by Ariel Tachna
“That she is. This one, on the other hand”—Molly rubbed her stomach—“is going to be a little hellion. He hasn’t stopped kicking me in weeks.”
Footsteps caught Thorne’s attention, and he looked up to see Neil coming toward them with a smile on his face. Thorne didn’t know him well enough to guess if it was a real one. “Everything okay?”
“We’re fine,” Molly said. “I needed to sit down for a minute, and Thorne has been helping me keep Dani occupied. She ran me off my feet today.”
“Carley told you to send Dani to their house if you couldn’t handle her by yourself,” Neil said.
“Yes, and Carley spent today dealing with a valley full of sheep because all of you were up building firebreaks,” Molly said. “Sarah watched her for a little bit this afternoon after her nap, but I’m still worn out.”
“I’ll take care of her tonight,” Neil promised. “Come on, princess. It’s time to go.”
From her spot on Thorne’s lap, Dani shook her head emphatically. “Wanna stay with Mr. Thorne.”
Thorne took a deep breath as she hugged him tight again before prying her arms from around his neck. “I’ll still be here tomorrow,” he promised. “You can sit with me then, but tonight you need to go with your daddy so you aren’t too tired to play tomorrow.”
Dani pouted prettily enough that Thorne wanted to give in to her demands, but her parents wouldn’t appreciate that, so he rose from his seat and passed her across the table to her father’s waiting arms. “Sleep well, Dani.”
“Night night, Mr. Thorne.”
He watched as Neil carried her out of the canteen, her head already drooping onto his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said to Molly. “Not everyone would trust me with their child.”
“Not everyone would take the time to help a station with bosses like ours,” Molly replied with a shrug. “Jeremy’s spent the past hour on the phone with his brother, trying to convince the idiot that it’s in his best interest to keep the grassfires from burning Lang Downs, and Taylor still won’t agree to send men to help.”
Thorne’s confusion must have shown on his face because Molly laughed. “Sorry, you don’t know that story, do you?”
Thorne shook his head.
“Taylor Peak is the station to the southwest of us, owned and run by Devlin Taylor. You’ll never meet a more disagreeable man. Anyway, about five years ago, Taylor and his brother Jeremy had a falling-out, and Jeremy ended up here on the station. Jeremy’s completely loyal to Lang Downs now, but he hoped he could call on any remaining brotherly sentiment to get Taylor to help us out. So far, he hasn’t been successful.”
Thorne grinned, though there was no humor in the expression. “I could go talk to him.”
Molly threw her head back as peals of laughter escaped. “Oh, I would pay money to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. You’d have him pissing his pants in no time.”
Thorne laughed at that. “Am I that scary?”
“Not when you’re snuggling my daughter,” Molly said, her eyes still sparking with mirth, “but I think under the right circumstances you could be very scary.”
“If you think it will help, I’m happy to be the heavy,” Thorne offered, “but I don’t want to make matters worse between the two stations.”
“You can’t,” Molly said. “Taylor is a homophobic bigot who will never see Caine as anything more than a Yank usurper and both him and Macklin as pillow-biters despite the fact that they run a more successful station than he does. The fact that his brother is gay too, not to mention ‘shacked up’ with our foreman’s brother, only makes it worse. He’s convinced we’re a den of iniquity and that the only good would be if we all burned in hell. He probably thinks the grassfire is judgment on us for our sinful ways.”
“Sometimes when a fire is too strong to put out, we try to channel it toward uninhabited areas where it will do less damage. It sounds like maybe we should channel it toward his spread.”
Molly grinned sharply. “I had no idea you were so vindictive.”
“Lang Downs might not be my home, but a blind man could see what it means to all of you,” Thorne said. “If Taylor is that stupid and that vindictive, he deserves whatever he gets.”
“Lang Downs is home for anyone who needs it,” Molly said. “And I’ve taken enough of your time. I’m going to rescue Neil from Dani and make sure she actually gets in bed on time. If he’s left to his own devices, he ends up playing with her for hours instead of making her go to sleep.”
“Good luck,” Thorne said as she levered herself to her feet. She gave him one last smile and then waddled toward the canteen door. When she was gone, Thorne slumped back against the wall behind him.
He reached for his fork to take another bite of his dinner, but his hands were shaking so hard he couldn’t get the food to his mouth without dropping it. He braced his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, trying to control his breathing. If he could get that back to normal, the tremors would stop. He breathed in to the count of eight and out just as slowly, forcing his body into submission. He was a well-oiled machine, a perfectly maintained piece of equipment that did what it needed to do when it needed to do it. He didn’t have time for weakness or loss of control. He had to—
“Thorne?”
Four
THE SOUND of his name shattered Thorne’s concentration. His vision narrowed to a field of gray penetrated only by a shock of red. Ian’s hair, he chanted silently. It’s not blood. It’s Ian’s hair. Not blood. No threat. No threat. Just Ian. No threat.
“Thorne?”
Ian sounded distressed. That was wrong. Thorne couldn’t do that. Couldn’t let anyone close. He forced his vision to clear enough to focus on Ian’s face. “Get me out of here.” He hardly recognized his own voice but for the fact that he needed to say those words. “Get me somewhere safe.”
“Come on,” Ian said. He offered his hand but waited for Thorne to take it, a small mercy in the sea of chaos his senses had become. Thorne took it and clung to it like a lifeline. Ian led him toward the door, fending off questions and ordering people out of the way, but Thorne focused on the touch of warm skin against his. He couldn’t think about anything else or he’d lose it.
They made it outside, but there were still people milling around, minding their own business or seeing to their jobs on the station. Ian didn’t stop, though, or let go of Thorne’s hand, pulling him past the other jackaroos and away from the bunkhouse and the big house. They reached the edge of the line of houses and passed outside it to the veranda of one of the small houses on the periphery.
“Everyone else wanted their doors facing the rest of the station,” Ian said conversationally, “but I always preferred looking out toward the tablelands.”
His matter-of-fact tone of voice helped settled Thorne’s senses. He grabbed the veranda railing to steady himself, his gaze landing on the fine carvings that decorated it. “This is nice work,” he said hoarsely. He’d learned by trial and error to cling to any normalcy he could find when his nightmares overwhelmed his waking mind. “Did you do it?”
“Yes,” Ian said. “It was my project my second winter on the station.”
“What was your first project?” Thorne asked. He didn’t let go of the railing yet. He wasn’t that steady, but talking helped. So did the lack of noise beyond their voices and the calm stillness of the view behind them. No threat, he reminded himself. Just Ian. It’s safe here.
Ian grinned. “My kitchen. Do you want to see it?”
Thorne shook his head. “Not yet. I need a minute first.”
Ian nodded. “The chairs are pretty comfortable, if I do say so myself.”
Thorne let go of the railing long enough to move onto the veranda and look at the chairs. “You made these too, didn’t you?”
“I did. I like having something to do with my spare time.”
Thorne ran his hand over the armrest. The wood was smooth, not a splinter anywhere along its varnished surfac
e. He tried to remember the last time he’d had spare time to do something so constructive, but he couldn’t come up with anything. The army had regimented his days completely except when he was on leave, and most of those hours had been spent getting somewhere he could have a quick anonymous fuck and then getting back again. Since he left the army, he’d been fighting fires and trying to get his feet back under him. Neither had been conducive to any kind of hobby. “You’re very talented.”
“You’re very kind,” Ian countered. “These were some of my first efforts. They don’t rock, like the newer ones, but they haven’t fallen apart yet.”
“I’m not kind,” Thorne said with a shake of his head. He focused out on the valley and the colors of sunset streaking across the sky from his left. “I forgot what kindness was a long time ago.”
Thorne heard Ian’s sound of disbelief, but he ignored it. He still knew how to pretend, but that was all it was. The bone-deep generosity that led someone like Ian to make furniture for anyone who asked was completely foreign to Thorne. He hadn’t known that sort of goodness since his mother died.
Ian didn’t say anything else, so Thorne let the silence stretch between them. Ian was an undemanding presence at his side, a silent companion in the storm of emotion still churning inside him, witness to his struggles without judgment or empty offers of assistance.
The sky darkened as they sat there, blue fading to shades of red and orange and then to gray and black. The stars winked into existence overhead, and Thorne let the stillness of the night settle into his soul. It was a welcome respite after the tumult of the day, and as his mind calmed finally, Thorne wondered what it was about Ian that let him relax so fully in the other man’s presence. Usually he had to be alone to find any peace, even Walker’s presence more than he could cope with, but he had spent some uncounted number of minutes or perhaps even hours sitting quietly next to Ian without that adding anything to his stress.
“Thank you,” he said finally.
“You’re welcome on my veranda anytime,” Ian said. “The station gets kind of crazy in the summer, even without all the sheep in the valley and grassfires threatening. It’s nice to have a bit of quiet at the end of the day.”
Another time, Thorne might have asked if the invitation onto the veranda included an invitation to other places as well, but he’d just found a refuge. He wasn’t going to ruin that by asking for more. They’d have a few more days before the fire threat grew critical. Thorne could bide his time and see what transpired. Tonight, he needed sleep, not sex. He only hoped he’d make it through without nightmares.
“I should get back,” Thorne said. “I don’t want Caine and Macklin wondering where I am. Macklin’s already had to come find me once today.”
“They saw us leave together,” Ian said. “They know where you are. If they’re ready for bed, they’ll leave a light on for you.”
Thorne remembered the noises that had filtered into his bedroom that morning. “Maybe I should wait a little longer,” he said.
“Oh, did they give you a show last night?” Ian asked with a chuckle. “I remember Chris complaining about it when he first got here and was sleeping in their guest room.”
“I had a nightmare and couldn’t fall back asleep this morning,” Thorne admitted. “I’m sure they thought I was still asleep.”
“Doesn’t make listening to them any easier, I’m sure,” Ian said. “It doesn’t bother you, knowing they’re together?”
“It’s none of my business,” Thorne said. “If anyone has a right to be bothered by it, it’s you and the others who were here before Caine came.”
“It’s none of our business either,” Ian said, “but it doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re asking. Macklin’s finally happy. It’s hard to begrudge them that.”
“And the other couples?”
“Same thing,” Ian said. “I stood with Macklin when he stopped those thugs from beating Chris to death, and I stood by Sam and Jeremy when Jeremy’s brother came storming onto the station a year after they got together demanding Jeremy come home. They’re good men. What they do in the privacy of their own homes and who they do it with is their business.”
“The world would be a better place if more people shared that attitude,” Thorne said finally. He’d hoped for some kind of sign from Ian, whether he might be amenable to Thorne’s interest. He knew better than to assume every man on the station was gay just because the bosses were. Certainly Neil and Patrick were both happily married, as were Sarah and Kami and Laura’s parents, and even if Caine and Macklin attracted a higher percentage than average of gay jackaroos because of their openness, Ian had been on the station since long before Caine’s arrival. Staying didn’t make him gay, just open-minded enough to accept his bosses leaning that way.
“If we’re getting into cultural psychology, I need something to drink,” Ian said. “Come on. I’ll make us some tea. You can spike it or not.”
“My flashbacks don’t need any help getting the better of my control,” Thorne said, but he stood and followed Ian inside the house. Ian wandered off toward the kitchen, but Thorne was arrested by the sight of the living room. Every piece of furniture was a masterpiece, all done in the same honey-toned wood. The pillows were a mishmash of different colors and fabrics, but the wood was polished to a high shine over the intricate carvings. He ran his hand over the back of one of the chairs. He’d seen Ian’s talents outside on the veranda, but the pieces out there didn’t begin to compare to this. When he’d picked his jaw up off the ground, he followed Ian into the kitchen.
It was decorated with the same golden wood, the cabinets beautifully carved to match the kitchen table and chairs. “You’re incredibly talented. Why are you here working on a sheep station instead of somewhere selling your creations? People would pay a lot of money for work like this.”
“It means more when I give it to them as a gift,” Ian said as he set a pot of tea on the table. “Besides, I like it here. It’s safe.”
Ian’s choice of words set off warning bells in Thorne’s mind. Not comfortable, not fun, not any of a thousand good reasons to stay somewhere. Safe. If Ian stayed because it was safe, he had reason to believe the rest of the world, or part of the world, wasn’t, and that triggered every protective instinct Thorne had. Ian had offered Thorne an oasis of tranquility when he needed it. Thorne would be damned if he let anything come and hurt Ian now.
He forced himself through the motions of adding milk and sugar to the cup of tea Ian poured for him. Ian added milk, no sugar, and Thorne stored that away for future reference. Maybe it wouldn’t ever be useful, but he’d spent too many years in the field cataloguing every detail because anything he missed had the potential to be deadly.
The tea was hot and strong even with the milk, just the way Thorne liked it.
“So what brought you to the station?” Thorne asked casually. At least he hoped it came across as casual.
“The usual,” Ian said. “It was a way to earn some money without a lot of prerequisite skills or experience. Mr. Lang hired me on the spot without checking my references or anything else, and when the season ended, he told me I could have this house. I’d have to finish it myself since it was little more than a shell at the time, but it would be mine and no one would ever come in without my invitation. It was everything I’d ever wanted.”
That left Thorne with the burning desire to track down whoever had come into Ian’s home without invitation and visit the fires of the damned on them. He knew how. The army frowned on torture, but they turned a blind eye as long as the Commandos got the results they wanted. He’d even learned not to leave marks most of the time. If someone had hurt Ian, though, Thorne thought he might like to see marks left behind.
“How long have you been on the station?” he asked.
“Fifteen years,” Ian said. “I was twenty. I’ve never regretted it.”
“Do you get to see your family often?”
Ian’s face twisted with such a mix
of emotions that Thorne nearly recoiled. The pure revulsion in Ian’s expression was not what Thorne had expected when he mentioned family.
“No,” Ian said, “and we’re all happier that way. Neil, Kyle, Jesse, and the others… they’re my family now.”
“They’re lucky to have you,” Thorne said.
Ian smiled at that, his expression clearing. “I’d say we’re all lucky to have had Mr. Lang, or Caine in Chris and Jesse’s case.” His face grew serious again. “We have to stop the grassfire from destroying the valley. The rest of the station is just fences and drovers’ huts. It would be a pain to have to rebuild them, but it wouldn’t be a huge loss. But the valley itself….”
Ian didn’t finish his sentence, but Thorne didn’t need him to. In the day and a half he’d been on the station, he’d already seen what a special place it was. Learning about the station’s legacy of taking in people who needed a new chance at life and now seeing that played out in the beauty of Ian’s home only increased Thorne’s determination. He’d fought many a battle in his life, but he wasn’t sure any of them had been as important as this one. Maybe on some grand international scale, they had been, but this wasn’t about politics. This was personal. He would protect the valley if it was the last thing he did.
“We’ll stop it,” he promised. “I’ll head out tomorrow and figure out where the fire line is and then follow it back. Even if we can’t get it out, we might be able to divert it away from the valley. I won’t let you lose your home.”
“Thank you,” Ian said. “I know I was harsh earlier today with Laura, but I really appreciate everything you’re doing for us.”
“I deserved it,” Thorne said. “I hurt her when she hadn’t done anything to me. You probably shouldn’t forgive me so easily.”
“You apologized, and it obviously wasn’t intentional,” Ian said. “I don’t know a lot about PTSD, but I’ve seen you nearly lose control twice now, and it’s clearly something you’re struggling with. Everyone here has fought their battles. Maybe they didn’t involve guns and other weapons, but none of us are unscarred. We wouldn’t be here if we were.”
