by Ariel Tachna
Words failed him, as did his balance, so he simply held out his arms. Tears shone in Sarah’s eyes as she moved into his embrace. He buried his face in her thinning hair, unbearably relieved that she smelled like roses still. All the passage of years had not changed that one thing. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She hugged him tightly. “I thought of you every day,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “I prayed you would find a place to be safe, to grow and be happy. I never imagined…” She pulled back and looked around the room. “… this.”
“Did Caine tell you about the station?” Macklin asked.
“Some,” Sarah said. “Sit down. He said you hurt your knee.” Macklin did as she said. “Caine told me quite a bit, but I’d like to hear it from you. I’ve missed out on so much.”
So had he.
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but what about you?”
“There’s not much to tell,” Sarah said. “Your father died eight years ago. I sold everything and moved to Canberra. I help out in the kitchen of a little restaurant to supplement his death benefits. It’s nothing fancy, but with just me, I didn’t need anything fancy.”
Macklin pulled her into another tight hug and sought Caine with his eyes. Caine smiled and nodded as he came to sit next to Macklin.
“Maybe you’d like to stay here instead?” Caine said softly, his hand coming to rest on Macklin’s back as he spoke. “We have plenty of room.”
“Oh, I… no, I couldn’t.”
“You don’t have to answer yet,” Caine interrupted. “It’s an open-ended offer. Take the weekend, look around. Spend time with everyone. I’ll take you back on Monday like we planned, but we’d very much like it if you’d think about the offer.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, smiling over Macklin’s shoulder at Caine. She pulled back a little and looked at Macklin. “He’s a keeper.”
“Believe me, Mum. I know.”
“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Caine said. “I need to talk to Kami for a few minutes. I’ll bring dinner to you so you don’t have to go to the canteen.”
Caine stood, but Macklin caught his hand before he could move away. “Thank you,” he said, pouring all the love he felt into the words.
“You’re welcome,” Caine replied, squeezing Macklin’s hand.
With Caine gone, Macklin felt his confidence founder. He hadn’t seen his mother in nearly thirty years. He had no idea where to even start.
“How long have you been on this station?” Sarah asked.
“Almost since I left,” Macklin said. “I spent a few months on Taylor Peak, the station you crossed to get here, but that didn’t work out well. I came here right after and never left.”
“And now it’s yours.”
“It’s Caine’s,” Macklin said firmly. “I just help him run it.”
“That’s not what he told me,” Sarah said. “Although he said you’d say that.”
Macklin chuckled. “He knows me well.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“No, it’s a wonderful thing. Caine’s great-uncle and his partner built this place from nothing,” Macklin said. “When Michael died, the station passed to Caine’s mother. She signed it over to him at Christmas, and he insisted on putting my name on the deed as well.”
“Then you shouldn’t belittle his gift,” Sarah said. “How many people work for you?”
“Twenty or so year-round,” Macklin said, “and then we hire more in the summer when there’s more to do. Winter is a quiet time for us.”
“I am so proud of you,” Sarah said, hugging him again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for more of it.”
“You’re here now,” Macklin said. “Caine found you.”
“Your father never would have understood, but I think Caine’s wonderful. I think it’s wonderful you’ve found a man and a place to make you happy.”
“He does make me happy,” Macklin said, “and he does everything he can to make everyone else just as happy. I know the offer to have you stay here must seem sudden, but I’d like it if you did. It’s the right season to decide. Winter is the time to build because there’s less to do for the sheep. We could have a little house for you before spring. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but it would be yours.”
Sarah studied him intently for a moment. Then she threw her arms around him with a soft sob. “Oh, my son, my beautiful, sweet boy. I have missed you.”
Macklin held on tight while she cried. He patted her back awkwardly, not really sure what to do with her tears.
“I should show you your room,” Macklin said when the tears slowed. “You can unpack and rest a little before dinner. It’s a long drive from Canberra.”
Sarah shook her head. “You shouldn’t be moving around on your knee. I’ll sit here with you until Caine comes back. I didn’t come to see the station. I came to see you.”
“DO YOU need anything?” Caine asked later that night after they’d settled Sarah in her room and retired to their own bedroom. “A glass of water? Another blanket?”
“I need you to sit down and stop hovering,” Macklin muttered. “I sprained my knee. I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Doc Peters said at least two weeks before you could get off the crutches,” Caine insisted.
Macklin grumbled some more. “Sit down and stop hovering,” he repeated grumpily. “I’m not an invalid.”
Caine joined him on the bed, and Macklin reached for him, then pulled him close. “Thank you. I said it earlier, but I couldn’t thank you properly, not in front of Mum.”
“She knows we’re lovers.”
“I know,” Macklin said. “She knew about me even before I ran away, but there’s a difference between knowing and seeing.”
“And you’re a private person by nature,” Caine finished. “I wasn’t upset that you didn’t kiss me.”
“Come closer. I’ll kiss you now,” Macklin rumbled.
Caine grinned and scooted into Macklin’s arms. “I’ll never say no to that.”
Macklin cradled Caine’s head with his hands, bringing their lips together in a tender kiss. Caine must have known how being helpless had grated all day because he made no move to fight Macklin for control of their kiss like he often did. Instead he sank into Macklin’s arms and the kiss with the gentle sweetness that was so much a part of who he was.
“You amaze me,” Macklin said when he could finally bear to break the kiss.
“Me?” Caine asked in surprise.
“Yes, you,” Macklin said. He dropped a quick kiss to the tip of Caine’s nose. “You just… make things happen. You found my mum and convinced her to give me another chance.”
“It didn’t take any convincing,” Caine said. “She jumped at the chance to see you again.”
“Maybe, but you’re still the one who found her and brought her here,” Macklin asserted.
“You missed her,” Caine said with a self-deprecating shrug, as if he needed no other reason than that to do what Macklin had feared would be impossible after all this time. Then again, maybe he didn’t need another reason. Caine had always been one to place great value on other people’s happiness.
“And now I don’t have to,” Macklin said. He tipped them back onto the bed, intending to roll on top of Caine and thank him properly, but pain shot up from his knee the minute it touched the bed. He fell back to the side, panting.
Caine sat up immediately, hands hovering over Macklin’s leg. “What can I do to help?”
“Just give me a minute,” Macklin said. The pain was already subsiding. “I’m not going to be able to fuck you into the mattress like I’d planned.”
“So we’ll do something else,” Caine said. “I can ride you—I know how much you like that—or we can lie on our sides. You know it doesn’t matter to me how we make love. It’s enough that you want me.”
Caine’s words hadn’t been intended to be inflammatory. His voice could drive Macklin to complete distracti
on without even a touch of Caine’s hands, but this wasn’t Caine’s sultry voice, nor was he stuttering yet, another thing Macklin found incredibly arousing. No, Caine was simply laying out options for him to consider, but the effect was equally undeniable. Taking care to keep his bad knee propped out of harm’s way, Macklin pushed Caine back onto the bed again before leaning over him as best he could and taking one tawny nipple between his teeth. Caine hissed above him, the sound bringing a smile to Macklin’s lips. He lifted his head and smirked at his lover. “I’ll think of something,” he said simply before lowering his head and returning to the most pleasant task of leaving Caine too needy to speak.
Eighteen
CAINE WOKE alone on Monday morning, an unusual enough occurrence that he worried for a moment that something might have happened during the night. Macklin had been grumpy the night before, but Caine had chalked that up to the knowledge that Sarah would be returning to Canberra today. They had asked her repeatedly over the weekend to come and live with them, but she hadn’t given them a definite answer yet. Caine expected to listen to Macklin trying to talk her into it all the way back to Canberra.
With a groan, he stretched and climbed out of bed. He pulled some clothes on and headed toward the canteen. Macklin would either be there or on the veranda, and at this hour of the morning, the canteen seemed more likely. When he reached the living room, though, he saw a light on in the office and detoured there instead. “What are you working on so early?”
Macklin looked up and smiled absently. “Plans.”
Snorting softly at the singularly unhelpful answer, Caine walked into the room and peered over Macklin’s shoulder. On the paper in front of him were detailed sketches, complete with penciled-in measurements. “What’s this?”
“Mum’s house,” Macklin said. “Maybe she isn’t ready to move here yet. Maybe she won’t ever be, but at least the house will be ready if she wants it.” He looked up at Caine with painfully vulnerable eyes. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not!” Caine said. “I invited her to stay too, if you remember. We can start work on it tomorrow, at least clearing the land, while we order building materials. If she decides not to come, we can always find someone else to use it. Seth’s getting to the age where he won’t want to live with Chris and Jesse much longer.”
“You’re assuming he’ll stay,” Macklin said.
“If he doesn’t, someone else might come along who will want it. For that matter, Sam might want it. Or Jeremy.”
“Or Sam and Jeremy,” Macklin said with a grin.
“Or that,” Caine agreed. He leaned down and kissed Macklin softly. “Show her the plans. Let her help. That might give her an extra incentive to move here. It won’t just be a house of her own, it’ll be a house she helped design.”
“That’s a good idea,” Macklin said. “We can talk about it on the way back to Canberra. You don’t mind if I sit in the back with her while you drive, do you?”
Caine smiled and kissed Macklin again. “Of course not. You can sit in the front with me on the way back after we’ve dropped her off. Unless you convince her to come back with us, of course. Then you’ll want to sit in the back both ways.”
“I doubt she could really come back with us right away, even if we convince her,” Macklin said. “She’d have to quit her job and break her lease and everything. I think the best we could hope for would be to go back and get her next weekend.”
“Then we’ll go back and get her,” Caine said. “Or you could stay in Canberra with her. With your knee in a brace, you can’t do a lot around the station anyway.”
“We’ll see,” Macklin said. “You’re assuming she’ll decide to move here on the drive back today. That’s a pretty big assumption.”
Caine shrugged. “Just putting it out there, that’s all. You know I’m not going to complain about having you here, even with a bum leg, but if it works out for you to be with her, well, you have thirty years to make up for. I can do without you for a few days.”
“I love you. I can’t possibly say that enough.”
Caine squeezed Macklin’s shoulder. “You say it plenty. Now, I’m hungry, and I imagine you are too, and we have a long drive ahead of us, so let’s go see where your mother is and get something to eat.”
Macklin grumbled when Caine insisted he use the crutches to get to the canteen, but Caine refused to take any chances with Macklin’s recovery. He needed his foreman back at 100 percent before they hired seasonal jackaroos in August.
Caine called upstairs for Sarah, but she didn’t answer, so Caine figured she was already in the canteen. Sure enough, when they reached the area where everyone gathered to eat, they found Sarah in the kitchen standing toe-to-toe with Kami. Caine had spent over a year watching everyone run in fear of the big aborigine, but Macklin’s mother seemed completely unfazed by his size or his scowl.
“I’m telling you, the eggs will be fluffier if you put a bit of milk in them. Just a splash.”
“I have been running this kitchen for thirty years,” Kami snarled, “and no one has ever complained about my eggs.”
“Then prove yours are better,” Sarah challenged. “Make them my way today and see which they like better.”
“If I’m right?” Kami demanded.
“Then I’ll give you my grandmother’s scones recipe,” Sarah said. “But if I’m right, you let me cook dinner for the men the next time I come to visit.”
Caine held his breath as he waited for Kami’s answer. The aborigine had tolerated Chris’s help when he first arrived and his broken arm kept him from working with the other jackaroos, but Chris had always been an assistant, doing whatever Kami told him and nothing more. Sarah was talking about taking over.
“I’ll let you help me cook dinner,” Kami amended. Caine wanted to tell Sarah to take the offer since she wouldn’t get a better one, but he didn’t want to break the moment.
“Deal,” Sarah said, holding out her hand for Kami to shake. Kami looked at it the way Caine had seen the jackaroos eyeing a death adder when they stumbled across them in the bush. After a moment, he shook it, but the disconcerted look never left his face.
Caine tipped his head toward the dining area of the canteen. Macklin nodded, and they withdrew from the kitchen as quietly as they could. Caine had a suspicion they’d be hearing from Kami on the subject of Sarah and her “interfering ways” if she won the bet. Caine didn’t even care. It would be worth it to see someone challenge Kami’s absolute rule of his kitchen.
“I’ve never seen her stand up to someone like that,” Macklin said softly when they were out of earshot.
“She lived with your father long enough to recognize the signs of someone abusive,” Caine said. “Kami might grumble and even yell, but he’d never raise his hand to anyone. I’m sure she senses that. There’s no danger in arguing with Kami the way there was in arguing with your father.”
“I’d have his head if he did,” Macklin growled.
Caine laid a gentle hand on Macklin’s arm. “I’d have his job, which would undoubtedly be worse, but that isn’t why he’d never do it. He just isn’t that kind of man.”
“I know,” Macklin said with a shake of his head, as if to clear his thoughts, “but I spent fifteen years watching him hit her. It’s hard to let go of the need to protect her.”
“I never said that,” Caine said. “You’ll always want to protect her, and that’s a beautiful thing. You just have to recognize what is and isn’t a threat. Protect her from actual threats, not from everyone who might approach her.”
Macklin groaned. “You’re going to make me think about my mother dating someone, aren’t you?”
“You never know,” Caine said. “Uncle Michael lived into his nineties. If your mother lives as long, she might appreciate some companionship. She’s only what? Seventy?”
“Sixty-five,” Macklin said. “She had me when she was twenty-two.”
“Then she could have thirty years of living ahead of
her still. Why should she be alone all that time if she meets someone she likes?”
“She could move here. Then she wouldn’t be alone,” Macklin grumbled.
“She wouldn’t live by herself in an empty apartment,” Caine agreed, “but that’s not the same as having someone to share your life with. There is a difference.”
“Maybe, but she’s my mother. I don’t want to think about it.”
Caine laughed. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if it happens.”
MACKLIN WAITED until everyone had gathered for dinner, even making a point of asking Jason to bring his parents to the canteen for dinner that night. When everyone had food, he hobbled to the front of the room, cursing his crutches under his breath.
“Sit down,” Caine fussed, dragging a chair to where Macklin had intended to stand. “They can hear you fine.”
Macklin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His knee bloody hurt after the drive to Canberra and back, and standing on it wouldn’t help, no matter how much he hated to show weakness.
“So there’s good news and bad news,” Macklin said after he’d sat in the chair Caine provided. “Sam found a bag of weed in the bunkhouse when he was looking for an extra blanket a few nights ago. It was in the room Jenkins used, so he won’t be back when we go to town in August, but we don’t know where he got his supply. He didn’t go into town any more often than anyone else, and I trust all of you to have told me if he’d asked you to pick up anything illegal for him. Our concern is whether he managed to introduce pot plants onto the station so he’d have a supply immediately at hand.”
“It goes without saying that we won’t tolerate that here,” Caine continued. “As Macklin said, we trust all of you, which is why we’re telling you this. Macklin and Jeremy already started checking the south paddocks, where Jenkins regularly volunteered to work, but the station is not small, and it’s not the right season either, so we’re asking all of you to help us by keeping your eyes open. It’s honestly fruitless to search directly.” Macklin ignored the glare Caine turned his way. “The station is too large for that, but if you see something as you’re going about your other duties, we need to know about it so we can eradicate it.”