The Shearing Gun (31 page)

He was sitting in the chair by my bed, playing with the fingers on my right hand. My left was in a cast to my elbow. “Will you be upset if I leave, Hank?”

And here I thought he was the
smart
one in our relationship. “Upset? Fuck, my heart is going to break when you leave, Quackle.”

“Your heart? Are you saying your heart is involved?”

I silently cursed God for making men so fucking uncommunicative. Didn’t Elliot realize?

“I love you, Elliot. I’ve loved you for ages. Of course my heart is involved. I fuckin’ introduced you to my
dad
for heaven’s sake! Why would I do that if I didn’t love you? I punched my best friend’s brother for calling you names. I snuck around town like a fuckin’ thief just to hold you at night so you could get some sleep. I got tested and told Doc Larsen I was gay, and that was not the easiest bloody conversation in the world. I gave you a lamb to name. I’m planning on buying you a couple of fuckin’ chooks so you’ll stay. What part of that doesn’t say I love you?”

He was speechless for a moment before smiling and saying, “Chooks? Really? You’re going to buy me some chooks?”

Of course he had to pick up on the least important bit of information
.

I heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, Quackle. I want to buy you some chooks to live at my place.”

“Cool. Can I name them?”

I coughed so that I didn’t laugh in exasperation. “They’ll be your chooks, so you can do whatever you like.”

“Great. And in case you don’t remember, I already told you I love you. I’m not planning on going anywhere. Why would I be leaving the man I love, Hank?”

That
was news to me. “You love me?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“I think I’d remember something that has that much impact on my life.”

“I told you after the accident.”

“Newsflash, Ell. I was a little banged-up and disoriented. So how about you tell me again, now, so I can hear it properly.”

We grinned at each other for a moment, but he willingly got to his feet and leaned over me so there were only a couple of inches between us. “I love you, Henry Woods.”

I grinned and pulled his head down to mine so I could taste the words on his lips. They tasted like honey and molasses. He was being careful not to rest against my chest, which I was grateful for because I was having trouble breathing. “Now, why would someone as cute and as smart as you go and do a dumb thing like fall in love with a woolly-headed shearer?”

He smiled lovingly. “I couldn’t help myself. No other man has ever given me a lamb to name or started a fight over me. I was attracted to the outside of the man from the start, but once I got to know the inside, then it was too late. I’ve known for ages, Hank, that you’re the man for me. I told my father, and he had to break the news to my mother that I am not coming back to Melbourne anytime soon.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I told Dad that I’ve fallen head over heels for a shearing gun. I’ve even talked to George Larsen, and we’re hashing out a price to pay for his practice. He wants to retire in the next couple of years, but still do some part-time work for a while. I’m going to buy his practice—if you’ll have me on a permanent basis. I’ve even talked to a colleague of mine about coming in with me on a partnership. The guy’s a Mormon and has thirteen children. A house in the country with plenty of room sounds good to him. He’s considering it at the moment. Between the three of us, I reckon we could look after the community comfortably. None of us are interested in fame and money—which is good, because there’s none to be had in a small town practice. George wants to work less but still see his patients occasionally, Iggy wants somewhere safe and happy to bring up his family, and I have plenty of money, even if I never work again. All I want is to be happy with you.”

I was considering ringing the bell for the nurse because my chest felt all tight and breathless. “Yeah?”

“Yes. So will you have me?”

Did he have to ask?
“Just try getting rid of me, Elliot. You’ve done it now. I’m never letting you go.”

He kissed me again, putting all those feelings of love and tenderness into it. “You don’t have to, Hank. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Epilogue

A
FTER
TEN
days with Murray and Jimmie, I was itching to get home. Home to my place, home to Buck, home to Elliot.

Saturday morning Elliot drove back to the city to pick me up, and we drove home slowly and with a lot of breaks. I slept some of the way—my body was still recovering and needed plenty of rest. Elliot’s car had been replaced with a brand new model, and I noticed that he kept a good ten ks under the speed limit at all times. He was slightly nervous driving—especially when a sheep truck or cattle truck approached from the opposite direction—but he did a good job of trying to hide it from me.

It was midafternoon when we got back to my farm. Even though I was tired, I insisted on walking around and checking things out. The ants had gotten to my tomatoes, the cucumbers were rotting on the vine, and the chook house needed a good cleaning, but otherwise all was good.

I took my pain medication and tumbled into sleep—going for a good fourteen hours before rousing again.

I took it easy on Sunday, and hand-in-hand, Elliot and I strolled around the place, checking on the different flocks and the fences. Poppy was growing well, Donnie and Phantom were both happy they were finally getting some, and I could tell from the well-rounded bellies of my best ewes, that W002 and W003 had done their job remarkably well.

When Elliot told me we were going to the pub on Sunday afternoon to meet the lads, I refused. He insisted, but I was stubborn. He gave me a blow job, and I folded like a house of cards in a tornado.

I was tense, but Elliot told me everything would be fine. He’d assured me that the town had been extremely welcoming to his “new-found” homosexual status. Those who had a problem simply stayed away from him. And everyone wanted to see me.

I didn’t believe that last bit.

There seemed to be a lot of cars in the car park when we arrived, and I soon found that there were a lot of cars, because the whole flippin’ town seemed to be piled into the pub. I was shaky as we approached the door and was thankful for Elliot’s hand in mine. My arm was once again in a sling—
I fucking-well hate slings!
—and my ribs strapped, but otherwise I was fine. Fine apart from my heart about to burst with stress.

Elliot pushed me into the pub.

A cheer went up, then everyone was clapping and smiling and laughing and hooting—at us. I stopped and stared. Someone had made an old sheet into a banner on that said “Well done Elliot and Hank!” It hung from the rafters of the building. Middy was there—smiling broadly and clapping loudly. Neil was whistling, adding to the general din. Gloria was there, as well as Little D, Di, Denny, Doc Larsen, Sandy, Rooster, Stewie, Steve, Gavin, Coxy, Frank and Sue-Ann Watson, Tim and Keira Davies, Dennis Hopley, Bevin and Mrs. Spencer…. Fuck—I think every single soul I knew was there.

Elliot squeezed my hand. “They wanted to show their appreciation for what we did at the accident. I told them that they shouldn’t, but they did it anyway. They wanted to show their support for our relationship, their gratitude at having me for a doctor, and their thanks for saving their lives.” He stopped and considered. “I also think they wanted an excuse to have a fucking big party.”

I laughed. That was about right. Someone mentioned having a party and most people didn’t even care what it was about.
Your son’s getting married? Sure I’ll come. You had your appendix removed? No problem. I’ll bring the beer. Gay marriage rights meeting? Okay. Tell me a time.

Elliot unobtrusively moved to my left side so we could approach the crowd, and they wouldn’t accidentally knock my injuries. I shook hands with about a million people and promised to tell all the details I could remember about the accident. Someone handed me a beer, someone assured me that they’d bring a casserole around, and someone told me I was a wanker for stealing the most eligible bachelor in town.

I was overwhelmed.

Then suddenly Big D was in front of me. I froze, but he simply plucked the half-finished beer out of my hand and replaced it with a full one.

“There. That’s the beer I owe you in apology for letting the wether go.”

He turned and disappeared in the crowd. I was greatly relieved and understood the concept. He was saying “No hard feelings. I still think you and the little fag are fuckheads, but I’ll get along with you in the future as long as you don’t rub it in my face.”

And I wasn’t planning on rubbing it in anyone’s face.

There was also the shock when Mickey Ryan shook my hand and held onto it a little longer than was necessary. He squeezed my fingers and said, “Damn, I wished I’d known earlier.”

Did he mean…?

Wow—Doc Larsen was right.

Finally it was late enough that we could leave without giving offense. I was flagging, and Elliot helped me into the car and drove me home. I was in no shape to have full sexual intercourse, but I had a hand, right? I had a hand, and it had worked just fine on me for the last week, so I tried it out on Elliot and found it worked fine on him too.

With the curtains wide open, we watched the full moon rise through my bedroom window. Elliot cuddled me the best he could around my various injuries.

“Hank?”

“Hmm?”

“Down the bottom of the hill, behind the mulberry tree? What is that?”

“The original homestead, I presume. What you can see is the chimney that remains, but if you clear out the bracken and grass, there’s actually a whole foundation and all.”

“Is it a good spot for a house? Does it flood?”

I sighed. “I presume that the original settlers here didn’t want to come up the hill this far from their water supply. Whoever built this place didn’t need the river, since they had indoor plumbing. So they built up the hill to get the views. It’s a good place down there—the river doesn’t come that high so it wouldn’t flood. Why? You want to build a mansion down there for us?”

“No,” he replied, snuggling down next to me. “But I was thinking it would be a great place for a granny-flat—or a holiday house. Because you realize my mum is going to want to come for extended visits, and I’m not planning on silencing our bedtime antics just for her. So she needs somewhere to stay.”

Oh, the joys of in-laws.

I watched the moon rise higher in the sky.

“Quackle?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have loads of money?”

He paused. “Umm… yeah. A decent amount. Why?”

“Because you’d better start building soon. I have two uncles, a father, a brother, and a soon-to-be sister-in-law who’s pregnant with my niece or nephew. And do you know what? If they come to visit, I’d be glad to show them how much I can make you scream in our bed, but I’d much rather they could stay somewhere else.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I just knew it was that adorable red color.

“Hank?”

“Yeah, mate?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Quackle.”

Pause.

“Hank?”

“Yeah, mate?”

“I can’t wait until you’re healed, and you can throw me down like one of your sheep again.”

I snorted. “I can’t either, Quackle.”

Pause.

“Hank?”

“Yeah, mate?”

“I still hate the nickname Quackle.”

“I could call you Honey if you like?”

Pause.

“Hank?”

“Yeah, mate?”

“You can call me Quackle.”

I laughed and gathered him closer. “And I’m planning to call you that for the rest of your life.”

“Good.”

And sleep dragged us both under.

About the Author

R
ENAE
K
AYE
is a lover and hoarder of books who thinks libraries are devilish places because they make you give the books back. She consumed her first adult romance book at the tender age of thirteen and hasn’t stopped since. After years—and thousands of stories!—of not having book characters do what she wants, she decided she would write her own novel and found the characters still didn’t do what she wanted. It hasn’t stopped her though. She believes that maybe one day the world will create a perfect couple—and it will be the most boring story ever. So until then she is stuck with quirky, snarky, and imperfect characters who just want their story told.

Renae lives in Perth, Western Australia, and writes in five minute snatches between the demands of two kids, a forbearing husband, too many pets, too much housework, and her beloved veggie garden. She is a survivor of being the youngest in a large family and believes that laughter (and a good book) can cure anything.

You can contact her at [email protected].