The Shearing Gun (28 page)

I hesitated. “Now that I’m gay, do you still trust me? Are you sure you still want to do business with me?”

He gave me a little smirk and shook his head. “Newsflash for you, Hank—you’ve always been gay, and it’s just I didn’t know it. How does the fact that you put your dick in strange places change the quality of your flock?”

My heart was bursting with joy. There was a lot to comprehend about this latest exchange, but for now my mate needed to be brought down a peg.

“Who said it was
my
dick, Neil? Doesn’t Elliot have one too?”

Neil’s eyes widened in shock again, and he quickly put the car in gear. “Boobs!” he burst out. “I need boobs!” He nearly sped down my gravel driveway.

We laughed at his reaction over dinner that night—Murray, Jimmie, Elliot, and me. Then I took Elliot’s hand and showed him the big surprise that Jimmie had given me the day before—delivered at great cost while I was shearing at Bevin Spencer’s. Elliot stood staring at my new suede lounge without comprehension.

“It’s a lounge. A very nice lounge, I admit, but it’s a lounge. Why does it have you so excited?”

I wrapped my arms around him from behind and whispered in his ear. “It’s my new convertible lounge. My new sofa bed convertible lounge. Great to sit on, but even greater to pull out for uncles who come visiting.”

The smile that stole over his face transformed him. My heart ka-thumped and restarted at a speedier rate. “Oh, thank goodness. Now didn’t you tell me that farmers are up with the sun and need to go to bed at a ridiculously early hour?”

We reclaimed my bed that night, giggling like schoolgirls as we told each other to hush and not make noise while we made love. Afterward I slept like the dead. With Elliot by my side, my world was righted.

W
EDNESDAY
WAS
a day of shocks and shocking revelations. It started out as most other days did—up early, breakfast, feed the animals, throw myself into work. Elliot left at 7:00 a.m. to go home and change before clinic hours, and Paul arrived at 8:00 a.m. with some happy and unhappy news.

“Hank! Guess what, bro? Narelle said yes! I asked her ages ago, and last night she finally accepted.” I was overjoyed for him and I asked him when the wedding was going to be. He turned a bit red and kicked at a leaf on the gravel. “Probably pretty soon. The thing is…. Well, bro… you’re gonna be an uncle.”

I was taken back. I would truthfully have to say that I’d never thought about kids. Being gay and closeted kind of negated any prospects of furthering the Woods name. Stupidly I’d never thought about Paul having children either.

“You’re going to be a father? You’re shitting me? Far out! Congratulations, man!” He was grinning from ear to ear, and I grabbed him and hugged him in my exuberance.

Paul was bouncing with his excitement and happiness. “I had a really hard time convincing Narelle the night I proposed to her that I had planned it. She told me she had some news; I told her I had news too. Her news was the baby, and then she didn’t believe me that my news was that I wanted to marry her. She thought it was some sort of knee-jerk reaction to impending fatherhood.”

“So when is Woods Junior due?”

“End of April.”

“How did Dad take the news that he’s gonna be a granddaddy?”

Paul scratched at his jaw. “Remarkably well. He’s excited. You’ll see when he arrives.”

My stomach hit the ground. “Dad’s coming?”

“Yeah. He’s supposed to be about ten minutes behind me.”

“What? You know that Uncle Murray and Jimmie are here, right? You told Dad that?”

Uncle Murray and Dad had not talked since the night I was kicked out.

Paul slapped me on the back, a bit harder than necessary, but that was just being brotherly. “Hank, you need to know that Dad has changed a lot since you left. He’s more… mellow. More receptive to the idea that you’re gay. He misses you a lot, Hank.” This was news to me. If Dad missed me, then why didn’t he say? “You may not see it, but there’s a lot of Mum in you. You have her dark hair, her dark eyes, and her smile. You leaving was like losing Mum all over again to Dad. He knows Murray will be here. Jimmie too. He wanted to come. He doesn’t really say, but I think he’s sorry for kicking you out, and grateful to them for taking you in. A couple of years back, in the paper, there was this big article about a father who didn’t accept his son’s homosexuality. The son committed suicide, and the article was by the father who never had a chance to tell his son that he was sorry. Dad cut that article out and kept it.”

“I’m not gonna do that, man.”

“No. But the point was, don’t leave it until it’s too late to apologize.”

I screwed up my face in disbelief. “And you think Dad is going to apologize to me? I don’t think so, Paul. Dad’s never going to accept me. He’s going to blow a gasket when he meets my boyfriend.”
Whoops.

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked in excitement. “Who?”

It was my turn to blush and stammer. “You met him before? Doc Elliot? I told you there was nothin’ going on, and there wasn’t then. But things have… uh, changed.”

The joy was genuine from Paul. It felt odd. My family? All together? And
happy
for me that I had a boyfriend?

I’m glad Paul warned me. When Dad turned up, instead of tensing and being ready to jump in to save Jimmie and Murray from anything my homophobic father could say, I stood back and observed. Dad greeted me with a firm handshake and a smile I would have to admit looked real.

He even brightened when he got a gander of Uncle Murray and said, “Fuck, Murray. You’ve gotten old.”

You have to understand the rural Aussie male. This sentence was in no way offensive—it was one of friendliness and a long-standing relationship. To be able to say this sentence means that firstly, you’ve known the person for more than half your life, and secondly, you know they won’t take offense.

Murray grinned widely and said, “Me? Who’s sporting the beer gut and the bald spot?”

I looked in shock at my father, who I’d never considered old, and had to admit that yes, that was a bald spot.
Damn—I hope I don’t get those genes!
In defense of my sire, I couldn’t really see much of a beer gut. But the mateship that was renewed between two old codgers with those few words was humbling.

I could see that Jimmie knew what was happening too. He stood back and smiled brightly. Only the fact that the toe of his boot was tapping on the ground betrayed his nervousness. He clapped his hands together and gaily asked, “So is it time for morning coffee now?”

It was a bit early, but since Paul and Dad had been on the road from just after 6:00 a.m., we stopped and had coffee with cake and muffins that Jimmie had made. Then Dad, Murray, Paul, and I tramped out to the shed and divvied up the jobs. Murray took control of the harvester and headed out with Dad hanging off the side, while Paul and I set up with the tractor and baler. It was dirty, hot, and not fun, but I was content. I had a whole three blood relations still living on this earth—and all three of them were with me. Three-and-a-third, I reminded myself happily. There was a baby who shared my DNA curled up in his mother’s womb.

By sundown, my crops that needed to be cut were cut, the ones that needed to be baled were baled, and there were four extremely grubby men waiting for a shower. Murray’s arthritis was playing up, so he went first while I fetched cold beers for Dad and Paul. Jimmie was fussing with dinner, so we sat outside and braved the mozzies.

“So, I hear you’re gonna be a Grandpa, huh Dad? When did you get so old?”

He walloped me over the back of the head—which thankfully I was expecting and braced for. “Fuck off. I’ve been waiting years for it. It doesn’t look like you’re ever gonna give me grandkids, so don’t be pissing on my joy that Paul has finally managed to knock up a female.”

“Hey!” Paul was indignant but laughed anyway. “Anyway, did you hear that Hankie has a boyfriend, Dad?”

I didn’t even react to my hated nickname and instead tensed, waiting for Dad’s reaction, but he remained completely relaxed and turned to me. “Yeah? You met someone in the city, didya?”

“Nah. Here in town. The local doctor.”

Dad froze with the beer halfway to his mouth, but I saw him swallow and finish the movement. He wasn’t happy with me being with someone in town, but he was at least making an effort not to yell and scream. “Yeah? And that’s working out okay?”

I knew what he meant. “Some people know, Dad. Not everyone, but I’m sure that it’s not going to remain hidden forever. Those who know have been good. I’ve got a solid standing here, Dad, and I think I can weather any flack coming my way.” I name-dropped to keep Dad happy. “Stewie Tanner took ten of my rams this year, and Neil Wilson’s dad has an order in for some. They’re selling well, Dad. And I’ve pulled off shearing scores of over four hundred, four times this year. On Monday I did four eighteen over at Bevin Spencer’s spread and managed to beat Daniel Akker, who was shearing right next to me.”

Paul sprayed a mouthful of beer and sat up. “You fuckin’ out-gunned Akker? Why’s this the first I’ve heard of it?”

I shrugged self-consciously. “Happened a couple of days ago. Spencer put a nine-gun team together for a ten-hour day to do his four thousand. Akker, McManus, Jackson Junior, Rick O’Reilly, Mickey Ryan, Johnnie Jones, Marsh Western, and me. McManus did four thirty-two in the first eight hours, so he out-gunned us all. Mickey was in top form and did one forty in the first two hours. Fuck! He was churning them out. Of course he was buggered for the rest of the day.”

Paul was smiling broadly. “Spencer put you on his gun team?”

I scoffed. “Course! I was the second one he phoned after Jackson Junior.” Okay, that was a bit of truth stretching, but only Spencer knew.

Dad nodded. “Them Jacksons are family with the Spencers.”

Uncle Murray walked out then and caught the tail end of the conversation. “Oh, yes. That Peggy Reynolds always had a thing for the older Joe Jackson. If that Spencer girl hadn’t died of cancer, I would’ve been sure she poisoned the girl just so Joe would be single again. The rumor had it that Peggy and Joe were going at it while the wife was still alive, but I don’t believe that. That boy was early. He weren’t a full-term babe. And once she was Peggy Jackson, that woman settled right down. Completely devoted to her husband and kids. I never heard a rumor of bad blood between them, and he never had a wandering eye. He loved her and was well satisfied at home.”

Oookay—that is a bit more information than I needed to know.
I sometimes forgot that Uncle Murray had grown up in the area. He knew all the old families.

I was still waiting on my shower when Elliot drove up. I saw him hesitate as he saw Paul, but I smiled and welcomed him in, letting him know that our “secret” was well and truly out with my family.

“You’re all dirty, buddy. I’m not coming near you until you’re clean,” he teased.

I think there was a twinkle in my eye when I replied, “Dad just turned the shower off. How about you come into the bathroom and help me get washed?”

My poor brother choked and went red, but recovered enough to say, “No way. There needs to be some hot water left for me!”

Dad hollered to say he was out, and Paul scrambled to his feet. “I’m going next,” he declared and disappeared. Dad soon joined us and sized up my lover.

“Dad, this is Doctor Elliot Stockton-Montgomery. Ell, this is my Dad, Travis Woods.”

My heart squeezed a little droplet of blood out as Dad hesitated to hold out his hand, but I gave him points for trying. The hesitation was momentary, and otherwise he seemed welcoming. Jimmie was there to smooth things over and fill in any blanks in the conversation. Other than playing a bit of footsies under the table—which I hoped the others didn’t realize—Elliot and I were circumspect in our conduct. Dad and Paul weren’t completely comfortable with it, and there wasn’t any need to rub it in their faces.

However, it was awkward going to bed when there were six men in a tiny house. I was insistent that Elliot stay the night—I wanted it, and Elliot needed it. Paul had brought a blow-up mattress and he was sharing the spare room with Dad, while Murray and Jimmie had the sofa bed in the lounge. This meant that we needed to vacate the lounge room in order for Jimmie to get the bed out, and the only other room in the house was the kitchen. So we all turned in together. Elliot disappeared into my bedroom, and I saw Dad’s face tighten with disapproval.

With everyone else momentarily out of the room, I slung a beefy arm around my father and caught him up in a hug. I felt his surprise. It had been a good five—nearly six—years since we’d hugged.

“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered. “I know this is hard for you, but thank you for trying.”

I felt his arms come around me and heard the words he hadn’t said to me since I was a teenager. “I love you, Hank. You’re my son, and no matter what I said and what I did, I still loved you. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear earlier.” With two slaps across my shoulder blades he was pulling back from me and darting into the bedroom with his head turned so I couldn’t see his face.

I reckoned it was because he had tears in his eyes, just the same as me.

Chapter 23