t been a sign of how the foreman intended to treat him in the future. If so, they’d be having words again before long. Caine refused to be pushed aside like he had nothing to contribute to the station. He had a pair of hands and a level head. He could learn everything else.

  “Stop jumping to conclusions,” Caine scolded himself. “For all you know, he was eager to get back to his loved ones. You didn’t even ask if he had a family on the station. He could have been eager to see his wife and kids.”

  Somehow Caine didn’t think that was the explanation, but it gave him a plausible excuse for Macklin’s dismissal. He spent the next hour sorting his clothes on the bed in his new room: winter clothes for work, winter clothes for around the house, summer clothes for work, summer clothes for around the house. If the piles were disproportionate toward clothes for around the house, Caine was nonetheless pleased to see he had clothes in all four piles. His T-shirts might not last more than a single summer, but he did have clothes he could work in when the weather was too warm for the long-sleeved shirts he’d bought in Boorowa the day before. He put the work clothes in the drawers of the big chest and hung the rest of his winter clothes in the armoire. He stuffed the summer clothes back in a suitcase and shoved it under his bed. He’d look for an attic or something later, but that would do for now. Grabbing his toiletries kit, he went to get ready for dinner.

  Seven

  BY THE time Caine finished his shower, the smell of dinner permeated the house, reminding his stomach he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It rumbled loudly as he dressed and went downstairs. “Can I help?” he asked from the doorway to the kitchen. “I can carry stuff if nothing else.”

  “Take that tray,” Kami said, not looking up. “The big white one. Fill it with bread.”

  Caine took the tray Kami had indicated from the rack where it waited and set it on the counter. “Where is the bread?”

  “In the oven,” Kami snapped as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

  Caine suppressed another sigh at Australian men and their manners. He found a hot pad and opened the oven, pulling out trays of rolls. He put them on the counter to cool while he washed his hands so he could separate them and fill the tray as Kami had directed.

  “You ever work in a kitchen before?” Kami asked as Caine worked.

  “Only my m-mother’s,” Caine replied honestly.

  Kami harrumphed but then barked another order at Caine, so Caine figured he hadn’t been totally dismissed.

  “What are you doing in here? I thought I told you not to disturb Kami.” Macklin’s voice cracked through the room.

  “He’s helping me,” Kami snapped before Caine could protest the accusation. “He offered, which is more than most of your no-good jackaroos have ever done.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Kami,” Macklin said, but Caine noticed Kami didn’t look at all cowed. “I specifically told him to leave you alone so dinner wouldn’t be delayed.”

  “And he didn’t bother me one bit,” Kami replied. “He came down here ten minutes
ago and asked if he could help. I said yes. Now, since you’re disturbing me, you can carry that platter of bread out to the canteen for the men. Caine and I will be along with the rest of dinner in a minute.”

  “Th-thank you for s-s-standing up for me,” Caine said when Macklin had left. “I d-don’t think he likes me very much.”

  “I didn’t say I liked you,” Kami replied, but his eyes twinkled as he spoke. “I said you helped me. I’ll decide if I like you once I get to know you.”

  “That’s fair,” Caine said. “So what else do we need to do?”

  They got dinner ready to serve, heaping trays of meat and potatoes to go along with the bread Macklin had already carried out. The canteen where the hands ate was crowded, but not with fifty or more people like Caine had expected after his conversation with Macklin earlier in the day.

  “This isn’t everyone on the station, is it?” Caine asked, taking an empty seat next to Macklin because he didn’t know anyone else.

  “Some of the men spend the night out with the sheep,” Macklin reminded him. “Others eat with their families. No one is required to eat here.”

  “You’re taking everything I say the wrong way again,” Caine said. “I’m just trying to understand the way things work.”

  “Look,” Macklin said, pushing back from the table. “I know you want to help, but there’s really not a lot you can do. Kami apparently likes you so why don’t you help him out in the kitchen until you get your bearings? Once things aren’t quite so strange to you, you can think about finding some other things to do too.”

  Caine stared in open-mouthed shock as Macklin grabbed his plate and left the bunkhouse.

  “They found three dead sheep this morning. Nobody knows what happened to them.”

  Caine spun around to face the kid who had plunked his plate down on the other side of the table. If he had to guess, he’d put the boy’s age at twelve or thirteen, older than the kids they’d seen running around earlier, but still only barely into adolescence. He quibbled for a moment about pumping the kid for information, but no one else seemed willing to talk to him. “Is that typical?”