Inherit the Sky (Lang Downs 1 ) (9 page)

C
AINE wanted nothing more than to stay in the Jeep as Macklin opened the door and pulled the lamb out, but he wouldn’t help his case any by cowering in the vehicle like he didn’t belong, or worse, like he’d done something wrong. He opened the door and scrambled down, trotting along behind Macklin as the Lang Downs foreman carried the lamb toward the biggest of the clapboard barns.

Caine waited to see how Macklin would answer, sure the foreman’s response would govern his interactions with these men for some time to come, but Macklin ignored the question entirely.

“Where’s Taylor?” Macklin said, setting the lamb down. “Out in the bush,” one of the hands answered.

Macklin scowled. “We found one of your lambs all tangled up in barbed wire. Tell Taylor he needs to clean up after himself better because if his trash gets on my land, I’m not going to be happy.”

“Tell him yourself,” the hand replied as another one took the injured animal into the barn. “It’s not worth my job to say something like that to the boss.”

Macklin’s scowl deepened. He pivoted on his heel and stalked back toward the Jeep, leaving Caine scrambling once again to keep up. “Give me the keys,” Macklin practically growled.

Caine hurried to do as Macklin said, opening the boot and pulling out the strands of wire he had cut off the sheep. In his haste, he forgot the gloves he still had on his belt from earlier, and one of the barbs jabbed deeply into his palm as he tossed the wire on the ground. He bit his lip to silence the curses that wanted to pour out, sure Macklin and the other jackaroos would never have done something so stupid. He shut the rear door and climbed back in the passenger side, remembering to go to the left side rather than the right. As soon as Macklin started the Jeep and pulled out of the yard, Caine let out the curse of pain he’d been holding back.

“Fuck.”
“What now?” Macklin asked, his face still hard.
“Nothing,” Caine replied, cradling his hand against his chest.

“Let’s get out of here, okay?”
“Nothing I’d like better, pup,” Macklin said, not looking in
Caine’s direction. “You handled yourself well back there. Taylor’s men
are an unruly bunch of idiots. I don’t know how he puts up with them.” “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 need 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.