The Shearing Gun (9 page)

It was safer to stop and allow darkness to fall.

I had ordered my grub at the counter and turned to find a table, when someone hailed me. “Hank Woods!”

I looked over and saw a local. “Stewie Tanner! Hey, mate. What are you doing here?”

Stewie was in his late forties and had lived on the land his entire life. “The missus had some churchy meeting in town, so I drove her in.” Mrs. Tanner had something wrong with her legs and was in a wheelchair. “Good to see you here. It saves me a call.”

“Yeah?” I asked and settled down at his table. He was halfway through his steak and chips.

“I was over at Middy’s place the other day and caught sight of the rams you sold him. Looks like you bred yourself some good-uns, huh?”

We settled down and talked stock while my meal was prepared. By the time my dinner was placed in front of me, Stewie had promised to drop by the following week to check out my flock. The Tanner place was huge—over a thousand hectares compared to my small two hundred and fifty—and he was well respected in the community. Stewie wanted at least ten rams for late spring lambing and if he bought from me, I could expect a lot more custom the following year, as people saw the excellent lambs I was sure my boys would throw. It was an unexpected nice surprise, and I made mental plans to handpick more lambs this year.

It was nearly eight o’clock when I pulled up at my gate. The lights were on in the house. Through the bare windows where he hadn’t pulled the curtains, I could see Paul sitting in front of the TV. As I approached the house, I could hear Buck going mad. I’d left him home for this trip, which he didn’t appreciate one bit. He flew to my side, and I grinned madly and gave him plenty of pats.

It was good to be home.

S
UNDAY
BROUGHT
rain that would water my crops nicely, as long as it didn’t go for too long. I was shoveling shit out of the chook pen one-handed when Buck let me know I had a visitor. I stuck my head around the edge of the henhouse and got a soaking for my trouble.

Doc Elliot was standing on my back veranda looking out across the paddocks. I whistled and waited for him to see me. He waved and made to come through the rain, so I hollered across the yard, “Put the kettle on, Doc! I’ll be there in five!”

I washed up under the tank and kicked my boots on the step, trying to dislodge as much mud as I could before stepping inside. The screen door banged behind me, and I toed my boots off in the mud room and stripped off my wet socks before walking barefoot into the kitchen. Elliot had made himself at home, and Jimmie’s biscuit tin was in the middle of the table while the good Doc read my latest
Countryman
publication.

He looked up as I entered, and smiled. “Hey, Hank. I see you’re taking my advice and not working while that shoulder heals.” The cups were set out, ready for the hot water, so I ignored the sarcasm and lifted the kettle off its stand as it boiled. He pointed to an article he was reading. “It says here that Border Leicester rams sold recently at Moora for nine hundred dollars each. Shit! Is that what your ones go for?”

I shook my head. “No. I run Merinos. They can go for a good price like that if they come from quality breeders, but I need a little bit more proof before mine will get those sorts of prices. I’m hoping for a good lambing season. Then I can sell off some of my wethers and older ewes and make room for another crop of rams.”

We talked about farming practices for a bit more before he finally said, “Hank? I was wondering if we could talk about what happened on Wednesday night?”

I shook my head in disbelief. What was with Elliot and all his little talks? I preferred to ignore things completely. He caught my expression and wrinkled his nose.

“I know, I know. I can see you hate talking. How about if I talk and you listen for a bit?” I snagged another of Jimmie’s creations and shrugged.

“I want you to know why I was so angry with you at the club,” he began. I was a little surprised. I thought his lecture would be about me and my temper.

He fiddled with the edge of the newspaper and spoke calmly. “You see, it was not easy for me to come out here—to move out to a rural area, I mean. I’ve lived my whole life in the city, so it’s a bit of a culture shock, to say the least. But on top of that, I’m an outsider in the community. I don’t have any family around here, and I don’t have anyone apart from Doctor Larsen to talk to about my work. I’ve been out here four months now, Hank, and it’s the loneliest I’ve been in my entire life. I knew moving here would be devastating to my sex life, but I didn’t realize how much I would miss just the camaraderie of having friends.”

I swallowed and wouldn’t look him in the eye. At least when I moved out here, I had friends nearby. If you could call two hundred kilometers “nearby.” Besides, I’d grown up in the country and was used to the loneliness.

Elliot sighed. “I’d made the decision to keep my sexuality to myself before I left Melbourne. But I didn’t realize how hunky some of you country boys could be!” That produced a snort of laughter from me. “I’d seen you a couple of times around town before you came into my surgery, Hank. I’d seen, I’d liked, I’d dreamed. Then suddenly you were half naked, and I was lonely, and my libido was out of control. I’m not sorry I looked, Hank. It meant that we became friends. I came out here to apologize, fully expecting you to yell at me and tell me to never step foot on your property again. But instead I thought I found a friend. You didn’t seem to mind about me being gay. You treated me the same as usual and even teased me about it a bit. It was a relief, to tell you the truth. It was a relief to be able to
talk
about it, instead of having to pretend that I’m into women. I liked you, Hank. Sure you’re hot, but I also liked your friendship.”

I blinked. “I like you too, Ell. You’re a bit of a city wanker and you have no idea about the land, but you don’t make me feel like an uneducated fucker. You don’t put me down or anything. You listen and you learn.”

“I like listening to you, Hank. And I thought we were friends, which is why I was so angry at the club. When I saw you there, I thought that someone had put a hallucinogen in my drink. You walked into that place with such confidence and pulled one of the best-looking guys in the joint within two minutes. You knew what you were doing. You weren’t in that club on a lark or out of curiosity. You were gay, and I was shattered. Why couldn’t you have told me? All it would take would be two words. ‘I’m gay,’ is all you had to say. I would’ve understood. In fact, I would’ve understood you probably better than any other guy in the district, but you didn’t tell me. Just because we’re both gay doesn’t mean that we
have
to have sex with each other, you know. We could just be friends. Friends that talk about that one special issue from time to time. I was angry that you didn’t like me
enough
to confide in me.”

“It’s not that, Ell. I haven’t told anyone.”

He nodded. “Logically I understand that, but emotionally I was hurt. I’d made my interest in you clear enough, and you couldn’t even tell me that you batted for the same team. You didn’t have to want me sexually—I can put up with rejection, Hank—but to not even
hint
at your sexuality made me angry.”

“Sorry, Ell.” I didn’t know what else to say. “I’m sorry you saw me with that guy and I’m sorry if that hurt you.”

He laughed in a self-depreciating manner. “I will have to say, the green-eyed monster reared his head a bit. There you were in your best clothes, looking so hot that I nearly melted in a puddle, and you had to go and find a cute guy to almost devour you in public. I hated that stupid twink.”

I was surprised. “Who, Dom? He was just a willing body. He didn’t mean anything.”

“It wasn’t that. As I said before, just because we’re both gay, it doesn’t mean we have to have a sexual relationship. It was more the shattering of dreams. I thought you were straight and dreamed of you. Then suddenly you were gay, and that twink made it clear I was so out of your league….”

I snorted again. “What league? You think I belong to any league? I’m just a country boy who chases sheep around the paddock most days. Sure I can walk into a club and have them panting, but the following day they’re always running far in the opposite direction, scrubbing at their skin to make sure I haven’t got sheep shit all over them.” I would never forget the guy who made me scrub my hands with bleach before he let me touch him.

Elliot shook his head. “Then they’re idiots. As I said, I considered you my friend. I still consider you my friend. I don’t care about the gay stuff, Hank. But I wish you had told me.”

I hung my head in shame.

He reached over and laid a hand on my shoulder. “So who does know? Middy? Neil?”

I shook my head. “Dad and Paul. That’s what the fight was about. You know? When Dad chucked me out? That’s why I had to move away from home. Dad is afraid that if my secret is ever revealed, it’ll stain him. He’ll lose business and friends. Uncle Murray and his partner, Jimmie know too. But apart from that, the only people are those who see me in the club. I never expected someone from home to be hanging around lesbian mud-wrestling night in the city’s best gay bar.”

We grinned at each other. Elliot spluttered, “Heck! I didn’t even know that was on until I got there. I’d been in the club a couple of times before, but never on a Wednesday. I was just about to give up and leave when you arrived.”

I grimaced. “I don’t think you’re going to be welcomed back—not for a while, at least. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “I don’t do well in clubs, anyway. The cute twinks get all the hot country boys and usually leave me standing in the cold. I guess it will be classifieds for a while.”

Shame spread across my chest, because it was true I probably wouldn’t pick him up at a bar. There were lots of other cuter and more willing bodies, but strangely, I found that I was more aroused at the thought of taking Ell to bed than Dom. “I still have Dom’s number,” I offered with a smile. “I can give it to you if you want?”

Laughter spread across his face. “Somehow I think that Dom would be a little miffed at me, even if we were compatible. Which I highly doubt.”

I frowned across at him. “What do you mean that you’re not compatible? Do you think that he’s going to turn you down? He wasn’t that hot, you know. He was just the first one that caught my eye.”

This time Elliot’s laughter was a bit more shaky—a bit of nervousness, a bit of mirth. “That’s not what I meant, Hank. Haven’t you ever heard of ‘fighting for the bottom’?”

I was perplexed at the term, and it must’ve shown, because a bright red bloom stole across his face as Elliot licked his lips.

“Ahh…. You know? Tops and bottoms? I’m pretty sure that you’re a top, and Dom was definitely a bottom.”

Fighting for the bottom….

Understanding exploded in my brain, and I squirmed in my chair.
Don’t ask, Hank! Don’t ask….

“So you’re a bottom, then?”

I could’ve slapped myself as I heard the words coming out of my mouth. Talk about getting personal!

Elliot was bright red, but still managed to smile cheekily at me. “I would have to say I definitely prefer that, but I don’t mind the other way too. However, I’m pretty positive that Dom wouldn’t like to take turns.”

I swallowed and tried to banish the mental image of Elliot spread out under me. I nearly missed him question me.

“So now that I’ve confessed, you need to share too. How about you, Hank? Top or bottom?”

I dropped my hand to adjust myself in my jeans. No one in my entire life had asked me that question. Even the guys I picked up at the club all assumed. “Umm… I haven’t… I’ve only ever… been the one to… you know?”

I was embarrassed to be talking about it, but Elliot took it in his stride. “Oh. That’s a pity. You should try it one day. Definitely worth it, in my opinion.”

I was sure the papers tomorrow morning would report a weather anomaly happening in the region of Dumbleyung where the temperature in the district suddenly jumped several degrees—all due to the heat coming off my cheeks. Elliot noticed and roared with laughter. I scowled at him, and he waved me off.

“Karma’s a bitch, isn’t she, Hank? I knew I’d get you back for calling me Quackle.”

“I’m still going to call you Quackle, mate,” I told him.

He threw me a look of fake innocence and smiled. “Bottoms up, Hank.” I turned bright red again.

He was still laughing at me when we left the house together an hour later.

Chapter 9

I
T
WAS
Sunday, and that meant footy. Since I couldn’t play with my broken collarbone, I was reduced to sitting on the sideline, yelling abuse at my teammates. It was expected. So I dragged Quackle along.

I carried the chairs while he carried the esky full of beer, and we found ourselves a spot on the grassy spectator area. It looked like the rain was going to let up, which would mean a nice muddy and slippery game. I was disappointed I wasn’t playing.