Red Dirt Heart 3 (3 page)

I smiled all the way back to the chopper.

Blake was no more than five minutes behind me, and it wasn’t until we were all buckled in and in the air that I sparked up conversation. I figured a bit of a scenic tour would be nice.

I pointed out through the windshield, over the expanse of red, red dirt, telling which stations were in which direction. His eyes were as big as his smile, and I figured he probably didn’t do this too often.

“So, what’s your territory?” I asked. “Which regions do you look after?”

“Australia.”

I laughed. “All of it?”

Blake nodded. “I have a team, but yeah, I go all over.”

“What’s your favourite part?”

Blake smiled and looked out the windshield. The desert looked endless. “Different areas for different reasons,” he said. “Whether it’s green pastures and high rainfall, or this”—he waved his hand at the windshield—“all the farmers I talk to think theirs is the best.”

That made me laugh. “Yeah, but they’re not as right as me.”

Blake chuckled and nodded, like he’d heard it all before. “I take it you know Jack Melville?”

I bit back a sigh, wondering what the old bastard had said. “Kind of.”

“Well, he was saying times are pretty tough out here these days,” Blake started. “But lookin’ out across the desert, I don’t know how you guys tell the good times from the bad, to be honest. I mean, the desert’s pretty to look at, but I don’t envy you trying to get money out of red dirt.”

My laugh seemed to surprise him. “I used to think you’d have to have red dirt in your veins to do this, but I’m not sure anymore,” I said, thinking of how Travis had settled in so well. “I think you just have to understand it, appreciate it and respect it.”

Blake nodded. “True.”

“And old Jack Melville thinks any days that wasn’t the eighties are tough.” Then realising I’d probably sounded spiteful, I lightened the conversation and added, “I remember my old man saying once the eighties had been good for the industry, but I wouldn’t know. I’m what he’d call new-age, and I can only go by what I know.”

Blake smiled and looked at me. “I see it all the time. The old farmers are still doing things the way they’ve always done them. And they do okay. But they’re getting left behind. People are more educated these days, they use knowledge and research and adapt to suit.”

“Exactly!” I agreed. And so the conversation about technology, science, man-hours and even the use of the very kind of helicopter we were sitting in continued until the homestead came into view. I told him all about the solar-powered collars Travis had implemented on some cattle on our station, and he was interested to see how they worked.

I bought the chopper down, and we were met by George, Travis, Billy and the vet, Scott. He’d only beaten us there by five minutes, apparently. I made introductions, and we didn’t waste any time.

We had herded some yearlings and pregnant cows into the round yard, and Blake got down to business. He fired a dozen questions at Scott as they inspected the cattle. Then he asked to see grain storage areas, feeding bays and a transcript of all vet call-outs, vaccinations and drenches.

Scott put a call through to the office in Alice Springs, and fifteen minutes later, he had the files in his inbox. As a final step, Blake asked if he could take a look at some cattle in the paddocks. I guess he didn’t want us to herd in the best-looking animals when they may not have been a true indicator to our typical quality.

I didn’t hesitate. I had nothing to hide. “Sure thing,” I said to both Blake and Scott. “Come inside and I’ll show you how the tracking collars work first.”

I led them into my office and showed them the program on my laptop. It was a property boundary outline of Sutton Station, and inside were ten little red flashing lights. I pointed to the screen. “Ten collars. They’re solar powered and monitor feeding, location, migration of those select beasts. We have the ten collars integrated throughout the mob to give us a broad indication.”

I clicked on one random collar and it bought up a short, concise history of that animal, including GPS coordinates.

Scott was intrigued. Blake, on the other hand, was just smiling.

I handed Scott the information brochure we got with the collars, and he was absolutely fascinated. “You didn’t have these last time I was here?” he asked.

“Nope. They’re new. We’ve only had them for about four weeks,” I told him. “I can sit here in my office and have a pretty good indication what my cattle are doing. It’s a darn lot easier considering my top northern paddock is almost four-hundred kilometres away.”

“So you can monitor where a select mob is at any time?” Blake asked, now seemingly impressed.

“Yep. And we can track migration, how far they’ve travelled over what time. We only have ten tagged, five cows and five steers,” I said.

I pulled out my smartphone. “I have an app here too. You can take this into the paddock to inspect some cattle. It will take you to one of these beacons”—I pointed to the screen—“to within a few feet.”

Blake smiled. “I’d like that.”

“I can’t take credit for it,” I said straight up. “It wasn’t my idea. It was Travis Craig’s idea. The tall American guy. I have to admit, I thought it was pretty crazy at first, but it’s a bloody good concept. You can buy the collars from the Queensland Department of Agriculture. Anyone can do it.”

When I’d showed them the app on my phone and they saw how, from anywhere we had mobile phone reception, we could track each of the tagged animals, where they were and where they’d been. It was similar to the version on my laptop, but this I carried with me in my pocket. Blake and Scott were duly impressed. “I’ve heard of this set-up before, but never seen it action,” Blake said. “It’s really rather remarkable.”

I took them back outside. “You could go by horseback without my phone for a GPS, but you might be riding for a time ’til you find any cattle. This paddock right here”—I nodded to the closest fence—“is about fifty miles long.”

Blake’s response was one I expected. “Oh.”

“The ute’ll be faster,” I said with a smile, handing him my phone. “Travis can take you.”

Travis covered his surprise well. “Yep. Sure can,” he said. He narrowed his eyes at me for a brief what-the-hell moment before leading Blake to the old Land Rover.

I chuckled as Travis got in to the driver’s side, knowin’ full well he hated driving in Australian cars. He could refuse with me, but I knew he wouldn’t with a guy we were trying to impress.

I wanted Travis to talk to him. First, because Travis was the smartest guy here, he’d researched the collars before convincing me to buy them, and I wanted Blake to see we were a young, well-educated team. And second, because if anyone could charm Blake into securing us a guaranteed income, it was Travis.

Of that I had no doubt.

“Scott,” I said, addressing the vet. “Thank you so much for coming out on such short notice.”

“No worries,” he said. He looked around, seeming a tad uncomfortable now that it was just me and him.

I wondered what the problem was, and then the penny dropped. He’d heard about me being gay. It was true that not much grew in the desert, but the grapevine fucking thrived.

So I took a deep breath and raised my chin. “Let me guess, Scott. You heard rumours about me?”

I watched him swallow, and he shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t answer me, but he looked at me like he was waiting for me to continue, so I did.

“How’s the cattle look?”

My question confused him. “Um, good. They look real good.”

“We’re expecting a two-to-one calving season soon,” I told him. “Pretty good figures for around here, yes?”

He nodded, obviously still not sure where I was going with these questions. “Yeah, better than most.”

“And my team here,” I said, looking back to the homestead, “any one of them could run this place if I needed ’em to. And they have. I trust them, and they trust me.”

He blinked. “And?”

“Just proving a point,” I said simply, “that whether those rumours are true or not, it don’t make a fucking difference to how I run this station.”

The corner of his lip twitched, as though he fought a smile. He was quiet for a moment. “Do you remember that time I came here with my dad? I was about sixteen. You were, I dunno, probably ten.”

There were a dozen times around that age. “Yeah?”

“Your dad was telling my dad that some farmer he knew was losing water out of his bore, and you said it didn’t make sense. You said it was more than likely his water was too salty and his cattle were just probably drinkin’ more.”

I laughed. I’d forgotten I’d said that. “Yeah.”

“I’ll never forget it,” he said. “When we left here, we were driving down the road and my dad said, ‘That young Charlie isn’t stupid. He’ll be one of the best farmers out here if he’s given the chance.’”

“He said that?”

Scott nodded. “Yep. As true as I stand here. And you know what?”

“What?”

“You were right. Dad called that guy and asked him to check his ph levels.”

I snorted out a laugh. “I usually am right, about farming, that is.” Then I said, “Well, I wasn’t blowing my own trumpet before. I just wanted you to see that whether those rumours are true or not, nothing is different. That’s all.”

Scott looked out over the paddock, as though not looking at me made it easier. “So, the rumours are true?”

“About me being gay?” I asked. “Or me telling old Jack Melville to shove his old-fashioned view on farming where the sun don’t shine? Or that I punched Jason Fisher in the mouth, several times?” I shrugged. “Actually, there ain’t no point guessing. They’re all true.”

This time Scott laughed. “You haven’t changed.”

I smiled. “Nope.”

We talked some more about work for a while, and it wasn’t long after that we heard the ute coming back. Ma had put on a lunch spread for our visitors, all different types of our beef: corned, roasted, minced, sliced, all with a bunch of different condiments and warm fresh-baked bread. She must have been run ragged, cooking all morning.

Blake and Travis came in smiling, just as I’d hoped they would. It was funny to watch newcomers sit and eat at our table. Yep, we were co-workers, but we were an awful lot like family. It started off quiet and hesitant, but by the time platters in the middle were empty, there was the usual talk and laughs. Not to mention the trade magazine with my ugly mug on the cover was still the punchline of a few jokes.

Just when we were near finished, Nara stood at the door. She winced apologetically. “Sorry, Mr Sutton. I thought you was finished. I can come back.”

I knew it must have been something important for her to interrupt. “What is it, Nara?”

She stepped in awkwardly, holding a fussing Nugget and a still full bottle. “He won’t feed. I’ve tried, and Ma tried. He missed his morning feed and now this one…”

All eyes flickered to me, and a few people fought smiles. Billy just grinned his half-a-face grin, as per normal. I sighed, long and loud. “Hand him over.”

As soon as the little bugger was in my arms, he settled, and as soon as I put the bottle teat near his mouth, he fed like he was starving. I shook my head. Someone laughed. “It’s not funny,” I said, but everyone at the table seemed to think it was.

I looked at Scott. “Don’t wanna take a wombat back with ya?”

Scott just laughed, but the vet in him was immediately interested in the little happy guy feeding in my arms. “Wombats aren’t too common out here,” he said. “How’d you come by him?”

Travis answered. “Found a dead mom by the road.” Scott nodded. Unfortunately, it wasn’t surprising. Then Travis said, “He’s taken to Charlie. Seems he’s the only one who can feed him since we got back from Kakadu. Sleeps under his arm too.”

“Scratches the shit outta my ribs,” I added. “I’ll have scars for sure.”

Scott laughed. “Seems he thinks you’re his new mother.” He studied the little guy for a while. “He looks about a year old. He’ll be dependent on you until he’s two years. You can introduce some grass, grains and special pellets, phasing out the milk over the next year.”

“A
year
?” I said probably louder than I should have. It startled Nugget. “Yes you,” I said, looking at the offended wombat. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re not the one who has to get up every three hours to feed you.”

I looked back at a somewhat bemused vet and held the baby wombat out to him. “You’re a vet. You take him.”

He put his hands up like I was gonna shoot him. “I have three kids who would love him,” he said, his eyes warmed at the mention of them. Then he sighed. “But my wife would kill me if I brought home another animal.”

I looked at Travis and said, “I know exactly what you mean.” He laughed, knowing I’d probably mutter the same words about him if he brought home some other critter.

But then Scott sighed. “I can drop him off at a WIRES home, or maybe one of the animal nurses might take him,” he said. “If you really want.”

I looked down at the little guy in my arms, all wrapped up in a woollen beanie and my old sweater—the same sweater Travis had kept Matilda in. Nugget was back to feeding, his little eyes were closed, his nose twitching as he drank. He seemed to be smiling as he fed. I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Nah. He’ll be alright.”

Travis had tried to hold back his laugh, but he chuckled and snorted under his breath.

“It’s not funny,” I told him. “This is your fault.”

“Of course it is,” he deadpanned, then held his hand out to Blake. “I gotta get back to work. Remember what I said.”

Blake smiled as he shook Travis’s hand. “No problem.”

I looked at my watch, realising we’d have to be leaving soon to get Blake to the airport on time. I stood up just as Ma came in to collect the now empty trays from the table.

Scott stood quickly. “Good afternoon, Mrs Brown,” he addressed her formally. “Lunch was great, thank you.”

Ma fussed and blushed a little, the warm pink finally putting some colour on her cheeks. “You’re very welcome, boys. Scotty, please say hello to your dad for me.”

“Will do,” he said with a nod, and with that we walked outside.