Red Dirt Heart 3 (2 page)

Travis interrupted to correct me. “I met him first.”

“Well, yeah, Trav met him first.”

“I swapped seats with Charlie so they could talk business.”

“And as it turns out, he’s interested in Sutton Station,” I said. “He called my mobile when we were driving home. Said he checked his schedule but he was a bit stuck for time.”

Travis interrupted me again. “So Charlie said he’d pick him up in the chopper,” he said, still excited. “It’ll save time.”

I took a deep breath and tried to continue. “So yes, I told him I can pick him up from his last appointment and drop him back at Alice airport before he has to fly back to Sydney.”

Trav snorted out a laugh. “His last appointment is at Jack Melville’s place. I’d love to see his face when Charlie flies in.”

I looked at Travis. “Who’s telling this story?”

“You are.”

“Then stop interrupting.”

“I’m not interrupting,” he said. “I’m contributing.”

“Well, go
contribute
with George. He said the roofing iron you ordered was delivered.”

“Oh, cool,” he said, easily distracted. Travis hugged Ma. “It’s good to be home,” he told her, then stuck his tongue out at me as he walked out of the kitchen.

Ma laughed quietly and had that you-two-are-so-in-love look in her eyes. “Keep talking,” she said.

“Right. Well, you remember how I told you about Jack Melville? The old guy on the board of the Beef Farmers Association who I basically told I was gay and he could shove it?”

Ma nodded and smiled. “Yeah.”

“Well, him. I get to fly onto his property, give him a royal salute”—I practiced with my middle finger extended—“and bring this Blake guy back here. He seemed keen enough.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “He buys for supermarkets?”

I nodded. “I haven’t spoken specifics, but he’d secure us a deal of some sort, a contract of some time frame, for a guaranteed income.”

Ma’s eyes widened, as did her smile. “Wow.”

I shrugged, trying to play down my excitement. I figured it was easier to be excited once it was done rather than let on how disappointed I’d be if it didn’t work out. “It’s not done yet, but at least we’re on his radar now, so who knows, if not this year, maybe next year.”

“Do you need me to do anything?” Ma asked.

“I need you to take it easy,” I said. “I know you don’t like talking about it, and you shush me every time I do, but, Ma, you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

She frowned. “It’s just a cold or something.”

“You said that before,” I reminded her. “Weeks ago.”

“And I thought I was getting better,” she said. “Seems winter’s having one last stab at me before she goes this year.”

I frowned this time. “How’s Nara been going?” I asked. “She can help out more if you need.”

Ma smiled, and her pallid cheeks chased some colour. “Nara’s doing well. I think I might have actually convinced her to pick up a schoolbook.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You need to worry about you too, Ma. You’re so busy worrying about everyone else, you forget about you.”

“I’m fine, Charlie,” she said. “Really, I am. Though I will sleep better knowing you and Travis are back.” Then she added, “And that little Nugget isn’t scratching around looking for you.”

I pulled the neck of my shirt out, and all I could see was a baby wombat’s butt and two back legs. The rest of him was buried under my arm. “I’m sorry he’s been a pain.”

“He’s the cutest thing,” Ma countered.

“He is cute,” I agreed. “But how I ended up lookin’ after him, I’ll never know. Travis was the one who found him.”

Ma smiled her ever-knowing-motherly smile and patted my hand. “Well, it’s good to have you home. And Travis. It’s not the same here without you. Without either of you.”

“Thanks, Ma,” I said warmly. “That means a lot.”

“Now get out of my kitchen. I have dinner to make or there’ll be a mutiny.”

Yep. It was real good to be home.

* * * *

I called Doug Russell. He’d been our vet since before I was born, and while he was keen to help out, the short notice and distance to travel made it impossible. “I’ll see if Scott can make it,” he’d said. Five minutes later, he called back to say his son was happy to help. Scott Russell, his son, had wanted nothing more than to be a vet just like his dad and was now proudly following in his father’s footsteps.

I smiled to myself when I thought back to me bein’ an annoying tag-along kid, whenever Mr Russell and Scott came out to do a vet check. Growin’ up, I didn’t get to see many other kids, so to have another guy—he was only six years older than me—at the farm for a full day was like Christmas day for me.

To him, I’m sure I was nothing more than an annoyance, really. As I got older, I started to appreciate his visits for other reasons. He was wank fodder to my day-dreamin’ teenaged mind. He was straight as an arrow and, in hindsight, pimply faced with braces and all gangly-awkward with a body he hadn’t quite grown into yet. But I’d crushed on him hard.

What can I say? I had limited selection out here.

It made me smile thinkin’ back, and I thanked the stars above I’d never been foolish enough to act upon my hormone-fuelled impulses.

I called Scott directly then and explained I’d be back on Sutton soil with the buyer by eleven. “I’ll be there. See you then,” he said.

I sent Blake a text message saying it was all good to go. He replied later that night, saying he was looking forward to it and reminding me of the trade reports he’d need at some point.

I put down my phone, opened my email and, ignoring my flooded inbox of a week’s worth of unread mail, I sent him the files right then and there.

Travis parked his arse against my desk and smiled. He handed me a fussing bundled-up Nugget and a full bottle, which I took with a roll of my eyes. The baby wombat started to drink his bottle straight away, and his little eyes closed as he fed. I sighed, and when I looked up at Trav, he was smiling his just-for-me smile.

“Get everything organised?” he asked.

“Yep. All done.”

“Ready for bed?”

“Very,” I answered. I looked down at a still feeding baby wombat. “As soon as this guy’s done.”

Travis smiled. I’m pretty sure it was a God-I-love-you kind of smile. He poked at the pile of actual mail on the desk, envelopes and magazines. “Anything interesting in there?” he asked.

“Bills mostly. Nothing exciting,” I answered. “The trade magazine’s in there.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“An association magazine for the Beef Farmers,” I told him. “It only comes out every quarter, so there’s probably a write up about my rant at Melville in there. Or how I punched the crap out of Fisher.” I shrugged. “To be honest, I’d rather not know.”

Travis ripped open the plastic cover and discarded the front address sheet of paper. He didn’t even have to open the magazine to find out whether I got mentioned or not, because my face was on the cover.

Sitting at my desk the next day, I was still staring at the magazine. There I was on the cover, with Greg and Allan, under the heading “Farming in the Future”. I guessed it was better than “Farming for Fairies”.

I remember some photographs being taken that night, but after I’d come out to a room full of fellow farmers, called old Jack Melville a few choice words and then proceeded to knock an ex-employee’s two front teeth out, I never gave the photos another thought.

Last night, as he was leaning against my desk while I fed Nugget, Travis had read the article before me, I guess to soften the blow if me coming out as gay was mentioned. But it wasn’t.

The article was pretty decent and very clearly Greg’s doing. He’d obviously got in the ear of the interviewer and told them of his plans to change the face of farming the outback. He told them the days of the past were finished, that the younger generation, naming me and Allan specifically, were ready to take on the Australian beef industry and the twenty-first century.

There was no more than one whole paragraph of me in detail. All it said was that it was a welcome sight to see the new face of Sutton Station after the death of my father over two years ago.

Still, I stared at the magazine on my desk. It had been a restless night. It was good to be back in our own bed after almost a week away, and Travis had done his best to distract me. But I had to get up twice to feed a hungry wombat and spent a whole lotta shoulda-been-sleepin’ time wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

The reception to me ‘coming out’ as gay within the small-town farming community hadn’t been too bad. I’ll admit, I expected it to be a lot worse. But I still didn’t care; I would do it again in a heartbeat. I’d met brief resistance from Brian at the co-op, but shut him up pretty quick when I’d threatened to take my business elsewhere. He knew my father well enough to know that when a Sutton made a promise, it was made for life. If he didn’t want to take my ‘gay’ money, I’d thoroughly enjoy making sure no one else spent their money with him either. Spiteful, maybe. Stubborn, yes. I was a Sutton. And as many times I’d wished it otherwise, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Despite the lingering issues I had with my dead father and what he might think of the stand I’d made, I’d never felt freer or more myself, than I could ever remember.

But in the last few months, since Travis’s visa got sorted and I’d agreed to nominate myself to be elected on the Board of Directors of the Beef Farmers Association, life had been a bit of a blur.

I’d been doing a bit of groundwork with Greg and Allan on getting a public profile, creating a slow but steady push in the farming movement. By the time elections rolled around, we were hoping to create enough momentum to vote the redundant, afraid-of-change old timers out.

I’d been studying—and quite possibly poutin’ and stompin’ about doing it too, but my brattish gripin’ didn’t bother Travis none. He’d just smile, more stubborn than me, and tell me to shut up about it and get it done already.

And funnily enough, I was getting through it. I’d done three subjects so far and only had two to go, and the university degree I’d started years ago would be done. It was an accomplishment, another one I could thank Travis for.

I was starting to see how all his push-push-pushin’ to get shit done just made me a better me.

And not just me. His influence was all over the farm, not just out in the paddocks, but in the homestead as well. His warmth to Nara, the once-frightened kid, had helped her find her feet. He had convinced Bacon and Trudy they should be honest with me about their relationship, which truthfully probably saved me from losing one or two of the best workers I’d ever known. He’d also saved the lives of two little critters I’d probably have left to die. First it was Matilda the kangaroo and now Nugget the wombat. Right or wrong, I’d have kept on my ignorant and selfish way and left them to fend for themselves, whereas he stopped and saved them.

He saved me.

Right now he was outside sorting out roofing iron with George and Bacon, and I was inside, supposed to be going through the mail and emails. I had been out there after breakfast, sayin’ hello to Shelby. A week away in horse-counting-days was too long apparently, because she nipped at me and nudged me into the fence. I rubbed her neck and whispered sweet nothings, just soothing like, and promised her a ride soon enough.

When Bacon had pushed Travis’s shoulder and asked him if I talked to him like that, I told them both to fuck the fuck off, left them laughing even louder, and went inside.

Where I would spend the entire day doing paperwork.

I guessed bein’ away for a week let it build up, but it was frustrating that more time was spent doin’ bookwork than bein’ outside doing what I really loved.

But I wanted to be a farmer that Travis would be proud of, and if that meant I needed to make my way through invoices, receipts, accounts, statements and emails, then that’s what I’d do.

Plus, it helped keep my mind off this meeting with the supermarket buyer tomorrow.

By the next morning, I was itching to take the chopper up and go collect Blake. I wasn’t nervous, I just wanted to get it over with. I didn’t doubt this station’s capabilities or my own to give this buyer what he needed.

I just needed to get him here. He could see the rest for himself.

George and I went over the chopper, fully fuelled and serviced. I checked the weather station for wind direction and speed, slotted in Melville’s coordinates into my GPS, and off I went.

I’d asked the boys not to make a start on re-roofing the house today. I didn’t know what Blake was going to ask of us—whether he’d need one or two of the guys to be in a holding yard with him—and I didn’t particularly want to bring him here, trying to make an impression on him, only for him to find the homestead roof bein’ pulled apart. There wasn’t anything strictly wrong with the roof; it had just seen a decade of desert seasons too many.

Right on time, I landed the chopper a safe distance from the cluster of homes, sheds and livestock on Melville’s property. The man was an arse, but I respected the farming life and would never give the man reason to hate me any more than he probably already did. Not without good reason, anyway.

There were several guys standing around some four-wheelers, so I naturally walked toward them. My presence was greeted with silence and cold stares. I, on the other hand, smiled widely and spoke cheerfully. “Someone call a cab?”

Blake laughed. “I’m just finishing up and I’ll be with you.”

“No problem,” I said. Then I looked at Jack Melville and gave him a nod. “Mr Melville.”

His greeting was more of a grunt than a hello. “Sutton.”

I tipped my hat to the other men, his station hands, and bid them good day. When I was walking back to the chopper, I heard Melville say he’d have his accountant forward sales reports to Blake as soon as he could. I smiled, knowing Blake had mine already. A simple email was all it took, and I wondered idly if old Melville even knew what email was.

I had no clue whether Blake had told them it was me coming to collect him, but they sure as hell knew now that he was considering putting Sutton Station on his sellers list. If Melville didn’t dislike me before, he certainly did now.