“Like I told you, we keep early hours here.” His voice was as condescending as if he were talking to a very young child.
Alexis saw red. “Clearly you keep particularly early ones. Now, it is far too early in the morning for me to be making any sense, and I am really, really hanging out for a cup of coffee, so how about you come back at two o’clock this afternoon and bring all the farm books with you. I want to go over them with you and see where I stand.”
If his face had been sullen before, it was positively black now. “You want me to come back at two o’clock? To go over the books?”
“Yes, I do. At two o’clock this afternoon. I’ll see you back here then.” She shut the door firmly on his furious face. Her last sight of him was him mouthing obscenities at her as he turned away.
Nate took a large slurp of coffee and returned to his monologue. “Spring is lambing season. Starts end of September. Before that starts you gotta shear them and drench them.” He gave her a sly look. “Costs a fortune, that drench. Then the lambs gotta be vaccinated, costs a bomb that vaccination stuff, then docked and vaccinated again. It’s November now. Then tagged and drenched and vaccinated again. December. Keep a watch for scours and fly-strike. Crutch them and drench them again. Then April’s tupping time. And that’s about all there is to it. Except for the dogs. Gotta look after the dogs. Keep them away from the afterbirth or they’ll get a taste for lamb and then you can kiss them goodbye as a sheep dog.”
Alexis shook her head. She had barely understood a single word of what he had just said. “I was asking about the farm finances.”
“The lambs are the thing, see. Get a good spring growth and you can fatten them up for the Christmas market. Tup too early and they die in the winter storms, but the survivors fetch a premium for the Christmas roast. Tup too late and you miss the premium and have to find the grass over summer.”
“The finances,” Alexis tried again.
“There’s the wool, too, but that’s not as important as the lambs. City people,” he sneered the term as if it tasted bad on his tongue, “nowadays wear polar fleece, not so much wool. Wool prices are all over the place, but the shearing costs more. Expensive job, shearing is.”
“The finances?”
He slurped the last of his coffee and set his mug down on the table with a thump. “I order the drenches and whatnot. Get in the shearing gang. Call in the vet when we need him. Don’t need him much. Take care of the dogs. Breed them, buy them, train them. You can’t have a sheep station without good dogs.”
Alexis put her head in her hands. Talking to Nate was like trying to pin down a live eel. She was quite sure that he was deliberately misunderstanding her questions and had set out to confuse her as much as he could.
He gave her a final black look. “Anything else you want to know?” It was a begrudging offer.
She gave up. Asking him about the farm’s books was simply not going to work. “Nothing else that you can tell me.”
He got up from the table as if the seat were on fire and clapped his hat back on his head. “I’ll be off to the pub then. Dunno why I had to come all the way out here when there’s a cold beer and a pokie machine waiting for me down the road,” he muttered as he stumbled over the doorstep and banged the door behind him.
Judging by the smell of him it was likely he’d just come from there, she thought, as she washed the empty coffee cups. She was starting to wonder if he ever actually did anything around the farm, or whether Terry and Trev between them had kept it going.
Her grandfather may have tolerated the mean old drunk, but that didn’t mean she had to. She’d find the accountant and talk to him, and maybe ask Mason for advice. Farming the neighboring land as he did, he would surely know what to do.
Her phone call with the accountant was illuminating. The farm had been profitable in the past, he told her, but had been going steadily downhill over the last ten years. He emailed the accounts over to her while he was on the phone to her so she could familiarize herself with them and proclaimed that he was willing and able to answer any questions she may have. She rang off feeling like she was making progress at last.
Then she followed up with a call to the valuer recommended to her by her grandfather’s lawyer and settled on a date in a couple of weeks to have him come by and look over the place when he would be in the area. Knowing the value of the land would allow her to work out the farm’s return on capital. And once she came to sell it, she would know how much to ask for.
Mason was also happy to help her go through the accounts that evening when she phoned him for his help, after having puzzled over the books for several hours on her own. While everything added up as it ought to, her spidey sense told her that something was just a little…off.
She opened the spreadsheets she had downloaded on to her laptop and walked through them with Mason, as he sat beside her at the kitchen table. It had turned into her pseudo office, and she was more often to be found working than eating at it. “I’m not an accountant or an expert in sheep farming, but I’m not happy with the books. I’d like a second opinion before I go accusing anyone of doing something underhand.”
He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“It just seems to me that the costs have gone up disproportionately,” she explained, pointing out the relevant figures on the screen. “Costs that are paid directly, like to the vet, show a gradual increase over time. But ones that Nate paid himself and was reimbursed for, well, those have gone up significantly. I mean, it’s not really credible for the costs for drenching to be stable for five years, and then to suddenly go up by five hundred percent even though the number of sheep is the same.” She clicked into another part of the accounts. “And the same with the shearing gang.”
Mason frowned. “That’s not right,” he said, pointing to a couple of the entries. “No sheep farmer with two brain cells to rub together would drench the sheep with both of these products at the same time. They have the same active ingredient. Even if you didn’t know right off, you’d only have to read the label to see it.”
“Could it have been a mistake?”
“I doubt it,” he said distractedly. “And here’s something else. No shearing gang costs that much. We spend less than half that, and I have three times the number of sheep your grandfather did.”
“And they were both expenses that Nate was reimbursed for.”
“Yeah.”
They were both silent for a moment. “It doesn’t look good for him, does it.”
“I don’t like the man, I’ll admit,” Mason said. “I’d never have him on my farm. He’s a sullen old fellow and doesn’t do any more than he has to, and not even that, I suspect. More often than not he’s in the pub drinking and playing the pokies instead of out in the fields."
“The pokies?”
“Slot machines.”
The pieces were falling into place. “Nate’s a gambler. That would account for some of the inflated expenses. With grandfather getting old and not so able to keep on top of things, Nate has had a free rein to give himself a little extra to feed the slot machines.” She mentally totted up just a few of the suspicious bills. “Or quite a lot extra.”
“Terry does the bulk of the work around the place.” His face brightened. “Now, Terry is a good bloke. I was planning to offer him a permanent job when I bought the place off you. If you decide to sell it, that is,” he added quickly.
She steepled her hands together. “What do you think I should do? I don’t trust him, and I suspect very strongly that he’s been stealing from grandfather for some time.” She thought back to the incident with the sheep. That had been plain nasty behavior on his part. “I don’t like him either, and I want him out whether he’s been defrauding the farm or not, but I don’t want to blacken his reputation if he isn’t guilty of anything other than simple bad judgment.”
“Explain your problems with the accounts and ask for receipts for the past year. There’s no reason he wouldn’t have those. And
make your decision according to his reaction.”
The thought of Nate’s sullen face contorting with rage unnerved her, but she nodded anyway. “That sounds fair.”
“He’s got a temper on him,” Mason added. “You should think about having someone else there with you when you talk to him. Just for safety’s sake.”
She hesitated. “I hate to ask it of you, but I don’t know a lot of people in the area. Would you mind…?” Her voice trailed off into the quiet of the kitchen.
“Of course I’ll be present, if you’d like me to be.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but she could see a glimmer of pleasure in his eyes that she had called on him again for help. “That’s what neighbors do for each other around here.”
Chapter Four
Alexis spent the following morning with Trev and Terry feeding the sheep. Trev also ran her through how to use some of the basic farm machinery.
By lunchtime, Alexis already felt like her brain was at capacity for the day.
The processes for running the sheep were straightforward enough but the more the farmhands taught her, the more she realized how much more there was to learn.
The hours were long, too, and she had pangs of guilt at the thought that the farmhands usually started work at 5 a.m. while she was still sound asleep.
When she got home, she cooked a quick meal for lunch on her new stove and then showered, scrubbing herself as fast as she could. Mason was due any moment to take her for her first manual driving lesson, and she wasn’t quite ready for him to arrive while she was still in the shower. She did think briefly of shaving her legs and decided against it. It was cold, and she wasn’t planning on anyone seeing her legs, least of all Mason. She would be wearing jeans.
There was a knock at the door just as she had thrown on her sweater, a black woolen knitted thing that was oversized and ridiculously comfy, and even in Manhattan could pass as stylish. She was starting to get used to the dress code on the farm—practical clothing that didn’t matter if it was stained with grass or mud or even sheep poop—but she still enjoyed changing into the clothing that wasn’t quite so farm-friendly after her work was done.
She hurried down to the kitchen and quickly closed her laptop. The screen was filled with driving tips and a YouTube video was paused halfway through the “introduction to driving a stick shift” instructions. It wouldn’t do to let him know just how nervous she was about her lesson. If she didn’t get it, she would be stuck with a car that she couldn’t use, on a very large farm that she couldn’t get around.
She opened the door and was greeted by a shorts and gumboots clad Mason. She wondered briefly if he even owned any pants or if his wardrobe consisted of twenty pairs of identical shorts. He still somehow managed to pull it off.
“I hope you’re feeling ready for this afternoon. I’ve just redone my will,” he said jokingly as he followed her out to her new(ish) truck and jumped into the passenger seat. He buckled his seatbelt and settled himself back with a grin. “Should I maybe have brought a helmet with me, too?”
Alexis felt her nerves lessen with his joking. “Shut up.” But she was smiling as she buckled her own seatbelt in and started the car.
“That there, the left pedal, that’s the clutch. You want to slowly push it in when you change gears, okay, that includes when you change from park to first gear. Also, when you stop, you’ll want to push the clutch in so you don’t stall. Now, the gear stick you can see here—” he pointed to the numbers in white lettering on the top of the gear stick—“these are the gears. You are in neutral now. You want it to be in neutral when you start and when you stop. You have to push the clutch in when you change gears too, so you’ll be putting a bit of pressure on the accelerator to get going and a bit on the clutch. Not too fast or you’ll stall. You ready?”
She looked down at the gear stick with apprehension. Her brain was whirring to keep up and she wasn’t sure if everything he said made sense to her yet, but she nodded. Her left foot hovered over the clutch and her right foot over the brake. It felt strange to be using both feet to drive.
“Let’s go then. We’ll head down the drive to start with.”
Alexis put the gear into first and lifted her foot from the clutch. The car lurched forward violently before stopping suddenly, the engine cutting out completely.
She felt her cheeks start to burn. “Well, that’s a great start.”
Mason laughed heartily but his voice was gentle. “That’s what we call bunny hopping. Happens to every learner driver. You’ve gotta be less aggressive on the clutch. Let it out slowly.”
She nodded again and started the car.
This time Mason talked her through every move, his voice slow and patient. His hand hovered over her own as she changed gears, ready to help when she needed but giving her the space to do it on her own.
It was a different way of teaching than when James had taught her about the stock market. James had been a bit shouty if she didn’t get something right the first time. Mason would gently point out what she should have done, and coach her through the next step.
When she managed to drive all the way to the end of the driveway, put the car back into neutral and stop—magically avoiding the potholes and the fences—he gave a whoop and high-fived her.
His grin was infectious, and she found herself grinning back in pride. “Phew.”
“That was excellent. I’ve got to say, you’re a much faster learner than Georgie was. She couldn’t park without stalling for months and months. And the first time she drove a manual she hit one of Mum and Dad’s rose bushes. Flattened it. They had to pull it out and plant a new one.”
She beamed back at him. He made her feel so confident and capable, like she could conquer the world if she tried.
*****
“You still on for deer hunting this weekend?”
Alexis swung around from the tractor she was filling with gas at the farm pump. “Um,” she temporized, cursing herself for agreeing to go in the first place. “I’m not sure I’m into shooting animals just for the fun of it.”
“For the fun of it? Nah, you’ve got the wrong idea. First off, deer are pests. They were introduced into New Zealand in the 1800s and have no natural predators, so they breed like crazy and destroy the native trees and tussock grasses. They’re a menace and culling them protects the land. And I’m targeting deer for food, too. Wild venison is a welcome change from the endless lamb we eat on a sheep farm. Whatever bits of the deer we don’t eat, the dogs will gladly clean up. Shooting deer around here is necessary pest control, with the bonus of a good venison roast at the end of it.”
“Oh.” She felt rather foolish in thinking that Mason was going to go off and do the equivalent of a safari hunt in Africa and shoot endangered wild animals just for the thrill of it, but glorified pest control didn’t sound very appealing either. “How do you find them? I haven’t seen any since I’ve been here.”
“You won’t see them down here. They hang out in the hills mostly. A mate of mine, Jax, runs a personalized hunting business and his clients canceled on him this weekend. The helicopter and pilot are all paid for, so he offered to drop me in the backblocks in the chopper and pick me up again a couple of days later, in exchange for a cut of any meat I bagged.”
“Doesn’t Georgia want to go with you?”
“You asked what people around here do for fun. I thought this would be a good way to show you.”
“There’s a lot of work to do around here,” she said slowly, secretly tempted by the idea. She’d come to New Zealand to face new challenges in her life, to do things she would never have had the opportunity to do in New York. Hunting deer out in the wilds was surely one of those things. “Terry has been taking me out to check on the lambs and showing me what to do to help a ewe that is having trouble birthing.”
“You’re supposed to be on holiday, remember.”
She caved. Taking a day off would be a welcome relief after the long hours she had been keeping. Who knew that s
heep farming was such a complicated business? There was so much to learn. Even after a solid week, she felt like she had barely scratched the surface. “What would I need to bring?”
“Warm clothes. Heavy boots. A hat. A change of socks in case we need to cross a river and get our feet wet. I’ve got sleeping bags and the rifles, and I’ll do the food, too, as I know what to bring.”
She did a quick tally. She’d joined the locals in buying and wearing one of those ubiquitous woolen hoodies—they called them swannies—so she had the warm clothes. Not wanting to ruin her good yoga clothes, she’d bought herself some heavy boots and pants and thick woolen socks to muck around the farm in. She’d never be seen dead wearing this stuff where anyone important could see her, but out here no one cared what you looked like. On the farm, clothes were for practical use, not to make a statement on how fashionable you were or how much money you made. It was freeing in a way. “Okay, I’m in.”
Friday afternoon saw her sitting next to Mason in his pickup as they made their way over to Jax’s place where the helicopter pad was. Jax greeted them warmly and ushered them over to the chopper. “Business has been booming. I’m glad of a weekend off,” he said, when Alexis thanked him. “When I started this business, I never thought I would ever say I was tired of going out in the hills.”
“Tired of hunting? You?” Mason laughed. “I don’t believe it.”
“I’m still not tired of it, but I do like a break every now and then. Just for a weekend.” He opened the door to the chopper where the pilot was already sitting and introduced them. “Ben, these are my friends, Mason and Alexis. Treat them right.”
The pilot gave him the thumbs up sign and waved at them to get in. Once they were seated and buckled up, he handed them a set of headphones each. “It gets pretty noisy once we get going, but you can talk to me through these.”
Alexis’s stomach gave a nervous wobble as the chopper fired up and the rotors started to spin. The chopper lifted off the ground, so smoothly that she barely noticed it, and they were away.
Head First (Quinn Brothers Book 1) Page 6
