CHAPTER TWELVE
This won’t be Travis’s last muster. He hasn’t seen the desert in spring, so he can’t leave yet, okay?
“Travis is doing what?” Travis asked when I’d clicked off my call to Greg.
I grinned at him. “Travis is going to the Northern Territory Beef Farmers Association as an agronomist, who not only understands the science of what we do, but how to do it out here.”
“Why am I doing that?” he asked. Then he cocked his head. “When am I doing that?”
“Not this weekend, but the next.”
He looked at me for a long, confused moment. “But we’re mustering, and then I have that meeting in the Alice on the Monday after.” He shook his head. “Charlie, I don’t have time, and believe me, if that’s my last week here, I ain’t spending it somewhere else, and I certainly ain’t spending it somewhere you won’t be…”
I put my hand up. “But that’s why you have to do it,” I said. “I’ve been reading up on it. I read the visa website, and it said there’s a subclause for skilled workers in regional areas. So then I read up on that, and it turns out that agricultural sciences qualify, which is great, right?” I asked. He looked more confused, so I explained, “I still didn’t really know what that meant either, so I kept reading and found some forum pages where other people talked about their visa conditions, and how some were kicked out, and others talked about what helped them stay.”
He was listening now. “And what did they say?”
“A few different people said they were active in the community with what their skill was. One guy from Canada who’s based in Tasmania said he was granted a permanent visa because of his qualifications in some aquaculture thing about some kind of fish. And there was a teacher guy from India who was helping other people from India assimilate and learn English, and there was a woman from Argentina—”
“I get the picture,” he said, interrupting me. He sat down in the spare seat. “So you think if I talk to a bunch of farmers about soil, they’ll grant me a permanent visa?” He sounded sceptical.
“Not a speech as such,” I clarified. “More of a one-on-one consulting gig. If we can get a few farmers to say that they’ve consulted with you on business matters pertaining to agronomy, then that should be enough.”
“But I haven’t.”
“But you will.”
“When?”
“At the Beef Farmers meeting.”
“Isn’t that too little, too late?”
“It can’t hurt,” I said. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter what the farmers think. All that matters is that the lady in Alice Springs, the Outreach immigration woman, knows you’re doing it.”
Ma walked past the office door carrying a tray of food. “Boys, lunch.”
So we had a quick lunch of soup and sandwiches. They all talked in between mouthfuls of food about football or something, but I was making mental lists of stuff I had to do. Travis was right about one thing: we were runnin’ out of time.
I looked at George and asked, “If we were to bring the muster in a week sooner than planned, could we do it?”
People suddenly stopped talking about football.
George gave it some quiet thought. “We’d need to leave tomorrow to get across Arthur Creek before she comes down. Three horses and two bikes at least. Once she floods, it’ll be a week’s wait. We’ll hafta bring ’em down home east of the ridge anyways, because we won’t get across the creek.”
I knew all of that. I guess he was just thinkin’ out loud. “Yeah, but can we do it? Have we got the gear? The fuel? The supplies? Physically, can we do it? Can we ride out tomorrow?”
George gave a nod. “Yep.”
I looked around the table, at everyone watching us. “Let me make some phone calls first. I’ll need to check with the transport company. If the trucks can’t pick up the cattle until the week after, then we’ll stick to the original plan.”
Havin’ that many head of cattle in confined yards for too long was dangerous and costly. I wouldn’t risk it. If it couldn’t happen, then I’d have to think of something else.
But I didn’t have to. Apparently being Charlie Sutton counted for something, because when I rang the trucking company—who were sending out three road trains to collect my cattle—they then made some calls, phoning me back fifteen minutes later saying it was all okay.
I sat back in my seat and sighed, and after a few minutes of collectin’ my scattered thoughts, I went out to find George.
He was in the shed taking inventory of fuel. “Have we got enough?” I asked. “I can call in a delivery, but they won’t get here ’til Wednesday at the earliest.”
“We should be right for tomorrow,” he said. “Might wanna order it anyway. We’ll need it regardless, I guess.” Then he asked, “So we heading out early?”
“Yep,” I answered. “Transport’ll be here four days earlier than planned. If we’re bringin’ the herd east, it’ll take an extra day at least, but that still gives us a good pace, yeah?”
George nodded. “Sounds right to me.”
“I’ll go tell the others,” I said.
“Already did,” George said in the slow and steady way he did. “Figured it involved Travis stayin’ somehow, so you’d make it happen. I told ’em all we’d be leavin’ tomorrow.”
I snorted out a laugh. “And if the transport company couldn’t change their dates?”
The corner of his lips curled upward. “You don’t think they’d say no to you, do you? You’d be one of their biggest contracts.” He shook his head. “Anyways, you’d have just told ’em to make it happen or you’d find a new truckin’ company.”
I shrugged. “I’ve never asked ’em to change before.”
He started checking the dirt bikes like I wasn’t even there. “You never had so much to lose before either.” Then like he hadn’t just said something profound, he added, “Might wanna go tell Ma you’re bringin’ the whole muster in a week early. I didn’t tell her. I wasn’t that game.” I smiled and sighed and headed for the house when he called out, “Might wanna offer her some help too. If you know what’s good for you.”
I laughed, because it was true, and when I walked into the kitchen, Ma was just sitting down with a cup of tea and a sandwich. I cringed. “Hey,” I said, taking a seat next to her.
She eyed me dubiously. “What have you done?”
I cleared my throat. “Well, I might have brought the muster forward.”
She didn’t blink. “How soon forward?”
It always scared me when she spoke quietly like that. “Um, maybe like a whole week?”
“Charles Sutton…” Her stare was like steel. “I’m not ready.”
I cringed again. “We leave tomorrow.”
I’m pretty sure she was trying to bore holes into my head with superman-burning-ray-vision or something. This was why George was bein’ busy in the shed.
“Um, I will help, so whatever you need me to do…”
“I need you to get out of my kitchen, that’s what I need,” she said quietly, calmly. Scarily. “I think I’ll be bit busy tonight, cooking a week’s worth of food, don’t you?”
I nodded. “I said I’ll help. How about I start making a list or something?”
She took a deep breath, pursed her lips and seemed to calm down a bit. “You will help, alright. You can go get Nara for me—she’s more helpful than you—and then you can sit out on the veranda and peel a bucket of potatoes.”
I made a face. “I’m better at lists.”
She raised her say-one-more-word-Charlie-and-so-God-help-me eyebrow.
I stood up. “Right, then. Potatoes, it is.” I went and found Nara, and then, because I was bringing the muster forward—only to help Travis, the absolute love of my life, so he didn’t get booted out of the country, and I would do anything to help, because I think it would kill me if he left—I sat on the back veranda and peeled a fucking ton of potatoes.
It was around three in the afternoon when the said love of my life walked up to the house with Ernie. They all just kinda stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say, and Travis was grinning at me. I was sitting with one tub of water in between my feet for the clean potatoes and a still half-full bucket of dirty potatoes to my side. I also happened to be wearing bright yellow washing up gloves. I glared at him, and his grin got even wider. “Anyone laughs,” I warned, “and they’re fired.”
So of course, Travis fucking laughed. “Nice gloves.”
“The water is freezing!” I said, because that explained the gloves. Well, it did to me. “And I have twenty kilos of potatoes to peel, and I swear to God, you lot better enjoy every last one of them.”
Travis was still chuckling, and Ernie kind of didn’t know where to look. Apparently he wasn’t used to me ranting like Travis was. Travis, on the other hand, seemed to think it was funny. I’ll admit, it was good to see him laugh, but I threw a potato at him anyway, which he caught like it was some baseball or something.
Ernie cleared his throat. “Um, we’re done with the southern paddock,” he said. “Thought if we all got in and did it, we’d get it done quicker. The others have started on the western side now, but I wondered if you needed anything else done.”
I smiled at him. Ernie had been on my staff for years, one of those quiet achievers who just got in and got his work done with minimal fuss. And it was great to know he could step up and be in charge if needed.
“Bikes are serviced, George’s checked the fuel and oil—”
“He was putting crates into piles when we walked up just now,” Travis added.
“So all that gear is ready, then,” I said. “We’ll still need to pack bags of kibble for the dogs and then fill all the water tubs. All the horse gear, the spare saddles, the spare swags and all that. We should bring the horses in tonight too,” I told them.
Travis gave a nod. “I’ll go,” he said. “Texas is just by the fence. It’ll only take me a minute to saddle him. I can bring the others in before dark.” He didn’t wait for approval of any kind, he just turned on his heel and walked away.
Ernie waited until Travis was out of earshot. “He’s a goer,” he said, kind of smiling and talking to the ground. Then he looked at me, still nervous but determined to say something anyway. “He’s a hard worker, and I’ll be sorry to see him go. I mean, if he has to go, that is. If they make him go.” He swallowed hard, looking a dozen shades of awkward. “Guess what I’m just tryin’ to say is that none of us want him to go. If we have to work longer hours so he can get done what he needs to get done so he can stick around, then we ain’t got no problem with that.”
Jesus. That was the longest, most personal thing I’d ever heard out of Ernie’s mouth. I don’t know who was more shocked, me or him. But I was moved by his words and ever so grateful. “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate you sayin’ that.”
* * * *
“You know I’m kinda glad you brought the muster forward a week,” Travis said. The room was dark and cool, and we were all intertwined in bed keeping each other warm. His head was in the crook of my neck, his thigh over mine, and my arms wrapped tight around him.
“Why’s that?”
“I mean, I’m really looking forward to spending a week out riding,” he explained, “but I think a week around here twiddling our thumbs and waiting would have driven me insane. At least this way, we’re busy all this week with no time to think about that meeting and then you have me doing that stupid speech, which I should make you write, by the way.” He sighed. “I dunno. It’s just good to be busy, that’s all.”
I ran my hands over his back. “Busy is good. But don’t get too excited about sleeping out this week. It’ll be freezing.”
“I have you to keep me warm.”
I snorted. “It’s not like we can share a swag with the others just a few feet away.”
“You’ll find a way to make it happen,” he said simply. “If I’m counting down days, I’m not spending one night away from you.”
“You’re not counting down days,” I replied.
He leaned up on his arm. I could make out the concerned look on his face even in the darkened room. “Can you at least act a little worried that I might be going?”
I pushed his hair off his forehead. “No,” I said softly. “I can’t even bring myself to think it.”
He frowned, sadness etched in every line. He shook his head and put his face back into the crook of my neck. “Yeah, I know” was all he said.
I tightened my hold on him once more and fell asleep trying not to think of anything else but him.
When I woke up, I rolled over so I could snuggle into him, only to be met by something that distinctly wasn’t Travis. I opened my eyes slowly, and right in front of my face were two big ears and bright brown, wide-awake eyes. I leaned up and gave Travis my one-eyed half-asleep glare.
“She didn’t want to go back to sleep, and I was cold,” he mumbled.
“So she’s in bed with us?”
“Yep.”
“Well, put her on your side.”
“Aw, she’s not that bad.”
“No, I want to cuddle you, not her.”
“Oh.”
He gently picked her up, pouch and all, and put him on the other side of him. I quickly took her place. I wrapped my arm around him, he snuggled his back against me and Matilda only fussed a little. “Too bad,” I told her.
Travis pulled the cover over her so she’d think it was a big pouch or something, and the three of us lay in bed until we couldn’t put the day off a minute more.
* * * *
The plan was—actually it was Travis’s idea, but it was a good one—that three horses, two bikes and the old Land Rover would go north. I would take the chopper and head off the far north cattle and close the gates that would otherwise lead them south, because we needed them to head east first. George would finish the holding yards at the homestead, and Nara would stay at the house and help Ma and look after Matilda.
All we needed was to get everything across Arthur Creek before it flooded, and then at the end of the day, George would fly me over the creek to join up with the rest of the droving party.
I’d been thinking about how he said I’d find a way for us to be alone when we were mustering, but I also couldn’t help but think of what Ernie said either. As much as I wanted alone time with him, he needed to spend some time with his friends as well. If the worst-case scenario were to come true, if he were to leave, they’d miss him too.
So the first night when we were setting up camp, I put our swags a few yards apart, off to one side, but still kinda near the others. He gave me a questioning look, so I told him, “We’ll spear off from them tomorrow so you have tonight with them.”
I think he got the message.
We made a campfire, heated fresh stew and damper, and we all laughed as Bacon told us stories from when he went barramundi fishing up the Top End and of what wankers the crocodile cowboys were. Travis laughed until he was holdin’ onto his sides like they hurt at Bacon’s impersonations, which were somewhere a cross between Steve Irwin, Crocodile Dundee and Gordon Ramsay. I didn’t find the stories as funny as Travis did, but it sure was good to hear him laugh like that.
It wasn’t too long until it was too damn cold to stay out of our swags, and when were all lying down and quiet, Travis did that just-lying-there-starin’-at-me thing that made my heart go beat itself all out of rhythm.
He mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
I replied, just as silently, “You’re welcome.”
Then I watched him for as long as my eyes would let me.
* * * *
I was up before everyone, had the fire going again and the smell of eggs and bacon woke everyone up. I boiled water for hot tea, but made sure I had enough granulated coffee for Travis to survive for a few days without his new coffee machine.
As early and as cold as it was, everyone was still excited about the coming days. One thing was for certain, I wasn’t the only one who loved bein’ out in the middle of nowhere. It made me smile, even more grateful for these people who stood by me, who belonged out here as much as I did, Travis included.
I wished the immigration department could see him out here. It’d all make sense to them if they could just see how he gelled with this place, with its people.
I was starting to think he needed to be here, a part of this red dirt landscape, as much as I did.
He saddled Texas and Shelby and burdened Billy’s horse with our gear while I packed our supplies and helped load everything back into the Land Rover. The plan was Travis and I would go on horseback on the quickest, most direct route north, while everyone else—on bikes and in the Rover—would sweep west, bringing in any stragglers, and we’d meet at the top northern paddock.
We’d cut the water in the tops last month so the herd would come down on their own. There was always some who needed persuading, which is where the helicopter came in handy. But by day three we should be ready to start heading ’em home. With roughly two thousand head of cattle, the trip down east of the ridge line to avoid any swollen waterways would take an expected four days.
It’d be four days of hard work, stress and bone-tired sleepin’ on frozen ground, but there was a familiar buzz of excitement as we got ready to go.
But what I couldn’t wait for, what had me smiling and itching to ride out, was I had two days—two uninterrupted, just-us days—in the desert with Travis.
I had to bite my smile as the others drove out. But as Travis and I rode north, side by side, it was Travis who laughed.
“When I said you’d find a way for us to have some alone time out here, I wasn’t thinkin’ two days,” he said, shaking his head at me.
“You could have gone with the others if you wanted,” I told him, knowin’ damn well he didn’t want to.
He snorted. “Not likely.” He took a deep breath of the cold morning air and sat higher in his saddle. “This is what’s it’s about, right here. Open desert, flat to the horizon, blue sky, red dirt and you.”
I grinned at him. “I was just thinkin’ the same thing.”
He smiled and looked out over the desert that surrounded us, and he sighed a sound that was as close to content as could be.
“I never understood people’s fascination with the ocean,” he mused. “I get that there’s a power and beauty to it, I guess. But it’s nothing like this.” He smiled as he spoke. “I mean, look at it. There’s a peacefulness to this place, and no doubt it’s as dangerous as it is beautiful. The colours change, the air changes, everything in the desert changes every hour of every day, but yet it somehow stays the same.” He sighed again. “Does that even make sense?”
He’d just described what I’d failed to put into words for years. “Perfect sense.”
“I guess I’m preaching to the choir telling that to you,” he said, shaking his head.
“Are you kidding? Not many people understand…” I tried again. “Not many people see it the way I do.”
Trav smiled at that. “You finally starting to believe that I like being out here as much as you do and that I’m not just saying it to make you happy?”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe.”
Shame it’s too late, I thought.
Shame you have to leave.
“Just in time for me to go, huh?” he asked, no doubt seeing the change on my face.
“I don’t believe that,” I told him.
“Don’t or won’t?”
I didn’t answer him. He knew the answer. He just wanted me to say it aloud. So instead I said, “For the next two days, we don’t talk about it, okay? For the next two days, it’s just us, a million miles from anybody and anything, with not a worry in the world, okay?”
He seemed to consider it a while before giving me a smile. “Okay.”
“Good. Now tell me,” I said, changing subjects completely, “if you could have any superpower, what would it be?”
“What?”
“It’s the what-if game. Superpowers. Pick one and only one.”
“You didn’t get out much as a kid, did you?”
“Not at all, so shut up.” I ignored him laughing at me. “Okay then, if you could have one luxury item out here, what would it be?”
He was just about to say something, but then narrowed his eyes at me. “Just ’cause I’m saying it, doesn’t mean I actually want you to buy it, okay?”
I snorted out a laugh. “Depends on what it is.”
“A pizza oven.”
“A what?”
“You know, those big stone furnace-lookin’ things. We could cook pizzas any time we wanted.”
“You miss pizza?”
“Well, it’s not like we can just dial Domino’s out here.”
“True,” I agreed, then wondered how I could get one delivered. The oven, not the pizza.
He rolled his eyes. “No, no, no. I said you can’t buy one just because I said I want one. We’re just playing a game!” He glared at me for a while, then sighed, resigned. “I know that look,” he said. “You’re totally figurin’ out how to get one.”
I laughed and totally lied. “No, I’m not.”
“I’m not playing this game with you,” he said. But he couldn’t help himself, because for the next few hours, we played what-if question and answers about everything ranging from politics and ending world hunger to stunt doubles in movies and spaghetti westerns.
True to our word, we never mentioned him leaving. Even though the whole leaving-and-breaking-our-hearts topic was like its very own presence riding along with us, we just never talked of it.
Finding a sheltered place to camp isn’t exactly easy on the very flat, very open Outback desert. But as the sun began to get lower, we found a cluster of shrubs that would at least provide a windbreak for the horses. We tethered them to the branches, fed and watered them and went about setting up camp.
I started a small fire while Travis laid out our swags. I was busy getting the brush, kindling, flame and oxygen ratios right and hadn’t really been paying much attention. But when I looked behind me, not only had he zippered our sleeping bags together to make one bigger one, he’d put our two swags together, opened them both up, had the covers overlapping and had effectively made us a double bed.
He grinned proudly. “This is gonna be so much fun.”
I looked down at our bed. “Did you learn how to do that in Scouts?”
“Summer camp.”
“You made double beds with other boys at summer camp?”
“I was joking, Charlie.” Then after a second, he laughed and started to riffle through our supplies for dinner.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, I was thinking,” he said, seemingly pleased with himself, “that I’m pretty sure Scouts didn’t give out the badges I’ll earn tonight.”
“For making two swags into one bed?”
He looked at me like I’d missed the obvious. “For what I’ll do in that bed tonight.”
Oh. I laughed at that. “Badges, huh?”
“Yep, you could sew them onto your hat,” he said, looking up at my Akubra. “It might hold it together a bit longer.”
“Hey, don’t knock the hat.”
He walked over to me and pulled the hat off my head. Then he grabbed my chin and lifted my face, planting a kiss on my lips. It was a brief kiss, because he started to smile. “Now hurry up with the fire. I’m hungry.”
So I made a fresh damper in the coals of the barely started fire and heated some stew. I radioed in to the other camp, who were settled in and eating dinner, and then I radioed the homestead. When George had me convinced everything was fine, Travis stoked up the fire, stripped out of his coat, boots and jeans and got into the swag.
“You’ll get cold without wearing something,” I warned him.
“Body heat’s the best kind,” he said. Then he patted the thin mattress. “Hurry up.”
I sat down on the canvas bed and took off my boots and jeans as quick as I could. It was gonna be a cold night, and I knew we’d be waking up covered in frost in the morning. I covered our coats and boots the best I could, then grabbed Travis’s jeans from the crumpled mess in the dirt where he’d left ’em and shoved both our jeans down into the swag with us.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“So they’re warm when we get into ’em in the morning,” I told him, finally settling down in our bed for the night. I was shivering a bit and turned to face him, to put my arm around him, and Travis didn’t hesitate. He was rubbing his hands all over my thighs, the friction warming my skin.
“It’s cold,” I said, stating the obvious.
“You need to warm us up,” he said, pulling me across and on top of him. We shuffled a bit in our joined-together sleeping bag until I was fully on top of him, between his legs, and he had his arms around me. He ran his hands down my back, pulling our shirts up so our bare chests touched. Then his hands were under my briefs, pushing them down over my hips and gave my arse a squeeze. “I’m getting warmer already.”
“Your hands are cold,” I said, my voice squeaking.
So he rubbed them all over, hard and fast, the friction warming us both. “Better?”
“No,” I said, trying to pull his briefs down to free his hard on. I needed to feel him, skin on skin.
He laughed as he lifted his arse and we slid the cotton down the best we could. As soon as my cock touched his, hard against hard, he moaned. “Oh, shit.”
Resting on my elbows, I hooked my hands under his arms and shoulders and kissed him. The kiss was slow at first, but then it got a little deeper and then it got a lot more. It wasn’t long until our lips were swollen and our breaths were heavy, and I still wasn’t close enough, deep enough.
He held onto me so tight, and his legs were hooked around my thighs. We were grinding against each other, rubbing and thrusting, and then his breathing got all ragged and his fingers dug into my skin. He pulled my hips against his, pushed his head back, and his eyes rolled closed as he came.
He spilled hot between us, his whole body writhed and shuddered, but he never let go of me. He snaked his hand around my neck, pulling me in for a kiss, and that was all it took: the sight of him by the light of the fire, his touch, his taste, his smell.
I slid my hand between us and gripped myself as my orgasm erupted through me.
I collapsed on top of him, out of my mind and out of breath. “Jesus.”
He chuckled, a throaty sound in my ear, his breath warm on my neck. He kissed the side of my head. “Did you survive?”
I could barely form words. “Not sure yet.”
His chest vibrated underneath me as he laughed. “We’re a mess,” he murmured, kissing the side of my head again. “Roll over.” He pushed me off. He didn’t let me go too far, though. He reached over to his carryall and pulled out something. It was his shaving bag, though there were no razors or shaving cream in it. He handed me a bottle of lube to hold, then pulled out the soft wipes we’d bought the other weekend. They were wet, which was great, but they were also fucking cold. He wiped us both clean. “All better.”
I looked at the lube. “You sure are prepared. You know, when I said pack for anything, I was talking about the weather.”
He laughed, threw the discarded wipes into the fire, took the lube, zipped up the shaving bag and grinned at me. He put his head in the crook of my arm, pulled up the sleeping bag and snuggled in. He was quiet for a moment, but then he sighed. “I’ll never get over how the sky looks out here. Look at the stars. I think we can see every single one of them.”
I tightened my arm around him a bit and kissed his temple. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
He made a contented sound and hooked his arm and leg over me.
“You warm enough?” I asked.
He took a second to answer, and when he spoke, it sounded sleepy. “I ain’t never felt better.”
* * * *
The morning was a different story. It wasn’t just cold. It was freezing. Well, in our swag we were as warm as toast, but the getting out wasn’t anywhere near as pleasant.
We slid on our jeans, still in our sleeping bags. “I’ll never think throwin’ our clothes into bed with us is stupid again,” Travis said.
“Stay here,” I said. Then as quick as I could, I climbed out of the swag. I shook out my boots, in case any little eight-legged buggers thought they’d found a warm spot for the night, and pulled them on. Then I shook out my coat and slipped it on. I think every cell in my body was shaking as I got the fire going again. It didn’t take much convincing—a good supply of kindling and a dash of diesel was all it took.
I had water boiling and Travis’s coat near the fire warming up in no time. Travis stopped laughing at my fire-lighting skills when I handed him a cup of hot coffee while he was still cocooned in the sleeping bag.
He didn’t say any actual words, but his smile and his eyes said something that looked a lot like “you’re so awesome and I love you.”
To which I answered, “I love you too.” I didn’t really mean to say those words out loud.
He was just about to sip his coffee. “Huh?”
I was gonna say something like shut up and drink your coffee, but something stopped me. I’d told him before that I loved him—it made my chest all tight and flood with butterflies, but I said it. I figured if there was ever a time when I should tell him again, it was now. “I said, I love you,” I mumbled before I lost my nerve. Then I corrected myself. “Too. I said, I love you too. Sometimes the say-it-in-my-head voice comes out my mouth.”
He grinned one of those heart-stopping, steal-my-breath kind of smiles, looking all kinds of perfect with his sleep-messed hair. Before he could say something smart, or equally as sappy, I added, “Shut up and drink your coffee.”
He laughed and sipped his coffee. I made myself a cup of tea and put the pan on the fire. While the bacon started to cook, I picked up Travis’s now-warm coat and held it out for him.
Still smiling and without putting his coffee down, he peeled himself out of the sleeping bag and stood up. I was expecting him just to take the coat, but no, I had to help him into it. “Oh my God, it’s so warm,” he said. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done.”
I blushed, of course, and looked down at where his boots were. “If you think I’m helping you into those, you’re dreaming.”
He just smiled and held out his coffee, which I stupidly took. He pulled his boots on and laughed when he took back his coffee. I grumbled at him and went back to the fire, turning the bacon and sipping my tea. He came up behind me, pulled down my coat and pressed his lips to the back of my neck. He whispered, “I love you too, Charlie.”
My breath caught and my heart felt like it was about to hammer right out of my chest. He turned me around and kissed me softly, on the lips and the cheek, before he hugged me. And just when I thought he was about to say something sweet, he said, “Please don’t burn my bacon.”
And the day kind of only got better as it went on. He teased me about being the most unromantic romantic ever while we ate breakfast, and then we packed up camp and kept heading north.
The morning’s topic of conversation was the stupid assessment I was supposed to be doing, which now was the very last thing on my mind. I had much more important things to worry about first, but if I told Travis it didn’t matter if I finished the stupid degree now that he could be leaving, then he’d know I had my doubts about him staying.
And I couldn’t have him thinking I had doubts.
It was stupid, I know. I should have talked about it, I should have told him I was scared they’d make him leave, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him how petrified I was, because that would make it real.
It made much more sense, in my backward thinkin’ brain, that I ignore it or pretend it was no big deal. I wanted him to believe he was staying, and I wanted him to never think for one second that I doubted him.
So that’s exactly what I did.
We talked about agronomy and the science of soil and how he had to write a speech on something to give the old farts at that meeting. “Do you really think it will make any difference?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, going for nonchalant. “Well, it can’t hurt.”
“I thought he wanted you to give a speech or something.”
“He did,” I admitted. “But it makes more sense for the lady you’re having that meeting with to think it’s you.”
“Surely I’m not the only agronomist out here.”
“Well, probably not. But you’re the only one I want out here, so that should be reason enough.”
He kind of got a bit quiet after that, so I suggested we stop for lunch and give the horses a break. We ate cold beef sandwiches, and instead of eating my apple, I cut it up and gave it to the horses.
Travis shook his head. “And people think you’re a tough boss.”
I snorted. “Don’t go tellin’ anyone anything.”
He just shook his head at me, and we sat down on a bit of a rise and watched the sun change the colours of the land. I promised him that, when this whole thing had blown over and we had some time, I’d take him to any part of the country he wanted to go. He’d travelled halfway around the world and been here not quite seven months, yet hadn’t seen much more than the Outback. “We could go fly fishing for trout in Tasmania or deep-sea fishing off the Barrier Reef. Or barramundi fishin’ up the top end.”
“I’m starting to think you wanna go fishing.”
I ignored his sarcasm. “I could take you to Kakadu or Sydney. Apparently Melbourne is great—lots of great restaurants, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been, so I wouldn’t really know.”
“Uluru,” he said.
“Uluru?” I repeated. “Seriously? I offer to take you anywhere, and you pick something that’s just down the road?”
He rolled his eyes. “A six-hour drive is hardly just down the road.”
“Well, it’s more like nine hours, but really? Of all the places and you pick somewhere else in the desert?”
“I want to see it.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“Though Kakadu sounds pretty cool.”
“Yeah, but I must warn you,” I told him seriously. “The dirt up there ain’t red.”
He gasped dramatically. “Oh, the horror.”
“Yep. It’s a travesty.”
He smiled, looking out across the horizon. It was mostly red with patches of green saltbush and a scatter of trees. The sky was a pale winter blue and the air was cold. The sun felt good on my face.
He took it all in, like he was storin’ it to memory, like he didn’t ever want to forget. What he was thinking I didn’t dare ask. He had a leavin’ kind of sadness written all over his face.
I stood up quickly, wanting to put some distance between me and that train of thought. “Come on, we better keep moving.”
We were about three-quarters to our rendezvous point when we started to see the first signs of cattle, which meant one of the bores wasn’t too far away. Travis gave Texas a nudge and headed left, canterin’ off with a grin. I hung back and let him have his fun, kinda just enjoying watchin’ him ride, to be honest, and waited for him to bring about twenty head of cattle back on his own.
By the time we were at the southern end of the northern paddock, we had close to a hundred herded into where the fence corners met. Not long after that, Travis pointed west. “What the hell is that?”
I looked out to where he was pointing and grinned. It looked like a hazy river of white and red, moving in from the west. “It’s the others.”
Travis started to smile. “Jesus. It looks like something out of the movie The Mummy. You ever seen that? Where the dust storms in the desert move in shapes,” he said. “It looks just like that. Well, not as big and there’s no skulls in it.”
“Huh?”
He snorted out a laugh. “Never mind.” Then he nodded pointedly to the herd moving in. “How far out are they?”
I gauged the distance with a shrug. “About four k’s.”
“How many head is that?”
“Looks like about a thousand.”
He grinned and sat up higher in the saddle. “Wow.”
He was obviously itchin’ to go. “You wanna go meet ’em?”
“Can I?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m pretty sure I can manage this mob here on my own. They’re not going anywhere.” Then I told him, “Listen to Billy. He knows what to do.”
I watched him ride off, and then as they got closer, I watched my team spread out in a line about a hundred metres adjacent to the fence and watched as the cattle walked ’emselves in. Just like a well-oiled machine.
We set up camp before nightfall. I laid our swags out, kind of near each other but separate, of course, and Travis gave me a quick snarly-pout when he realised we weren’t having a joined bed. I didn’t mind that Bacon and Trudy had their beds closer together, but it was just something I wasn’t comfortable in doin’ in front of the others. It wasn’t a gay thing. It was a boss thing.
We put out salt blocks for the cattle, I spread the working dogs out on the boundary, and the mob was settled in for the night.
By the time dinner was cooking, it was pitch-black and biting cold. We sat around the fire and the others talked of their two days bringing in ’em from the west. Everyone was kind of huddled in a bit, so sitting with mine and Travis’s legs touching didn’t seem so weird.
It was the closest I think I’d ever been to him in front of the others. We’d never touched or done anything remotely couple-ish in their company. I just couldn’t do it. It was a private/professional line-crossin’ that just didn’t seem too proper in my mind. They knew we were together. We didn’t need to advertise it.
But jeez, it sure was nice.
When we finally called it a day, my bed was cold, my sleep was restless, and even though he was just a few feet from me, it seemed a mile too far.
* * * *
We had a wakeup call from George. And by wakeup call, I meant a helicopter flyover. He kept left so as not to disturb the mob of cattle too much, but it was enough to get us all up and moving.
He put the chopper down in a clearing and walked the few hundred metres back, which I was pretty sure was enough distance to give someone enough time to make him a cup of tea.
He had fresh supplies of stew, breads, milk and fruit, enough to last us two days. He smiled at me in particular. “The cook”—meaning his wife—“said she weren’t so mad at ya anymore. She made some biscuits, and there’s even scones and jam.”
We carried the crates of fresh food from the chopper to the Rover. He also had more water, dog food and another crate of chaff for the horses. He traded the full crates for our empty ones, and with a nod of his head and tip of his hat, he took the chopper up and took her north.
“We’ve got about two hours,” I told everyone.
“Before what?” Travis asked.
“Before George brings the rest of the mob in from the north. We’ll head this lot through the eastern gate here, and by the time we cross the ridge, he’ll have the others coming down.”
It was all hands on deck now. Trudy, Bacon and Ernie took the bikes, Billy was quick to claim his horse back, I saddled up Shelby, leaving Texas to be the supply horse and Travis to drive the Rover.
“I hate driving,” he moaned.
“Oh, quit your whining,” I said with a smile. I knew he hated driving. “You need the practice.”
“You sit on the wrong side of the damn car,” he bitched. We’d had this discussion a few times, and he had no qualms in telling people what he thought of right-hand-drivin’ cars.
“There’s no roads out here,” I said, getting up on Shelby. “So you don’t have to worry about driving on the wrong side of the road.”
“Changin’ gears with my left hand is stupid.”
I sighed, the longest out-of-patience-if-you-weren’t-so-cute-I’d-kick-your-arse kind of sigh, and got down off Shelby. “Fine. I’ll drive.” I walked over to the ute, then pointed at Shelby. “You look after her. If you fall off and bust your knee again, you’re walkin’ home regardless.”
He grinned, because he fucking won, and when he walked over to my horse, she near nudged him off his feet. “See?” I called out from the Rover. “She’s not happy about it either.”
Travis swung himself up into my saddle and gave Shelby a pat on the neck. “She loves me.”
I was too busy glarin’ at Travis, and kind of forgot the others were still there. They found something funny, all trying not to smile—except for Billy, who just grinned without shame. I watched as Trudy, Bacon and Ernie rode the bikes north to round up the herd George was gathering, and without so much as a look back at a still-grinnin’ Billy or a smug, not-even-mildly-embarrassed Travis, I threw the old ute into gear and drove out.
I grumbled to myself for a while, but as we moved the herd through the eastern gates, we got busy musterin’ and the hours just slipped on by. I heard the chopper coming before I saw it, and then heard Bacon, Trudy and Ernie on the bikes, and the two mobs merged into one.
Everyone crowed their excitement as we headed toward home and I couldn’t help but laugh at how we all felt that buzz. There weren’t anything like it on the planet, I didn’t reckon. I could still make out Travis’s smile through the haze of dust, and he had Shelby turnin’ on a dime for cattle that tried to stray from the herd. It was like watching poetry, watching him on my horse. I could have watched him all damn day.
And for the next three days, we crawled homewards. The nights were cold, and as much as I wanted to pull our swags together, I didn’t. We did that just-layin’-and-starin’-at-each other thing until we fell asleep every night, and as much as I wanted to get home, shower and shave, sleep in our bed with him in my arms all night, I also didn’t want this muster to end.
Because once we got home, reality would kick in. We had to leave the day after the transport trucks took our herd to sale, for that meeting with the visa lady. We were literally down to days. And the closer we got to home, the closer we got to maybe having to say goodbye, and that was something I just couldn’t even bear to think about.
I think Travis was even worse than me.
On the third and final evening of the muster, we’d settled the herd and were about to start setting up camp, when Travis called me over. He’d been a bit quiet all day, but now he looked worried, even a little scared. “I can’t do this,” he said quietly.
I was immediately concerned. Travis couldn’t not do anything. “Can’t do what?”
“I thought I could just lay down next to you one more night in separate swags, but I can’t,” he whispered. “I need to be with you.”
I’d never seen him like this. “Trav, are you okay?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m leaving, Charlie. I know you don’t seem to think so, but there’s a very good chance this is it for us, and I can’t stand—”
“Hey,” I said, trying to soothe him a little. He didn’t want me to tell him he wasn’t leaving; he didn’t want words at all. “Go get Texas. Head south to the front of the herd.”
I left him standin’ there and headed straight for Billy. He was my second-in-charge. “Billy, Travis is…” Travis is what? Not feeling well? Freaking out? I didn’t really know, so I didn’t say. “Me and him are gonna set up camp at the front of the herd tonight. You okay to man this lot here tonight?”
Billy nodded quickly. “Sure thing, Mr Sutton.” He looked over my shoulder. I didn’t have to turn around to know who he was looking at. “Is he okay? He ain’t done much talkin’ all day.”
So I wasn’t the only one to notice. I gave Billy a nod and tried to smile. “He’s okay.” I told him I’d radio in later, loaded our gear onto Shelby, and ignoring the others who were silently watching me, I walked beside my horse and followed Travis.
By the time I’d caught up to him, he had a fire started. He stood up. “I’m sorry.”
I was quick to touch his face. “Don’t apologise.”
He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face into my neck, and for the longest time he didn’t move. It was like he had three days’ worth of hugging to catch up on, or maybe he was trying to compensate for the next-however-long in case he did actually have to leave.
Maybe it was a bit of both.
Either way, I didn’t mind. I think I held on just as tight.
Eventually, I pulled his face up and kissed him softly. “You okay?”
“Better” was all he said.
I’d never seen him look so sad. “You hungry?”
He shook his head, and whispered, “No.”
“Trav, tell me, what can I do?”
He gave me a sad smile. “Just being here with you is good. I feel like I can breathe now. Don’t get me wrong, I have loved being out here with you, and rounding up cattle is the most fun ever. But…”
I finished for him. “But you’re counting down days in your head, and you don’t want to waste one more minute?”
He nodded quickly, and his eyes shone with tears. “I knew you’d understand.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal of it. The others are probably wondering what’s up.”
“Don’t worry about them. Anyway, I care more about you bein’ okay than what they’re thinkin’ right now,” I told him. “Plus, they’d just be worried about you, that’s all. You’re their friend, Trav. They think of you as one of them.” He smiled, more genuinely this time, so I kissed him again, soft and sweet. “Feel better?”
He nodded and smiled and went back to hugging me, and he never quit havin’ some part of him touching me for the rest of the night. He made our swag into a double bed again, and I made him eat some food. When the horses were fed, I radioed to the other camp and then to the homestead to let George know we were separate from the others, stoked up the fire and got into bed. We’d only taken off our coats and boots; it was just too damn cold to undress any more.
From the look in his eyes, I knew what Travis wanted before he’d even said the words, before he’d grabbed his shaving bag and handed me the bottle of lube. “Charlie,” he started.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’ll die if I’m not inside you in the next five minutes.”
“The most excruciating of deaths,” he said, making me laugh. Then squirming in the sleeping bag until he was on his front, he lifted his hips and pulled his jeans and briefs down over his arse. “Please, just do it.”
“Oh God, Travis.”
“Charlie.” He sounded desperate.
I poured a trail of lube down over his arse, making him moan and squirm. I warmed it with my fingers, pushing in and out of him, prepping him. He slowly rocked back on my fingers and he moaned. “Charlie.”
I undid the fly of my jeans, and the sound alone made him breathe quicker. As I slid above him, he spread his thighs as much as the sleeping bag would allow.
I pressed myself against his hole. “I’m not gonna last,” I told him. “I’m too turned on.”
He made a laugh-groan sound into the mattress and raised his arse. “Charlie,” he snapped at me. “Goddammit. Just fucking do it already.”
Going by feel alone, I lined myself up, nipped my teeth into his shoulder and sunk my cock into his arse.
He groaned like I’d never heard him before. His whole body flexed and jerked underneath me—he came as soon as I entered him. I followed not long after, and we lay still and unmoving, trying to catch our breaths.
I rolled off him, and he turned quickly to burrow himself into my neck. I wrapped him up tight in my arms until my heart stopped its hammerin’ in my chest. “I should get you cleaned up,” I murmured into his ear.
“Mm mm.” He shook his head. “Again,” he said. I snorted out a laugh, thinking he was joking, but he was serious. “You can go slower this time.”
“Trav, I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, planting a kiss on the side of his head.
This time he snorted. “Believe me, that’s not hurting.” Then he slid his hand around my spent cock, and with teeth-scraping kisses over my neck and the slowest tongue-tastin’ kisses in my mouth, he brought me back to life.
He somehow got his jeans and undies all the way off by just using his feet, and when I tried to do the same, he stopped me. “Leave yours on,” he whispered gruffly. “I like ’em around your thighs.” This time he was on his back. He pulled me over him, and when I was right where he wanted me, he spread his legs and lifted his knees up to my sides.
He was still ready from last time, welcoming and wanting, slick with cum and lube. I breached him slowly, kissing him as I sunk as deep as I could go. He held me there, right fucking there, gasping for air around our kiss. All I could feel was the pulse of our heartbeats where we joined, throbbing and pounding through every fibre in my body.
We rocked back and forth, always kissing. And on the cold, cold ground by the flickering warmth of the fire, we made love. The way he held me, the way he looked at me, it was the closest to heaven I’d ever get without dyin’.
* * * *
Travis was happier in the morning. Still not his usual jokin’, laughin’ self, but he seemed not so out of sorts at least. When we started to move the herd homeward, he rode off with Ernie to round up some steers that tried to make a run for it, and he came back grinning.
I figured the best thing for us both to do was keep busy. So as soon as we’d funnelled the cattle into their holding yards, I told the others to get everything unpacked while I started work on separatin’ the bulls from the steers and the weaners from the heifers.
We only stopped for lunch because Ma had that Charlie-Sutton-you’ll-do-as-you’re-told tone to her voice, and by the time the sun was going down, we’d made a good start on tomorrow’s work.
With enough time to shower, shave and feel halfway human, we ate the nicest roast meat dinner Ma ever put up and everyone called it a day. Travis fed Matilda, and too impatient for her to go back to sleep on her own, I told him to bring her along with us. The three of us got into bed, and too bone-tired and body-sore after too many nights on the hard, cold ground, we snuggled in and slept like the dead.
If I was countin’ down days, it wasn’t strictly a bad way to end one.