by Maya Linnell
She yawned again. ‘Tim? He’s about as far from a slacker as you can get. It’s long days for everyone at the moment.’
‘Lucky you’re coming home soon—you’ll be back into your usual routine in no time, Pen, nursing a leisurely scotch instead of being tucked up in bed at 10 p.m.’
Penny rolled onto her side, wondering what else he’d forgotten. He was the only one who liked an evening scotch; she always stuck to wine. His slip made it easier to say the next few sentences.
‘I’m going to stay a little longer, Vince. Manage the farm for a bit.’ She’d hoped to be a bit more awake for this particular discussion, but she was alert enough to hear the incredulous laugh down the phone line. All of a sudden, she hoped he would choke on the scotch, spraying it across the pristine white sofa he’d insisted on.
‘What’s funny about that, Vince?’
‘Farm manager … Baby, you’re the fastest-rising corporate star in Melbourne. Before you got sick, your wage was higher than mine, and that’s saying something. You were made for suits and heels, not … not CWA meetings and sheep shit.’
Penny pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying to keep her voice even. She knew he wasn’t going to throw her a celebration party for her new position, like the cocktail extravaganza he’d suggested when she nailed the last Boutique Media promotion, but she didn’t expect downright derision.
‘What are we in, the 1950s? It’s only temporary, while Dad works out what he’s going to do. You can come visit on weekends, and I’ll head up to the city a few times. It’ll be fine.’
She heard him take a sip of scotch as he considered her news.
‘Well, I won’t say I’m thrilled, but it sounds like you’ve made your mind up …’
She nodded into the dark, knowing ten-year-old Penny would be pretty damn proud of thirty-three-year-old Penny at this very moment.
Forty-five
Penny jumped as her mobile phone trilled in her pocket, the synthetic music jarring with the calling sheep and twittering birds. The shearing shed buzz was just audible over the sound of the animals. Angie? It felt like an age since Angie had last returned her calls or visited the farmhouse. Maybe she was finally coming to her senses?
She tried not to feel disappointed when Jade’s name appeared on the screen.
‘Hey stranger, where have you been the last two weeks? I’ve been trying to track you down, see how the boss-girl is faring. Why are you shouting?’
‘Sorry, I forgot the reception is almost decent now they’ve boosted the phone tower. I’ve only just started getting service anywhere other than my bedroom windowsill. It’s a luxury.’
Penny cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she latched the gate behind her. The freshly shorn sheep bounded around friskily, happy to be rid of the weight of their wool. She clapped her hands, urging the stragglers at the back to join the mob.
‘Sorry I missed your calls, I meant to get back to you. We’re in the thick of shearing now, and I pretty much fall into bed at the end of the day. How are things?’
‘Nothing new. Nose to the grindstone, smashing it at the gym so I can still party on the weekends. It’s not the same without you though. That boxing class is torture. I can barely believe you suggested it and then dumped me.’
‘I’m sure you’re still fit as a fiddle. My fitness, on the other hand … you wouldn’t be impressed. Manoeuvring wool bales and squatting down to pick up dags off the floor is the extent of my workouts this week. But at least my biceps are impressive.’
Penny shielded her face against the glaring sun, watching the dogs funnel the mob through the narrow gateway up ahead. She could hear traffic in the background from Jade’s end.
‘Sounds like you’re getting into the swing of things there, Pen. I probably wouldn’t recognise you without your make-up and heels. Don’t tell me you wear braids and a checkered shirt too?’
Penny looked down at her work shirt, grinning at the crisscrossing pink and navy lines.
‘Can’t confirm or deny that accusation, but you’ll be pleased to know my hair is blow-dried as usual, not a braid in sight and my make-up is intact as always. No need to drop my standards just because I’m outside the city limits. In fact, some of those roustabouts in the shed could do with a little foundation and blusher.’ Penny laughed, the lightness of the conversation filling the void from Angie’s absence. She entertained Jade with stories from the woolshed as she finished walking the sheep to their paddock. ‘… but at least the shearers are all wearing shoes this week, and the wool’s coming off nicely.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you sound happy.’
Penny laughed again, leaning against a fence post.
‘Yep, it just gets under your skin somehow and then bam … the next thing you know, you’re ordering a felt hat to match your new flannel shirt. It’s the least I could do for Dad. It would rip his heart out to sell right now.’
‘Good for you, Pen. How’s Vince? I saw him out on the town last weekend. Is everything okay there?’
Clouds skirted past the sun, plunging the paddock in shade. Penny kicked at the ground, using her boot to dislodge a leafy weed.
‘He’s a bit sulky at the moment. Thinks I’ve lost my marbles staying here longer than absolutely necessary. He’ll come round,’ Penny said, the false cheer hollow even to her ears. He’ll have to. ‘Look, I’d better go, Jade. I’ll be back in Melbourne soon for a client meeting. We’ll catch up then.’
‘Righto, cowgirl. Which reminds me, you can call off the search for a cowboy to bring home with you. I’ve found a winner this time. A new guy just moved here from Tassie. I think I found him the second he reached the mainland, can’t wait to introduce you soon.’
Jade’s excitement added an extra bounce to Penny’s step as she headed back to the shed. Diana had been right about the lack of eligible bachelors in the district. No matter how many nice things the old ladies in town had to say about Tim Patterson, she wasn’t blind to his sneaky ways. I was right all along, and there’s no way I’d be setting him up with Jade. Not if he was the last bloke on Earth … Because you still have feelings for him, a little voice whispered as she shut the gates and called the dogs back in her direction, ready to shift the next mob of sheep. She shook her head. It had nothing to do with emotions and everything to do with trust.
The bottle of red wine was empty by the time Penny and Diana retired to the lounge room. The kitchen was spotless, the floors swept, the boys bathed and listening to Pete’s bedtime stories.
Penny slumped onto the couch. Her back was sore from another day in the shearing shed, but the offer of dinner at Diana and Pete’s was too good to pass up.
‘So, fill me in on Vince,’ said Diana, perching on the edge of the couch. ‘He stopped moping yet?’
Penny leaned back against the puffy cushions.
‘Nope, he’s still campaigning for a weekend away. Which would be great if we weren’t in the middle of shearing. At least that’s still tracking well. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’
‘Tim could probably handle things by himself for a few days. Sounds like everything’s on schedule.’
‘I told Dad I’d run the farm. I can’t just slip away for a dirty weekend at one of the busiest times of the year. Vince has to suck it up.’
Pete popped his head around the lounge room door, a new bottle of wine in his hands.
‘Fancy another, ladies? Diana, the boys are after a goodnight kiss.’
Diana pulled herself off the couch. Penny shook her head, getting up to leave.
‘No thanks, Pete. I’ve got to get home—another big day of shearing tomorrow.’
Pete settled down in the armchair opposite Penny, flicking on the television behind her. Football commentary filled the room as he topped up Diana’s glass and poured one for himself.
‘Yeah, guess you’ll need it finished before the storm hits next week.’
Penny hesitated, one eyebr
ow raised. ‘Storm? My weather app doesn’t say anything about a storm. I know there was meant to be a front Monday, but apparently, they’ve downgraded it to patchy rainfall. Only a 5 per cent chance of rain for the whole week.’
‘Not according to the Bureau of Meteorology.’ Pete pulled a phone from his top pocket. ‘Now they’re tipping plenty of rain Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. You might get your dirty weekend after all,’ he said with a wink.
‘It can’t rain, I’ve already got the week planned. The shearers are due somewhere else the following week and I don’t want shearing to run into lambing. The window between the two is close enough already.’
‘Listen to you, Penny Mac. We’ll make a farm girl out of you yet.’ Pete laughed, affecting a deep voice. ‘Obey thy weather gods. Delete all weather apps. Monitor thy official BOM site, and ye shall be rewarded.’
She shushed him as she scrambled to access the Bureau of Meteorology site, cursing her reliance on the weather app that had sufficed for the last decade.
Penny pushed the wethers into the sheep yards, slamming the gate shut behind them with a few choice words. The mob had split and doubled back several times as she rounded them up, making the dogs work twice as hard and the task twice as long. Her frustration levels had risen every time the lead sheep rolled his eyes at the open gateway, splintering the group when he baulked. Had he not already been castrated, Penny would have happily volunteered to stretch a little green ring around his testicles until they withered and fell off. She was surprised Angus hadn’t already sent the troublesome ringleader off to market.
‘You ladies were like angels compared to those idiots,’ said Penny, as she walked passed the heavily pregnant ewes she had penned up earlier that morning. Dark clouds cast shadows over the farmhouse, turning the pale weatherboards a charcoal-grey in the distance. She was clinging to the chance of forecast winds blowing off any early rain, disregarding Tim’s suggestion of rescheduling the shearers for later in the week
I don’t care if Tim likes it or not—these ewes will be lambing on the boards if they’re not shorn soon.
The lead shearer pulled the radio’s power cord out of the wall, plunging the shed into silence. He bustled the appliance under his muscular arm, shaking his head. His team packed up their handpieces quietly, their singlets and jeans as clean as they had been upon arrival.
Penny headed to the door, her small body silhouetted against the cloudy sky. She pointed to the clock above the tally board.
‘It’s only 8 a.m. How about we give it another hour and then see if the wool’s dry enough? Please?’
A young wool classer snickered, earning him a clip around the ear from his boss.
‘Pull your head in, boy. Her old man’s banged up in hospital, and it’s not her fault she can’t tell a damp sheep from a dry one.’
Penny cringed at his pitying tone.
He turned to her, twisting his faded terry-towelling hat in his hands. ‘Sorry Miss, we’ve all shorn two sheep each and had a vote. They’re too wet.’
‘How about tomorrow? Surely they’ll be good to go tomorrow?’
‘Let’s say Wednesday. Won’t waste my time trekking over when they’re still likely to be wet. Can’t afford to have a crew of sick contractors.’
Penny stepped aside to let them walk past. She watched them load into a collection of utes and four-wheel drives, the laughter between two young lads drifting up to the shed.
‘She’s blind as a welder’s dog if she can’t see the moisture in that wool,’ said one, his cocky grin faltering as he caught her glaring at him.
Penny turned and stormed back into the shed, avoiding Tim’s gaze. Embarrassed by her own impatience and misguided optimism, she yanked plastic containers from the fridge and shoved the biscuits and sausage rolls into the freezer. The scones she had got up at 5 a.m. to make would be rock-hard by the time the shearers returned. Penny tossed them into the bin.
‘Chooks would be happy with those. And you could save a few for smoko,’ said Tim, walking into the tearoom.
‘I’m not in the mood for “I told you so”, Tim.’
Normally, she would have set them aside as animal fodder instead of landfill, but a stubborn streak reigned and she continued to pitch the fluffy golden mounds into the bin.
Tim watched her take her anger out on the baked goods, recalling the way she’d overruled his decision to cancel this morning’s shearing. He could handle hard yakka, shrug off poor weather and manage bad-tempered animals or Eddie’s meltdowns. But damned if he knew how to deal with Penny McIntyre in a flap. He could see she was trying, and her work ethic was better than he’d expected, but he didn’t understand her impatience to keep things to such a rigid schedule. It reminded him of Stella and her relentless quest for perfection.
‘Farms don’t run like clockwork, Mac. Calling shearers when the sheep are blatantly wet just makes us look bad.’
She spun around, and he was surprised to see the fire in her eyes.
‘I thought you’d be happy to see me stuff up. Aren’t you still desperate for the first option on the farm?’
Her words burned like a branding iron. Am I that transparent? A nibble of guilt lodged in his body as he realised his shot at owning McIntyre Park hinged entirely on her failure. Am I really that type of guy? Tim closed his eyes, torn between his dreams and the man he wanted to be.
‘Too right, I’d love to buy this place for Eddie and me. But regardless of what you might think, Mac, taking advantage of anyone or setting someone up for failure is not my style.’
He kept his words soft but felt the hardness clench around his heart, daring her to challenge his integrity. ‘I’ll keep this farm running as best I can in your dad’s absence, but we need to work as a team. Okay?’
He watched doubt flicker across her face, vulnerability quickly replaced by determination.
She jutted her chin forward, meeting his eye. ‘Okay.’
Tim turned and whistled to the dogs as he took the shearing shed steps two at a time. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear Penny McIntyre had just entrusted him with her confidence. Am I really prepared to set aside my dreams to meet Mac’s expectations?
Forty-six
‘How are things in the rehab ward, Dad? Your room’s a bit bigger at least,’ said Penny, leaning down to kiss Angus on the cheek. She refreshed the fruit bowl, topped up his jug with rainwater and unloaded new magazines onto his bedside table.
‘Don’t fuss, love. I can reach them just fine. It’s a bit quieter than the acute ward too. Taking a bit to get used to this contraption, though.’ Angus jerked his thumb towards the wheelchair. ‘I much prefer hobbling around like a cripple with the single crutch instead of going in circles in that thing. The moon boot weighs a ton, but at least I’m mobile. Well, semi-mobile.’
He caught her staring and reached up self-consciously to touch the jagged scar on his cheek, tufts of stubble surrounding the raised red welt.
‘It’s not easy shaving left-handed either, but I’m having a crack. Don’t want to scare off all the new nurses at this end of the building.’
He winked, earning a laugh from Penny.
‘Lara said there were a few hold-ups at the farm. Got all those sheep shorn yet?’
Penny shook her head, her futile attempts to stick to the schedule still a sore point. It didn’t surprise her that Lara was keeping him abreast of the delays.
‘Hopefully, the rain stops soon. The sheep are still too wet to shear. But it’s all going well otherwise. The community support was excellent those first few weeks, and I haven’t managed to run the place into the ground yet.’
‘Good to hear, love. I was a bit worried you might have bitten off more than you can chew after that Ross River fever jazz. How’s your body? You’re not pushing yourself too hard?’
Penny shook her head. ‘All good, Dad, you’d never even know I was sick. Dr Sinclair said relapses can occur, but generally you build up an immunity to the virus. I paid the high pr
ice upfront, now it should all be smooth sailing.’
‘I’m glad, love. Those few months were tough going, but if nothing else, it delivered you home.’
‘Me too, Dad.’
She looked away as tears glistened on his lashes.
He coughed loudly and made a fuss of searching for his notepad in a drawer.
‘Here, I’ve got another list—just as a back-up, mind you.’ His handwriting was distinctly neater than before, and he smiled when she said so.
‘It’s the McIntyre determination. We’ve got it in spades, Penny. But you’ll want to be onto those sheep the second they’re dry. If it gets too close to lambing, you’ll be flat out like a lizard drinking. I never liked shearing after they’ve got lambs at foot either—a higher chance of the littlies being separated from their mums. That’s a headache you don’t need.’
‘I’m doing my best, Dad,’ she said, trying not to gulp as she read his full-page list.
Ducks flapped and flew away from the dam as Penny drove through the boggy paddock, picking her path carefully. It might be too wet to shear, but she was still determined to shave a few jobs off Angus’s lengthy list, plus some of her own. The ute rolled to a stop when she found what she was looking for.
With quick, quiet movements, she pulled the rifle from the passenger footwell and loaded shells into the magazine.
Bracing against the open window frame, she eyed up the lame ram in her sights, one back leg dragging uselessly as he walked, and released the safety catch. It had been a long time since she’d had to euthanise an animal, but she didn’t want Tim to think she was cherry-picking the cushy jobs. She’d need his help to load and bury the sickly sheep afterwards, but this was a job she could tackle herself.
Where there’s livestock, there’s dead stock, whispered Angus’s voice in her mind. She took a steadying breath, focusing on putting the animal out of its misery instead of her own empathy, and gently pressed the trigger. The ram staggered and fell to the ground. Penny reinstated the safety catch, relieved it was a clean shot and a fast death. She set the gun down and whistled for the dogs.