Lang Downs

by Ariel Tachna

  Neil’s eyes narrowed as he steered his horse closer to Ian’s. “And that upset him enough that he lost it?”

  Ian nodded.

  “We’re going to talk about this more,” Neil said, “but we need to check out that fence first.” He pointed to a section of sagging fence a hundred feet or so down the fence line.

  They dismounted and checked the fence. The post and wire were still intact. The fastening had simply come loose, and a couple of knocks with a hammer set it to rights.

  “I get not wanting to talk about the past,” Neil said when they had mounted again and continued down the fence line. “I’m pretty sure Molly doesn’t know half the things I’ve done that I regret, but that’s mostly because it’s never come up. So obviously it came up, or you wouldn’t have mentioned it to Thorne if Michael’s the only person you ever told.”

  “My foster father was abusive,” Ian said. “I reacted badly to something, and Thorne asked. He deserved the truth, so I told him. He didn’t take it well.”

  “Nobody would take well to hearing someone they loved was abused,” Neil pointed out.

  “It wasn’t just abuse,” Ian mumbled. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to tell Neil and have Neil look at him differently. He’d already run off his lover. He didn’t want to lose his best friend as well.

  The lines around Neil’s mouth deepened as he frowned. “Well, fuck.”

  A bark of bitter laughter escaped Ian’s throat. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

  “And you didn’t say anything all these years?”

  “What difference would it have made?” Ian asked. “I was here on the station alone.” Safe. “I wasn’t interested in anyone. Nobody was interested in me. He couldn’t get to me here even if he’d bothered to come looking. It didn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me,” Neil said with such gravity that Ian felt tears spring to his eyes. He dashed them away. He’d done enough crying last night alone in his bed. He didn’t have time for this now. “It matters because you’re my friend and because nobody should have to be alone with that kind of hurt.”

  “I wasn’t alone,” Ian said. “I might not have told you, but I haven’t been alone since I got here. Not in any way that matters. You know that.”

  “I know,” Neil said, “but I think you have been alone, or you were until Thorne came. He loves you, you know.”

  “Yeah, he told me last night,” Ian said. “I love him too, but all the love in the world can’t fix what’s wrong with us.”

  “He has PTSD or something similar, and you have an abusive past,” Neil summed up, “but neither of those things are the end of the world. You said he went to Wagga Wagga to get help. You could find someone too, you know. In Cowra, even if not in Boorowa. You could go on your day off each week.”

  “I can barely stand to talk to you about what happened,” Ian protested. “How is talking to a stranger even remotely a good idea?”

  “You don’t have to live and work with that stranger,” Neil said. “I’m not going to treat you any differently because of what you just told me, but with a stranger, you don’t ever have to wonder if the next thing you say will be the one that changes things between us. I don’t know what happened last night, but if it upset you enough that you had to tell Thorne about it in order to explain how you were acting, you haven’t put it behind you. And if it’s going to keep getting in the way of being with Thorne, don’t you owe it to yourself and to him to deal with it so it doesn’t get in the way anymore?”

  A crack of thunder interrupted them before Ian could reply.

  “I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Neil said.

  Ian didn’t either. Lightning crackled ominously across the sky. “I don’t think we’re getting back to the valley before that hits.”

  “No,” Neil agreed. “There’s a drovers’ hut a couple of klicks from here. I think that’s our best bet.”

  They spurred their horses across the paddock, racing hard against the wind. The first fat drops of rain splattered across the brims of their hats, making Ian wish he’d worn his Driza-Bone, but as hot as it was, he hadn’t wanted the extra layer of the thick coat. He regretted it now, as the rain increased and soaked his shirt. The horses were galloping flat-out, but they couldn’t outrace the storm, and they were drenched by the time they reached the drovers’ hut. They got their horses into the lean-to and wiped down, then went inside to dry out a little themselves.

  “It’s too hot for a fire, but we’ll never dry otherwise,” Neil complained. “Why did we decide to ride fences today again?”

  “Because I needed to not be around people and you were too stubborn to listen to me?” Ian suggested.

  “You’re the one who was stubborn,” Neil retorted. “I told you the weather was supposed to get bad, but you couldn’t stay in the valley and repair tack or something else that would let you be alone and somewhere dry. No, you had to insist on coming out to check fences.”

  “I’d have finished the tack in an hour,” Ian said, “and then what was I supposed to do?”

  “Have a cup of tea and stay dry?” Neil said. “Get a fire going. I’ll radio in to let Caine know we’re safe and then see what’s in the cupboards that we can heat up while we’re stuck here.”

  Ian rolled his eyes at Neil but laid a fire in the grate as directed. They would need the heat from it to get their clothes dry and to keep from catching a chill. It might make the cabin uncomfortably warm, but it would be better than getting sick. By the time he had a merry blaze going in the fireplace, Neil had come back with a tea kettle. “Caine says to wait out the storm here.”

  “That’s what we’d planned anyway,” Ian agreed. “There wasn’t any soup or anything?”

  “There was, but tea first, until we see how long the storm’s going to last. If it clears, we can head back to the station for lunch.”

  Ian hung the kettle over the flames and peeled off his soaked shirt. His undershirt wasn’t in any better shape, but he left it on anyway. Neil grabbed two towels and tossed one at his head. Ian caught it and flipped Neil off. Neil just grinned back at him. The entire exchange was so typical that Ian felt something inside him unknot. They hadn’t resolved anything, but Ian had told Neil the truth and it hadn’t changed them. Neil was still a smart arse, and Ian was still his foil, and they could still take the piss.

  The kettle boiled, Ian made tea, and they sat drinking it in silence.

  “This is probably none of my business,” Neil said after a while, “but things were good between you and Thorne before he left, right? I mean, in bed. You’re not worried he’s going to hurt you or anything.”

  All sense of comfort fled.

  “I’m not worried he’s going to hurt me,” Ian said, and he wasn’t. With everything else he worried about, he didn’t worry about Thorne forcing him.

  Neil frowned. “That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

  Ian ran his hand through his hair and realized randomly that it was getting long again. He’d have to get Sarah or Carley to cut it again soon. Neil was waiting for an answer, though, and Ian knew he wouldn’t wait for long.

  “I’m not… comfortable with much,” Ian admitted. “I was sixteen when I went to live with my last foster family. I didn’t know any other gay kids. I spent two years in hell, and then I ran. I didn’t want anything to do with sex. I came here, and it wasn’t exactly on offer.”

  “And you didn’t go looking for it, because why would you?” Neil finished. “Look, I’m not an expert on relationships and stuff, but sex is supposed to be fun and feel good and bring you closer to the person you’re with. I know it wasn’t that way for you—and the fucker should be shot for what he did—but I don’t think no sex is the answer, especially not now that you have a great guy to have it with. Just, you know, spare me the details.”

  “No details,” Ian promised. “That’s what happened last night. Things got a little intense and I panicked. Thorne wanted to know why. It’s not t
he first time he’s asked, but it’s the first time I answered him. He started cursing and shouting, at my foster father, not at me, but I was already freaked out, and I just couldn’t deal with any more.”

  “So what did you do?” Neil asked.

  “I locked myself in my room until I couldn’t hear him shouting anymore, then I went to bed alone for the first time in weeks, and I hated every second of it,” Ian said. “I don’t think I really slept until he came in to get dressed this morning and lay down with me instead.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Neil said. Ian nodded, not sure where that question was leading. “If you need to talk about this, I’ll listen, details and all, but I really think what I said earlier is even more true now. You need help I don’t know how to give you. You need to find someone who can help you let this go. I know it had to have been awful. I can’t imagine what living like that would do to a person, but I also know it was years ago and you have a chance for something really special. I don’t want you to lose that chance because you’re afraid to have sex with Thorne.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start looking,” Ian said.

  “Me either, but Doc Peters would,” Neil said. “Hell, Caine might. It still amazes me the stuff he knows. The point is, we can find out, but you have to follow through. You have to believe in your relationship with Thorne enough to do what it takes to make it work.”

  “Then I guess we’d better call him when we get back to the valley,” Ian said. “I’m scared to death, but I don’t want to lose Thorne. I won’t get a second chance.”

  Twenty-Four

  “FIFTEEN YEARS. Fifteen bloody years.” Macklin had a hell of a lot of sympathy for Thorne right now. The desire to put his fist into something was nearly overwhelming. The pedophile’s face would be his first preference, as he was sure it would have been Thorne’s, but the wall was looking like a better alternative with each passing moment.

  “He didn’t want anyone to know,” Caine said. “You know how that feels. You didn’t want to tell me about your father either.”

  “He knocked me around a few times,” Macklin said dismissively, “but nothing like what Ian went through.”

  “He broke your arm because you didn’t stop a goal at a game your team won,” Caine retorted. “That’s more than just knocking you around a few times.”

  “It’s still not rape,” Macklin said bluntly. “He’s lived with that stain on his heart for years, and I didn’t do anything to help.”

  “I think you did,” Caine said. “I think you and Michael gave him a safe place to live, a place to call home where he didn’t have to think about it and where he could get on with his life.”

  “It didn’t look like he’d got on with anything when he talked to us this morning,” Macklin said.

  “I think that depends on what you focused on this morning,” Caine insisted. “Yes, Ian is still struggling with it, but do you think Ian would even be trying to have a relationship with Thorne if they’d met fifteen years ago when he first came here?”

  “No, probably not,” Macklin had to admit. “He was pretty much a complete loner back then. He’d share a beer with Neil and Kyle occasionally, but he never went to town with the others, and once he got that house of his own, he guarded his privacy fiercely. I was stunned when he let Thorne start sleeping on the couch. He’s never even let Neil sleep on his couch.”

  “Has Neil ever needed to sleep on his couch?” Caine asked with a grin.

  “I don’t know,” Macklin said. “There was that one time when Molly was pregnant with Dani when I’m pretty sure she kicked him out of the house for a week. He stayed with Sam and Jeremy. I don’t know if Ian would have refused, but I’ll put money on it that Neil didn’t even ask. He knew what the answer would be and he knew Sam wouldn’t turn him away.”

  “Which all proves my point,” Caine said. “He let Thorne sleep on his couch. From what I heard, he invited Thorne to sleep on his couch. He wants this, and he’s trying to make it happen, and he couldn’t have done that without the years of safety and peace here. I know you wish you’d known and that you could have helped then, or even that you could help now, but you have helped already, and Ian knows and appreciates that.”

  Macklin nodded because he knew Caine expected it, and they had work to do that wouldn’t wait for him to dwell on the past and all the ways he’d failed to help Ian. Caine would say Ian was a grown man and had been since he arrived on the station and that, as such, he didn’t need Macklin’s protection, but Macklin had never been one to shirk his responsibilities, and all the men and women on the station were his responsibility—the year-rounders most of all.

  “MUM?”

  “Hello, love,” Sarah said with a smile when Macklin walked into the kitchen. “I don’t usually see you in the middle of the afternoon. Is everything all right?”

  “Not really,” Macklin admitted. “I’ve had better days.”

  “I’ll make us some tea and you can tell me about it,” Sarah offered. “Even if I can’t help, you’ll feel better for having talked about it.”

  Macklin nodded and waited silently while Sarah puttered around in the small kitchen of the house she and Kami shared. He steadfastly refused to think of Kami as his stepfather, but he was happy beyond words to see contentment in his mother’s eyes. A few minutes later, she brought the teapot to the table and set it between them. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “Thorne left for Wagga Wagga this morning,” Macklin began. “He’s gone to get help for his flashbacks.”

  “That’s a very brave thing for him to do,” Sarah observed. “A lot of military men wouldn’t be comfortable admitting they had a problem, much less doing something about it.”

  “That’s what Caine told him,” Macklin said. “And Ian too.”

  “Ah, yes,” Sarah said. “Ian. How is he taking Thorne’s departure?”

  “I don’t know,” Macklin admitted. “You’ve heard enough stories to know how Michael was. He’d take in anyone who needed it. What you might not know is he made one demand in return. He wanted the truth of the past that had driven us all here. He never judged, but he had to know. I like to think it was so he could protect us. When he died, he took all our secrets to his grave with him. Caine insisted on hearing Chris and Seth’s story before he took them in. Neil told us Sam’s story before he came, and Jeremy told me his, but I took for granted that the established year-rounders were all adults and didn’t need my protection the way Chris and Seth did.”

  “And Ian does?” Sarah asked.

  “Not in the sense that someone is actively threatening him,” Macklin replied, “but he didn’t leave his troubles behind when he got here. While I was busy building on Michael’s legacy and falling in love with Caine and getting more than I ever deserved in this life, Ian was suffering in silence because I didn’t follow Michael’s lead and insist on learning everyone’s stories too.”

  “Macklin, love,” Sarah scolded, “you’re human just like the rest of us. You’re going to have regrets just like the rest of us. Do you think I don’t regret not finding a way to leave your father when you were younger? I still hear your arm snapping in my dreams some nights, but we survived him, and even better, we’re happy now, which is a far better revenge than anything else we could have done to him. I hope he’s rotting in hell, tortured by the fact that we both have husbands who love us and that his hatred and abuse didn’t keep either of us from finding happiness.”

  Macklin was taken aback by his mother’s vehemence, but he couldn’t help but second her sentiment. “It would serve him right. I let you down too, though. I should have figured out a way to take you with me or, barring that, I should have found a way to come back for you after I was old enough to be free of him legally.”

  “Oh, my sweet boy,” Sarah said, reaching across the table for Macklin’s hand, “are you still beating yourself up over that all these years later? You were a child, love. I wasn’t your responsi
bility, and even if I was, you couldn’t help me when you were hurting so badly. You had to find your own feet first.”

  “I didn’t come looking for you even then.”

  Sarah chuckled softly. “That’s because you didn’t find your feet until you met Caine,” she said indulgently, “and don’t give me that look. You can think whatever you want, but it’s the truth. You were still just as battered on the inside at forty as you were at fourteen until he came along and taught you how to love again. I’ve heard stories of how you’d go to Sydney for a week every winter. A week of sex, because that’s all you dared to allow yourself, even with Michael and Donald to give you a different example. Don’t tell me you weren’t still hurting.”

  “I’m not hurting now,” Macklin said, “but Ian is, and I don’t know how to help him.”

  “Maybe you can’t,” Sarah said. “Maybe the help he needs has to come from Thorne. He couldn’t have helped you heal. You needed Caine. Thorne might be what Ian needs.”

  “But Thorne is going to be gone for the next several weeks,” Macklin said.

  “So you give him what he asks for in the meantime,” Sarah said. “Whether that’s time off to go to Wagga Wagga to be with Thorne or whether that’s the privacy to lick his wounds.”

  “I will,” Macklin said, “but I think there’s one other thing I can give him. When Caine found you and you told me my father was dead, I knew I’d never have to worry about him hurting anyone again. I can give Ian that peace of mind.”

  “How?” Sarah asked.

  “By making sure the authorities know what his foster father did to him,” Macklin said. “It might be after the fact, but if the bastard is in jail somewhere, Ian won’t have to worry about being hurt again.”

  “As if anyone here would let that happen,” Sarah said.

  “No more than they would have let Dad hurt me if he’d found me here,” Macklin said, “but I didn’t feel completely safe until I knew he was dead. I didn’t know I was still worrying about it, but the relief when you told me was too real to deny.”