by Fiona Palmer
She let Sam finish penning the mob and waited until the guys caught her up.
Burt shuffled to her side, his wide, floppy hat perched on his head as always, and patted her on the shoulder.
He nodded to Lindsay. ‘I like this bloke, CJ. He’s not full of bullshit.’
Lindsay was smiling and CJ couldn’t help appreciate the way the setting sun splashed golden light over his handsome face.
‘What’d ya do, Lindsay? Soften him up with a truckload of scotch?’ she said, laughing.
Burt’s ears pricked up. ‘Scotch, you say? What a great idea. You kids gonna come back to the house for a nip?’
CJ rolled her eyes but glanced at Lindsay for his thoughts.
‘Sounds like a plan, Burt,’ Lindsay said. ‘Unless you need to get back, CJ?’
Half of her believed she should get back to check on Tom and her mum, but a strange new part of her kept thinking how much fun this afternoon had been and how much she’d like to stay and listen to them rabbit on about shearing and ‘the good ol’ days’.
‘Nup. Stuff it. Where do you have this scotch hidden, Burt?’
Burt’s laugh rumbled up from his large belly. He wrapped her up in a hug.
‘That’s my girl. Run along and finish putting the sheep in the shed, can ya? I’ve gotta go hang a brown bear in the porcelain cave. I’ll be waiting back at the house with some well-earned drinks.’
‘Charming!’ CJ said, laughing.
An hour later they were seated around the jarrah kitchen table and were well into their second drink. This one seemed to be much stronger than her first, she thought as she considered the Coke ratio.
Burt was winding into gear with some shearing stories. He leaned back, his wooden chair let out a creak and he wrung his hands together.
‘This one particular morning the engine was stopped on the pretence of refuelling with only a few minutes before starting, but the perpetrator had actually recrossed the belt and the engine was then recranked. This caused the overhead shafts to reverse, undoing all the handpieces and drive cogs. It was complete chaos.
‘And then there was this one time a farmer had started a fleecethrowing competition with the rousies. He spotted a shearer on the end who’d started a cotted fleece, so tightly stuck together a blind man could throw it, so this farmer took off ready to take the fleece just as Dodgy swung forward into the long blow. The farmer collected Dodgy with his knee, knocking Dodgy unconscious. Bloody Dodgy was dragged off to recover while the farmer then had to finish the run for him. Afterwards he had to negotiate the number of cartons required to keep the peace with Dodgy.’
CJ struggled to follow Burt – he got so worked up when telling his stories – but his animation was worth a laugh.
By their third drink, Lindsay had begun telling them about his family farm and how he was a disappointment by wanting to be a shearer not a farmer. She could see the anguish in his eyes as he spoke and felt there must be more to it. She wondered if he would ever share it with her – whatever it was he was running from.
‘You’d love James,’ Lindsay said. ‘One time we were out roo shooting and we’d managed to corner a kangaroo against the fence and James jumped out and caught it by the tail. The roo kept trying to jump away and James was bouncing up and down like he was hanging onto a jackhammer. He kept screaming, “What do I bloody do with it now?” We were holding our sides pissing ourselves.’
‘Am I ever going to get to meet this brother of yours?’ CJ asked.
Lindsay slowly shook his head. ‘I’m not letting James near you. He’d eat you for lunch.’
She chuckled. ‘I’m sure I could look after myself.’
Lindsay paused for a minute and then laughed out loud, almost choking on his scotch.
‘Too bloody right. Hey, Burt – did she ever tell you about the time she socked Marty in the groin?’ Lindsay went into the whole rerun of the incident. ‘I’ve never been in awe of someone like I was of you that night,’ he added after the story.
CJ got the feeling he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but with the help of the scotch he was past holding his tongue.
Burt cleared his throat, and with a theatrical presence began to speak.
The Pilbara has the iron ore,
The Great Barrier Reef has coral galore,
The stockmen who have swags for beds,
The snow-white fleeces in the shearing sheds.
‘That verse reminds me of you, CJ, standing in the shearing shed handling snow-white fleeces day in day out.’
Lindsay egged Burt on to recite some more poetry, while CJ sat back in a warm glow.
It had been ages since she’d let her guard down and enjoyed herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been quite so pissed and very happy. When she looked at the clock she was astonished to see it was eleven forty-five.
Lindsay must have seen the change in her expression. ‘Should I be trying to sneak you back into town?’ he asked.
They both got up and chairs scratched against the wooden floors. CJ wobbled and Lindsay held onto her waist.
‘Burt, how strong were you making those stotches… I mean scotches?’ she corrected in between giggles.
‘A splash of Coke topped up with scotch, just like my granddad used to make,’ Burt replied.
‘Guess we won’t be getting you home after all,’ said Lindsay.
‘Nah, you can stay here the night. The spare room is always there for you, CJ. I’ll go ring Dot and let her know. She should be home from work by now, hey?’
‘Yep. Cheers, Burt.’ CJ didn’t feel like talking to Dot, just in case Tom was playing up. For once she didn’t want to know about it.
Lindsay stood up again and shook Burt’s hand. ‘Thanks for the great nightcap, mate. I appreciate you letting us use your shed and all.’
‘Any time. Take and use anything you need. She’s my family, that girl.’
Burt glanced at CJ then headed steadily down the passage to the phone.
‘Gee, he handles the grog better than us. Must be the extra years of training,’ she said. ‘Come on. I’ll walk you out.’
‘You mean stagger?’ he said, laughing.
Together they headed for the back door. Lindsay held it open for her and she couldn’t help the flutter in her chest when he returned her smile. Her concentration was locked up in his smoky blue eyes. She saw attraction simmering in them – at least, she hoped that’s what she could see. She stepped and her foot found air before she tripped down the veranda step. Luckily, Lindsay caught her around the waist and steadied her yet again, his warm arm holding her unnecessarily tight and close. A delicious feeling spread through her like warm fudge chocolate over cold ice-cream. They headed to his ute, the light from the veranda guiding them. To her delight Lindsay kept his arm around her.
‘Can’t have my student off with an injury now, can I?’ he said.
They stopped by the ute, their bodies connecting from leg to shoulder. Her arm had slipped around his waist. Was it just a friendly hug, or did it mean more? Her brain was too fuzzy to think it out.
‘It was nice to see you relax and enjoy yourself. You’re funny when you’re not so serious.’ He studied her face. He knew he should probably take his arm off her, as she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested in men or relationships. He really didn’t want to stuff things up between them. A warm tingle went up his spine and he wondered how much of it was from Burt’s scotch, and how much from her closeness, her curves and her sweet, earthy scent. She glanced up at him, laughter dancing on the edge of her eyes, and his breath caught in his throat from the intensity of her gaze. It felt like they stood there for hours, watching each other and being aware of something flowing between them. Her hand was absentmindedly stroking his back and it was turning him on. Damn. He needed to move before it became too obvious. Slowly he moved his hand and brushed her hair from her forehead before dropping a kiss on her smooth skin. It just felt like the right thing to do, a natural instinct
of sorts. He climbed into his ute, unable to mutter a goodbye.
The night’s breeze swept her loose hair about her face, and he knew he would be dreaming about her tonight.
She lifted her hand and waved. ‘See you tomorrow at seven, then?’
‘Seven it is,’ he croaked, finding his voice.
He started his ute and drove slowly towards Burt’s other farmhouse, two paddocks north.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she made him feel, the way his body had reacted to her closeness. He hadn’t felt that in a long time. He thought he had with Tanya, his previous girlfriend, who he’d thought about marrying. Well, who his mum had wanted him to marry, in truth. But in the end he’d come to realise that she wasn’t for him. He hadn’t been serious about another girl in the two years since. But CJ was different. She was this incredible person, who coped with much more than the dramas of figuring out what to wear and when to get her hair done next. He couldn’t imagine the hard struggle she’d had since her dad’s accident. How she managed and kept it all together. And how she’d handled Marty! God damn, she was gutsy. He could see the fear in her eyes but she fought that fear with such determination, and it was that determination that had him hooked. She was a survivor.
And she loved the shearing shed just as much as he did.
13
IT was six a.m. and the air was fresh and crisp. CJ climbed out of Burt’s old ute and headed to her shed, her room. She grabbed a clean shearing singlet – ‘Doug Taylor’s Shearing’ written in white on the black material – and a clean pair of work pants. She headed inside for a quick shower, giddy with nervous anticipation. Fancy learning to shear! She knew she was going to get heaps of jibes and knockdowns from the blokes, but she was ready for it. She washed as fast as she could, got dressed, and layered on the deodorant. He’d be close to her today. Then she ducked into the kitchen for a quick bite, wondering how her mum felt about her not coming home last night.
Dot was up, tottering around the kitchen in a pale-blue cotton nightdress with a little frill under the bust. She already had the toaster out with two slices of bread on the go.
‘Morning, Mum,’ CJ said.
‘Morning, love. How was your night at Burt’s?’
She didn’t detect any harshness to her question and relaxed a little. ‘Great, had a ball. How was Dad last night?’ She was almost too scared to ask.
Dot turned and smiled. It was half forced, like she wasn’t sure how to smile properly, and it didn’t reach her eyes. Her hair hung around her face like a giant nest.
‘No trouble. Toast?’ she asked.
CJ nodded.
‘So, what are you up to today?’ asked Dot, pointing to CJ’s work clothes.
CJ sat down on the red chair, whose plastic covering was torn through the middle. ‘I’m heading back out to Burt’s.’ She watched her mum’s face for a reaction. It remained unchanged. ‘Lindsay is going to teach me to shear, so I guess I won’t be around much on the weekends for a while. I hope that’ll be all right. If you have any trouble, you just call. I’ll come straight home, okay?’
Dot handed CJ her buttered toast with vegemite and sat down at the table. ‘It’s fine, Catherine.’
She cringed at her full name. Only her mother still liked to use it from time to time.
‘If I can get real good, Mum, it will mean more money. Maybe we could save up for a trip somewhere, just you and me? We could pay someone to keep an eye on Dad.’ She figured she was watching a dead tree grow by trying to convince her mum, but it sure sounded nice. She detected a flitter in Dot’s eyes. It was minute, but it was a flash of hope all the same.
‘If you think it’s best. But shearing is a man’s game, love. Do you really think you’re up to it?’
‘Mum, I’ve worked in the sheds with those blokes for the last ten years. Guaranteed the work will be harder and they may knock me from time to time. But Dad built me pretty tough.’ CJ checked her watch. Six-thirty. Time to hit the road. She stood up and touched Dot’s shoulder. ‘I worry about you, Mum. I know you look forward to having me around.’
‘I know, but you are entitled to a life. We’ll manage. We always do. You just take care of yourself.’ Dot’s voice was weak and frail. She sounded like an eighty year old, not someone in her fifties.
‘I will,’ said CJ, and headed for the door. She couldn’t wait to see Lindsay this morning. He’d been on her mind all night in her dreams. She’d wanted to kiss him last night – the urge had been so strong but she’d resisted. She hadn’t wanted to upset their shed dynamics and stuff up her perfectly good ‘no men’ rule. But the more she tried to keep Lindsay at a platonic arm’s length, the more he did things that made her want to bring him closer.
Lindsay stood by the shearing shed, his weight on his right foot and his hands on his hips. He was wearing his black shearing team shirt and a pair of shearing pants, just like her. He made it look so sexy. She felt like skipping to him, and laughed when he smiled at her enthusiasm.
‘Ready to go, are we? Head’s okay?’ Lindsay asked.
‘Yep. Yours?’
‘Fine. Well, there’s no time like the present.’
CJ grinned with the excitement of a four year old. ‘Yep, let’s get this party started.’
Lindsay led her through the large sliding door of the old corrugated iron shearing shed. He’d already set up his gear for her next to the closest stand. The pen behind it was full of sheep and he could hear their hooves against the raised floorboards.
‘This is your handpiece. Pick it up and get used to the feel of it.’ He watched as she held it and moved it about. ‘I’ll show you how to clean the comb bed and fork yokes and then you can oil all the lubrication points. You’re already familiar with the down tube.’ Lindsay held the long metal arm, which connected with the handpiece to make it run. ‘but I’ll go over some of the names of parts as we learn.’
As he ran through the handpiece, he watched her carefully and was impressed with her attention to detail. She listened well and had commonsense and initiative, which would make her a quick learner. Once she’d finished with the oil, he handed her a couple of sheets of paper that looked like they’d been kept from the early 1900s. ‘These exercises are a must. Shearing is physically demanding and you’ll need a regular routine, especially being a girl.’ Lindsay put up his hands, ready for the onslaught. ‘I didn’t mean that in a bad way – women and men are built differently.’ Hell, she was fitter than half the shearers he knew, but blokes just had that extra muscle strength from their bulk.
She raised her eyebrows and gestured at the pages. ‘These have seen better days!’
‘I know. I took these with me everywhere until I remembered my routine. Now the’re yours.’
‘Cheers… I think.’
‘We’ll just get warmed up and then start with a trunk roll, okay?’
She copied his every move. Lindsay found her quite flexible as she reached her fingers to her toes with ease.
‘Okay, now let’s see you drag out your first guinea pig.’
CJ pulled a ewe out easily and dragged it through the flaps to the stand. He knew she’d probably had practice at this as a rousie.
‘Now, removing the belly wool is one of the most important parts of shearing, as it sets up the neck, the long blow and the last side. If you don’t remove it completely, there’ll be more work on the other areas.’ Lindsay bent over and moved the ewe’s bum. He touched CJ’s leg as he spoke, showing her the proper positioning. ‘Now, start high on the brisket; enter with the comb flat on the skin and use your free hand to manipulate the skin.’ He held her hand briefly to help her judge the amount of pressure required, and then stood back and watched. She moved like a shearer – not surprising seeing as she’d watched hundreds of them over the years.
When she finished the belly, Lindsay took the sheep from her and put it into the next stand’s catching pen.
‘Go on, get another one and do the belly again,’ he told CJ. ‘We
’ll do all of these today before we move onto the crutch. How does that sound?’
She pulled the rope, stopping the motor, and put down the handpiece. ‘Whatever you say, boss!’
Soon enough Burt arrived on the scene to watch, also helping to clear away the bellies and set up bins for them. Not long after that, Lindsay and Burt sat to one side, chatting while keeping an eye on CJ’s progress. She could feel the sweat beginning to collect on her forehead and the unusual weight of the handpiece taking its toll on her wrist. She’d be sore tonight, but she was loving it. The feel of the wool as the handpiece cut it away from the skin; it was almost like pulling the wrapping from a present. It was addictive and she couldn’t wait to get onto the long blow. She loved the way it looked when shearers reached out from bottom to top, cutting the fleece away in such a swift movement.
Oh shit! She’d lost her concentration and nicked the ewe’s belly. Not a bad cut but it shouldn’t have happened. She scrunched up her face with determination.
When she’d finished the last ewe and Lindsay had penned it for her, they headed to an old table in the corner of the shed. Burt had tea and coffee set up, as well as a heap of sandwiches.
She washed up by the outside tap and joined them. ‘Did you make these, Burt?’
‘I can manage some things, you know.’ Burt took off his old floppy hat and scratched his bare head. ‘I must say you’ve got a bit of a talent there, young lass. You’ve taken to shearing really well. Must be in your genes.’
Burt’s words made her face glow warm. She thought for a moment he might be just saying it to keep her spirits up. But Burt wasn’t one to blow hot air up someone’s arse to make them feel better. Burt had often laid it straight down the line. He’d told her before that she should leave home and get away from Tom. And of her last boyfriend he’d said, ‘He’s a complete idiot, worse than a bad dog ripping the necks outta sheep, and you deserve better.’ Burt always had a way with words.