Equilibrium

Copyright

Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author‟s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Equilibrium Copyright © 2011 by Meredith Shayne Cover Art by Catt Ford All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ ISBN: 978-1-61581-950-8 Printed in the United States of America First Edition June 2011 eBook edition available eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-951-5

Acknowledgments THANKS must go to my long-suffering beta readers, Suzene Campos and LJ LaBarthe. It‟s been a long road, ladies, but here we are, the first novel. Here‟s to me begging you to read many more, probably all at the last minute, let‟s face it. But seriously, your friendship, support and encouragement over the years has meant more to me than I can express, even when you‟ve told me the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear, and I hope you know how much I appreciate you both. I would also like to thank my friend Orannia for taking the time to read the first draft and give me suggestions, particularly the incredibly useful advice on the veterinary procedures. One thing‟s for sure, chickadee, Michael will be forever grateful to you for making it so that he never got cow poo on his shirt. Both he and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Equilibrium

JANUARY THE heat hit Michael like a ton of bricks as he opened the door of his borrowed ute, the stifling air heavy with the smell of dirt and animal. A yellow Labrador standing in the shade of the main house‟s wraparound veranda barked at him, its tail waving. Where the house‟s yard stopped and the farm began, a pair of black and tan working dogs slumped against the stable wall, snapping at flies and ignoring him completely. A scorching wind blew across the open ground, making little whirlwinds out of the dry topsoil and the branches of the big eucalyptus trees flanking the house creak and groan. It snatched at the brim of Michael‟s brand new Akubra hat, threatening to send it tumbling into the dirt. Michael‟s stomach churned as he turned and walked toward the stables, adjusting his hat with an unsteady hand. He‟d been in Burreela two weeks. Every day of those two weeks, his new boss, Bill, had been shadowing him, looking over his shoulder during his consults and his surgeries, taking him to farms out in the middle of nowhere, making Michael do all the dirty work while he leaned against the fence and chatted to farmers who pretended that Michael wasn‟t even there. But apparently two weeks was some magic number, because this morning, when he‟d been looking at the appointment book and finishing off his morning coffee, Bill had come into the back room and thrown the ute‟s keys at Michael‟s head, Michael just managing to catch them before they‟d smacked him in the forehead. “Leave that,” Bill had said. “Take the ute, and go up to the Mitchell farm. They‟ve got a horse that needs seeing to.”

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Michael had stared at him, his fingers wrapped tightly around the keys. “But I‟ve never been to the Mitchell farm before.” Bill had smiled. “Well, it‟s about time you went then, isn‟t it?” “Yeah, but, Bill….” “„Yeah, but Bill‟ nothing, Michael.” Bill had stepped into the room and taken the appointment book out of Michael‟s hands. “Get your ass up to the Mitchell farm, and fix their horse.” He‟d turned and walked out of the room with the appointment book tucked firmly under his arm, leaving Michael no choice but to finish his coffee in two huge gulps that burned his mouth and throat, grab his kit, and get in the ute. When he‟d first arrived in Burreela, Bill had given him a map of town and the surrounding countryside. He‟d used the map to get to the Mitchell farm, feeling like a bloody tourist and wishing desperately for a GPS unit as he drove with the map spread out half in his lap and half on the steering wheel. Even with the map, he‟d still managed to almost miss the farm‟s entrance, but now he was here, with his guts turning to water and his legs like jelly, to cure a horse of only God knew what because he‟d forgotten to ask. As Michael got closer to the wide-open stable door, he could see a dark-colored horse in a stall a couple down from the entrance, and two men standing near the door of the stall: a young man, who looked a few years older than Michael‟s own twenty-six, facing the stable doorway, and an older man standing facing the horse. They were both tall and broad, but lean, the older man, who looked about sixty judging from the gray in his hair, only just starting to get the belly to go with his age. The younger one nodded toward Michael as he approached the stable door, saying something to his companion, who turned to look at Michael with the exact expression of someone who‟d just bitten down on a lemon. “You‟re not Bill.” Michael tried for a smile, the expression feeling fixed and fake even to him. “No, I‟m not,” he said, as cheerfully as he could. “I‟m Michael, the new vet. Michael Stone.” He stuck out his right hand; the old man stared at it like it was a snake readying itself to strike. For

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several long, excruciating moments there was silence while Michael stood there with his hand stuck out like an idiot, but then the younger man stepped forward and shook it firmly. “I‟m Andrew Mitchell,” he said with an apologetic smile. “This is my dad, Greg. This is his farm.” “Oh yeah, of course,” Michael said, smiling back without bothering to hide his relief. “Nice to meet you.” Andrew nodded. “Nice to meet you too.” Silence descended again, but Michael broke it this time, nodding toward the horse in the stall, which he could now see was a bay with a white stripe down the middle of its face. “Is this the horse that you‟ve got a problem with?” Andrew looked toward the stall. “Yeah, that‟s her. Charlie. She got herself tangled up in some barbed wire in a back paddock overnight. She must have panicked and tried to pull away from it but just got tangled up more, and some of it dug in pretty deep. We‟d take care of it ourselves, but she‟s a valuable horse and we can‟t afford to have it getting infected. Plus, she‟s my brother‟s horse, and he was all for getting the vet out.” He smiled again. “So here you are.” “Here I am.” Michael looked toward the stall again. He‟d done his equine placements just like everyone else in his year, but he hadn‟t done much horse work since then, so what he knew about them was mostly from books. He steeled himself against his nerves; he could do this. “I‟ll take a look at her.” He gathered himself and headed for the stall door, but Andrew beat him to it, stepping around him and unlatching the door. “I‟ll go in with you. She‟s a good horse, but she has spent the night tangled in barbed wire. That‟s enough to make anyone grumpy.” “Of course,” Michael said, hoping his tone was implying that he was just about to suggest that himself. He stepped into the stall after Andrew, who‟d clipped a lead rope to Charlie‟s halter and was holding it with enough slack to give the horse freedom of movement, but not enough that she could turn and bite Michael while he was examining her, for which Michael was profoundly glad. To his relief, the horse

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didn‟t bat an eyelash when he reached a hand up to pat her neck, murmuring some comforting words of nonsense to her as he did so. As he ran his hand slowly down her neck, he was acutely conscious of the attention of the two Mitchell men, whose complete silence told him they were watching him carefully. He could see the problem from where he stood, a length of nasty looking barbed wire wrapped tightly around the mare‟s right foreleg, just above the fetlock. The Mitchells had obviously done some work, cutting away most of the wire protruding from her leg and leaving only what was deeply imbedded in her flesh. He squatted down to get a closer look, and when he reached out to touch the leg just above the wound, the mare flinched, shifting away from him so suddenly that he had to slam a hand against the side of the stall to stop himself from overbalancing and ending up on his ass. His Akubra tipped off his head and onto the straw covering the stable floor. He looked up, and Andrew Mitchell was looking down at him. Andrew smiled. “Sorry.” Michael attempted a smile and tried to ignore the flush he could feel creeping up his neck. “No worries.” He reached for his hat, brushing it off before standing up. “I‟ll just go and get my gear, won‟t be long.” He let himself out of the stall and stepped around Greg Mitchell, slapping his hat back onto his head just before he headed back out into the yard, squinting against the too-bright sun. He hated the hat: it was hot and annoying, and he was sure he looked ridiculous in it, but he had to wear it. He‟d inherited his father‟s brown hair, but that was where any hints of swarthiness ended, because he‟d also gotten his mother‟s gray eyes and English complexion, the type of complexion that on her had been described as “porcelain” but on him was described as “glowin-the-dark white.” He knew from the painful experience of his first two days in Burreela that if he didn‟t wear the hat in the scorching summer sun his face and neck would go from snow white to fire-engine red in about five seconds, and he‟d be using aloe vera on his blistered and peeling skin for the next week.

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He went around to the covered bed of the ute and flipped up the hard top, reaching in for his bag and rummaging through it to make sure he had what he needed before heading back. He could barely see a thing as he entered the stables, struck blind by the bright sun, but as his eyes became more accustomed to the dimmer light, he realized that Andrew and his father had been joined by another man, one who looked so much like Andrew that it had to be his brother. The man looked at Michael as he approached and smiled. “Hi. I‟m Ryan.” Michael‟s stomach dropped at the sight of that smile, and he could do nothing but stare at the man, stare into hazel eyes that looked almost gold against the man‟s sun-browned skin. His gaze took in the high cheekbones and the square jaw dusted with a couple of days worth of reddish-brown stubble, the brown hair that curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck where it showed under his hat. The edges of the man‟s—Ryan‟s—hair looked damp, wet from the sweat that glistened on the nape of his neck. Michael‟s mouth went suddenly dry. Ryan raised an eyebrow, and Michael realized that he was waiting for Michael to speak. “Oh. Sorry. I‟m Michael. I‟m the new vet. In town.” Ryan smiled. “Yeah, I thought so, what with you carrying a fancy bag and all.” He nodded toward the stall. “You going to go back in there, Doc, or were you going to use voodoo to fix her up?” Michael‟s face heated. “Right. Yes. I‟m going back in.” He stepped toward the stall again, but this time it was Ryan who went in before him. He did his best to ignore Ryan‟s presence as he crouched in the corner to fish out some syringes and vials from his bag, then stood and patted Charlie‟s neck again before reaching out for her leg once more. She shifted again when he touched her, but this time Ryan kept her from shying away; Michael could hear him crooning to her under his breath, and that made Michael‟s skin prickle with an almost painful awareness of the other man. He did his best to ignore it, concentrating hard on the horse instead. He gave her some local anesthetic around the wound, and a couple of shots of antibiotics and a tetanus shot while he was waiting for it to numb. Glancing up at Ryan as he placed the needles carefully out of the way next to his bag, he saw that Ryan was

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watching him. He cleared his throat and made an attempt at intelligent conversation. “Do you know how long she was wrapped up in the wire for?” That got a reaction, but not one that Michael really wanted, as Ryan frowned, his expression dark and thunderous. “Too long.” He turned his head slightly and raised his voice, directing his next words over his shoulder at his brother and father. “Those back paddocks were supposed to be cleaned up ages ago. I never would have let her in there if I‟d known they were still full of crap.” “Hey, don‟t look at me,” Andrew said from behind him. “I thought they‟d been done. Otherwise I wouldn‟t have let you put her in there.” “Yeah, well,” Ryan said, his tone still harsh. “I better not find out who didn‟t clean it up properly, or they‟ll feel my boot up their ass.” He looked back at Michael, who turned away from him quickly, frowning down at the wound as he gently assessed it for numbness, trying not to show how the gruffness of Ryan‟s tone had sent a shiver down his spine. “Right, she‟s ready,” he said, more to distract himself from Ryan than give a blow-by-blow account of what he was doing. He took the end of the remaining wire and gently pulled it out of the wound, then set about cleaning the damaged flesh. “Okay.” He glanced up at Ryan when he turned to get bandages out of his bag, feeling a bit more stable now that he had instructions to give. “It looks pretty clean, and even though there‟s a bit of swelling there, it doesn‟t look as if there‟s any tendon damage, which is good. The cut‟s deep but not wide, so I‟m not going to stitch it up. I‟ll dress it, and it can heal on its own. Happy with that?” Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Do I need to do anything to it?” Michael shrugged. “Just keep her somewhere where she‟ll keep it clean.” He got out some antibiotic powder and puffed it liberally over the wound before starting to bandage it up. “I gave her an antibiotic shot, and now she‟s got antibiotic powder on it, too, so it shouldn‟t get infected. I‟ve given her a tetanus shot as well. I‟ll leave you some

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powder and fresh dressings so that if she does get it dirty, you can change it. In a few days, change it anyway. If it looks weepy or inflamed, give me—” He felt himself blushing again. “Give us a call, and we‟ll come out to look at it, but it should be fine. The dressings can come off altogether in about ten days or so.” He tied the bandages off, pulled a packet of wet wipes from his bag, cleaned his hands, then packed up, gathering his bag and the used syringes as he stood. “Okay?” “Okay,” Ryan said, smiling again and sticking out his hand. “Thanks Doc. Michael.” Michael had to switch his bag to his other hand before he could shake Ryan‟s hand, but as he gripped it, his heart skipped a beat, and he hoped desperately that he wasn‟t blushing again. Ryan‟s hand was warm, the skin slightly rough, and his grip strong. Michael suppressed a shiver and smiled, hoping he didn‟t look as hysterical as he felt. “That‟s no problem. Just doing my job, right?” “Right.” Ryan held on to Michael‟s hand for just a moment too long before letting it drop. He stepped to the side to let Michael out of the stall. “But thanks anyway.” Michael left the stall, nodding to Andrew and Mr. Mitchell as he left. He walked all the way to his ute without looking back, but as he finished disposing of his syringes and stowing his bag in the back and went to climb into the cab, he couldn‟t resist. Glancing back as casually as he could, he saw Ryan standing in the entrance of the stables, leaning against the door and watching him. Their gazes locked as Michael closed the ute‟s door, and they stared at each other until Ryan moved suddenly, looking back over his shoulder as his brother and father came up behind him. He straightened, saying something to them as they walked past him, Andrew slapping him on the shoulder. All three men headed to the main house, Ryan lingering behind as Michael started the ute, touching the brim of his hat and flashing Michael a grin as he turned the car around and headed down the driveway. Michael watched the house in his rearview mirror until a bend in the driveway put it out of his sight, and he drove the whole way back into town with his stomach in knots.

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MICHAEL‟S heart sank when he looked in the front window of the surgery and saw Natalie, the practice‟s vet nurse, standing at the cash register. He liked her enormously already. She was funny and bubbly and great at her job, but she also loved to talk, and he really did not want to talk about what had just happened. Even if most of the monumental stuff had happened in his head. “Hey,” Natalie said as he walked in the door and came around the desk to hang the ute‟s keys back up on a hook on the wall behind the cash register. “Where‟ve you been?” Michael tried to keep his voice light. “Seeing a horse out at the Mitchell farm.” “Ah, the Mitchell farm….” Natalie‟s tone took on a dreamy quality. “I love going to the Mitchell farm. The Mitchell boys are hot.” Michael felt his face heat, and he only barely stopped himself from spluttering and stammering out something inane, which would completely give him away. “Ah… right. The horse—Charlie, they said her name was—got tangled up in some barbed wire.” “Charlie? God, Ryan wouldn‟t have been happy with that, she‟s his pride and joy. He uses her in all his events.” Michael frowned. “Events? Like… show-jumping events? Or cross-country?” Natalie laughed. “No, not show jumping. Campdrafting mainly. Stock-horse events.” She raised her eyebrows at him, but at his blank look, she laughed again, shaking her head at him. “God, you really are a city boy, aren‟t you? Don‟t worry, you‟ll learn. It‟ll be impossible not to in this town.” She patted him on the shoulder and turned away to head back toward the operating rooms, leaving him to his thoughts. Thoughts that definitely did not include how hot Ryan Mitchell was. Not at all.

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AFTER Michael‟s visit to the Mitchell farm, it was like a dam had burst, with Bill sending him out to the rural properties in the area every day that week. It almost became a routine: farms in the morning, surgery in the middle of the day, and pet consults in the afternoon. The end of the week came faster than it had since he‟d arrived in town. “So, how do you like Burreela so far?” The pub closest to the surgery was busy on a Friday night, with every table in the restaurant area filled. Michael could hear punters in the bar area, too, cheering and shouting at regular intervals at the bigscreen TVs playing the latest sports. The waiter placing their meals in front of them gave him a moment to think of a diplomatic answer. “It‟s a bit different to Sydney, that‟s for sure.” Bill snorted. “You can say that again. A bit too different, some would say. Most go from here to Sydney, not the other way around.” Michael shrugged. “I wanted something different. Somewhere quieter. I didn‟t want the same-old, same-old.” “Oh, you‟re too young for same-old, same-old,” Bill scoffed. “Wait ‟til you get to my age. Then everything‟s the same.” Michael wasn‟t about to argue the finer points of boredom with his new boss. “The farm work‟s interesting.” If interesting was another word for terrifying. “Not everyone wants us on their properties, do they?” Bill shrugged. “Times are hard in farming these days, and often there‟s not a lot of money to spare for things that they can do themselves—used to do themselves. But most of them know that if they have a vet out, it saves them money in the long run.” He smiled. “They give you a hard time this week?” “Oh, well. No, not really.” Michael picked up a prawn and started dissecting it. “A fair few of them wished I was you, though. Not that many of them said it, mind you, but there‟s only a few ways „You‟re not Bill!‟ can be taken.” Bill guffawed, causing several of their fellow diners to turn and look at him. “I would have loved to see that.” He cut into his steak, still

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chuckling and shaking his head. “But that‟s the way things go around here, son. People don‟t like change. Once they get used to you, they‟ll be fine. You might not ever be accepted as a native,” he said, “but do a good job and they‟ll like you well enough.” “I‟m trying. I think I did okay this week.” Michael ate his prawn and picked up another, raising his eyebrow at the silence from the other side of the table. “Did I do okay this week?” He went cold and then hot as a horrifying thought occurred to him. “You haven‟t gotten any complaints about me, have you?” Bill almost choked on his steak. “Bloody hell, boy, why would you think that? Of course I haven‟t. Don‟t you think I‟d tell you if I had? Because I would. I‟d take you off farm visits so fast your head‟d spin.” “Oh.” Michael‟s face slowly returned to its normal temperature. “Good. Okay. Just checking.” Bill picked up his beer and drank half of it in one go, staring at Michael while he did it. He put his glass down with a satisfied sigh and picked his knife up again, stabbing his fork in the direction of Michael‟s face before attacking his steak again. “You need to stop that bullshit, and right now. I‟ve been watching you, and you‟re a good vet. Do you think I‟d have hired an idiot?” Michael had no idea. He‟d only known Bill for three weeks. “Um. I don‟t think so?” Bill frowned. “No, I wouldn‟t have. You‟ve just got to get used to it, that‟s all, and you‟ll be fine.” “Okay.” Michael picked up his beer and finished it, then signaled the waiter for another one. The talk moved on to safer topics as they finished their food. The waiter brought them their bill, and they were done for the night. It was one of the more exciting evenings that Michael had had since moving to Burreela. Heading out of the restaurant to the main door of the pub, they stopped to allow a knot of people past them and into the main bar. “Bill? Long time no see, mate.”

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Michael turned his head to see Ryan Mitchell walk up and shake Bill‟s hand, clapping him on the shoulder with his free hand. He was grinning, and Michael‟s stomach twisted at the sight of him. Bill grinned back at Ryan. “Hey there, Ryan. I haven‟t been out and about much.” He tipped his head to the side, toward Michael. “Got to let my up-and-comer learn the lay of the land, right?” Ryan turned the brilliant wattage of his smile on Michael. “Right.” He stuck out his hand. “How‟s the up-and-comer finding the place, then? How long have you been here for?” Briefly dazzled, it was a moment before Michael managed to take Ryan‟s hand. It was warm, and as soon as Michael wrapped his fingers around it, Ryan gripped his hand firmly before pulling away slowly. Michael had to suppress a shiver at the way Ryan‟s fingers trailed over his palm. “I‟ve been here, um… three weeks. So not that long.” He paused. “It‟s pretty different from Sydney, anyway. But that‟s what I wanted.” Ryan nodded. “That‟s why most people move to the country, I suppose.” He looked at both of them. “So, I take it you were leaving? You don‟t want to come into the bar and have a drink?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the bar and smiled again. “The night‟s still young and all that.” Michael opened his mouth to decline, but Bill got there before him. “The night might be young, but I‟m not, and I‟m working this weekend. I‟ll be off.” Bill reached up to clap Michael on the shoulder. “I‟m sure young Michael‟s up for another beer or two, all in the name of being friendly, right Michael?” That told him. Michael nodded and tried for a smile. “Right. I could do with another beer.” “Of course you could,” Ryan said briskly. “My shout.” He nodded at Bill as he took Michael‟s elbow and pulled him forward. “Night, Bill.” Michael looked back at Bill as Ryan continued to pull him toward the bar, but there was no sympathy there; Bill was actually laughing at him. “Night, young fella. Have a good one, and remember: as long as

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you turn up for work on Monday halfway sober, we‟re sweet.” He touched his forehead, still chuckling, turned, and left the pub. Michael turned to look at Ryan, who‟d stopped to watch him, a funny half-smile on his face. His fingers were warm on Michael‟s elbow where they gripped him through his shirt. “What?” Michael asked, trying not to sound freaked out. Or to notice the fall of Ryan‟s hair across his forehead, the fullness of his lips or the tantalizing glimpse of a tanned chest that peeked out from the open neck of his shirt. Ryan smiled at him for a moment more, then shook his head, finally looking away. “Nothing. Come on. When I said it was my shout, I meant it.” The bar was crowded, but Ryan pushed his way through, pulling Michael into the tiny space next to him. “What do you want?” Michael could hardly think through the feeling of being pressed up against Ryan‟s side. “Ah. I don‟t know.” He clutched at the first thing that came to mind. “Beer. Tooheys. Tooheys New.” “Tooheys New it is.” Ryan turned to order their drinks from the barman. “Two bottles of New, please, mate.” He turned back toward Michael and smiled slowly, raising an eyebrow. “I‟ve got something on my face, have I?” “What? No, no, I….” Michael hadn‟t realized he‟d been staring. He tore his gaze away from Ryan, his face heating. “Sorry, I‟m just… tired.” “I‟m sure you are.” Ryan‟s shoulder nudged his gently. “It‟s a big thing, moving from the city to the country. But a drink or two‟ll be just the thing.” Ryan paid the barman and handed Michael‟s drink to him, and Michael took special care that their fingers didn‟t touch. Ryan led him to a table where Ryan‟s brother sat. Andrew Mitchell nodded at Michael with a smile and lifted an eyebrow at his brother, tilting his head toward the beer in Ryan‟s hand. “Nice of you to get me a brew, too, little bro.”

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Ryan looked sheepish. “Yeah, well, I was distracted, wasn‟t I? I can get you one now if you want.” Andrew rolled his eyes, shook his head, and stood. “Don‟t bother. Johnno came by before, and I was just going to shoot a round or two of pool with him anyway. Want to join us?” Ryan glanced at Michael. “In a minute, maybe.” “Suit yourself. Don‟t do anything I wouldn‟t do.” Andrew nodded and made his way over to the pool tables. Ryan nudged Michael into a seat at the table and took the seat next to him. They were silent a moment, just looking at each other, Michael frantically scrabbling around for something to say that wasn‟t, “So, do you come here often?” “Have you lived in Burreela all your life?” Ryan shook his head. “Nah, not always. I was born here, on the farm, but I was away for a few years, in Sydney.” “In Sydney? What were you doing there?” Michael picked up his beer again, watching Ryan over the length of the bottle as he took a sip. “I was a policeman for a while, actually. I was in the mounted police,” Ryan answered, his tone light as if he expected some reaction to that. He got one; Michael breathed in a mouthful of beer and choked, almost coughing up a lung before he could manage to breathe again. “A policeman?” “Mounted police, yeah.” Ryan smiled and looked down at his beer bottle, fingers teasing at the label. “Is there something wrong with that?” “No! No, of course not, I just… it was just a surprise, that‟s all. I didn‟t expect—I mean, you don‟t look much like a cop, do you?” Michael could feel his face going red as Ryan shrugged and looked up at him, his hair falling across his forehead in a way that made Michael want to tangle his fingers in it. “I don‟t know. What does a cop look like?”

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“Well, I don‟t know. Not like you,” Michael said lamely. God, he was making an idiot of himself. He took a long swallow of his beer, conscious all the time of Ryan‟s eyes on him, and moved on to a safer topic. “What made you quit? If you don‟t mind me asking.” Ryan smiled slightly. “I don‟t mind. It‟s nothing bad. Or not bad for me, anyway.” He shrugged. “Dad had an accident about a year ago. He broke his leg and was pretty much stuck in the house. Andrew needed someone to help him run the farm, so I volunteered.” Michael frowned. “Couldn‟t he have just hired someone to help him?” “I suppose he could have, but I couldn‟t have lived with that.” Ryan took a swig of his beer, and glanced over his shoulder, toward where Andrew stood at the nearest pool table, bent over to play his first shot. “Money‟s tight, you know. Farming‟s not the money earner it used to be, and family farms like ours aren‟t all that common anymore. I wasn‟t having my own father pay someone to do the job I could do with one hand tied behind my back.” He shrugged again, looking Michael straight in the eye. “It‟s family, isn‟t it? You do what you can for family.” Some people did. Other people‟s families, not his own. The less said about his family, the better. “Oh yeah, of course.” He took another pull of his beer, surprised to find it almost empty. Draining it, he put it down on the table in front of him. “That went down easy.” “They always go down easy on a Friday night.” Ryan smiled and took a mouthful of his own beer. “So what about your family, Michael? Are you close to them?” Michael stood. “I think I need another beer first. Want one?” Even in the relative darkness of the bar, Michael saw Ryan‟s gaze sharpen. He wasn‟t fooled for a second by Michael‟s diversionary tactics. “Sure. Same as before ‟s fine.” “Okay, no problem.” Michael turned and went to the bar, feeling Ryan‟s gaze on him all the way there. He refused to look, not wanting to confirm if Ryan was staring at him, or that he wasn‟t and Michael

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just had an overactive imagination. By the time he started heading back, Ryan‟s attention was fixed on the television above his head, but he turned quickly enough when Michael approached. “Thanks.” Ryan put his new beer on a coaster, pushing the empties to the middle of the table. “So. Family?” Michael sat back down on his stool, his stomach sinking. “Yes, family.” He paused. “Not much to tell, really. We‟re not that close. Well, I… I‟m not that close to my parents. Parent. Dad. There‟s only my dad left now. Mum died about two years ago. Cancer.” “I‟m sorry to hear that.” And he did look sorry, and sound it, despite the fact that he didn‟t seem to have a mother himself. Not that Michael had bothered to ask him. “Yeah, well.” Michael started picking at the label on his beer. “Thanks. I‟m sorry too.” He was quiet a moment, then sighed and attempted a smile. “Sorry. Didn‟t mean to be a downer.” Ryan waved a hand dismissively. “God, don‟t worry about that. Besides, you‟re not a downer.” He paused. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” That at least was safe ground. “Yeah, a sister. She‟s a couple of years older than me. She‟s married, lives in Sydney with her husband and kids.” “You don‟t see her much?” Michael shrugged. “I see her as often as I can. She‟s… she‟s the only family member I talk to nowadays.” Ryan looked sorry he‟d asked, and Michael could completely understand that. “Sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn‟t bore you with my family shit. It‟s not interesting at all.” “Michael, it‟s fine, honestly.” “It‟s not really,” Michael said, deciding to change the subject again. “How‟s Charlie?” “Hmm?” Ryan frowned, but then his face cleared. “Oh, Charlie. She‟s good. Healing really well, by the looks of things. She won‟t have

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much of a scar, I don‟t think.” He paused. “You can come out and see her if you want to.” “Oh, well, if there‟s no need to… I wouldn‟t want to come out for no reason. You don‟t need any unnecessary bills, I‟m sure.” Ryan shrugged. “So make it a social call.” He smiled at Michael‟s expression. “What?” “Nothing, I just… I‟m surprised, that‟s all.” “Why‟s that?” Michael shrugged. “I don‟t know. Because I haven‟t been here that long.” Ryan took a swig of his beer. “What difference does that make?” “I don‟t know,” Michael said again. “I suppose it doesn‟t make a difference.” Ryan was watching him intently. “No, it doesn‟t. So you can come over whenever you like.” He paused. “To see Charlie.” Michael nodded. “Right. Of course. To see Charlie. See how she‟s doing.” “Right,” Ryan said, looking at him over his beer bottle as he took another sip. Michael picked up his beer and drained it. “Want another?” Ryan laughed. “You might want to think about going easy there, tiger,” he said. “You might regret it a bit later on.” Michael dismissed that with a wave of his hand. It wasn't that he didn‟t think it was true, but right then he didn‟t really care. It was either drink lots or die of embarrassment. Or go trawling for a drug dealer so he could get high. Not that he thought that the mean streets of Burreela held many drug dealers, which, after all, was the reason he‟d come here in the first place. “I‟ll be fine. You don‟t want one, I take it?” Ryan shook his head. “No, I‟m right, thanks.” Michael nodded and went to the bar.

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AFTER a while, he lost count of how many drinks he‟d had, but socializing got a lot easier, which was a relief. Ryan was a funny guy, and for some reason he seemed to like talking to Michael, which was puzzling, but it must have been because drunk Michael was a whole lot more fun than not-drunk Michael. Michael chose not to analyze it any further than that. They continued shouting each other rounds, and at some stage later on in the night Michael realized—dimly—that he‟d switched to spirits, and that was probably a bad sign, especially when it meant he had trouble keeping his eyes off Ryan‟s ass when he bent over to play his shot in pool. He stayed with Ryan and Andrew until closing time, and when he got up from his seat, he realized that he was a lot less steady on his feet than he thought he‟d be, which was also bad. Concentrating as hard as he could got him moving out of the bar, and he made it to the pub door with, if not grace, then his dignity intact. The night sky was clear, the lack of clouds leeching the heat of the day out of the air, and Michael closed his eyes in relief as he stepped outside and the slight breeze cooled his sweaty brow. As he stood, swaying slightly, someone took hold of his elbow. “You all right to get home, mate?” Michael opened his eyes to see Ryan standing next to him. “What?” It was Ryan‟s hand on his arm. Michael suppressed a shiver and said, “Oh, yeah. Of course. I‟m fine, totally fine.” Ryan smiled, but his gaze was assessing. “You sure about that?” Michael frowned. “Of course I‟m sure. I‟m an adult. Perfectly capable of getting myself home, thank you.” “Okay. Just checking.” Ryan removed his hand, Michael immediately mourning the lack of contact. “I guess I‟ll see you ‟round, then.” “I guess,” Michael said vaguely. Andrew was standing a little way off with a couple of his and Ryan‟s friends, talking among themselves. “Your friends are waiting for you. I better go.” He waved in the general direction of the others and turned on his heel, starting to walk slowly up the street.

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It wasn‟t long before he realized that he should have gotten a taxi, if such a thing even existed in Burreela, which he didn‟t think it did, what with everything being mostly within walking distance of everywhere else. The desire to sit down—lie down, even—was almost overwhelming, but he forced himself to keep shuffling along. The surgery was two or three blocks away, not that far if he just kept walking. He just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. There weren‟t that many people around, just the ones who had been in the pub making their way home, and Michael ignored them, just concentrating on keeping moving. He felt like he‟d walked for miles, but when he turned to look back at how far he‟d come, he was barely five hundred meters up the road from the pub. He could have cried, might have cried, even, if when he looked back he hadn‟t seen Ryan jogging up the footpath toward him. “Hey,” Ryan said when he caught up to Michael. Michael stopped. “Hey. What are you doing?” Ryan shrugged. “Thought you might want some company.” Michael frowned. “I said I was all right to get home.” “I know. I just wanted to make sure.” “Well, I‟m fine, so you can go back to your friends.” Michael turned to keep moving, stumbling a little as his movement made his head swim. Ryan reached out to grab his arm again, and for the briefest moment, Michael considered just leaving it there. But in the end, pride won out. He steadied himself, closed his eyes, then said, “I‟m fine, Ryan, really. You don‟t have to hold my arm like that.” “Okay.” Ryan‟s hand stayed where it was for a moment, then dropped away. “But let me walk with you. Please.” “You don‟t have to.” “I know. But maybe I want to.” Michael opened his eyes and looked over at Ryan, his heart starting to beat faster in his chest, which just made him feel even more lightheaded. “Why would you want to do that?” Ryan smiled. “Because I want to. So just let me, all right?”

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Michael looked at Ryan for a moment or two longer in silence, but Ryan just kept smiling at him. He had a really great smile. Michael frowned again. “All right. But you don‟t have to steady me. I can walk.” “Right. No steadying,” Ryan said, and they started their slow way up the street again. In actual fact, there was some steadying, when Michael tripped over some uneven piece of footpath, or when he weaved a little too unsteadily and accidentally bumped into Ryan. But Ryan kept the contact brief, letting go when Michael regained his equilibrium, so Michael didn‟t say anything else. They reached the surgery after what felt like forever to Michael, and he resisted the temptation to crumple into the doorway right there and then, mainly because the door to his flat was around the side of the surgery and up a flight of stairs. “Okay, we‟re here now,” he said to Ryan when they were at the surgery door. “Thanks for seeing me home.” Ryan shrugged. “That‟s okay. But you‟ve still got a little way to go before you‟re home.” He smiled a little. “I offer a door-to-door service.” Michael looked at Ryan, a mixture of sudden lust and dread settling like a rock in his belly. “You can‟t come in.” Ryan laughed, but just for a moment, Michael thought he saw a look in Ryan‟s eyes that didn‟t go with the lighthearted attitude. “Okay, that‟s fine. I didn‟t say I was going to.” “Yeah, right. I know that.” Michael flushed and turned away, walking around the corner of the building, bumping into it as he negotiated the turn. This time Ryan didn‟t try to steady him. He pulled himself up the stairs through force of will and a firm grip on the railing, Ryan just behind him. At the top of the stairs he paused. “Okay. You can go now.” Ryan stepped onto the landing and leaned back against the railing. “You know, if I didn‟t know better, I‟d think you wanted to get rid of me, Michael.”

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Quite the opposite. But that was the problem. Michael was really in no condition to be able to do anything, but even knowing that, he still couldn‟t trust himself not to end up on his knees within five minutes of letting Ryan into his flat, and tomorrow morning he‟d wake up with the taste of come in his mouth and only the fuzziest recollection of the event itself, and he‟d promised himself he wouldn‟t be that person anymore. He stepped up to his door and leaned his forehead against it, sighing softly. “It‟s not that, I‟m just… tired, that‟s all. Tired and pissed as a newt, and I need to go to bed.” He paused. “Sorry.” Ryan was silent for so long that Michael was torn between the urge to turn around and see what was up and the urge to run away. Running away won out. He jammed his hand in his pocket to get his keys and started fumbling to get his door unlocked. He couldn‟t seem to find the bloody lock in the dark, and he cursed himself for not leaving a light on as panic started to clutch at his throat. “Sorry, I‟ve got to go—” “It‟s all right.” Suddenly Ryan‟s voice was right behind him. Michael started to turn, but then Ryan was right there, the warmth of him right up against Michael‟s back. Michael froze, but Ryan just reached out and took the keys from him, trying a couple in the lock before hitting on the right one, unlocking the door, and pushing it open gently, the movement pressing his chest to Michael‟s back. He didn‟t seem to notice Michael‟s sharp intake of breath at the contact. After he opened the door, he grabbed Michael‟s hand and tucked the keys back into his palm, their fingers brushing as Michael‟s closed over the keys. “There you go,” he said softly, stepping back again. The air at Michael‟s back felt suddenly cold, and he shivered, staring down at the keys in his hand. “Oh. Thanks.” He stood still for a moment, then shook himself out of his stupor and stepped over his threshold. When he turned back, Ryan was leaning back against the railing again, his arms folded across his chest, watching him. “Thanks, Ryan.” Ryan smiled weakly and inclined his head. “No worries,” he said, and pushed himself up off the railing. “Night, Michael.”

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“Night.” Michael waited until Ryan was stepping onto the top step before saying, “You‟ll be all right to get back to your friends?” Ryan turned to look at him, and this time the smile was a little more genuine. “Yeah, I‟ll be all right. Don‟t worry about me.” Michael nodded. “Right. No. I won‟t.” He stood in the doorway until Ryan turned the corner of the building, then closed the door and went to bed, trying not to think about what an idiot he was or how much he‟d regret this in the morning.

HE WAS sitting in his living room clutching a glass of fizzy vitamin B with a couple of aspirin thrown in for good measure and contemplating whether he was going to be able to keep it all down, when the phone rang. He jumped, swearing loudly when his glass almost ended up dumped in his lap. Quickly setting it down on his coffee table and wiping his hands on his pajama pants, he reached for the phone, closing his eyes and swallowing hard when the sudden movement made his head spin and his stomach lurch. “Hello?” His voice came out a weak, wavering croak. There was sudden laughter in his ear. “I take it you were out last night?” He sighed and kept his eyes closed, putting a hand up to rub at his forehead. “It‟s really not funny, Jen.” “Oh, yes, it is.” His sister laughed again. “What were you drinking?” “Beer. And then maybe… bourbon. Yeah, bourbon.” Michael‟s stomach lurched again, and he opened his eyes and reached for the hangover cure, cradling it against his chest. “Well then, you deserve whatever you get, little brother. You know you can‟t hold your spirits.” He pressed the glass against his forehead. “Yeah, I know.” He did too; when he‟d been in Sydney, he had hardly drunk at all, preferring his nights out to be enhanced by more chemical means, believing in

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better living through narcotics. Not that Jen knew that. “But it was an accident. Well. Not an accident, exactly. I was… making friends.” Sort of. “Oh, yeah?” She sounded pleased. “That‟s good, Mikey. That‟s worth a hangover or two.” “Yeah.” “Anyway, I—hey! Hang on, I‟ve got to—” There was a sudden squealing in the background, and Jen put the phone down with a clunk and went to break up the fight between her children. Michael could hear her scolding them, and Jack, his oldest nephew, whining about it. He closed his eyes and took a tentative sip of the fizzy orange stuff and waited for his stomach to revolt. Nothing happened, so he took another sip while he waited for Jen to come back on the phone. He could hear her talking to someone else now, and recognized the voice of his brother-in-law. He could hear Jen telling him to take the kids outside as she picked up the phone again. “Sorry,” she said, sounding harried now. “Jack needs to learn to share.” “Right.” He took another sip of his fizzy stuff. “Did you call for a reason?” He didn‟t want to be rude, but God he wanted to lie down again. Jen didn‟t take offense. “Yeah, I did, actually. Ethan‟s going away to a conference in a few weeks, and I was thinking that I‟d bring the kids up to visit you for a few days.” “Really?” Michael couldn‟t help but smile at the thought of it; he didn‟t miss much about Sydney, but he did miss Jen. “I‟d like that. I‟d like it a lot.” They talked for a little while longer, talking dates and transport, places to stay and things to do, and when they hung up Michael was feeling a whole lot better. His head still pounded, but he finished his drink and went into the kitchen to attempt to make himself some food he could actually stomach. He was in the middle of frying bacon to a crisp, just the way he liked it, when the phone rang again. It‟d be Jen again, with some other thing she‟d forgotten to tell him. She was

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always doing that. He jogged out to answer it, pressing it against the side of his face with his shoulder as he headed back into the kitchen. “Forgot something, did you?” There was silence on the other end of the phone, and then a much more masculine voice said, with a hint of a laugh in his tone, “Ah… I don‟t think so. I‟d say out of the two of us, you were the one who was going to forget something. Last night, anyway.” Now Michael was the one who was silent as his sluggish brain slowly processed what had been said to him. “Ryan?” The other man chuckled, a throaty noise that went straight to Michael‟s groin. “So you haven‟t forgotten me, then.” “Forgotten you? No, no, there‟s no way I‟d forget someone like— oh. I mean, I—” Ryan laughed again. “I know what you mean, Michael.” That struck Michael dumb again, as he stood in the middle of his kitchen, spatula held limply in his hand while his bacon spat and sizzled in the pan. It was Ryan who broke the silence again. “I just called to see how you were feeling. You were pretty shitfaced last night.” Michael closed his eyes, his face heating. “Yeah, I—I was. Sorry about that.” “Don‟t be sorry,” Ryan said, and Michael thought he sounded sincere. Hoped that he was. “You were fine. All in good fun, right?” “Right.” The smell of smoke alerted Michael to the fact that his bacon was burning. As he leaned over to lift it off the stove, something occurred to him. “How did you get my number?” “I rang the vet‟s and the answering machine gave it to me. You‟re the one on call outside of hours, right?” There was no trace of embarrassment or nervousness in Ryan‟s answer at all. “Oh. Yeah, right. I am. Sometimes. Not right now. We take turns working on the weekends. Me and Bill.” Michael winced; he could not

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be sounding more like an idiot if he tried. “Sorry. I‟m not really with it just yet.” “No worries,” Ryan said, then paused. “I suppose I better let you go and let you get back to it,” he said eventually. Michael found himself reluctant to let Ryan go. “I wasn‟t really doing anything important. Aside from feeling sorry for myself, of course. And trying not to throw up. I suppose that‟s pretty important, although maybe some people wouldn‟t say so.” He was babbling again. He stopped, took a deep breath. “Anyway. My point is, you didn‟t interrupt anything.” “I‟m glad. Even so, I should let you go.” Ryan paused again. “Maybe I‟ll see you around sometime?” Michael‟s heart leapt for a moment, until he ruthlessly crushed all hopeful thoughts. “See you around sometime” was what people said to each other all the time. It didn‟t mean anything, not that they were going to see you and not that they even wanted to. “Sure, yeah. That‟d be good.” “I think so,” Ryan said, and there was a smile in his voice. “Take care, Michael.” With that, he hung up. Michael listened to the dial tone for a few dazed seconds before returning the phone to its cradle. It was hours before he managed to think of anything other than Ryan Mitchell.

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FEBRUARY THE waiting room of the surgery seemed full of people when Michael opened the consulting room door to lead Astrid and her little dog Oscar over to reception. In her seventies, Astrid wasn‟t the steadiest, so Michael took her arm as he led her to the cash register with Oscar trotting behind, only letting go when he had her safely navigated through the crowd and to the front desk. He went to the shelves and fished out a packet of worming tablets and some oatmeal shampoo before heading back to the desk. “Here are your worming tablets and some shampoo for his rash,” he said to Astrid. “If you can‟t stop him running through things he‟s allergic to, then this is the next best thing. Just follow the directions on the back of the bottle and it‟ll fix him right up.” “Okay.” Astrid nodded and picked up the bottle, and Michael didn‟t miss the widening of her eyes when she saw the price tag. “Oh. It‟s… that‟s a lot of money for such a little bottle.” “I know, but it‟ll last you a while. You only use a little bit. And it really does work.” Astrid hesitated for a moment, then put the bottle back on the counter. “All right. How much do I owe you?” Michael glanced over at Natalie, but she was still busy, so he rang up the goods. “That‟s eighty dollars with the consultation,” he said, as neutrally as he could. Astrid blanched, but after a moment‟s pause she got out her purse, taking out a wad of bills and putting them on the counter. “That‟s for

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the consultation,” she said, then started to count out coins slowly, avoiding his gaze. Michael‟s heart ached as he watched her count out the money, knowing that there wasn‟t going to be enough. For all he knew that money was supposed to buy her groceries for the week. “Listen,” he said, putting his hand on top of hers, stilling them. “You put that back. Don‟t worry about the shampoo.” Astrid looked confused. “But… you said he‟s got to have it. I don‟t want him to go without the things he needs.” So she would buy the things for the dog and go without herself. Michael shook his head. “I‟ll get it, all right? So he won‟t go without.” He took the money for the consult and picked out enough from the coins on the counter for the worming tablets, then gestured at the remainder. “Take that back. I‟ll get it.” Astrid shook her head. “Michael, love, you can‟t. I‟ll—” “No. I can,” Michael said firmly, shaking his head back at her. “Take that money back.” He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “You can bake me a cake, how‟s that?” Astrid was famous for her baking. “I love a good bit of sponge cake.” Astrid looked at him, her expression still tense. “Are you sure?” “Absolutely.” Michael slid the worming tablets toward himself and put them in a bag with the shampoo. “Don‟t give it another thought.” He handed her the bag. She finally gave in, catching his hand after she took the bag and squeezing it. “Thank you, love. You‟re a good boy.” Michael smiled as brightly as he could. He wasn‟t, but no one here needed to know that. “I know. Now, you go home and use some of that shampoo on Oscar, and it‟ll bring the inflammation right down.” “I will. And thanks again, Michael, really.” She squeezed his hand again and turned for the door, Oscar in tow. Michael watched her go, and then opened the till, putting her consult money into it before glancing up at the waiting room. Both Natalie and Bill were busy talking to customers, so Michael got his

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wallet out of his back pocket and took out a twenty dollar bill, putting it into the cash register and closing the drawer with a sigh. Running his finger down the list of appointments to see who was next, he looked up when someone approached the desk—straight into the smiling face of Ryan Mitchell. “Does Bill know that you pay for customers who can‟t afford things?” Michael felt his face heating. “I don‟t do it for everyone. And no, I don‟t think so. I don‟t want him to know. So I‟d appreciate it if you didn‟t tell him.” Ryan held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I won‟t tell him.” He smiled again. “You‟re a bit of a softie, aren‟t you? Animals and old ladies have got you wrapped around their little fingers.” Michael‟s face got hotter. “No! I‟m not a softie at all. She needn‟t go without food or something just because Oscar can‟t stop running through plants he‟s allergic to. That‟s not being soft. It‟s being practical.” “Practical. Okay.” Ryan‟s smile broadened. “Whatever you say, Michael.” Michael frowned at him. “Are you here for more than just giving me a hard time?” Ryan laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world. “I was, but now that I know how much fun giving you a hard time is, I might have to do it more often.” He grinned when Michael didn‟t stop frowning. “I ordered some vitamins. Nat rang and said they‟d come in.” “I‟ll check.” Michael felt Ryan‟s gaze still on him as he stepped back to look at the shelves where they kept all their pre-orders, picking Ryan‟s package up and reading the note attached to it. “You‟ve already paid for this?” Ryan nodded. “Sure have. They‟re expensive, so I always pay when I order.” His smile turned sly. “Pity I‟m not an old lady, right? Then I might get a discount.”

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“Then you might get sweet fuck all,” Michael said brightly, trying to ignore the way Ryan‟s fingers brushed his hand when he handed the package over. Ryan laughed again. “Well, well! Grumpiness from Dr. Stone! This is a new side to you, Michael.” He leaned closer, glancing around for a second before saying softly, “Better watch out. I might like grumpy Michael. I might like grumpy Michael better than shy, blushing Michael, and that‟s saying something.” Michael‟s heart leapt into his throat, and he was suddenly back to shy, blushing Michael again. “Is it?” Ryan nodded. “It is.” He straightened and stepped back, smiling at Michael, his gaze dropping to Michael‟s mouth as he said, “I better go. I‟ll see you soon, Michael.” Ryan turned on his heel and walked out without a backward glance, slapping Bill on the back as he passed him. Michael stood and gaped at the surgery door until Natalie came and nudged him out of the way of the cash register, reminding him that he had work to do, and no time to moon over Ryan bloody Mitchell.

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MARCH “YOU know, when I said I‟d see you soon, I wasn‟t picturing it quite like this.” That might have made Michael wonder exactly how Ryan had pictured it, if he didn‟t have his arm shoved most of the way up a cow‟s backside, his face uncomfortably close to nether regions that he really didn‟t want his face anywhere near. And if he wasn‟t pouring with sweat, sweat that was stinging his eyes, soaking the inside of his hat, and plastering his hair to his forehead and his clothes to his skin. Sweat wasn‟t the only thing on his clothes, either. He didn‟t even want to think about what that brown streak down the front of his overalls was. He supposed he should be glad it wasn‟t on his shirt. “Funny.” Michael started to pull his hand back, grimacing as the cow‟s muscles spasmed around his arm as it moved. Once his arm was out, he stepped back. “This one‟s pregnant.” Grinning from his perch on the side of the run, Ryan took an aerosol can from his lap and sprayed a stripe of bright yellow paint on the cow‟s rump and tail, then signaled to his father to raise the gate at the far end, slapping the heifer on the rump to make her move. He held up a hand to his brother, sitting on horseback out with the rest of the herd, and Andrew cut another cow from the pack and pressed her toward the run, one of the dogs harrying her up it. Michael hopped onto the fence, trying not to touch anything with his plastic-covered arm. When he turned to face Ryan, Ryan was obviously still finding all this hilarious. When Michael lifted an arm to swipe the sweat from his face

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and almost wiped cow muck and lube all over it instead, Ryan actually laughed out loud. Michael glared at him. “I‟m glad you‟re finding all this so amusing.” “Oh, I am. You‟re the funniest thing we‟ve had around here for ages.” Ryan‟s gaze traveled from his face down to his throat and chest; ordinarily, that would have made Michael squirm, but right then he was too hot and tired to care. “You‟re looking a little hot, there.” “Oh, really? I can‟t imagine why.” The cow in position, he sighed and jumped down into the run, grasping her tail and pulling it to the side, unable to keep from making a face again as he pushed his hand into the cow‟s body, her muscles constricting around his wrist. He looked up at Ryan, who was staring down at him still, his face halfshadowed by the brim of his hat. “What?” Ryan chuckled. “Nothing. This is your last job of the day, right? Tell you what, after we‟ve finished here, stay for a beer. You‟ll need to replace some of that fluid you‟ve sweated out there.” “Ah….” That got through Michael‟s bad mood and fatigue. He knew he should say no, but what the hell. He deserved it, after this. “Okay. Thanks, I will.” Michael paused, turning his attention back to his job for just a moment. There was no telltale lump indicating a growing calf in this one. He felt around for a minute longer, just to make sure, then began to pull his arm back again. “Not pregnant.” That made Ryan sober a little bit. “Right.” When Michael stepped back, he leaned forward with another spray can. This time, the stripe on the cow‟s rump was bright red. That went on for fifty more cows, or sixty, Michael lost count. All he knew was that eventually there was a point where his back, neck, and arm couldn‟t really hurt any more. He knew it had to be bad, because he couldn‟t even rustle up any enthusiasm for the fact that Ryan Mitchell‟s crotch was at a nice head height when Michael was down in the run or apprehension about the continuous chatter that Ryan kept up—chatter that could almost be considered flirting, if Michael had thought that Ryan was even remotely the flirting type.

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He stepped back from the last cow with a sigh of relief. “Pregnant, and the last one, thank God.” He stripped the plastic sheath off his arm carefully, trying not to get any more muck on him than he already had. Ryan jumped down from the fence after spraying the heifer‟s rump and herding her toward his father and the open run gate. “Ready for that beer now?” “I was ready about an hour ago.” Michael tucked the balled-up arm sheath and gloves into a plastic bag, then turned to Ryan. “Have you got somewhere I can throw these, and where I can wash up a bit?” Ryan plucked the plastic bag out of Michael‟s hand with a smile. “Sure. Come this way.” He turned and led the way out of the run, heading across the yard to a small shed near the main house. “There‟s a laundry in here. You can wash up in the sink. There should be soap there.” Opening the door, Ryan stopped dead in the doorway, so suddenly that Michael ran straight into his back. It was like hitting a brick wall. “God, Ryan, sorry, I—what is it?” Michael stammered, when he finally noticed the tense set of Ryan‟s shoulders. “Snake,” Ryan said shortly, and Michael barely had time to choke out a startled, “What?” when Ryan moved again, stepping back into Michael and pushing him backward with a sharp, “Back up. Quick. Quickly,” grabbing Michael‟s wrist to keep him steady when he stumbled. Finally he stopped, and Michael watched in horror as a tancolored snake came slithering out of the shadowed doorway of the shed and around the edge of it, disappearing into a patch of long grass and stunted bushes around the corner. Ryan stepped away from him, turning to smile at him grimly. “Sorry. Brown snake. Not really something you want watching you wash up.” Michael knew he was still gaping at Ryan. He could feel his eyes practically bugging out of their sockets. He closed his mouth with a snap and tried to pull himself together. “Ah. No.” He paused, shaking his head. “Wow. I‟m really in the country, aren‟t I?”

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Ryan was smiling again. “Yep, you sure are. But if you‟ve been here a couple of months, I‟m surprised you haven‟t seen one already.” “I‟m bloody glad I haven‟t!” Michael said with a shudder. Ryan smiled. “You city fellas, I don‟t know,” he teased. “Don‟t like snakes, huh?” Michael shook his head. “Does anyone?” “You‟re a vet, though.” “So? As far as I‟m concerned, „all creatures great and small‟ doesn‟t include snakes. Or spiders. Or cockroaches.” Ryan chuckled. “I get the picture.” He pointed to a towel hanging on a peg on the wall next to the laundry sink. “You can dry your hands on that. It should be clean enough.” He stepped back so that Michael could get in the doorway. “I‟ll go get the beers and meet you back here.” “Thanks.” Michael watched Ryan walk away, then turned his attention back to the laundry, peering into it for any sign of movement. It was pitch black inside compared with the brightness outside, and Michael found himself squinting. He couldn‟t imagine how Ryan had managed to see anything in there. It had to have been some sort of sixth sense that you got from living out here. He was concentrating so hard that when something brushed against his leg he almost jumped six feet into the air. He clutched at his chest, his heart pounding as Murphy the Labrador circled ‟round him, grinning up at Michael with his tongue hanging out. “Murphy! Jesus, you scared me,” Michael said as his heart attempted to regain a normal rhythm. Murphy went into the shed without a care in the world, sniffing and snuffling around the floor. Michael was quite happy for him to be doing that. “Yeah, that‟s it, do that. Eat any snakes you find. That‟s a good boy.” He waited a moment, but when Murphy‟s snuffling didn‟t flush out any more reptiles, Michael figured it was safe to go in, urging the dog out of the small space as he did so.

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Unclipping the bib of his overalls and stripping his shirt off, Michael put his hat on top of the washing machine and picked up the soap balanced on the side of the sink, scrubbing both arms with it, past the elbow. Rinsing off, he scrubbed them again, listening to the faint sounds of the Mitchell brothers talking out in the yard. Ryan didn‟t seem to be in any hurry to bring him his beer, so Michael took advantage of the extra time and splashed his face and neck as well, moaning with relief as the cold water ran over his overheated skin. Splashing the back of his neck, Michael grabbed for the towel on the wall, but before he could press his face into it, a sound from behind him and a change in the quality of the light made him turn around, to see Ryan leaning against the door frame, two beers in his hands. Michael could feel himself flushing. “Oh. Sorry, I… I was a bit hot.” Outlined by the afternoon sun, Ryan‟s face was in shadow again, but Michael could still feel his gaze. He cleared his throat to speak again, to fill the silence, but then Ryan moved, straightening up and pulling away from the doorway. “Don‟t worry about it,” Ryan said hoarsely, clearing his throat. “You make yourself comfortable.” Ryan smiled, but it didn‟t reach his eyes. “Want that beer now? We can even drink it in the shade, if you want.” “In the snake-free shade, I hope.” Ryan smiled more sincerely now. “Yes, in the snake-free shade.” He held out a beer bottle to Michael. “Come on.” Michael shrugged his shirt back on, took the bottle, and followed Ryan across the yard and into the stables, Murphy ranging ahead of them. Ryan made a show of checking the stables for any undesirables, then pulled down a couple of hay bales for them to sit on between the rows of stalls at the back of the building. They sat and drank their beer for a while in silence, and for once Michael was the one to break it. “How‟s Charlie?” Ryan smiled. “She‟s good. The wound healed really well. You‟d hardly know she was hurt there, unless you know where to look.” He paused. “You did a really good job.”

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Michael felt a swell of pride at that. “Thanks. I haven‟t done much horse work.” He was expecting some scorn at that, but Ryan just nodded and said, “Of course. No reason you would have, being a city vet. Must be a big change, going from just cats and dogs to horses and cows.” Michael nodded. “Yeah. It‟s definitely been a steep learning curve. But I‟m doing all right, I think.” Ryan nodded again, and took a sip of his beer. “So, ah… did you leave anyone behind in Sydney? Besides family.” To Michael‟s surprise, Ryan‟s cheeks flushed, and he laughed a little, bowing his head and rubbing his forehead. “A significant other, I suppose you‟d call it. Partner.” Michael got the picture. For a moment he couldn‟t answer, his heart was beating so hard it was all he could focus on. “Ah. No. No, I didn‟t. I… was pretty messed up with my mum dying and all. That‟s not really good for anyone.” “Right. Yeah, I see what you‟re saying.” Ryan paused. “Out in the country, it can be hard. To find someone. Someone who thinks the way you do.” Ryan looked up, looking into Michael‟s eyes for several long moments before dropping his gaze to Michael‟s mouth and then down again at the bottle in his hands as he rolled it between his palms slowly. “But sometimes you can be lucky.” “You‟re not seeing anyone?” As soon as it was out of his mouth, Michael wanted to slap himself, more for the fact that he wasn‟t sure what answer he wanted to hear than that he‟d asked the question at all. “Not at the moment, no.” Ryan took a sip of his beer and avoided Michael‟s eyes. “I‟ve been busy with the farm and getting Charlie trained up. But lately I‟ve been thinking that it‟s time things changed in that department.” He looked up at Michael again and smiled, just a slight upward quirk of his lips. “I‟ve got a feeling that luck might be on my side, if I play my cards right.” Michael stared at Ryan, and the silence stretched between them. Finally, Michael said, “I‟ve never been that lucky.”

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Ryan looked at him for a few moments in silence. “You never know. Maybe your luck‟s about to change too.” He paused for a moment, then leaned in toward Michael, and Michael‟s heart kicked into overdrive as Ryan closed the distance between them. Ryan lifted his hand up to grasp Michael‟s shoulder, but a second before he did, there was a noise just outside the stables and Andrew‟s voice came loud and clear down the row of stalls. “Ryan? Dad‟s looking for you, bro. He wants to run through some numbers with you.” Ryan‟s intent expression faltered, and he bowed his head for a moment, swearing softly under his breath. He stood up, his hand lingering on Michael‟s shoulder until finally he pulled it away, his fingers brushing Michael‟s neck lightly before the contact between them was lost. “Tell him I‟m coming,” Ryan said to Andrew before he turned back to Michael. “Sorry, I—this is bad timing. I‟ve got to go. I‟ll speak to you later. Stay and finish your beer.” Michael watched him walk off, his beer forgotten in his hand. Murphy pushed under his arm and rested his head on Michael‟s knee, and Michael absently stroked the dog‟s head with a shaking hand as his heartbeat gradually returned to normal, a confusing mix of relief and disappointment replacing its wild beating. He stayed in the stables long enough for his legs to feel like they‟d carry him, then he got up and crossed the yard to his ute. The Mitchell men were standing in a huddle on the veranda of the main house, and Michael pulled himself together enough to give them a cursory wave goodbye. He caught Ryan‟s gaze, and held it all the way to the car, until he got in and turned the ute around to head down the driveway. He watched Ryan in his rearview mirror until he couldn‟t see him anymore. When he got home and went to take a shower, there was a message on his answering machine. He pressed the play button, and Ryan‟s voice filled his living room. “Michael, hi, I… I‟m sorry we didn‟t get to finish our beer. There‟s always next time, though, right?” There was a long pause, and Ryan cleared his throat. “Anyway. I just wanted to say that, and also that if ever you just want to come around, to hang out or whatever,

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that‟d be great. I mean, I‟d really like that. So… I suppose that‟s all. I‟ll… hopefully I‟ll see you soon, then.” Michael listened to the click of the receiver and the beeps following after, leaning down to erase the message before pulling his hand back without pressing the delete button. He headed for the shower, trying not to think about what had happened at the farm. His cock had other ideas, and his brain supplied him with pictures of more than just kissing. He ended the shower slumped against the shower wall, panting and watching the water wash his come down the drain before he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. He was really in trouble if an almost-kiss sent him into a frenzy of desire. It was like being thirteen again but a million times worse. Michael hadn‟t felt anything like it before—not sober, anyway—and he didn‟t like it. He didn‟t like it one bit.

MICHAEL had promised himself when he came to Burreela that he‟d live a quiet life, that he‟d go to work, do a good job, and keep out of trouble. Ryan Mitchell, as far as Michael was concerned, was the complete opposite of quiet and trouble-free. He dealt with his Ryanrelated issues by ignoring them completely, avoiding going out to the Mitchell farm by throwing himself into every other kind of work that he could lay his hands on. He was just starting to regain his equilibrium when another kind of distraction arrived in the form of his sister. She had impeccable timing, as always. “God, look at you! You‟re so brown now.” Michael hugged Jen tight, lifting her off her feet for a moment. “Yeah. It‟s all the farm work I do now. Eventually even I manage to start tanning.” Jen smiled and stepped back a little, touching the brim of his Akubra. “This doesn‟t look so new anymore.” Michael smiled ruefully. “That‟s because it keeps getting knocked off into the dirt and trampled by cows and horses.”

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Jen laughed. “Wow. There‟s a sentence I never thought you‟d say. It‟s like you‟re a cowboy now or something.” “Hardly.” They were standing on the footpath outside the clinic, and Michael jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. “Want to meet my boss?” “Yes, definitely. I‟ll just get the kids.” Michael helped Jen extract the kids from the car, and they walked inside, Michael ignoring how Bill and Natalie had been standing at the cash register gawking at them the whole time. The bell over the door tinkled as they entered, and Bill and Natalie pasted innocent looks on their faces as they approached the counter. Michael rolled his eyes. “Bill, Nat, this is my sister Jen, and her kids, Jack and Lilly.” Bill came around the counter, and Jen let go of Jack‟s hand to shake Bill‟s, hitching Lilly up on her hip. “Pleased to finally meet you,” she said. “Likewise.” Bill took her hand in both of his own, shaking it warmly. “Michael doesn‟t talk about his family much, but I have heard a bit about you.” Jen glanced at Michael over Lilly‟s head but only said, “All good, I hope. Natalie, hi.” Natalie came forward. “What adorable kids you have.” She knelt so that she was at Jack‟s level. “Would you like to come out the back and see some of the cats and dogs we have staying with us?” Jack looked up at his mother at the same time Natalie did. “That‟s all right, isn‟t it?” “Yeah, of course.” Jen smiled. “Go on, Jack. Go with Uncle Michael‟s friend.” Natalie stood and took Jack‟s hand, and Jen couldn‟t resist calling after them, “Be a good boy!” Bill chuckled. “Nat can handle him, don‟t you worry. So, what have you got planned for the week?”

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Jen looked at Michael again, who shrugged. “Just hanging out,” he said, refraining from pointing out that there actually wasn‟t that much to do. “Let the kids run around in the park, go to the pub, hang around market day… that sort of thing.” Bill nodded. “You definitely have to go to market day. There‟ll be lots to see and do there, for the kids especially. You might want to go to the farmer‟s market too. There‟s some good stuff there as well.” Jen nodded. “That sounds great, Bill, thanks. I don‟t mind what we do. I‟m just looking forward to spending some time with Michael.” “Of course you are, love.” Bill turned as Natalie came back around the corner with Jack. “Well, looks like the tour is over. We should let you go and get back to work.” Bill nodded at Michael. “Take a bit of time to get your sister settled, Michael. We can hold the fort here.” Michael nodded his thanks and led Jen out of the surgery and up to his flat, tidied just for the occasion. He made her a cup of tea, and she took it from him gratefully. “It seems lovely here. Bill seems really nice.” “Yeah, he‟s great. He‟s a really good boss.” Michael paused. “Don‟t expect to do too much this week. There really isn‟t that much to do here.” Jen laughed. “That‟s all right, Mikey. I don‟t need to be busy every second. I just want to spend some time with you, that‟s all.” Michael smiled. “Okay. We can do that. That‟ll be no trouble at all.”

THE week peaked early, with market day being held two days after Jen arrived. The morning dawned bright, clear, and hot. They piled into the car and took off to the showground early, hoping to beat the crowds, but when they got there the place was already alive with people. They strolled through the avenues of stalls, the trees lining the walkways providing a welcome respite from the heat. Jack kept up a constant

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chatter of nonsense, almost tearing Jen‟s arm off wanting to run here and there to inspect all the new and interesting things. Michael was thankful he‟d taken custody of Lilly, who sat on his hip and rested her head under his chin, quietly looking at the world around her. “It‟s lovely here,” Jen said for about the fiftieth time since she‟d arrived. They‟d stopped so she could buy a few sketches of the local area from an artist. “I can see why you moved here.” “Can you?” If she did, she‟d be the only one. “Yeah, I can. Or, at least I can see why you might want to stay here.” She paused, and they walked for a minute in silence. “Are you ever going to make up with Dad?” He‟d known she‟d get around to it eventually. “Jen, please….” She held up her free hand. “Look, I know it‟s your business and everything, but I just want to know. He‟s not getting any younger, and if he dies before—” She stopped and sighed. “I just don‟t want you feeling guilty if something happens, that‟s all.” “Guilty?” Michael‟s chest tightened with the old, familiar burn of anger. “Why the fuck should I feel guilty?” Belatedly, he realized he‟d just sworn in front of the kids, and he made an effort to soften his tone. “I‟ve done nothing wrong, Jen.” “I know that, of course I know that. I never thought you did.” She sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. “He loves you, Mikey.” Michael looked away from her, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah? Well, he‟s got a funny way of showing it. The minute Mum died, he just….” He shook his head. “I really don‟t want to talk about this now. Or ever again.” “Okay, okay. We won‟t talk about it.” Michael kept his face averted from her. “Good.” “Good,” Jen said, and he could hear the tension in her voice. Michael really did not want to fight with her about this. “Jen—”

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“No, Michael, we‟re not talking about it.” She sighed. “Look, there‟s ice cream over there. Let‟s just get some ice cream and go and sit somewhere for a bit.” Michael gritted his teeth against the swell of resentment and frustration that talking about their father with Jen always caused in him. She‟d been there, she‟d seen what his father‟s treatment had done to him, and yet she still couldn‟t understand. There was always a subtle implication—no matter what she actually said—that he was making too much of it, that he should get over it. For a moment he seethed, but then he felt Lilly‟s little hand against his collarbone, her fingers tightening on the collar of his T-shirt as he held her, and he realized that now was not the time, for the sake of the kids, if nothing else. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, then nodded. “Okay,” he said, starting for the ice cream stand. “My shout.” Michael bought them all an ice cream, and they found a shady spot under a tree on the edge of a green. A little way away, a band was playing, attracting a small crowd around them, and out in the sun some kids were flying kites, running across the grass, staring up at the sky as the colorful contraptions dipped and whirled in the breeze. Michael sat Lilly on his lap while they ate, but Jack wouldn‟t be so tethered once he‟d finished his ice cream. Wandering out of the shade to watch the kids with the kites, he let out a sudden squawk and took off through the crowd. Both Jen and Michael jerked forward, but Jen, unencumbered by a kid on her lap, was up and running, leaving him with Lilly and her bag. He strained his neck to keep Jen in sight, but soon she was lost in the crowd. Ten minutes later she was back, dragging a red-faced and very grumpy Jack alongside her. “There‟s a bloody pony ride over there, as well as some farmyard thing. Petting zoo,” she panted. “I told him we could go over there, but I need my wallet.” She bent down to retrieve it out of her bag. “We might as well come with you, then.” Michael collected their rubbish, but then paused, eyeing Lilly‟s incredibly sticky hands and face with trepidation. “Have you got anything to wipe your kid‟s face with? Bloody hell, how can she get it all over her like that?”

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“It‟s a talent. One that you had in spades when you were little,” Jen said, tossing him a packet of wet wipes. Behind her, Jack‟s whining had started to drown out the band. “I‟m going to go ahead. Follow with our stuff?” “Sure,” Michael said, frowning down at Lilly‟s hands as she tried to snatch them out of his grip. “We‟ll be right behind you.” Left alone, he pulled several wipes out of the packet and started to scrub Lilly‟s face. She promptly scrunched up her face and tried to pull away from him again, letting out an angry noise that threatened to escalate into a full-scale screech. “Okay, okay, kid, geez. I‟m sure I was never this messy. Or this grumpy.” Shoving the used wipes back into Jen‟s bag, he stood, hitching the kid up on his hip again, picking up the gaily colored nappy bag, and throwing the straps over his shoulder. “Nice bag,” someone said over his shoulder. “Is that your niece, or is there something you forgot to tell me?” Michael jerked around, coming face to face with a smirking Ryan. “Oh. Hi.” He smiled, feeling his face starting to heat. “She‟s my niece. My sister‟s visiting. She‟s over with my nephew patting animals or something. Riding ponies.” He hefted the bag higher on his shoulder. “This is her bag, obviously.” “Oh, obviously.” Ryan seemed to be acting normally, with no sign of awkwardness over what had happened last time they‟d seen each other, and the relief Michael felt at that meant he felt secure enough to joke a little. “This bag is way too pastel for me. Too much pink. I‟m more of a bold-colors guy, myself. Obviously.” Ryan grinned. “Definitely. I could see that about you the moment I met you. A man‟s choice of baby accessories says a lot about him.” Michael smiled. “Don‟t I know it.” He looked over at Ryan, and they just looked at each other for a moment. Ryan‟s smile started to fade, and he got a look in his eye that made Michael‟s heart start to stutter in his chest, and he had to look away, had to catch his breath. He silently willed Ryan to keep acting normally. “So. What brings you here today, then?”

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Ryan shrugged, turning to look out over the field. “I always try to come in to town for market day. You never know what you might pick up here.” Michael stared at Ryan, speechless. Ryan grinned at him. “Should we go find your sister?” Michael shook himself. “Um. Yes.” He gestured in the direction Jen had gone. “She went this way.” They walked in silence for a moment or two, until Michael spotted Jen over by the pony rides, her camera trained on Jack as he sat atop a fat brown pony beaming as a girl led the horse around in a sedate circle across the grass. They changed direction, making a beeline for Jen. When they got closer, Lilly recognized her mother, shouting out some unintelligible thing that Michael couldn‟t understand. Obviously Jen did, though, because she turned, smiling at Michael before noticing that he wasn‟t alone. She walked up to them, Jack behind her shouting, “Mum! Mum! Look at me!” She ignored Jack to smirk knowingly at Michael. “Took you long enough. But I can see why now.” She turned to Ryan. “Hello, I‟m Michael‟s sister, Jen.” She stuck out her hand. Ryan took it, shaking it firmly as he smiled at her. “I‟m Ryan. My family owns a cattle farm a little way out of town. Michael‟s our vet.” God. “Only sometimes,” Michael clarified. “When Bill lets me out of the surgery.” “He does all right,” Ryan said, shooting a sly glance at Michael. “For a city bloke.” He tipped his head toward Jack, who was still shouting for his mum, now with extra arm waving. “Your boy like horses, does he?” Jen looked back at Jack, calling out, “Yes, darling, I see you. And we‟ll have lots of photos to show Daddy when we get home, see?” She put the camera up to take another photo as she said, “Not obvious at all, is it? He likes all animals, really, but he does seem to like horses particularly. I suppose it‟s just a stage.”

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Ryan shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe he‟ll decide to do something with it.” He paused. “Actually, I have a few horses on the farm. I‟m getting a breeding herd together. Stock horses. You could come out there if you want. He can spend some time with a couple of mine, help me feed them, brush them, or whatever. He can even have a ride, if he wants. If you‟re okay with that.” Jen said, “Really?” at the same time Michael said, “Oh, now Ryan, that‟s too much of an inconvenience. We couldn‟t.” “Yeah, you could. Why not?” Ryan turned to Michael and smiled. “I wouldn‟t offer if I didn‟t want to.” “It‟s a really generous offer, Ryan. Jack would love it,” Jen said. “It would make his day. His whole year, probably.” “See?” Ryan nodded toward Jen. “It‟d make Jack‟s year.” His look turned sly again. “Come on, Uncle Michael. Say yes.” Michael looked at Jen, who smiled at him hopefully. “Oh, all right. But only if it‟s really no trouble.” “It‟s no trouble at all,” Ryan said, watching as Jack finished his pony ride, Jen moving to fetch him. “I‟d like you to come.” Michael didn‟t have a reply to that, but he was saved the trouble by Jack. Jen had lifted him up into her arms when she fetched him off the horse, and they could hear him babbling excitedly to her about the ride. When she got back to them she stopped, and said softly into his ear, “Jack, this is Uncle Michael‟s friend, Ryan. He‟s got a farm with some horses on it, and he said we could come over and play with them. Would you like that?” Jack‟s eyes grew wide, and he stared at Ryan, nodding his head. Ryan smiled at Jack, chuckling a little, then turned to Michael. “Bring them over one day after work. Any day this week is okay, but if you want to ring me first, my number‟ll be in Bill‟s records.” He reached up and clasped Michael‟s shoulder. “See you soon, okay?” He turned to Jen. “Pleased to meet you, Jen. I‟ll see you in a couple of days. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

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With that, he walked off, Jen and Michael staring after him. Jack was chattering about horses or something again, but Michael was hardly listening to him as he watched Ryan walk away, greeting people that he knew here and there in the crowd. “Well,” Jen said dryly. “Now I can definitely see why you moved here, if that‟s part of the scenery.”

EVEN if Michael had had any serious thoughts of backing out of taking Jen and the kids to Ryan‟s, he would have ignored them in favor of shutting Jack the hell up. It was a wonder the kid didn‟t explode, he was that excited. Michael had no idea how his tiny body was containing it all. He put it off for a couple of days, but when Tuesday came, he bit the bullet, went through the records of the Mitchell animals, and retrieved Ryan‟s number. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he went and locked himself in the toilet, feeling ridiculous, like he was fifteen again and back in high school. He fumbled the number three times before he finally managed it. His heart did a merry dance in his chest as the phone connected and started to ring, but after five rings the answering machine picked up. Feeling equal parts relieved and disappointed, he left a message. Ryan called him back when he was having lunch. “You didn‟t say much on the answering machine, mate,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Are you bringing your sister and her kids over, or were you calling to tell me you couldn‟t possibly inconvenience me again?” Michael laughed nervously. “No, well, it‟s all Jack‟s talked about since Saturday, so I was calling to ask when we could come over. I mean, what night is good for you?” “Any time this week is okay,” Ryan said without hesitation. “What about tonight?” “Tonight? Oh. So soon?”

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“Yeah. Why not? If it‟s all the kid‟s talked about, why not put him out of his misery?” “Well… okay. As long as it‟s not—” Ryan laughed. “It‟s not an inconvenience, Michael. Are you always such a nervous Nellie when you make plans with people?” Michael blushed, glad that Ryan couldn‟t see him. He wasn‟t a nervous Nellie when making plans, no. Unless he was making plans with men that he secretly lusted over while pretending he didn‟t and thinking that he shouldn‟t. “No, I‟m not, I just want to make sure, that‟s all. There‟s nothing wrong with that. There‟s no reason why you should want to put up with me and my family.” Ryan sighed. “Look, I wouldn‟t have offered if I didn‟t want to do it. Why don‟t you come around about six, and the kids can have a bit of a play around, and then you can go. No inconvenience to anyone.” “Okay,” Michael said. “Six it is then.” “Right.” Ryan chuckled. “See you then.”

THEY took Jen‟s car to the Mitchell farm, because it had car seats and the kids‟ CDs in it. Within ten minutes Michael was considering throwing himself under the next truck that passed their way. “I have no idea how you can put up with this music,” he said quietly as Jack shouted the lyrics to the incredibly repetitive and simpleminded kids‟ song blaring out of the car speakers at the top of his lungs. “And I‟m sorry to say, your son is never going to be a famous singer.” Jen laughed. “You get used to it, the songs and the singing.” She paused a moment before she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “So. This Ryan bloke. Have you and he got something going on?” Michael‟s stomach dropped, and he jerked his head around to look at her. “No!” He cast a look back at the kids, but they were happily oblivious. “What makes you say that?”

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Jen shrugged. “I don‟t know. You looked pretty comfortable together at the market the other day, and it seems to me he‟s going out of his way to impress you, inviting us to his farm and all.” Oh, God. Horror prickled down Michael‟s spine at the thought that she‟d picked up on that so easily. “Don‟t be ridiculous. He‟s not going out of his way to impress me. Why would he do that? He‟s just being friendly, that‟s all.” Jen made a skeptical noise before shrugging again. “There‟s friendly and there‟s friendly. And I think he‟s being the type of friendly that ends with sticking your hand down someone‟s pants.” “Jen! Jesus, not in front of the kids.” Michael looked back at the kids again as Jen laughed. “If Jack regurgitates that in front of Ryan, I will kill you.” “Oh, what‟s he going to say, Mikey? Nothing. He‟ll be too excited at all the horses, anyway.” She paused. “Do you know if he‟s gay?” “No. No, I do not know if he‟s gay.” Except, of course, he did know. But Ryan hadn‟t actually told him that, and so for the purposes of this conversation, he didn‟t. “And I‟m not going to ask him, either. And don‟t you ask him!” “I‟m not going to ask him,” she said, in the tone of voice that he knew meant that she would if she could get away with it. “But I‟m going to be watching him. I‟m going to watch him very closely.” “Oh, God,” Michael said, scrunching down in his seat. “Just… just don‟t embarrass me, Jen, please. I have to live here.” She laughed and reached over to ruffle his hair. “Aw, little brother. When have I ever embarrassed you?” Michael snorted. “There aren‟t enough hours in the day for me to list them all, believe me.” Jen laughed, then joined in a chorus of the song, smiling at him as she sang the words into his face. Michael groaned and sank further down in his seat, burying his face in his hands.

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He‟d perked up by the time they got to Ryan‟s place, mainly because he had no desire to let Ryan see that the visit was affecting him in any way. Ryan was waiting for them in the main yard, with Murphy but no horses. When Jen slowed at the end of the driveway he approached them. “See that offshoot of the driveway there?” He pointed at what amounted to no more than a dirt track snaking around the back of the main house. “Drive around there until you get to another house, and park out the front of it. I‟ll meet you back there.” They did as he‟d instructed, Michael doing his level best to not give Jen any more ammunition by refusing to watch Ryan walk away toward the stables. The house they parked in front of was a cozylooking wooden cottage, plain but well kept. Behind the house, Michael could see various fenced-off paddocks, a couple of sheds, and a building that looked like another set of stables, as well as a practice yard that was set up with various drums and flags, like an obstacle course. They got out of the car, Jack almost vibrating with excitement. Ryan grinned at them. “I‟ve got a couple of horses in the home paddock if you want to come around,” he said, leading them around the back of the house. “Is this your house?” Michael asked him as they walked, Lilly balanced on his hip as Jen gripped Jack‟s hand to stop him from running forward. Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Before I joined the police force, I lived in the main house, but when I moved back, I thought I‟d live out here. I was used to living out of home then, you know?” He grinned. “I was used to the privacy. I‟m sure you know what I mean.” Dimly, Michael was aware of Jen in his peripheral vision, smirking at him. “Ah, yeah. Yeah, I think I have some idea.” “I thought you might.” Ryan chuckled and turned his gaze to Jen. Michael hoped against hope that she was quick enough to wipe the smirk of her face before Ryan looked at her. “So, Jen, Michael doesn‟t talk about himself much. Got any embarrassing stories to share?”

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Jen laughed. “Yes, but I‟ve already been told not to embarrass him—” “Jen!” “—so I better not.” Ryan made a disappointed noise and looked over his shoulder at Michael. “Spoilsport.” Michael attempted to defend himself. “There‟s not much to tell, so you‟re not missing out on anything.” “So you say.” Ryan glanced at Jen with a smile. “We‟ll talk later,” he said in a stage whisper. Jen grinned. “Okay.” Before Michael had a chance to protest, Jack spied the horses, shouted “Horsies!” at a very disturbing volume, and almost yanked Jen‟s arm out of its socket. “God, sorry,” she said to Ryan. “He‟s not normally so full-on. It‟s just that he‟s really excited. He‟ll be good around the horses, I promise.” Ryan shook his head. “Don‟t worry about it. He‟ll be fine.” There were two horses in the paddock—Charlie and another horse that Michael hadn‟t seen before, a dappled gray. “Who‟s the gray?” “That‟s Lulu. She‟s new. I‟ll be training her up to be Charlie‟s replacement.” Michael raised his eyebrows. “Charlie‟s replacement? You‟re not selling her?” Ryan shook his head, pulling an old milk crate over to the fence so that Jack could stand on it to pat the horses, who were both craning their necks over the fence in curiosity. “No, but I do plan to breed her come spring, if I can find the right stallion. And once she‟s pregnant, I won‟t work her so hard.” “What do you mean, the right stallion?” Jen asked, as Jack patted Charlie‟s nose and laughed his head off when she lipped at his hand. Ryan shrugged. “One that‟s got the qualities I want. I want my horses to be known as great stock horses, so I want a sire that‟ll add to

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Charlie‟s good points in that area. It‟s basic breeding, really.” He paused. “But I compete with Charlie a lot, so people will see her and see what she can do. I‟m hoping that one day one of those people will have a stallion that they think will make great foals with her.” He smiled. “At this point, it‟s all about building my reputation. Or her reputation, really. She‟s a great horse.” He reached up and rubbed at Charlie‟s forelock, and she leaned further over the fence, bumping her nose against Ryan‟s cheek, which made Jack laugh again. Ryan looked down at him. “Right, young fella. Do you want to help me brush Charlie?” “Yeah!” Jack leapt down from his milk crate and rushed to Ryan‟s side, totally ignoring Jen‟s pleas for him to be good. To Ryan‟s credit, he didn‟t flinch at Jack‟s enthusiasm. He took Jack‟s hand and led him into the paddock, and for the next twenty minutes he talked Jack through the finer points of horse care, letting him touch Charlie‟s mane and look at her hooves to see her shoes. He retrieved the milk crate so that Jack could help brush her. After a while Michael left Jen at the fence and took Lilly to sit in the shade under a nearby gum tree, where they were soon joined by Murphy, Lilly squealing her delight as Murphy gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Soon the inevitable happened. “Mum! Ryan said I can have a ride if I want! Can I? Please? Please please please?” Jen looked at Ryan uncertainly. “Are you sure? It seems like she‟s a pretty special horse….” Ryan shook his head. “Not special enough to be too good for a little kid to ride. Is it all right?” Jen hesitated another moment, then nodded. “It‟s all right with me if it‟s all right with you.” Ryan nodded. “Great.” He made Jack stand by Jen on the other side of the fence and went to retrieve a saddle from the stables behind the paddock. He took Jack through putting on a saddle, too, before plonking Jack onto Charlie‟s back and starting to walk her around the paddock. Jack clung to the front of Charlie‟s saddle with a concentration that would have made

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Michael laugh if his heart hadn‟t been aching at the patient way Ryan had been with a kid that was no concern of his. After a few moments of taking photos—by the looks of some of her angles, plenty of Ryan along with Jack and Charlie—Jen came to sit beside Michael in the shade, patting Murphy‟s head absently. “He‟s lovely.” Michael didn‟t try to pretend that he thought she was talking about Murphy. He sighed. “Yeah, he‟s pretty great,” he said softly. “There, I said it. Happy?” Instead of the teasing he expected, Jen just reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I just want you to be happy, Mikey.” Before Michael could respond, Ryan‟s voice came drifting over the fence to them as he brought Charlie to a stop and lifted Jack off her, gently depositing him on the other side of the fence and nudging him toward his mother. “So, who‟s next? Jen?” He turned toward them, his expression turning suddenly mischievous. “Uncle Michael? I bet Uncle Michael wants a ride, right, Jack?” The fact that Uncle Michael wanted a ride was Uncle Michael‟s whole problem, but Michael wasn‟t about to say that in front of the kids. Or at all. “Ah. No. No, Uncle Michael doesn‟t want a ride, thanks. No.” “Aw, come on, Michael.” Ryan grinned. “I promise I won‟t let go of her.” “No. No thanks. Not today.” “Not today?” Ryan‟s expression brightened. “Another day then?” No, not another day, but Michael was stuck now. “Maybe. Maybe later. One day. Not today.” “But one day. I‟m going to hold you to that, Michael.” Ryan hitched Charlie‟s reins to a fencepost and came out of the paddock, walking over to them. He looked at Lilly, who was almost asleep in Michael‟s arms, despite the noise of her brother chattering excitedly to his mother. “Looks like someone‟s had enough for today. Is there anything else you want to see while you‟re here? We‟ve got cows too.”

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Michael looked at his watch; it was almost eight o‟clock, and it was rapidly getting dark. “Actually, we better go, it‟s getting pretty late. Almost past Lilly‟s bedtime, and I‟m sure you‟ve got other things you need to be doing.” He handed Lilly to Jen and stood, brushing the grass off his legs before taking possession of Lilly again. “Thanks so much for doing this.” “Don‟t mention it. It was no trouble at all. I told you before, I like visitors.” Ryan helped Jen to her feet and walked them back to the car, standing beside it as they loaded the kids into it. “It was nice to meet you,” he said to Jen as she stepped away from the backseat and closed the car door. “It was very nice to meet you.” She took his hand and shook it. “I‟m glad Michael‟s made some friends here.” Ryan‟s gaze flicked to Michael, and he smiled. “Me too.” He stepped back and let them get in the car, but as Jen started the engine he leaned into Michael‟s window. “If I don‟t see you again, have a safe trip back to Sydney.” He looked at Michael. “See you later, Michael. Don‟t be a stranger, all right?” Before Michael could answer, Ryan stepped back, and Jen turned the car around. Ryan stood and watched them, Murphy sitting beside him, waving once before they turned the bend to cross his father‟s yard, and he was out of sight.

THE rest of Jen‟s visit was mercifully free of drama or embarrassment. Jack went on and on about their visit to the farm, but that could be written off as childish enthusiasm for animals. Michael was thankful that Jen, whose interest in Ryan was a little more adult, even if it was on Michael‟s behalf, refrained from mentioning Ryan more than once a day, and never when they were in public. When it came time for them to leave, Jen buckled the kids into the car and gave Michael a hug, almost squeezing the breath out of him. “I miss you,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

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Michael kissed the top of her head, tightening his arms around her. “I know.” “I just want you to be happy.” “I know that too.” She pulled away from him and looked up into his face. “Mikey, if you get a chance with Ryan, just take it, okay? Life‟s too short to ignore a chance at happiness.” Michael could have said a thousand things to that: he might have said that there was no guarantee that Ryan liked him as more than a friend, that he didn‟t just want a quick fuck, that if they got together they might last five seconds before being at each other‟s throats, and that every single one of those things scared the hell out of him. Instead he just nodded. “I‟ll keep it in mind.” She smiled faintly. “I don‟t suppose I‟m going to get more enthusiasm than that, am I?” Michael smiled. “Not today.” Jen laughed. “All right then, I‟ll have to be satisfied.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then got in the car, Jack waving from the backseat as they drove off.

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APRIL “DID I just see a kangaroo hopping through a bloody field on my way here?” “I don‟t know, did you?” Michael opened his door wider, stepping back to let Adrian Johnson, his best friend from high school, into his little flat. Adrian stepped across the threshold, looking around. “Yes, I fucking did. All I need now is to see a fucking wombat and an emu, and then I‟ll know I‟m in Australiana hell.” Michael laughed. “You‟re so fucking inner city, Johnno.” “Through and fucking through, my friend, and proud of it. Is there even phone coverage out here?” Michael rolled his eyes. “Want a drink?” Adrian followed him into the kitchen. “Yep. It‟ll go well with the present I brought you.” “Present?” Michael turned, eyebrows raised, watching Adrian reach into his pocket. When he saw the corner of the plastic Ziploc bag, his heart skipped a beat, but when the rest of the bag was revealed it was just a bag full of pot. “Merry Christmas,” Adrian said, throwing the bag onto the kitchen bench.

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Michael smiled with relief, biding time until his heartbeat returned to normal. “I hope you‟ve got papers for that. I don‟t have a bong anymore, you know.” “Yeah, I know, you‟re an angel now. Why do you think it‟s grass and not pills I brought you? Of course I‟ve got papers. I don‟t expect you to smoke it in a paper towel, for God‟s sake.” “Oh, well, that‟s a relief,” Michael said, handing Adrian his drink. “Let‟s settle in.” A short time later, and they were both sprawled around Michael‟s living room, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling lazily. Suddenly, Adrian sat up. “Oh, God! Tell me this place has pizza!” Michael laughed, coughing a little. “Of course it has pizza, you idiot.” “Yeah, but does it deliver?” “It delivers.” Michael got up slowly, fetching Adrian the menu from where it was stuck to his fridge with a magnet emblazoned with the name and numbers of the vet clinic on it. It occurred to him dimly as he put the magnet back on the fridge that he was really fucking glad that he wasn‟t working this weekend. “Here. Get something good.” Adrian snorted. “As if anything‟s not going to be good now.”

THEY demolished four pizzas between them, then lay on the floor in a stupor. The silence had stretched so long that Michael was mostly asleep when Adrian said, “So. Jen says there‟s a cowboy.” It was like having a bucket of freezing water thrown over him. “What?” “A cowboy. Is there a cowboy?” “A cowboy?” Michael repeated stupidly. “No. No, he‟s a… he‟s a… something. A horse guy.”

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“A horse guy.” Adrian rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever. You going to fuck him?” Michael spluttered. “I don‟t… I might not… I don‟t know if he wants to!” Adrian rolled his eyes again. “That‟s never stopped you before.” Michael glared at him. “That was then. This is now. You know I‟m trying not to do that stuff anymore.” “Yeah, yeah, okay. But you can‟t be a born-again virgin forever, Stony. So what if you get your freak on with a cowboy?” Michael stared at Adrian, then burst out laughing. “I can‟t believe you just said „get your freak on‟. Who the fuck says that?” Adrian threw a cushion at him. “Answer the question! Are you going to fuck him or not?” Michael shook his head violently, setting his head spinning. “Oh, God… no. No, I am not going to fuck him.” Adrian looked at him for a long moment. “Right. Okay. You know that you can fuck him without it being anything like before, right? For one, you know this one‟s name, presumably.” He grinned. “That makes it different right there!” Michael threw the cushion back at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

WITH a long drive back to Sydney ahead of him, Adrian left by midmorning the next day. Shouldering his bag, he stepped out onto Michael‟s landing, turned, and they hugged goodbye. Michael watched him walk down the stairs, so he was prepared when Adrian paused and turned around, looking up at him from the street. “You‟re happier now than you were before, aren‟t you?” Michael hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” “You think you can be happy here?”

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At first Michael‟s fuzzy brain didn‟t understand the difference, but then he got it. He shrugged. “I don‟t know. I think so. Eventually.” Adrian studied him for a few moments, then nodded. “I suppose that‟s something.” Michael nodded. “Which is better than nothing.” Adrian smiled. “You can say that again.” He turned to head to his car. “Speak to you soon, Stony.” “Don‟t hit any kangaroos on your way home.” Adrian stuck his hand up beside his head, middle finger extended, but he didn‟t look back. “Ha ha, you are fucking hilarious.” When he was gone, Michael went inside and shut the door. He stood, unmoving, in the middle of the living room for ten minutes, then went into the kitchen to retrieve the bag of pot Adrian had left him, and smoked joints until it made him sick.

A WEEK after Adrian‟s visit, Michael jerked awake to the sound of his landline ringing, his heart pounding. He‟d fallen asleep in front of the TV again. Squinting at the snow on the screen, he rolled over, almost falling off his lounge as he scrambled for the phone. “Hello?” he said, his voice thick with sleep. He looked at his watch: 2:45 a.m. “Michael?” The voice was breathless, panicked, and for a moment Michael couldn‟t place it. “Ryan?” he asked uncertainly. “Yeah. Michael, it‟s… it‟s Murphy. He‟s been run over. I ran him over. He just—stupid dog! I was coming home, and he just ran across the driveway, right in front of me, chasing a rabbit or something, and he—I couldn‟t stop, and God, the noise it made….” Ryan‟s breath hitched, the sound suspiciously like a sob. “Christ, Michael, are you there?”

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He was definitely there, right there and fully awake now. “I‟m here,” he said, already standing and walking toward his front door. “Bring him in. I‟ll meet you down in the surgery.” Ryan‟s breathing was still fast and loud, but when he spoke his voice sounded more calm. “I‟m already on my way.” They hung up without saying goodbye, Michael turning back to throw the handset in the general vicinity of the lounge. It didn‟t quite make it, clattering to the floor underneath the coffee table as Michael yanked his front door open. He didn‟t stop to pick it up. He‟d just got the surgery‟s alarm off and the lights on when he heard the rumbling of a car coming up the road. A second later, and Ryan‟s ute came careening into the car park, pulling up haphazardly just outside the door. The car had barely come to a full stop before Ryan was jumping out of it, dropping the ute‟s tailgate to retrieve Murphy, wrapped up in a blanket in the back, and almost jogging to the door of the surgery. Michael held the door open for him. “Straight through into the back, mate. Lay him out on one of the operating tables.” Ryan nodded and headed out the back, Michael locking the surgery door behind him and following quickly. Michael came into the operating area just as Ryan laid Murphy out on the table and stepped back out of the way. Michael went straight to the dog‟s head, stroking his ear when Murphy looked up at him. “Hi, little buddy,” he said softly, carefully taking the dog‟s head in his hands. “You‟ll be right as rain in no time, matey, you‟ll see.” He started his exam, moving from Murphy‟s nose on down, pushing down the urge to rush because this was Murphy, and Ryan, who would never forgive himself if something happened; hell, Michael would have trouble forgiving himself if Murphy died because of something he did. So he went slowly and carefully from tip to tail, ignoring Ryan‟s tense presence behind him and running through his emergency checklist over and over in his head, to make sure that he missed nothing. By the time he finished his examination, he knew what had to be done.

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He gave Murphy some fluids to help with his shock and took some X-rays to confirm the presence of broken bones. The films revealed no surprises, which Michael was glad of, since it meant that he was on the right track. When he walked back into the operating room after developing the films, Ryan was standing at Murphy‟s head, patting him gently. Ryan looked up when Michael entered, and Michael didn‟t beat around the bush. “His leg‟s broken, and other things I picked up during the exam suggest he‟s bleeding internally. I‟m going to have to operate.” Ryan nodded. “Okay. What do you want me to do?” Michael looked at his watch. Three thirty. “Normally I‟d want you to go away, but now….” He looked at his watch again. “If you‟re up for being my nurse, you can stay. Otherwise I‟ll call Natalie.” Ryan looked down at Murphy again, stroking his hand over the dog‟s head. “Don‟t call Nat,” he said firmly. “I can do it.” “Okay.” Michael went over to the sink and started washing his hands. “Let‟s get to it, then. Come over here and wash your hands.” Michael showed Ryan how to wash his hands properly, and got him some protective clothing, doing the same for himself. “I‟m not going to want you to do much, unless something goes wrong, all right?” Ryan nodded. He looked calm enough, but Michael had to make sure he actually was. “If something goes wrong, I need you not to panic.” Ryan nodded again. “I won‟t panic. I was a policeman, Michael. Even though it‟s Murph… I won‟t panic.” Michael nodded. “Okay then. Good.” They were the last words he spoke for over an hour, working as quickly as he could once the dog was under to get Murphy‟s leg fracture reduced and into a cast, and the internal bleeding under control. Once he‟d double-checked that he hadn‟t missed anything, he closed up and stepped back from the table.

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“Right. I think we‟re done here. Poor old Murphy will be on the road to recovery in no time. It‟s not as bad as it could have been,” he said, unhooking Murphy from the anesthetic. “You can‟t have been going too fast.” Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw Ryan shake his head. “Nah. I was in the driveway, and I never hoon it up there, especially not in the dark.” Michael smiled a little and glanced at Ryan. “Must be the copper in you,” he said. “Always sticking to the speed limit and all.” Ryan smiled slightly, and Michael was glad to see it. “Yeah, something like that.” They looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Michael turned away to pull off his gown and mask, throwing his dirty gloves into the bin and washing his hands as Ryan put Murphy into a pen in the back room they used for their short-term stays. When Michael followed Ryan into the room, Murphy was in a corner pen, still fast asleep, and Ryan was slumped against the wall watching the dog and looking utterly exhausted. Michael watched him as he crossed the room, picking up a chair and placing it gently next to Ryan‟s knee. “You don‟t have to sit on the floor, you know.” Ryan nodded, without looking up. “I know. I want to. Thanks, though.” Michael stood beside Ryan and watched him some more, but when Ryan showed no sign of wanting to engage in conversation, he said, “Want me to put the kettle on?” Ryan smiled a little, and finally looked up. “I look that bad, do I?” Michael smiled back. “I don‟t know about that. I‟m just desperate for a cuppa.” “Oh.” Ryan laughed. “Yeah, okay. Coffee would be great.” Michael looked at his watch. “It‟s almost five. Are you sure you want to have coffee now?”

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“Well, I‟ve got to drive home yet.” Ryan looked back at Murphy and sighed. “Make it tea.” “Tea it is.” He typed some notes about Murphy into the computer while he waited for the kettle to boil. After he was done, Michael realized that he hadn‟t asked Ryan how he took his tea. Not wanting to disturb him, he loaded up a tray with sugar, milk, and the surgery‟s supply of chocolate biscuits, splashed some water onto some teabags in the cleanest mugs he could find, and carried the whole lot into the recovery room. Ryan smiled when he saw him and sat up straighter against the wall. “Wow, look at this room service.” Michael laughed. “It‟s only because I was too lazy to come back and ask you how you took it. Don‟t get used to it.” He put the tray down on the floor at Ryan‟s knee. “Want to sit in the chair now?” Ryan shook his head and waved a hand at the chair as he reached for one of the mugs. “No, you take it.” Michael sat in the chair and leaned forward, and for a few minutes they passed the sugar and milk back and forth while they made their tea, each of them snagging a few biscuits from the tin when they finished and eating in companionable silence. Sitting back, Michael sighed, brushed the biscuit crumbs off his lap and put his head back against the wall. “Long night.” “You can say that again.” Ryan‟s smile was rueful and humorless, and Michael instantly regretted saying anything. “Sorry, I… I didn‟t mean—” “No, don‟t apologize. I know you didn‟t mean anything by it.” Ryan sat back against the wall, his elbow brushing Michael‟s leg as he brought the mug to his lips and sipped his tea. “I‟m the one who ran over the stupid dog.” Michael was silent a moment. “Yeah, but it was an accident, Ryan. It‟s not like you meant to do it. It was late. You were probably

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tired, especially if you‟d been out….” Surely he‟d been out, if he was driving around at three in the morning. Ryan‟s tone was suddenly hard. “I hadn‟t been drinking, if that‟s what you‟re getting at.” God, he couldn‟t put a foot right. “No, I know. I wasn‟t trying to suggest that. The dog ran out in front of you. No one could have stopped in time.” “Right.” Ryan fell silent, looked at Murphy again and sighed. When he spoke again his tone was softer. “Sorry. I‟m just… it was such a shock, and you should have heard—” He took a deep breath in. “You should have heard the noise he made. I never want to hear that noise ever again.” He put his tea down and dropped his head, raking a hand through his hair before putting his face into his hands. “It was really fucking awful.” “Of course it was.” Michael hesitated a moment and then reached out to squeeze Ryan‟s shoulder gently. Ryan stayed still and didn‟t raise his head, but after a moment he sighed and leaned in a little, against Michael‟s leg. The movement slid Michael‟s hand further in toward Ryan‟s neck. Michael left it there for the space of several heartbeats, but then, slowly, slid it across the top of Ryan‟s back and then—heart hammering now—up to cup the nape of Ryan‟s neck, his fingers curled around it, his thumb resting in the soft hair behind Ryan‟s ear. Ryan was very still, and it seemed that all of a sudden neither of them was even breathing. The absence of objection made Michael a little bolder, even as his heart was threatening to burst right out of his chest, even as he was cursing himself for a fool for doing this, for risking it. Even as his mind was telling him not to do anything more, his thumb began stroking through Ryan‟s hair, slowly, lightly. Ryan made a soft, sighing noise and leaned more heavily against him, eventually moving to rest his head on Michael‟s knee, wrapping his arm around Michael‟s leg. “I am really tired,” he said softly.

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Michael froze. “Oh. Yeah. Of course you are.” He started to move his hand away, blushing hotly. “Sorry.” “No, don‟t stop.” Ryan reached back and grabbed Michael‟s hand, moving it back into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I like that.” Michael hesitated a moment, then started to stroke his fingers through Ryan‟s hair once more. Ryan didn‟t move or speak again, and the movement was hypnotic after so long a night. After a few minutes Michael leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes just for a second. Michael wouldn‟t have thought that he could fall asleep with his hand in Ryan Mitchell‟s hair, but he‟d have been wrong. He dozed with his head tipped back against the wall, the warm weight of Ryan against his leg, Ryan‟s silky hair between his fingers, Ryan‟s cheek against his knee. Dimly he registered the fact that Ryan had gone quiet as well, and that fact plus the general peace of the surgery in the early morning had him spiraling down into sleep. The next thing he knew was the distant sound of the surgery door opening, the bells attached to the top of the door jingling merrily, and Natalie‟s voice saying, “Michael? Are you here? Is everything all right?” He jerked upright, Ryan murmuring a grumpy, sleep-filled protest as Michael‟s movement dislodged him from his own slumber. Barely seconds after registering this, Michael was on his feet and walking toward the front of the surgery, limping a little on a leg gone dead from Ryan‟s weight. “Yeah, Nat, I‟m here,” he said as she rounded the corner of the reception area and came into sight, frowning and wearing her running clothes. “Everything‟s fine. There was just an accident with the Mitchell‟s Murphy, that‟s all.” Natalie‟s faced cleared a little, and she looked around him toward the back. “So Ryan is here? His car‟s outside.” Suddenly she smiled a little. “Hey, Ryan.” Michael looked over his shoulder. Ryan stood in the doorway to the recovery room, rubbing his face and running a hand through his hair. He smiled tiredly. “Hey, Nat.”

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“Everything all right?” Natalie asked him. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, everything‟s fine.” Ryan nodded, then flushed a little. “Murph ran out into the driveway when I was driving up it last night. He was too close for me to stop, that‟s all.” “That‟s awful!” Natalie looked at Michael. “Did you operate?” Michael nodded. “Yeah. There was a bit of damage, but he‟ll be right as rain once he heals.” “Good.” Natalie looked between them. “You both look absolutely buggered.” They both laughed. “Yeah, well,” Michael said, “being up all night‟ll do that to you.” Suddenly there was a soft whimpering noise from the pens; Ryan started and turned back into the room. “He‟s awake.” Michael turned and went to have a look, Natalie following him. Ryan was crouched on the floor again, with the pen door open. “Hey, little mate,” he said softly, reaching out a tentative hand to pat Murphy‟s head. “How are you going there, hmm?” Murphy, still groggy, licked Ryan‟s hand, his tail thumping briefly against the floor of the cage before putting his head down again. “It‟ll take him a little while to wake up properly,” Michael said. “And we‟ll have to keep him in for a day or two just to make sure there are no complications from the surgery.” Ryan nodded, not looking at him. “Okay, sure.” He sat back on his haunches. “Maybe I‟ll just wait here until he goes back to sleep again.” “You‟ve still got to drive home, yeah?” Natalie said. “Why don‟t you go home? I‟ll stay with him for a while.” Ryan looked up at her. “Are you sure?” “What about your run?” Michael said. “You‟re interrupting that.” Personally, Michael thought it was madness to get up so early on the weekend just to exercise, but Nat liked her running. He looked at his

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watch; seven thirty. They opened at nine. “And we open in a couple of hours.” “I know, but you‟ve been up all night. You really need to get some sleep if you want to stay awake during your shift, especially since we‟re on our own.” She shrugged. “It‟s fine. I‟ll go for my run after work instead.” Michael hesitated. “I don‟t know, Nat.” “I do, Michael.” Nat grabbed him and turned him toward the door, pushing him gently. “See you later.” She turned to look at Ryan and jerked a thumb toward the door. “You too. Go on. Bugger off.” Ryan held his hands up in surrender, then got to his feet. “Okay, okay, I‟ll go. But you‟ll call me if anything happens?” “Yes, but nothing is going to happen.” She put her hands to the small of Ryan‟s back and shoved gently, almost propelling Ryan into Michael. “Now get. Go and get some sleep.” Duly browbeaten, they headed for the door. Before they left the room completely, Michael paused and turned back to her. “Murphy‟s notes are on the computer if you need them. And you‟ll call me when it‟s time for me to come back down, right?” She looked exasperated, and she had the tone to match. “Yes, Michael, I‟ll call you.” She put her hands up and waved them toward the door in a shooing motion. “Off you go.” Finally giving in, Michael and Ryan headed outside. They loitered beside Ryan‟s ute for several moments in awkward silence, hands shoved into their pockets. Michael was the first one to speak. “You sure you‟re all right to drive home?” He hesitated. “You can always crash at my place. If you want.” The pause that followed those words was just a little too long for comfort. Just when Michael was starting to wish he‟d never said anything, Ryan said, “I wouldn‟t want to put you out.” “You wouldn‟t be putting me out. My lounge is a sofa bed.”

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“Oh.” Ryan nodded, smiling ruefully. “Of course it is. Well, I—in that case, then maybe I will. Just for a little while.” “Yeah. Just until I have to work.” “Exactly.” For a moment they still stood there, until Ryan took one of his hands from his pocket, gesturing with his arm toward the side of the building, where the stairs to Michael‟s little bedsit were located. “After you.” “Right. Yeah.” Michael laughed a little, then led the way to the stairs. “I think I‟m a little asleep already.” “Me too.” Their feet were loud on the stairs, and Michael‟s stomach clenched at the idea that Ryan was going to be in his house. He hoped Ryan didn‟t notice how his hand shook as he put the key in the lock. When they stepped inside, Ryan looked around, and for the first time, Michael registered that it wasn‟t the tidiest his place had ever been. But Ryan just nodded and said, “Not bad. It‟s bigger than I thought it would be. I mean, it‟s bigger than it looks from the outside.” “Yeah, it‟s all right for one person.” He walked over to the lounge and picked the pile of books, magazines and newspapers that were strewn across it up, dumping them on the floor next to the lounge instead. “Take a seat. Want a drink or something?” “Maybe a glass of water, yeah. Thanks.” Ryan walked over to the lounge and sat down, leaning over the arm to look at the pile of reading material. “Read a lot, do you?” “Oh. No, not really,” Michael said, his stomach in knots as he watched Ryan look at his stuff before he headed to the kitchen to get Ryan‟s water. “Most of the books I have are from before I started uni. I do read the paper, though. Bill gets it for the surgery, so I pilfer the ones that are a couple of days old, and read the interesting stuff.” He crossed the lounge room again and handed Ryan his water. “There you go.”

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“Thanks.” Ryan took the glass and drank half of it there and then. “That‟s good. Didn‟t realize how thirsty I was.” He paused. “You were amazing back there, you know. With Murphy. You did an incredible job patching him up like you did.” Michael waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, no. No, I didn‟t. I just did what I was supposed to. What any vet would have done.” “Maybe so,” Ryan said with a shrug. “But it was still amazing, and because of you, Murph is going to be okay.” He looked up. “So thanks. Thanks a lot.” Michael just looked at Ryan, and for a moment they stared at each other in silence, Michael eventually remembering his manners. “You‟re welcome. I… I‟m just glad I could do something.” Ryan nodded and then yawned, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. “God, I‟m tired. I‟ve been up all night.” Michael started. “God, yes. Of course you have. Sorry. I‟ll get you some blankets and a pillow.” Ryan shook his head and looked sheepish. “No worries. Sorry. I didn‟t mean that as a hint.” “No, it‟s fine I….” Michael trailed off as he headed for his bedroom. He grabbed a blanket from his linen closet and a pillow from his bed and brought them back out to Ryan, who was sitting with his head back against the top of the lounge, his eyes closed. At the sound of Michael‟s footsteps, he jerked awake again, rubbing at his eyes roughly with a hand. “Sorry. Here you go.” Michael laid the blanket and pillow down next to Ryan. “Thanks.” Ryan looked blearily at the blanket and pillow, then toed off his boots and lay down, arranging the blanket and pillow to suit himself. “Sorry to… that I‟m not very good company.” “Don‟t be stupid,” Michael said. “I didn‟t bring you up here for the company.” For a moment, Ryan smiled, and the mischievous man who Michael knew was back. “Just my luck. Maybe next time, huh?”

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Michael had no idea how to answer that. By the time he managed a stilted, “Maybe,” Ryan was fast asleep. Michael watched him for a few moments longer, then sighed and went to bed himself, falling on top of the covers fully dressed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

FOR the second time that day his phone jerked him awake, although this time it was his mobile. Fumbling it out of his pocket—he‟d been lying on it, the hard shell of it digging into his hipbone, but apparently that wasn‟t annoying enough to keep him awake—he pressed blindly at the buttons and put it to his ear. “What?” “Told you that you needed some sleep. You could probably do with a little more, by the sounds of it,” Natalie said, as cheerful as ever. “While I hate to call you down here if you‟re going to be like a bear with a sore head, we‟ve got patients.” “Okay.” He looked at his watch, and was suddenly wide awake. “Shit, is it ten thirty?” The amusement in Nat‟s voice was plain. “Yep.” “You‟ve been open down there for an hour and a half all by yourself? Why didn‟t you call me when you opened?” “Because there wasn‟t anyone here, you idiot,” she said. “I thought I‟d let you sleep as long as I could.” “Shit,” he said again, sitting up and bending to put his shoes on. He was halfway down before he realized he‟d never taken them off. “I‟ll be there in a minute.” “No rush,” Natalie said breezily. “I‟ll make you a cup of coffee.” Michael laughed and hung up. The sight of Ryan asleep on his lounge, cocooned up in the blanket he‟d been given, stopped him in his tracks. Ryan had his arms wrapped around the pillow, hugging it, his head resting on just a corner

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of it. His hair was mussed, dark against the pillow, and Michael had the strongest urge to run his fingers through it again, just like he had in that strange few minutes in the recovery room watching over Murphy. He pushed the urge down and away, focusing on the more practical issue of whether to wake Ryan up or not. In the end, the desire to keep Ryan in his house—which he dared not examine too much—won out, and he left him sleeping. Natalie was waiting for him when he walked through the surgery doors, holding up a mug of coffee. He took it from her as he greeted their clients as cheerfully as he could, then took it out the back and drained it, burning his mouth in the process. Leaving the mug in the tea room sink, he went out the back to quickly check on Murphy before putting his lab coat on and walking through the back entrance of his consultation room, opening the door and ushering his first patient in with the best smile he could manage.

THEY weren‟t terribly busy, which was a good thing; Natalie left him alone in the surgery to get them both some lunch, and he was contemplating having a lie down on the floor in the back when the door opened, and Ryan walked in. He looked like he‟d just woken up, but that didn‟t stop the sight of him from curling Michael‟s toes. In fact, it magnified the feeling a thousandfold. Ryan smiled tiredly. “Hey.” “Hey,” Michael said, pushing away a hundred different dirty thoughts. “You didn‟t wake me up.” Michael smiled. “No. You looked like you needed the sleep.” Ryan chuckled, the throaty sound going straight to Michael‟s groin. “Yeah, I did. Thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair. “How‟s Murphy?” “He‟s good.” Michael got off the stool he‟d been sitting on. “Want to see him?”

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Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I do.” They went out back, Ryan following behind Michael. Murphy was awake but groggy when they approached his pen, but he wagged his tail when he saw them. Ryan crouched down and hooked his fingers through the wire. “Hey, little mate,” he said softly. “How‟re you doing?” Murphy wagged his tail again, and Ryan smiled and looked up at Michael. “How long before I can take him home?” “A couple of days. We just need to monitor him for a little while so we can make sure his recovery is going to be smooth, and then he can go home.” “Okay.” Ryan stood, and after a moment said, “Listen, Michael, I know I said it before, but thanks a lot for this. I really appreciate what you did for him.” “Oh, God, don‟t even… like I said, I was just doing my job. Don‟t even mention it. I was glad to do it.” “Even so.” Ryan shook his head. “I don‟t know what I would have done if I‟d lost him.” He glanced over his shoulder, and then suddenly stepped forward, pulling Michael into his arms and hugging him tight. They were pressed together from chest to hip, Ryan‟s arms like a vise around his back, and Michael could barely breathe with the shock of it. He‟d just gotten himself together enough to put his arms around Ryan in return when Ryan said, “Thanks,” against his ear and moved back, Michael‟s body aching with the loss of him. Before Michael had a chance to catch his breath, Ryan had turned and walked out, leaving Michael staring at his retreating back.

DESPITE Michael‟s exhaustion, that night he could barely sleep, tossing and turning until the wee small hours. When the birds started chirping, he gave in and got up, pulling on a T-shirt and a pair of ratty

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old tracksuit pants. Making himself a cup of coffee, he stood at his kitchen sink sipping it, then turned and left his flat, padding downstairs in his bare feet, still holding his coffee. It was a little chilly outside, the heat of summer finally being usurped by the cool of autumn, even though it was April, a third of autumn already over with. He would have put an extra layer on, but he didn‟t have far to go, slipping through the door of the surgery after a quick glance around at the deserted street. He turned the alarm off but left the lights off in the reception area of the surgery, walking through to the back room. The gray light of early morning seeping through the windows outlined Murphy‟s bulk in the pen where Michael had left him, sprawled out and apparently fast asleep, but when Michael snapped the lights on he shifted, lifting his head up sluggishly and thumping his tail against the floor of his pen as Michael approached. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly, kneeling down in front of the pen, putting his coffee down and opening the door. “How are you feeling?” He sat down on the floor next to the cage, and Murphy‟s tail thumped harder, and he used his front paws to inch himself over to where Michael sat, resting his head on Michael‟s thigh. Michael stroked his head gently, and Murphy sighed, his eyes half-closing at the sensation. Michael leaned against the pen and kept petting Murphy‟s head, his mind drifting to the time he‟d spent in that room with Ryan that day: stroking his fingers through Ryan‟s hair, Ryan‟s arm around his leg, waking up with his fingers still tangled in Ryan‟s hair, and then the hug, full-bodied and intense. Michael could still sense what it felt like to be pressed against Ryan, as if it had happened just a moment before. He would have liked that, liked to have had Ryan right here in the room with him, right then. He would have liked to have Ryan in a room with him always. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, sighing softly before opening his eyes and looking down at the dog. “I think I‟m buggered, Murph. What do you reckon?” Murphy looked up at the sound of his name, and his tail swept the floor of his cage again. Michael smiled. “Yeah, that‟s what I thought. Completely and utterly fucked.”

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Murphy didn‟t say anything, but then Michael didn‟t expect him to. It wasn‟t like he needed confirmation to know that he was doomed.

BY

THE time Natalie showed up for work, Michael had had three

coffees, a shower, and had cleaned the surgery from top to bottom in a futile effort to get his mind off Ryan. Business was steady that day, but still Michael had time to wonder whether Ryan would come in to see Murphy. Michael took responsibility for the dog‟s aftercare, waving Natalie off when she offered to do it for him. “I‟m fine, Nat. I did his surgery. I‟ll see him through to the end.” Nat shrugged. “Okay, but don‟t say I didn‟t offer.” By three o‟clock there had been no sign of Ryan, and finally Michael couldn‟t bottle it up any longer. After checking on Murphy for the fiftieth time, he strolled up to Natalie as she was restocking shelves. “I would have thought Ryan would have come in to see Murphy by now.” Natalie looked up at him. “Didn‟t I tell you? Ryan called before to see how Murphy was. Said he couldn‟t make it into town today, too much to do on the farm.” “Oh. Right.” Michael‟s stomach sank. “That explains it, then.” Michael checked in on Murphy a few more times before the end of the day. After work he went upstairs and made himself dinner, but it wasn‟t long before he found himself down in the surgery again, keeping Murphy company. Or maybe it was Murphy keeping him company, he wasn‟t quite sure.

THE next day he was out on farm consults all day, none of which included the Mitchell farm. When he got back, he went straight out the

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back to the pens, his heart skipping a beat when he saw that Murphy‟s cage was empty. “Where‟s Murphy?” he asked as Bill emerged from one of the consulting rooms to usher old Mr. Johnson and his ancient cat to the cash register for Natalie to take care of. “Did something happen?” “What? No, of course not. What in bloody hell would make you think that?” Bill said, laughing. “I sent him home. He was much brighter today. He‟s getting his color back in his gums and his wound still looked clean, so there was no reason to keep him. Why?” Michael blushed. “No reason. Did Ryan come to pick him up?” Bill nodded. “Yep. He told me to tell you he was sorry he missed you.” Michael‟s stomach twisted; that made two of them. “Oh. Right, then.” Bill smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don‟t look so glum. I know that he‟s a lovely dog to have around, but you did a great job patching him up. It‟s because of you he can go home so early. That‟s something to be thankful for.” “Of course. I am thankful, really thankful.” Michael smiled weakly. “It‟s just that… he is a good dog, and I‟ll… I‟ll miss him.” He paused. “Maybe I just need a pet.” Bill chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe you need to get out a bit more.” “Ah. Yeah. Right. Well, I‟m sure I‟ve got lots of work to do. Better get to it.” Bill laughed again as Michael beat a hasty retreat. “You do that.”

IT TURNED out that Michael wasn‟t destined to see Ryan for another few weeks. Easter was fast approaching, and business picked up in advance of the long weekend as people made preparations for boarding their pets while they traveled or made sure their pets were hale and

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hearty enough to travel with them. Michael had volunteered to work over Easter, because it was the best excuse he could have for not going back to Sydney for the long weekend. He had cause to regret that when his phone rang on Easter Monday. “You‟ll never guess who I saw yesterday.” “Oh, hello, Jen. Yes, I‟m fine thanks, how are you?” Michael said dryly. “Yes, yes, whatever, Michael. Guess who I saw!” Michael sighed. “Who? Oh, wait—your secret boyfriend Hugh Jackman?” “No, not my secret boyfriend Hugh Jackman, you idiot,” Jen said. “If I had Hugh Jackman here, do you think I‟d be wasting my time on the phone with you? No, of course not. So obviously it‟s someone that matters to you.” Michael was silent. Jen blew out an exasperated breath. “Ryan, you dick, your cowboy. I saw Ryan.” Michael‟s heart skipped several beats. “What? Where?” Jen‟s tone was smug. “At the Easter Show.” “The Easter Show? What the hell was he doing there?” “I don‟t know—riding.” Michael could practically hear her shrug. “He was doing his riding thing. What‟s it called? Campdrafting. The thing where the horse cuts the cow out of the herd and then chases it around.” Michael would have laughed at that description if he‟d been freaking out a little less. “So you saw him ride? Was that it? Did you speak to him?” “Yep, I spoke to him.” Jen paused. “He asked after you.” “What?” Michael knew, dimly, that he was starting to sound like a broken record. “What did he say?” “He just asked if you were around, that‟s all. If you were in Sydney for the long weekend. I told him no, that you‟d made up some

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pathetic excuse about having to work so you could get out of sleeping on my floor for four days.” Michael‟s head spun, and he leaned against his kitchen counter. “Did he say anything else?” Jen laughed. “Oh, Mikey, this is so high school. I‟m getting all nostalgic.” “Jen! What else did he say?” She laughed again. “Nothing much. Just that it was a pity you weren‟t around, that‟s all. The kids were there, so we couldn‟t talk much, Jack kept wanting to pat the horses. Besides, he‟s hardly going to confess to me that he wants in your pants, is he?” Michael fervently hoped not. “Not that it‟s not completely obvious that he does,” Jen continued. “He looked really disappointed when I said you weren‟t there.” Michael cursed inwardly at that. “I haven‟t seen him much lately. Did he say when he was coming back?” “Not specifically. He‟s staying until the end of the show, though, because he‟s competing. So he‟ll stay until at least tomorrow. Why?” Jen‟s tone was smug again. “You going to ask him to be your boyfriend, Mikey?” Michael flushed. “Shut up. No. I was just wondering, that‟s all. Like I said, I haven‟t seen him much lately.” “Mm-hmm. You just keep telling yourself that, Michael.” Michael frowned. “I will, don‟t worry. Is that all you rang for?” “Pretty much.” “Okay then. Bye.” Michael hung up without giving her a chance to have the last word. He put the phone down and went hunting through the house for pills, any pills that he could take that would make him feel better. He didn‟t have anything, of course, because he hadn‟t moved to the boondocks so that he could keep his bathroom cabinet

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well stocked with mood-altering substances. He washed down a few ibuprofen tablets with some bourbon and chased them down with the rest of the bottle, falling asleep in front of the TV with the bottle clutched to his chest.

NOTHING in the week after Easter improved his mood, especially not the fact that he still hadn‟t seen Ryan. Unless he wanted to get in his car and drive out to the farm unannounced—which he absolutely did not—his hands were tied. He got more and more grumpy about it as the days went on, until Natalie managed to inadvertently clue him in on why the Mitchells—because Andrew Mitchell was also scarce, although that was less noticeable as far as Michael was concerned— might have better things to do than be at Michael‟s beck and call. “It‟s only like the biggest event in the town for the whole year,” she said in response to his blank look when she‟d asked him whether he was excited about the upcoming eventing weekend. “I can‟t believe you haven‟t heard about it before now. Do you live under a rock or something?” “Pretty much,” Michael admitted. “Who goes to this thing?” “Only everyone.” She waved a hand toward the street outside. “And heaps of horse people come in from outside to compete. It‟s a huge thing. There‟s prize money and everything. The Mitchell brothers usually win something, or at least they do pretty well. They‟ll be training for it now they‟re back from the show. They always do. It‟s a big thing for them to win in their home town.” “Oh.” Michael paused. “That makes sense, I suppose.” Natalie nodded. “The whole town comes out to cheer them on. It wasn‟t the same when Ryan was in Sydney. He‟d make it up here to compete in the tent pegging, but to not have him in the campdrafting was just wrong.”

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Okay, she‟d mentioned campdrafting to him before, but tent pegging was new. He was reasonably sure that it didn‟t involve putting up tents. Or the use of dildos. In tents. “Tent pegging?” She rolled her eyes at him. “You really do live under a rock, don‟t you? It‟s a horse thing, using lances to pick up tags. It‟s a team sport mostly, but there are individual divisions using swords and things.” Michael stared at her for a minute. “That sounds… incredibly nerdy. I don‟t know what else to say. Just… wow. Nerdy.” She swatted him hard on the arm. “It‟s not nerdy, you idiot! Look it up. Watch some videos of it. It‟s not nerdy at all. God, honestly.” She shook her head. “Nerdy! Does Ryan Mitchell look like a nerd to you?” That stopped him in his tracks, because no, no he definitely did not. Ryan Mitchell was about as far from a nerd as Michael had ever seen.

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MAY AFTER ANZAC day, preparations for the equestrian weekend got underway with a vengeance. The showgrounds on the outskirts of town were the center of more activity than Michael had seen in his four months of living in Burreela put together, with workers erecting temporary seating and stabling for the out of town horses, marking out the arenas for competition, the campgrounds, and the various yards for inspections, marshalling, and cattle. The buzz in the town grew with each passing day, the show the main topic on everyone‟s lips, and it was almost easy for Michael to forget that he hadn‟t seen Ryan for weeks, especially once Michael found out that he was going to have to take part in the activities, at least in a work capacity. In the week leading up to the event, Bill instructed Michael on his expected duties. Staring at the tray of blood tubes and the fancy tamper-proof storage and labeling system that came along with them, Michael frowned. “They do drug testing? Why?” Bill looked at him as if he couldn‟t believe he‟d hired such an idiot. “It‟s a national sport, Michael, and a very competitive one. There‟s big money in it, both in the winning of events and in what the reputation of a good horse can bring you afterward. Of course there‟s drug testing.” “Oh.” Michael picked up one of the storage containers. “Do I have to do every horse?” Bill shook his head. “No, it‟s random swabbing. You‟ll have to do a certain percentage, but you‟ll have a representative of the drug testing body there with you, so it should all go pretty smoothly. All you

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really have to do is take the blood, and seal it up according to regulations so that the drug testing people can take it away.” Michael nodded. “That doesn‟t sound too bad. What else is there to do?” “The horses are inspected, but you won‟t necessarily have to do that. The organizers and judges will go over the horses first, and they‟ll only call you in if they need a more in-depth opinion of the soundness of a horse. If an animal gets injured, you‟ll have to deal with that, of course, and that means horse or cattle. If nothing dramatic happens, then that‟s good for you.” Bill grinned and slapped Michael on the shoulder. “All you‟ll have to do then is watch the show and use those puppy dog eyes of yours to sweet talk the St. Vinnie‟s ladies into giving you a piece of fruitcake for free.” Michael smiled. “That doesn‟t sound like anything too strenuous.” “No, it‟s not.” Bill started stacking the blood tubes and containers back into their box. “You‟ll have a good time, as long as no beast breaks their leg. Make sure you remember your phone. And your hat. Even the autumn sun‟s not good for someone as lily white as you, boy.” Michael nodded, hoping fervently for no broken legs, for anyone. And no third degree burns on his scalp. “I will, don‟t worry.”

IT SEEMED everyone in town was holding their breath as the weekend approached, watching the skies and the weather report for any signs of rain. The Saturday morning of the event weekend dawned bright and clear, if a little cold. Michael fancied that the light breeze that ruffled his hair as he closed his front door behind him was the collective sigh of relief of the town‟s population that their big horse weekend was all systems go. He drove into the showgrounds at 7 a.m., and even then the area for trucks and horse floats was starting to fill up. Reporting to the event

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organizers, he was taken to the cattle pens first, checking the animals for any signs of illness or lameness. Declaring them all fit, he headed back over to the marshalling area, where the competitor‟s horses were lining up for inspection. Michael stood back to watch, his initial impulse to offer to help quashed by the incredibly practiced efficiency of the judges and organizers in assessing the soundness of the horses. At first there was no one he knew in line, the initial rush being out-oftowners who had traveled to the event, some having driven for hours and hours to get there, if what Michael heard them saying while they waited was to be believed. As the morning wore on and it got closer to competition time, more people he knew began arriving, both spectators and competitors. Natalie waved to him from over near the stands. He went over to have a chat with her, and when he came back, Ryan and Andrew were waiting in line to be inspected. Ryan was mounted on Charlie, while Andrew had Lulu. Ryan grinned when he saw Michael and leaned down to shake Michael‟s hand as he drew up beside him. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Bill rope you into doing the whole weekend, then?” Michael smiled, grasping Ryan‟s hand firmly. “Yeah, he did.” Ryan kept hold of Michael‟s hand for just a few moments too long, as he smiled down into Michael‟s face. “Lazy bugger.” Michael shrugged, trying not to take too much notice of the way Ryan‟s fingers had grazed along his palm as he‟d let go. “I don‟t mind. It‟s all a learning experience, right?” “Right.” Ryan looked up as the horse ahead of him moved up in the line. “You probably won‟t be that busy. I suppose Bill told you that.” He looked down at Michael again. “If you get bored, come and find us. We‟re around all weekend too. When we‟re not competing.” “Oh. Okay.” Michael nodded. “Sure.” Ryan grinned again. “Great.” The line shifted again, the horse and rider in front of Ryan moving up to be inspected. “Looks like it‟s almost our turn. See you later, all right?” “All right,” Michael said, and stepped back as Ryan moved off. Andrew smiled and touched the brim of his hat as he passed Michael,

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the knowing look in his eyes causing a tide of warmth to wash over Michael‟s face and neck. Flustered, he turned and beat a hasty retreat into the growing crowd. As he neared the stands, Natalie flagged him down. He went to join her, saying a vague hello to the girls she was with, who he recognized but didn‟t really know. “I see you caught up with Ryan and Andrew,” Natalie said, sipping at the can of drink in her hand. “They all keen and raring to go?” Possibly in more ways than Natalie might guess. “Yeah, looks like it.” Natalie nodded. “Yeah. They‟re really good at all this stuff. Wait ‟til you see them. Those horses of Ryan‟s are something special in the ring.” “Well, I wouldn‟t know a good horse from a bad one for these sorts of things.” She waved the protest off. “No, you will. You‟ll be able to tell. You can‟t miss it. Plus, Ryan especially can ride like no one‟s business. He‟s a great rider.” Michael looked over to the marshalling area, where Ryan had finished his inspection and had moved off to the side to wait for Andrew. He sat in the saddle as if he was born to it, like he was just sitting in a chair in his lounge room at home. As Michael watched, Charlie shook her head, swishing her tail. Ryan reached out to pat her neck, and Michael could see his lips moving. Done with comforting Charlie, Ryan‟s hand dropped back into his lap and he looked around, catching Michael‟s eye. Caught, Michael froze, unable to look away, and for a long moment, Ryan did nothing but stare. Eventually, he smiled slightly and inclined his head, then turned back to watch Andrew, who had finished his inspection and was heading for him. Ryan turned Charlie ‟round, and the two Mitchell horses fell into step as they headed back to the area where the floats were parked. Before they went out of sight, Ryan looked at him again, and this time Michael could have sworn he winked. Michael‟s heart flipped in his chest, and it

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must have shown on his face, because when he focused on Ryan again, he was grinning. Bastard. “You‟re not listening to me, are you?” Michael looked at Natalie. “What?” She shook her head, rolling her eyes at him. “I‟m talking to you, and you‟re not listening. What‟s up your bum?” Michael frowned. “Nothing, I just… I‟m just distracted. I‟ve never seen anything like this before, that‟s all.” She took another sip of her drink. “This is nothing. Wait ‟til the competition starts. Now that‟s exciting.” Michael looked at the arena, where two sections were cordoned off. One was just an empty field, and one had four tall pegs placed in a kind of triangle design: two at the bottom, a fair distance apart—the corners of the triangle—and two at the top only a few feet apart—the apex of the triangle. “I‟ll take your word for it.” She smiled and drained her drink. “In a minute, you won‟t have to. Now get me a drink, city boy.” Michael laughed. “That‟s how it‟s going to be, is it? Me at your beck and call today.” She looked at him, smirking. “Isn‟t that how it always is?” Michael snorted and got up, plucking the can out of her hands. “You‟ve got a point.” Michael got Natalie her drink and then headed back to the marshalling area so he could be nearer to the action in case they needed him when the competition started. The Internet had given him a crash course in the rules of campdrafting, what was supposed to go on and how it was scored (although he‟d promptly forgotten that part almost as soon as he‟d switched the computer off), but he was unprepared for seeing kids as young as twelve or thirteen head out into the arena. The first one who trotted out looked like she wasn‟t old enough to tie her own shoelaces, let alone cut a cow out of a mob and get it to where she wanted it to go, but in that, he was proved very wrong.

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Cutting her cow out from the rest of the herd was performed with ruthless efficiency. Despite the beast‟s best efforts to get back to her fellows, the girl herded her out of the first arena and into the second, where, quicker than Michael would have thought possible, the cow was shouldered around the first peg, into a figure eight around the second peg, and up and around through the final two pegs. The crowd burst into a round of rousing applause, which Michael contributed to, all while being suitably amazed. The next kid to compete and the next and the next were all just as impressive as the first, and Michael was left with a healthy respect for the kind of upbringing that made small children capable of such amazing things. He went into the stables to take blood samples from the winning horse and a few of its stable mates, congratulating the winner, who thanked him politely while she watched him bleed her horse, then ran off with her friends to enjoy the rest of the day while Michael finished his job.

THE whole morning went the same way, Michael watching the competition with a new respect for what country people could do. The crowd was right behind everyone, although the cheers were a little louder for the local contestants, especially when they won. In between swabbing and leaning against the fence watching the action, he took a wander around the showground and the various stalls that were set up to sell arts and crafts, food, and clothing. The whole atmosphere of the place was very much like a carnival, with kids running here and there, laughing and chattering with each other, and adults doing a fair bit of laughing themselves. Michael wheedled a piece of jam sponge and a cup of tea off Astrid at the St. Vincent De Paul Society fund-raising stall, but then slipped a twenty-dollar note into the cashbox when he thought she wasn‟t looking. Apparently, however, you don‟t get to be near to eighty years old without growing eyes in the back of your head, because it didn‟t escape her. “Michael, love, no. It was supposed to be on the house, for the help you give me and Oscar. Anyway, that‟s too much for just a cup of

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tea and a bit of cake.” She tried to shove fifteen dollars back into his hand. “Take your change, love, at least.” Michael held his hands up out of her reach with a laugh. At six feet, he was close to a foot taller than her. “No! I‟m not taking it, Astrid. Put it back. It‟s for charity.” He laughed again and stepped back when she tried to put the money into his jeans pocket. “Hey! Didn‟t your mother ever teach you to buy a boy dinner before you go sticking your hands in his pants?” Astrid shrieked in mock horror, turning to pick up her handbag so she could whack him with it. Michael grunted when it hit him in the side, laughing breathlessly. She went to take another swing at him and he stepped back, right into a person standing behind him. “God, sorry,” he said, turning to look at the person he‟d bumped, a flush starting to creep up his neck as soon as he did. “Oh, I—hi.” Ryan grinned at him. “Hi,” he said cheerfully. “I‟m not sure I learned that rule myself, so I‟ll have to remember it: dinner first, then hands in the pants.” Michael stared at Ryan, unable to think of a single word to say, his face still way too hot for comfort. Ryan watched him a moment, then laughed and stepped around the side of the table, close to Astrid, who was standing now with her handbag clutched to her chest. She had two spots of color high on her cheeks, but her eyes were shining, and she tittered like a schoolgirl when Ryan leaned in close to her and said, “Astrid, my sweet, is this man bothering you? I can have him arrested if you want me to.” “Oh, go on with you both,” she said, batting at Ryan with her bag, putting considerably less force behind it with him. “Stop harassing an old lady and be off with you.” Ryan laughed and stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender. “All right, but you should know that you‟ve missed a great opportunity to clean the riffraff off the streets of Burreela.” He cast a sly look at Michael, then walked around to the front of the stall. “Since I‟ve been foiled in my bid to have our young Dr. Stone arrested, I suppose I‟ll just have to have some cake and a cuppa to make up for it.”

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Ryan continued to charm Astrid to within an inch of her life all the way through the transaction, distracting Michael so much that he didn‟t realize that he should have made his escape while they were occupied until Ryan turned around, a piece of cake and a cup of tea in his hand, and said, “Michael! Come and walk with me.” “What?” Michael said, but then Ryan‟s cake-holding hand was in the small of his back, pushing him away from the cake stall and into the stream of people browsing the wares for sale. “Nothing,” Ryan answered eventually, biting off half his cake in one mouthful, groaning when he tasted it. “Good cake,” he said with his mouth full, then gulped half his tea to wash it down. He didn‟t speak again until he‟d finished all the cake, and then it was only to eye Michael‟s own piece, still clutched in his hand and somewhat the worse for wear. “You going to eat that?” “What?” Michael looked down at his hand. “Oh. Ah… yeah, I suppose.” He shoveled it down almost as quickly as Ryan had and chased it with his now lukewarm tea, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he looked back at Ryan and caught him watching. “What?” Ryan smiled. “Nothing.” He was silent a moment. “Enjoying yourself?” “I am actually.” Michael smiled. “Not that I thought I wouldn‟t, but… you know. I‟ve never been to something like this before. It‟s interesting.” Ryan nodded. “I think so.” He looked over to the arena. “Andrew and I will be riding this afternoon.” “Do you think you‟ll win?” Ryan shrugged. “Don‟t know. There‟s only so much you can do to make sure it happens when you‟re talking about herding a live animal, but Charlie‟s a good horse, so I‟ve got a good chance.” He looked at Michael. “You‟ll be watching, right?” “Oh, ah… yeah. Yeah, of course.” Michael cleared his throat, willing his face not to heat again and cursing his pale, embarrassmentprone complexion. “I‟ve watched a lot of the competitors today.”

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Ryan smiled slightly. “Right. Just wanted to make sure.” Michael had no idea what to say to that—again—but he was saved from saying something stupid by a bout of applause from the audience, and Ryan nodding toward the arena and saying, “Looks like the last one in that division is done. Haven‟t you got swabs to take soon?” Michael looked toward the arena. “Yeah, I have. I better go.” He went to turn back the way they‟d come, but then stopped. “Good luck for your ride. And tell Andrew good luck from me as well.” Ryan nodded. “Thanks, I will.” Michael nodded, then turned away, but he only got a few steps from Ryan before he felt a hand on his arm pulling him up. “Hey,” Ryan said, suddenly sounding urgent. “After the competition ends for the day, we usually hang around the floats, cook some dinner, and have a few bevvies and a laugh. Why don‟t you come along? If you‟re not busy, that is,” he added, as if it was an afterthought. Michael stayed silent for a moment, more because he was very conscious of the warmth of Ryan‟s hand on his elbow than because it was a particularly difficult decision to make. “Okay,” he said eventually, nodding. “I‟ll come by for a little while, anyway.” “Good.” Ryan nodded and let him go. “I‟ll see you later, then.” “Yeah.” Michael nodded and turned to go again, and this time, no one stopped him.

HALF his lunchtime was spent swabbing the random selection of horses from the last division to compete, and he might not have eaten at all if Natalie hadn‟t brought him over a sausage sandwich and a Coke. After lunch, Ryan and Andrew‟s division was scheduled to compete, so Michael got himself a prime position to watch, his stomach fluttering a little from sympathetic nervousness. Andrew was up first, cutting his cow out of the herd with almost surgical precision and urging it out into

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the field and around the pegs at almost a gallop. After only a morning‟s worth of observation, Michael thought he did pretty well, and judging by the applause of the crowd, they did too. A couple of competitors from out of town came next, and then it was Ryan‟s turn. When he entered the arena, a cheer went up that was a little louder than what the other hometown riders had received. Michael looked up into the stands to see a group of about four people cheering Ryan on with great enthusiasm, wolf-whistling and whooping. Michael squinted at them, pretty sure they weren‟t from town. He didn‟t get a chance to figure out where they might be from, though, because at that moment, Andrew Mitchell climbed onto the fence beside him. Michael looked at him in surprise, but Andrew just nodded at him. “You‟ve got a good spot here.” Michael opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Andrew nodded again, toward the arena this time. “Ryan‟s round‟s about to start.” Michael looked toward the arena to see the judge and Ryan acknowledging each other with nods. Then Ryan turned his attention to the group of cattle in the corner of the pen, and Charlie moved forward, cutting a cow from the herd with as much efficiency as Andrew‟s horse had. The beast resisted, and they went head to head, Charlie swerving and pirouetting on her haunches to keep the animal away from its fellows. Incredibly graceful, she looked like she was dancing, and on her back, Ryan looked like he was part of her, his body swaying with her movements as she kept the cow separated from the herd. Her ears were back, as if listening to him, but he didn‟t seem to be saying anything. In fact, he didn‟t seem to be doing anything at all. “He doesn‟t look as if he‟s directing her at all,” Michael said quietly, as if speaking above a whisper would disturb the spectacle in front of him. Andrew nodded. “She‟s a great horse. But he is directing her. You just can‟t see it. Not unless you know what to look for.” He paused a moment, not taking his eyes off Ryan, then nodded at them as they

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started to move the cow across the arena, to show the judge they had control of it. “See, he gave her a signal then.” Michael was glad Andrew could see that, because it still looked to him as if Charlie was doing it all on her own. “He practices a lot,” Andrew continued, his tone turning dry. “He really needs to get laid.” Michael kept his eyes focused on Ryan and Charlie, ignoring the remark and hoping that he was imagining that Andrew had turned his head to look at him. Across the arena, Charlie and Ryan were making the cow turn and cross the arena again. When they‟d forced the beast back the way it had come, Ryan approached the gate leading to the arena with the pegs. He nodded at the steward standing at the gate, and said, “Let‟s go.” The steward opened the gate, and Charlie and Ryan herded the cow into the second arena, Charlie surging into a gallop and pushing the beast toward the first peg, so close to it that the side of the cow was almost touching Ryan‟s leg. They skidded around the first peg at a full gallop, kicking up clouds of dust from the ground, and Michael held his breath when it looked like Charlie‟s legs were going to come out from under her, Ryan leaning in so close to her turn that it looked like he‟d come out of the saddle. They made it ‟round the first and second pegs and sprinted for the gate pegs at the top of the triangle. Charlie turned so abruptly to force the cow in between them—almost slamming into the cow‟s side and looking like she was going to fall again—that Michael sucked in an audible breath, his heart in his throat. But she kept her footing, and Ryan kept his seat, and when the cow, the horse, and the man pelted through the gate pegs, an ecstatic cheer went up from the crowd. Michael saw Ryan look up with a grin on his face as the cow galloped off, and he and Charlie slowed, tipping his hat to the stands, a special nod reserved for the group Michael had noticed before. “Who are they? The ones cheering really loudly.” “They‟re his mates from the police force,” Andrew said as Ryan left the arena and started down the fence line, walking toward them. “They‟re competing in the tent pegging tomorrow, but they came up

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early so they could see him. They usually do that, when they can.” He stood up, hitching a leg over the fence and jumping down, then looking up as Ryan approached. “Good ride,” he said to his brother as Ryan and Charlie stopped beside them. “Yeah,” Ryan said, reaching down to stroke Charlie‟s neck. “The old girl did good today. Like always.” He looked at Michael. “What‟d you think of that then?” “It was good.” Michael cringed inwardly at the pathetic description of what he‟d just seen. “I mean… you looked like you weren‟t even giving her directions.” Ryan shrugged. “We just practice a lot. Don‟t we, Charlie?” he said to the horse, patting her neck once more. “You can say that again. You need something better to do, little brother,” Andrew said with a roll of his eyes. Ryan laughed. “You‟re only saying that because you want the chance to beat me.” He held out his arm. “Ready?” Andrew nodded and grabbed Ryan‟s arm. Ryan moved his foot out of the stirrup and Andrew stepped up into it, swinging himself up onto Charlie‟s rump, behind her saddle. Charlie didn‟t move a muscle. When Andrew had settled himself, Ryan looked back at Michael. “So we‟ll see you later, right? At our campsite?” Michael nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I‟ll be down to do a few swabs, too, later, so I might see you before then anyway.” “Probably. But if not, I‟ll see you at our barbie.” “Right.” Ryan inclined his head with a smile and urged Charlie into a walk again. Michael watched them weave slowly through the crowd, so he saw Ryan look back at him and wave again. Michael waved back and watched as Ryan turned back around. He was still watching when Andrew said something to Ryan, and Ryan laughed and elbowed Andrew hard in the ribs, causing Andrew to shove at him. Michael couldn‟t help but wonder what that was about, but he didn‟t have time

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to think about it too much when the Campdrafting Association official found him to give him the list of horses to be swabbed.

WHEN Michael went into the stables to test the horses from the last round, there was still a crowd of people around Ryan, shaking his hand and slapping his back in congratulations. When Michael approached, they all greeted him with a smile and began to disperse. Ryan smiled at him, then looked down at the venipuncture equipment in his hand and over at the drug testing official standing behind Michael. “This isn‟t a social call then.” “No.” Michael paused, taking his hat off and hooking it over a corner post on Charlie‟s stall. “Sorry.” Ryan shrugged and opened the stall door, picking up a brush balanced on the side of the stall and starting to brush Charlie down. “No worries. It‟s all part of the business these days, so do your worst.” “Okay,” Michael paused to stroke Charlie‟s face a minute, then got down to business, trying not to concentrate on the fact that Ryan was watching him. Once the blood tube was filling, he spoke without looking up. “That was a nice ride. Your ride, I mean.” He looked up then, and smiled. “Even I could tell that you were the best.” “Yeah?” Ryan‟s smile was a mix of bashful and cocky. “Thanks. That means a lot.” Michael had no idea why it would mean anything at all, but he wasn‟t going to press it. “You‟re welcome.” Ryan didn‟t try to continue the conversation, and for a few minutes there was just the rhythmic sound of the brush as he continued Charlie‟s grooming, and chatter from the other stalls as the competitors bedded their horses down for the night. Somehow, that seemed far enough away that it was like they were alone. Michael finished collecting the blood and packed the vials away carefully, pausing to give Charlie a sugar cube from his pocket and stroke her nose again. He left the stall to give the samples to the official, then came back to fetch

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his hat. He plunked it on his head and looked up to find that Ryan was watching him again, a small smile on his face. When their eyes met Ryan‟s smile widened. “We‟ll be putting the barbie on soon. Still going to come over for a snag or two and a beer?” “Sure, yeah.” Michael nodded. “That‟d be nice. I might not stay long, though.” Ryan shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Stay as long as you like.” “Right. I will.” Michael paused. “I‟ll just go and… I‟ll finish the swabbing, and then I‟ll come over there. You‟ll be easy for me to spot, right?” Ryan nodded. “Probably, but why don‟t I just wait for you?” He looked up, the expression on his face innocent. “I‟ve still got to bed Charlie down properly, and it won‟t take you long to finish what you‟ve got to do, so we can go over there together. That way no one gets lost.” Michael could hardly get lost, but he found himself nodding. “Okay. I‟ll see you in a bit, then.”

BY

THE time Michael had finished and passed the last of the blood

samples into the care of the testing officials, Ryan was sitting on a bag of feed, slouched against the door of Charlie‟s stall with his hat pulled down low over his eyes. It seemed he‟d been watching, however, since Michael was still several steps away when he sprang to his feet. “Right! Ready to go?” Michael nodded. “Yeah.” Ryan grinned. “Great.” He led them out of the stables and across the showground car park, weaving in and out among the cars and floats to get to the campground. They made a beeline for the camp where Andrew was presiding over the barbecue, tongs in one hand and a beer in the other, while several people sat around on the cleared ground. Michael recognized them as those who‟d cheered so enthusiastically for

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Ryan before his ride that afternoon. Andrew greeted them with a smile, and the other occupants of the circle looked up at them curiously. Ryan put a hand on his shoulder. “Everyone, this is Michael. Michael, these are my old friends from my mounted police days.” He pointed at the first person in the circle and moved from person to person as he introduced them. “Paul, Susie, Duncan, and Anton.” “Hi,” he said as they all acknowledged him in various ways, trying not to be nervous about being in the midst of a whole pack of police officers, reminding himself that he didn‟t have anything to be nervous about anymore. “Nice to meet you.” Ryan squeezed his shoulder gently. “Michael‟s the new vet in town. He looks after Charlie for me.” Michael started. “Ah, well, not really. Sometimes I do. I‟m not the only vet here. I just patched her up once.” Ryan‟s hand squeezed his shoulder a little harder. “Nah, don‟t sell yourself short. You did a great job on her. Like I said, it hardly left a scar.” Ryan‟s hand moved from Michael‟s shoulder to his back, and he found himself propelled forward, Ryan guiding him to a seat within the circle. “Sit down, and I‟ll get you a beer. The food should be ready in a bit.” Michael settled himself, trying not to blush under the scrutiny of four pairs of eyes. He accepted the beer Ryan offered him gratefully, but he couldn‟t help wishing it was something a little stronger. Or something that came in a pill. Not that he should be thinking that while sitting in a circle full of coppers. Ryan sat down on the log opposite him and grinned before taking a sip of his beer, but Michael was distracted from watching the movement of Ryan‟s throat as he swallowed by Susie beginning an interrogation. “So, Michael, how long have you been in town?” Michael looked at her. “Since just after Christmas. January.” “Did you move here from Sydney?” “Yes.”

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Susie nodded. “Big change, moving from Sydney to a place like this. Why did you want to do that?” One of the others coughed, trying to hide a laugh, and Michael could feel himself blushing as Ryan said, “Suze! None of that, now.” Susie looked sheepish. “Sorry. Got carried away.” She smiled at Michael in apology. “Do you like it here?” Michael glanced at Ryan, who was taking another sip of beer and looking along the side of the bottle at him, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “Yeah. I mean, it is a lot different from what I‟m used to, and I‟m still getting to grips with a few things, since I didn‟t really do any large animal work when I was in Sydney, but it‟s nice.” He glanced at Ryan again. “The people are nice. Welcoming.” He looked back at Susie, who was smirking in Ryan‟s direction. “Some more welcoming than others, I‟d imagine.” Michael hesitated, looking at Ryan again, who was now carefully not looking at either Michael or Susie; suddenly, the label of his beer bottle looked like it was fascinating him. “Ah, yeah. Sure, I suppose it‟s like that. But it‟s like that anywhere new, isn‟t it?” Susie nodded. “Probably. So what are you—?” “Suze, come on, give the poor guy a break,” the man Ryan had called Anton said, to a chorus of laughs. “Let him drink his beer in peace.” Susie blushed a little. “I‟m just trying to get to know the guy.” She looked at Michael, smiling at him again. “Sorry. Sometimes I get a little protective.” “It‟s okay,” Michael said, choosing not to consider why she would have to feel protective of anyone there. “I don‟t mind.” “You‟re just being polite,” Anton said, standing up to fetch himself another drink. “It‟s Saturday, Ryan won his division today with a great ride”—this statement was greeted with several whoops and cheers, and Ryan blushing, which Michael was disturbed to realize that he found charming—“and we‟re having a barbie and a few drinks. That‟s all that matters right now.” He walked to get his drink and then

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sat down again next to Susie, putting his arm around her and kissing her cheek before handing her a beer. The talk turned to more general topics then, like the events of the day and the plan for tomorrow. To stave off Natalie‟s scorn, Michael had spent some time looking up tent pegging on the Internet, and had been surprised to find that when it came to tent pegging, the mounted police of Australia were right into it, so much so that they were at the top of the sport. When Natalie had talked about Ryan participating in it when he‟d been a policeman, Michael hadn‟t considered that it would have been more than a hobby for him, but apparently he was very, very wrong. As they ate there was talk on the good and bad points of various judges, of which competitors were present, how far they‟d traveled— Michael was surprised to hear that the mounted police from Victoria were in attendance—the various rankings of the teams, and how they‟d done at other meets during the year. Once dinner was over, they spread out, and the drink started really flowing. Michael, mindful of the fact that he was driving home, working the next day, and had made a pretty big fool of himself the last time he‟d had a few drinks in front of Ryan, started refusing them, but the others, all of whom were sleeping in the campgrounds that night, kept drinking steadily. As a result, they got a bit more rowdy, but since they were on the edges of the campground there weren‟t that many people around to disturb. As everyone relaxed, talk turned to when they were all in Sydney together and the things they saw on their beat. Duncan turned out to be a pretty good storyteller, and it wasn‟t long before he had everyone in stitches, including Michael, who didn‟t think he‟d laughed that much in years. On top of the way he was enjoying himself, Michael was surprised to find that he liked seeing Ryan like that, too, grinning and trading insults with his old buddies, laughing so much that he almost snorted beer out of his nose. After one particularly hilarious story about a stag party and go-carting, Duncan slapped Ryan on the shoulder. “And then, that guy that you were going out with, what was his name? Tom, Tim, something….”

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Duncan had stopped when the others had fallen silent, and everyone was holding their breath. From a few camps over, there was a burst of laughter, but Michael fancied that you would have heard a pin drop in the middle of theirs. Everyone seemed to be looking at him… everyone but Duncan, at least, who was looking around and behind himself, eyebrows raised. “What?” He looked behind himself again, out at the empty grounds. “I didn‟t say that too loud, did I? There‟s no one there to hear….” He turned back to the center, catching Michael‟s gaze before realizing that everyone else was looking at Michael too. “Oh, I… I thought… aren‟t you—?” He looked at Ryan. “He doesn‟t know?” Ryan was staring at Michael, his expression intent. Ryan took another sip of his beer and didn‟t take his eyes off Michael as he said quietly, “He knows.” Everyone‟s sighs of relief were almost audible, and the palpable air of tension in their little circle evaporated. Michael couldn‟t take his eyes off Ryan. “Oh. Good. Excellent,” Duncan said, slapping Ryan on the back again. “Don‟t want to be the one who lets that little cat out of the bag, right?” “Right,” Ryan said, still staring at Michael. “It‟s all right, mate. Finish telling the story. Michael wants to hear it. Don‟t you, Michael?” Michael nodded dumbly, still not taking his eyes off Ryan. They stared at each other for a few moments, until Ryan broke the spell by getting up to get another drink. Michael looked around, slightly dazed, and realized he hadn‟t heard a word of the rest of what Duncan said. He didn‟t hear anyone else‟s story, really, even though he tried his best to concentrate. Ryan kept looking at him, and even when he wasn‟t, Michael found that he himself couldn‟t stop staring. Ryan caught him at it a couple of times, but each time he just smiled a little, took another sip of his drink and looked away. They didn‟t talk outside of the general group conversation, and Michael couldn‟t decide whether he wanted to or not.

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Eventually it got late, too late for Michael to stay any longer when he had to get up so early the next morning. He excused himself, and no one tried to stop him from going, but when he‟d stepped around a horse float into the shadows, he heard steps behind him, and a warm hand closed over his elbow. “Michael….” Michael turned, his heart suddenly galloping in his chest. “What?” Ryan hesitated. “You all right?” Michael nodded. “Yeah, of course I‟m all right. Why wouldn‟t I be?” Ryan hesitated again, then shrugged. “Right. There‟s no reason for you not to be all right. No reason at all.” He smiled, suddenly selfassured again. “Sure you can‟t stay for a little longer?” Michael shook his head. “Sorry. I‟ve had a really good time, but I have to get up early tomorrow to be back here….” “Right, yeah. Of course. I better let you go then.” He held on to Michael for a moment longer, then let go, his fingers sliding down Michael‟s arm. Michael had to suppress a shiver. “See you tomorrow?” “Definitely,” Michael said, nodding briskly before forcing himself to turn and walk away. Leaving the warmth of the fire and the laughter of Ryan and his friends behind, Michael headed toward his car, when he suddenly realized that he‟d left his kit in the stables when he‟d finished swabbing, and was missing his bloody hat again. He switched direction, heading for the stables, wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chill that not even the pleasant buzz of the beer he‟d had could take from the air. He picked his way around cars and floats and entered the main door of the makeshift stables. The light hanging above the doorway came on as he approached, and inside a horse whickered softly. The air was filled with the smell of hay and horse, with an undercurrent of the richer smells of grain feed and molasses. Some of the horses shifted as he walked past them. He tread carefully as he

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stepped further into the shed and out of the pool of light in the doorway. Halfway down, another motion light came on, this one a lower wattage than the one at the door, filling the stables with muted yellow light. By it, a few stalls down from the midpoint of the shed, he could see that his hat was hanging on a corner post, his kit on the ground underneath it. He swore softly to himself and went to collect them, dusting his hat off before slapping it back onto his head. Another horse further down the row snorted, stamping its foot, and when he turned to look, he saw it was Charlie. “Hey, Charlie,” he said softly, hesitating a moment before going over to her, stroking his knuckles down her velvet-soft nose. She nuzzled at his hand, and he laughed softly. “I don‟t think I‟ve got… oh, hang on, maybe I have. Let‟s see….” He hunted around in his pocket for a minute to see if he had any more sugar cubes. He didn‟t think he had any left, but when he put his hand in his pocket, he did have some, a little packet with two cubes in it. “Oh, here we go, we‟re in luck.” He brought his hand out and started ripping open the packet, batting her head away gently when she stretched her nose out to see what he had. “Not yet! I‟ve got to get them out first. They‟re my lucky last, so you better make the most of it.” Finally managing to get the packet open, he laid both cubes out on his flattened palm and held them out to her. She mouthed at his hand and took them both at once, crunching them noisily in her teeth. Michael smiled and reached out a hand to stroke her nose again. “There you go,” he said softly. “Buttering up my horse with treats, are we?” Michael almost jumped out of his skin, so much so that Charlie flicked her head back, startled. She wasn‟t the only one; Michael clutched at his chest, hand over his hammering heart. “Holy crap, Ryan! You scared the shit out of me.” Ryan grinned from his vantage point under the midway point light. “Sorry. Didn‟t mean to.” Michael looked at him for a moment, but there was nothing else forthcoming. Charlie nuzzled at the brim of his hat, and he gently nudged her away from it. “What are you doing here?”

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Ryan shrugged and came closer, but stopped a few feet away. Charlie huffed and reached out her nose to him, and he reached out to stroke her face without taking his eyes off Michael. “Following you.” Michael‟s heart skipped in his chest. “Following me?” Ryan smiled crookedly and came a little closer. “Yeah.” “Why?” “Because.” Ryan was closer now. Even with the light behind him and his face half-shadowed, Michael could see his smile turn sly. His eyes were focused on Michael‟s lips now, and it was all Michael could do not to lick them. “I wanted to get you alone.” “You wanted to—” Michael stopped, distracted by Ryan‟s hand, which had cupped his chin, Ryan‟s thumb running over Michael‟s bottom lip. “Ryan….” “Yeah?” Ryan was closer now, pushing Michael back into the shadows of the empty stall next to Charlie‟s, his hand moving to cup the back of Michael‟s neck. As Ryan‟s body pressed against him, Michael couldn‟t think of what it was that he‟d wanted to say. “What are you doing?” Ryan pressed him back against the wall of the stall and laughed a little, so close now that Michael could feel his breath against his lips. “What does it look like?” Ryan whispered, then pressed his mouth to Michael‟s. The kiss was hard and quick, over before it had begun. As surprised when it ended as when it had begun, Michael was drawing breath to ask Ryan what the hell he thought he was doing when Ryan moved in again, Michael‟s parted lips putting up no resistance to Ryan‟s tongue. Michael made a soft noise in the back of his throat, which was not quite a moan, and gave in like he‟d wanted to for weeks, opening his mouth, touching his tongue to Ryan‟s and deepening the kiss. Ryan pressed forward, knocking Michael‟s hat almost off his head. Reaching up to grab it, Ryan threw it to the floor of the stall and tangled his hands in Michael‟s hair, tugging his head back as the kiss grew more frantic, their breathing rough and loud in the quiet of the stables. Giving himself over to it, Michael‟s hands came up to tangle in Ryan‟s shirt at the small of his back, material bunched up tight between

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his fingers. Dimly, through his closed eyelids and the rising tide of lust that was threatening to overtake him, Michael sensed the light in the middle of the shed go off. Ryan seemed to take the darkness as some kind of cue, his knee shoving in between Michael‟s thighs as he finally broke the kiss and bent his head to nip at Michael‟s throat. “Fuck, Ryan,” Michael gasped, and started to pull at Ryan‟s shirt, tugging the hem out of his jeans to get at the skin beneath. “Yeah,” Ryan said, putting his head up to kiss Michael again, his arms around Michael‟s waist to hitch him closer, the movement bringing Michael‟s crotch into contact with Ryan‟s thigh. Michael thrust mindlessly, unable to help himself, and they both moaned, Ryan grabbing him and shoving him up against the wall again to thrust against him, rubbing their cocks together through their jeans. Michael thrust back, his hands clutching Ryan‟s back under his shirt to keep him close. Michael bit at Ryan‟s shoulder and Ryan shuddered and rubbed against him again, hard, but just when Ryan‟s hands were moving to Michael‟s zipper the light at the midway of the shed snapped on again. They both froze, still pressed against the wall in the shadows. Ryan lifted his head, tilted it, listening as they heard two different voices coming down the central aisle of the shed. Michael shoved at Ryan in a panic, but Ryan shook his head and pressed Michael up against the wall of the stall again, putting a finger to his lips to signal him to keep quiet. For a few tense moments the voices came closer still, but then they stopped before they reached Charlie‟s stall, lingered a few heart-stopping moments, then started to move away back down the aisle toward the door. Michael sagged against the wall in relief, his heart hammering for a completely different reason now. For his part, Ryan seemed to find it funny. “Whoops,” he whispered, grinning. “That was close.” He bent his head to kiss Michael again, but Michael turned his head away. “Don‟t.” “What? They‟ve gone now. It‟s all right.”

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Michael closed his eyes and shook his head. “It‟s not all right.” It wasn‟t all right, because Michael had let himself get carried away, and they‟d almost got caught, and Michael had worked so hard to not be that person anymore, the person who had seedy sex up against alley walls or in nightclub toilets where anyone could walk in and see what was going on. He didn‟t want to be that person anymore, and yet here he was, up against a wall and a hair‟s breadth away from letting Ryan do whatever the hell he wanted right where the whole town could walk in and see. He pushed Ryan away again, more gently this time, and this time Ryan stepped back. “I don‟t want to do this here.” “Michael….” Ryan reached for him, but Michael turned away, straightening up his clothes. Ryan‟s hand grazed his shoulder, slid down his arm before moving away again. “Michael, come on. We don‟t have to do anything here, just… don‟t go. All right? Don‟t go.” He had to go. He had to, because his dick was so hard it hurt, and his every nerve screamed out for Ryan‟s touch. If he stayed, they‟d end up fucking on the floor of this shed, and he‟d be right back to being the person he was six months ago, the person he left Sydney to escape from. “I‟ve got to,” he said softly. “Sorry.” He sighed and shook his head. “It‟s fine. It‟s not—” He stopped. He wasn‟t going to give the whole “it‟s-not-you-it‟s-me” spiel, even if it was true. “I‟ll see you tomorrow.” Ryan didn‟t say anything, and he didn‟t move. Michael edged around him and left the stall, picking up his kit and walking quickly out of the stables and into the chilly night. Ryan didn‟t call after him or try to follow him. He drove out of the car park and made the short trip home, trudging up the stairs to his dark, chilly flat. Stripping off his clothes, he got into the shower and jerked off to the memory of Ryan‟s hands on him, the feel of his body and the taste of his mouth. He fell into bed naked and exhausted, both physically and mentally, but it was a long time until he could sleep.

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HE DROVE back to the showgrounds the next morning with a knot in his stomach that felt as big as a fist. He was early, but it seemed the competitors were earlier still, signs of activity in the campground already, a line at the kiosk selling coffee, bacon, and eggs. He parked the car and got out, leaving his stuff inside it while he headed over to the stables. He‟d only realized that he‟d lost his hat again when he came to put it on that morning, his mind too heavily occupied with other things to have thought about it when he got home. The stables were quiet when he approached, but still he held his breath as he stepped through the doorway, his ears straining for any sort of nonanimal sound. However, it seemed he‟d made it in time to avoid anyone who might have a reason to be in here as well. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked down to Charlie‟s stall, acknowledging her soft wicker of greeting with a pat on her nose, too preoccupied to do anything else. Stepping into the empty stall next to hers, his heart sank when there was no sign of his hat. Scouting around the area nearby didn‟t help either, nor did walking up and down the aisles looking in every stall. His hat wasn‟t there. Swearing to himself, he gave up and stomped back to the car to retrieve the thermos of coffee he‟d made up for himself before he‟d left home. Hunkering down in the marshalling area, he opened the thermos, poured himself some coffee, and prepared to spend some quality time brooding on his misfortunes. He was still alone in the marshalling area half an hour later when the person he wanted to see the least—and the most—came strolling up to him. Although strolling wasn‟t really the word, since Ryan looked only a little less uptight than Michael felt. Michael stared at the hat in Ryan‟s hand. “Is that my hat?” Ryan looked down at it, running his thumb along its rim. “Yeah.” He hesitated a moment, then reached over, dropping it gently onto Michael‟s head. Michael reached up to adjust it. “Thanks. Thanks for picking it up for me.” Ryan shrugged. “That‟s okay. It‟s my fault you lost it again anyway.” He paused again, looking nervous all of a sudden. “About that… I‟d like to finish what we started last night.”

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Michael‟s stomach flipped. “You would?” Ryan‟s smile was rueful. “Yeah, I would.” He looked at Michael intently. “I might have had a beer or two too many last night, but I knew what I was doing. I‟ve wanted to do that for a while now.” “Oh.” Michael looked down at his hands, which still held his untouched coffee. “You didn‟t make it obvious.” “Come on, Michael, don‟t bullshit me.” Ryan sighed, then sat down next to Michael, close enough that their legs and shoulders touched. Michael looked at him, but Ryan stared straight ahead, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them. “You knew exactly what I wanted. I know you did. You were just afraid of it, that‟s all. You‟re still afraid of it. I don‟t know why that is, because you want this too. I can see it in you. I could see it in you the first time we ever met.” He paused. “The way you look at me sometimes—you‟d be the easiest person in the world to play poker against, everything‟s right there on your face. Maybe I‟m seeing it because I want to see it, but I felt it, too, last night. Last night, God… it was just as much you as it was me.” Ryan fell silent, and Michael let the silence stretch until he couldn‟t stand it anymore. “I don‟t know what to say.” Ryan snorted softly, and finally looked at Michael. “You don‟t have to say anything. I‟m not asking you to confirm or deny. Just… come to my house for dinner tonight, after we‟re all finished here. Just to eat, nothing else, unless you want to do something. But I won‟t expect it.” His gaze fell to Michael‟s mouth, and he licked his lips and finally looked away. “The ball‟s in your court now, so… how about it?” Michael hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Do you want me to bring anything?” Ryan smiled, and shook his head. “No, just bring yourself.” He sat still for a moment, then stood, his hand brushing Michael‟s shoulder as he moved. “I better go and find the others.” He looked down at Michael, his expression gentle. “See you later?” Michael nodded. “Yep.”

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Ryan nodded, then walked away without looking back. Michael stared into his coffee then tipped it out into the dirt and put his head in his hands.

THE tent pegging was set up completely differently to the campdrafting. The judges and stewards laid out the pegs carefully and precisely, and there was no need for Michael‟s services that early in the day. He was standing in line to get breakfast when he felt someone nudge his shoulder. “Hello stranger. Working hard, I see.” Michael smiled. “A man‟s got to eat,” he said, turning to look at Bill. “Besides which, they don‟t need me now.” “I know, son.” Bill grinned at him. “I was just pulling your leg.” “I know.” Michael turned back as the line in front of him moved forward. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you sent me so you didn‟t have to come.” “So I didn‟t have to work,” Bill corrected. “I don‟t mind just being a spectator.” “It‟s not so bad, the work,” Michael said as the line moved forward again. “It‟s been pretty good so far.” “It always is. This one‟s one of the easier things to work around here.” Michael nodded, but didn‟t answer, being the next in line. Breakfast procured, he moved off to the side and waited for Bill to get his. When the other man headed toward him, Michael frowned down at the multiple egg and bacon rolls and coffees Bill held in his hand. “Who‟s the extra for?” “Natalie,” Bill said dryly, rolling his eyes. “You‟re not the only one she‟s got by the short and curlies, you know.” Michael laughed. “I‟m glad to hear that.”

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Bill gestured up into the makeshift stand. “Her Majesty is up in the stands, if you want to sit and watch for a while.” Michael stepped aside. “Lead the way.” Natalie grinned at him as she saw him trailing Bill up the stairs toward her. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Did you bring me breakfast too?” Michael snorted. “How many breakfasts do you want?” Natalie stuck her tongue out at him. “You can get me lunch then.” Michael rolled his eyes and sat down next to Bill, who was busy shoving Natalie‟s food and coffee at her. Michael took a bite of his egg and bacon roll and stared out at the arena, where the stewards were finished setting up and, out in the marshalling area, he could see the teams starting to report for their rounds. “How come this one‟s a team sport and campdrafting isn‟t?” “Because tent pegging used to be a cavalry sport,” came the answer from somewhere over his left shoulder. Michael looked up just as Ryan climbed over the backrest of the makeshift seats and dropped down beside him, coffee and bacon and egg roll in his hand. Michael‟s mouth was suddenly dry. “Oh.” Ryan smiled at him, showing no sign of awkwardness about their earlier conversation. Behind him, Andrew‟s long legs came into view as he climbed over the seats and sat down beside his brother, clutching his own breakfast. Bill leaned around Michael. “Word on the street is that you boys rode pretty well yesterday.” Ryan shrugged, as Andrew said, “Yeah, we did all right. Ryan won again. No surprise there.” Michael was surprised to see the same bashful smile from the night before on Ryan‟s face, his cheeks coloring slightly as he said, “We just practice a lot, that‟s all.” “Yeah, he needs to get laid—ow, fuck!” Andrew reached down to rub at his shin, glaring at Ryan before aiming a kick at him.

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Ryan laughed and dodged away, pressing his back against Michael‟s side as he shoved Andrew away from him. “Children,” Bill said, using what Natalie called his Dad Voice, which Michael had only heard him use in the presence of naughty puppies before. Ryan and Andrew settled down almost immediately, but Bill still gave them the evil eye for a good few moments before saying, “Well, practice or not, good on you, lad. Good on both of you,” and sitting back. Ryan was much closer to Michael now than he had been when he first sat down, and he made no effort to move away. With his elbow hooked over the back of the bench seating, his legs stretched out before him, he was the very definition of relaxed, but Michael could feel the tension in Ryan‟s forearm where it touched Michael‟s shoulder, and in Ryan‟s thigh where it touched Michael‟s own. Ryan was moving his foot, too, tapping out a frenetic rhythm that only he could hear. Michael shifted, knocking his boot against the side of Ryan‟s, and the fidgeting stopped. Michael turned his head a little, catching Ryan in his peripheral vision. “Sorry.” “No, it‟s all right,” Ryan said, and sat up straighter, managing to do it without losing the contact between them. Michael tried to turn his attention back to the arena, but he could sense Ryan looking at him. He turned again, to face Ryan this time, to find Ryan staring at his mouth. Michael did a double take and then was caught, like a rabbit in headlights on a dark country road, by the look in Ryan‟s eyes. Michael blinked, licking his lips, his heart skipping beats when Ryan‟s pupil‟s flared visibly. Ryan smiled, teeth catching his lip, and Michael felt his face redden as Ryan‟s finger touched his shoulder, stroking back and forth in a movement that couldn‟t be anything other than deliberate. Michael tore his gaze from Ryan‟s and turned to the front, staring blindly at the seat in front of him as he tried to get his libido under control. “Look, they‟re about to start,” Natalie said, pointing toward the arena, and Michael let out a sigh as Ryan sat forward, turning his attention to what was happening in the marshalling area.

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Nothing that happened in the first few moments of the tent pegging changed Michael‟s impression of its geekiness at all. The announcer introduced the four riders as the Victorian mounted police squad, and the crowd cheered for them as they saluted the judges with their lances. After that, though, it got interesting. One by one they moved, shifting from a trot to a gallop in moments, one after the other, lances held out, but not straight like they would if they were jousting. About halfway down the course the riders leaned down and then sat back up, again one after the other, stabbing their lances down at the ground and then sweeping them backward and then forward in a graceful arc that was so similar between the riders it was like a choreographed dance. They kept the horses at a gallop, spreading out now so that the horses were shoulder to shoulder, holding their lances to the vertical. Carried on the tip of all but one was a white rectangle, pierced through the center by the lance‟s spike. Ryan shifted next to Michael. “Dropped one,” he said softly, more to himself than anyone else, Michael thought at first, but then he leaned in to Michael and pointed. “They have to pick it up and carry it for twenty meters, otherwise they lose points.” Michael nodded, keeping his eyes on the riders with an effort. At the end of the course they came to a halt, and there was much bustling around that Michael couldn‟t see properly and didn‟t understand the significance of anyway, but Ryan‟s attention was riveted to it. After a few moments, the judges stepped away and the team moved forward again, keeping abreast as they rounded the corner to walk the short side of the rectangle formed by the flags and markers set out in the arena. As they rounded the second corner, they picked up speed again, so perfectly in line that Michael could barely see the riders or horses on the other side of the one nearest him. About halfway down the course, they bent down again, their lances making the same sweeping, graceful arc they‟d made before, but this time in perfect synchronicity. Michael had to admit that it was impressive. This time it seemed that all four riders had managed to carry their pegs the full distance. As the judging and points tallying was taking

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place, Ryan sat back again, sprawling a little in his seat, stretching his legs out. “That was a good ride, but not perfect,” he said. “They‟ve got two more rides to go. Hopefully none of the others‟ll be perfect either.” Bill leaned across Michael. “Aren‟t the Victorians supposed to be the best?” The look Ryan gave Bill made Michael smile. “I‟ll pretend you didn‟t say that. Only sometimes.” Bill chuckled and sat back again, shaking his head. Michael was no expert, but the other runs for the Victorians seemed to go all right to him, although Ryan nitpicked their form using terms that Michael was utterly clueless about. Once they left the arena, Ryan sat forward again as the New South Wales mounted police squad was announced. Michael could feel Ryan‟s leg bouncing up and down against his own as the team saluted the judge and began their run. As they leaned down to sweep up their pegs one after the other, Ryan let out a breath and sat back. “Look how much tighter their form is! It‟s miles ahead of the Victorians. Anyone can see that.” “Ah… yeah,” Michael said, even though to him it looked absolutely no different. “At least none of them dropped their pegs.” “Exactly!” Ryan sat forward again as the New South Wales team came to a halt to be judged. When they walked forward, for a moment it looked as if the second run would also be the same as the Victorians, but then the team started to spread into single file, and Ryan suddenly cackled with laughter and clapped his hands together. Ryan‟s sudden movement and the noise made Michael jump. “What?” Andrew spoke up. “They‟re going to—” “Shut up!” Ryan said to his brother. “Just let him watch it.” Ryan nudged Michael with his shoulder. “Just watch.”

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Mystified, Michael turned back to the arena in time to see the first rider—he couldn‟t really see who it was, other than that it wasn‟t Susie—reach the second corner of the short side. Instead of wheeling around the flag, horse and rider just kept on going, until all four horses were arranged at right angles to the course. Ryan tensed as one of the squad called something out, and suddenly, all four horses turned on their haunches and sprang forward in perfect unison. Michael could feel his mouth hanging open as Ryan sprang to his feet to whoop and holler with the rest of the crowd, and beside him Andrew, Bill, and Natalie were clapping and cheering as well. “Wow,” Michael said. “That was… impressive.” “It was bloody great, is what it was.” Ryan sat down, grinning from ear to ear. “That showed the bloody Victorians. That‟s a really hard thing to do.” “They made it look easy,” Bill said. “The mark of a true horseman.” “And horsewoman, don‟t forget,” Nat added. The two other rides for the New South Wales team were pretty much the same as the first, the trick with the wheeling and the galloping no less impressive than the first time, even if it was a little less surprising. At the end of their ride Ryan was on his feet again, cheering and clapping, and as the team headed out of the arena he sprang into action himself, bounding down the rows of chairs without a word or a backward glance. Michael watched him, his eyebrows raised, then glanced around at Andrew, who was watching him and smiling. Andrew glanced at his brother, shaking his head before looking back at Michael. “He‟s an obsessed freak when it comes to this sport. Just ignore him.” He paused, then said more softly, his eyes flicking to Bill and Natalie for a second. “It‟s good to know what you‟re getting into with these things, right?” Michael was quiet a moment. “Ah. Right,” he said, praying that he wasn‟t blushing.

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Andrew watched him for another moment with a small smile on his face, then got up and went to walk past Michael. As he did, he put a hand on Michael‟s shoulder. “See you later.” Michael‟s gaze was already back on Ryan, who had almost reached the bottom of the grandstand. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

MICHAEL left the showgrounds as soon as the prize giving was over, staying for that only to watch Ryan‟s old workmates take out first place, beating the Victorian mounted police squad. They seemed pretty happy about it, too, not that their happiness was his highest priority right then. He was nervous, more nervous than a man who‟d lost count of the number of men he'd fucked had any right to be. His stomach practically writhed as he drove back to the surgery. He knew why that was, of course—he knew Ryan, cared what Ryan thought of him. He hadn‟t slept with anyone whose name he knew for… years. Since before his mum died. A shot of bourbon calmed him down enough to shower and dress when he got upstairs to his flat, but it didn‟t help with the decision on whether to pack some clothes to take with him. Somehow, a bag of clothes seemed important, positively momentous, and he stood in front of his wardrobe paralyzed with indecision for a good fifteen minutes. Finally, he pulled himself together, throwing whatever he could lay his hands on into a bag, then threw some condoms and lube in as well, just in case. As he jogged down the stairs and threw the bag into the back of his car, he told himself that he didn‟t have to take it inside with him. He could leave it in the car and leave if he wanted, and Ryan would never have to know that he‟d even thought about staying. It was almost dark when he got to the farm, the sun setting fully and stars appearing in the sky as he pulled up in front of Ryan‟s little house out the back. Ryan met him on the veranda, and at first, Michael thought that Ryan was going to hug him, but instead he clapped him on the back, his hand snaking around to the nape of Michael‟s neck. He smelled freshly showered, and Michael had to struggle not to step

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closer, suppressing an almost hysterical laugh at how ridiculous this all was. “Thought you might chicken out,” Ryan said, his voice shaking a little, despite the smile on his face. Evidence of Ryan‟s nervousness eased some of Michael‟s stress. “Well, I—no.” He took a deep breath and tried for a smile. “Last night was… well. It‟s not like it‟s going to be torture, is it?” Ryan laughed. “God, I hope not! Here….” The hand on Michael‟s neck tightened for a second or two, and Ryan pulled Michael in and kissed him, his lips firm and insistent on Michael‟s. Taken by surprise, Michael didn‟t respond for a second, but then Ryan‟s tongue was teasing at his lips, coaxing them open. As soon as Ryan‟s tongue touched his, Michael gave in and melted against Ryan, his arms snaking around Ryan‟s waist, Ryan‟s arms pulling him in tight at the same time. Ryan kept the kiss slow and unhurried, but by the time they broke apart they were both breathing fast. Ryan kissed him once more, quick and soft. “That wasn‟t too torturous, was it?” he whispered against Michael‟s lips. Michael licked his lips, which had Ryan tightening his arms around his waist again, and shook his head. “No, not torturous at all.” “Good.” Ryan brushed their lips together again, then let go of him and stepped back toward the door, smiling. “Come inside?” Michael followed Ryan in and through to the kitchen on legs that were none too steady, Ryan saying over his shoulder, “I thought I‟d just do some steaks. Is that all right?” Michael nodded, not really caring what they ate. Right then, food was a low priority. “Sure, that‟s fine.” Ryan turned to pick up the steaks and other barbequing essentials, and they went outside onto Ryan‟s back deck. It wasn‟t until Michael heard the distant lowing of cows that he considered where those steaks had come from. “You didn‟t buy this meat from the supermarket, did you?”

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Ryan looked at him as he put the steaks onto the barbeque, a small smile on his face. “No. That bother you?” “It is a little weird,” Michael admitted. “But as long as it never had a name, then I suppose it‟s all right.” Ryan laughed. “Yeah, no. It didn‟t have a name. Even us country folk don‟t eat our pets, city boy.”

THEY ate outside in silence that would have been companionable, had Ryan‟s knee not been resting against Michael‟s under the table. It was chilly, the first hints of winter seeping into the night air, and once they‟d finished eating Michael couldn‟t help but feel it. “Cold?” Ryan asked as Michael wrapped his arms around himself. “We can go inside if you want.” Michael started to protest, but Ryan wouldn‟t hear of it, so Michael picked up his plate and followed Ryan inside. “Since you cooked, I‟ll do the dishes,” he said as the back door closed behind them. Ryan put his plate down on the kitchen bench, then turned to take Michael‟s plate and put it on top of his own. “Don‟t worry about the dishes,” he said, as he grabbed Michael‟s wrist and pulled Michael into his arms. Before Michael could register what was happening, Ryan bent his head and kissed him. The kiss was firm, not a scrap of hesitation in it, and Ryan kissed him again and again, coaxing Michael‟s lips open and deepening the kiss. At the feel of Ryan‟s tongue, Michael made a soft, embarrassingly needy noise, and started kissing back. The kiss caught fire, Ryan groaning deep in his chest and tightening his arms around Michael, a hand on the back of his head to keep him still as they kissed. Michael moaned again when he felt Ryan‟s teeth graze his lips, and tore his mouth away, pressing it to Ryan‟s throat instead, nipping at the skin there. Ryan shuddered, and Michael felt Ryan‟s hands twisting in the back of his shirt. “Fuck, Michael, I really hope you‟re not going to

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want to stop now,” he said thickly, and then he pulled away, grabbing Michael‟s wrist again and dragging him into the living room without waiting for a reply. Falling back onto the lounge, he pulled Michael with him, and the kissing resumed, Ryan‟s hands kneading Michael‟s ass through his jeans. Michael moaned and started scrabbling at their clothes, pulling Ryan‟s jeans and underwear down his thighs, Ryan lifting his hips to help him even as he reached for Michael‟s own waistband. Michael brushed Ryan‟s hands away and did it himself, then lowered himself down onto Ryan again, both of them gasping at the feel of skin on skin. Ryan‟s hands reached up to tangle in Michael‟s hair, but Michael resisted, staring down into Ryan‟s face as he slowly ground his hips down into Ryan‟s, watching as Ryan groaned and arched underneath him. “Oh, fuck yes, do that again,” Ryan said, and pulled Michael down for a kiss. Michael went willingly this time, thrusting his hips against Ryan‟s again just as their lips met. Ryan gasped, groaning into Michael‟s mouth, his hands sliding down Michael‟s back to clutch his ass. The feel of Ryan‟s fingers on his bare skin, digging in, kneading, sent jolts of arousal like lightning straight to Michael‟s cock. He broke the kiss to throw his head back, gasping for breath as he braced his feet on the arm of the sofa and thrust again, setting up a rhythm that had Ryan‟s eyes rolling back in his head before he laughed, breathlessly. “Something funny?” Michael leaned down and bit Ryan on the side of the neck. Ryan shuddered, his fingers tightening on Michael‟s ass again. “Fucking hell, you‟re hot,” he gasped. “I knew this would be good. I knew it.” He put his head up to kiss Michael again. “Should have done this ages ago.” Right then, Michael couldn‟t have disagreed even if he‟d wanted to. He bit the side of Ryan‟s neck again, then kissed him hard, their breathing roughening as Michael picked up the pace of his thrusts, the space between them starting to get slick with sweat and pre-come. Their kisses became messy, frantic, and Ryan started to make low, guttural noises into Michael‟s mouth with every thrust, making Michael‟s cock throb. Michael broke the kiss and licked a line up

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Ryan‟s throat, burying his face in Ryan‟s hair. The taste of him, the smell of his sweat and the musk of their sex, the feel of Ryan‟s breath against his ear, the noises he was making—all these had Michael on the edge already, and he dimly heard himself making his own noise, breathy and desperate into Ryan‟s hair. Then one of Ryan‟s hands moved, his fingers sliding down the crack of Michael‟s ass, and suddenly there was a finger pressing against his hole, pushing in, and Michael gasped and came, his hips flexing convulsively. Distantly he was aware of Ryan arching up against him, rubbing hard, and then Ryan‟s come was mingling with his own in the space between them. Michael waited until Ryan had relaxed into the lounge cushions again before collapsing on top of him. Ryan chuckled, the finger that was still in Michael‟s body stroking him a little more before pulling out again, Ryan‟s hand cupping his backside, his other hand coming up into Michael‟s hair. “That was amazing,” he whispered, kissing Michael‟s temple. “But we should shower. Before we get stuck together.” Michael sighed, but didn‟t move. “In a minute. When I can move.” Ryan laughed again, sounding low and sexy even in Michael‟s shagged-out state, and stroked his fingers gently through Michael‟s hair. “Okay, Mikey. When you can move.”

WHEN they got out of the shower, Ryan got a towel and wrapped it around Michael‟s shoulders, pulling him close. “You‟re going to stay tonight, aren‟t you?” Michael thought of the bag in the boot of his car, and almost smiled at how he could have ever thought that he would have been able to go home. He nodded. “I‟ll stay. If that‟s all right.” “Of course it‟s all right, you nong,” Ryan said, kissing him quickly before starting to dry him off. “Did you really think I‟d finished with you yet?”

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A warm feeling suffused Michael‟s chest, and he smiled, picking up a towel and starting to wipe down Ryan‟s chest. They lay in bed in the dark, facing the ceiling, a sheet over them to stave off the slight chill in the air, Michael‟s head on Ryan‟s shoulder, Ryan‟s arm around Michael‟s neck, his hand absently caressing Michael‟s arm. “So, you let your friends know you‟re gay,” Michael said softly, finally voicing what had been on his mind since the previous night. Ryan turned his head. “Yeah. Some friends.” He paused. “I was in Sydney then. It‟s much easier when you‟re somewhere like that. I never advertised it, but I didn‟t hide it. Here, it‟s a little different. Here I just don‟t talk about it.” He sighed. “Sometimes some of the old biddies ask me when I‟m going to get married, but that‟s easy enough to brush off.” “Natalie says you had a girlfriend in high school.” Ryan‟s arm tightened around Michael‟s shoulders for a second. “Been talking about me at work, huh?” “No! It wasn‟t like that, I just—” Ryan laughed. “I know, idiot, relax.” He kissed the top of Michael‟s head. “As for Lisa… who doesn‟t have a high school girlfriend?” Michael Stone, for one. “So you went out with girls before you realized you were gay.” “Something like that.” Michael was silent for a few moments. “Andrew knows, too, huh?” Michael felt Ryan nod, his cheek against Michael‟s hair. “Yeah, but he‟s my brother. Doesn‟t Jen know about you?” Michael nodded. “Siblings are different.” Ryan paused. “My dad knows too.” Michael tensed. “Your dad knows?” “Yeah, he knows. Why?”

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“He‟s all right with it?” Ryan shrugged, jogging Michael‟s head gently. “Well, yeah. I think it was hard for him to understand at first, but he came around eventually. I‟m his son, you know?” No, Michael didn‟t know. Apparently family ties like that only mattered to some parents. A wave of jealousy so acute hit him that it almost stole his breath away, and for a moment he couldn‟t speak. “What about your mum? What did your mum think?” “My mum died in a car accident when I was fifteen,” Ryan said quietly. “I never got a chance to tell her.” Michael felt like he‟d been slapped, and the jealousy evaporated, replaced by shame at his own selfishness. “Oh, I… I‟m sorry. That must have been awful.” “It was a long time ago.” “I know, but that stuff sticks with you.” Ryan was quiet a moment. “What about your parents? Did you tell them?” Michael‟s stomach twisted. “I told my mum, before she died. I needed her to know. She was all right. She didn‟t seem very surprised.” He sighed. “My dad… he didn‟t take it very well.” Understatement of the century. “That‟s why I don‟t talk to him anymore.” Ryan shifted, pulling Michael closer. “Sorry.” “It‟s all right,” Michael lied. He turned into Ryan, hugging him and closing his eyes. Ryan‟s free arm came around his waist, fitting them together from chest to hip, their legs entangled. “This isn‟t really pillow talk, is it?” Michael let out a weak laugh. “No, not really.” “Do you want to sleep?” “Not really.” Michael put his head up and kissed Ryan, gently at first, then more insistently, until Ryan‟s mouth opened to his. Ryan moaned and rolled onto his back, pulling Michael with him, but as soon as he‟d settled, Michael rolled them again, so that he was on his back

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and Ryan was on top of him. Ryan laughed into his mouth and rubbed against him, and when Ryan moved to kiss down his throat Michael tipped his head back, offering his throat up. “Fuck me,” he gasped. “I want you to fuck me.” The moonlight streamed in through the bedroom window, illuminating Ryan as he crouched between Michael‟s spread legs. Ryan watched Michael‟s face as he pressed two slick fingers to Michael‟s hole, massaging the tight ring first before slipping them inside Michael‟s body. Michael‟s breath hitched, and he closed his eyes as Ryan‟s fingers moved in and out of him slowly, each time going a little deeper, preparing him, brushing over his prostate again and again until Michael was gasping and spreading his legs wide, hitching his knees up. Michael opened his eyes in time to see Ryan smiling, before he leaned down and took the head of Michael‟s cock in his mouth, sucking on it gently as his fingers kept thrusting in and out of Michael‟s body. Michael gasped, arching, his fingers twisting in the sheets. “Ryan!” Ryan let Michael‟s cock slip from his mouth with a pop. He was still smiling. “Yes, Michael?” Michael laughed breathlessly. “Bastard. Don‟t stop!” Ryan grinned. “Your wish is my command,” he said, lowering his head again. This time he started blowing Michael in earnest, his free hand gripping the base of Michael‟s cock as he took Michael in, his fingers still teasing at Michael‟s prostate. Michael swore and tightened his grip on the sheets, but Ryan didn‟t let up until Michael was at the point of writhing, making helpless, desperate noises that he would have found embarrassing if he‟d had a brain cell left to think about it. As it was, all he could do was make a wordless noise of protest when Ryan let his cock slip from his mouth again, straining toward Ryan for all he was worth when Ryan removed his fingers too. Ryan didn‟t look too in control either, his hands shaking as he tried to unwrap the condom, finally resorting to tearing it open with his teeth, moaning as he rolled it down his cock and slicked himself up. Michael watched him with barely restrained impatience, but when

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Ryan knelt forward, hitching Michael‟s legs up with his arms, Michael‟s chest tightened with sudden panic. “Oh. Wait.” “What?” Ryan said, his voice strained, even as he sat back. “Is something wrong?” Michael felt his face redden. “No, I….” He shifted, rolling onto his stomach and then getting on all fours. “This way.” Ryan didn‟t move for a moment, although he did put a hand up to stroke Michael‟s ass. “If that‟s the way you want it,” he said eventually, and Michael felt the mattress shift as Ryan knelt behind him. When Michael felt the head of Ryan‟s cock press into him, he moaned, sinking to his elbows as Ryan‟s length filled him. “Oh, yeah,” he said, forehead pressed to the mattress. “Just like that, Ryan. Fuck….” Ryan‟s fingers dug into Michael‟s hips, and Ryan gasped, as if he‟d been holding his breath, when he sheathed himself fully in Michael‟s body, his balls pressed to Michael‟s, his pubes brushing Michael‟s ass. “Fuck, you‟re amazing,” he whispered, his fingers flexing on Michael‟s hips. He was still for a moment, then he pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in slowly. Both of them groaned at that, and Ryan thrust again, quickly picking up speed until he was fucking Michael roughly, both of them panting hard, Michael pushing back against Ryan‟s thrusts to push him in deeper. Michael rested his weight on one elbow and reached for his cock, only just starting to stroke himself when Ryan knocked his hand away. “That‟s mine,” he said, his voice a low growl as he wrapped his hand around Michael‟s cock and started to jerk him off. “Harder, Ryan,” Michael gasped, his cheek pressed to the mattress now. “Do it hard.” Ryan moaned and did what he was told, thrusting hard and fast, and matching his strokes to his thrusts. Michael shuddered, and was soon back to making those helpless, keening noises until he came with

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a choked cry, filling Ryan‟s fist with his come, his body constricting around Ryan‟s length in rolling waves. Ryan kept thrusting hard, his breathing loud and labored over the sound of flesh hitting flesh, until he cried out and thrust once more, hard enough to press Michael to the mattress, keeping himself buried deep in Michael until he‟d ridden out his orgasm. He thrust once more, gently, as he caught his breath, leaning down to kiss the back of Michael‟s neck before pulling out, disposing of the condom and flopping down beside Michael. When Michael put his head up to look at Ryan, Ryan laughed and pulled him into his arms, fitting them together as he‟d done before, tucking Michael‟s head under his chin and tangling their legs together. Michael let out a satisfied sigh. “That was great. Thanks.” Ryan laughed again. “Oh, it was my pleasure.”

THREE days after he and Ryan had been together, there hadn‟t been ten minutes where Michael wasn‟t thinking about it and about Ryan. It didn‟t help at all that they weren‟t very busy at the surgery, leaving him plenty of time to think. Bill had taken himself off home, and Natalie had taken an early lunch, leaving him alone. He‟d resorted to checking the use-by dates on the stock displayed on the waiting room shelves just to stave off the boredom, when things suddenly got a whole lot more interesting. He had his back to the surgery door while he checked the dates on an armful of worming tablets, when the bell above the main door rang. He looked over his shoulder, turning quickly when he saw who it was, his armful of packets falling to the floor. “Shit!” he said softly, crouching down on the floor to retrieve them. “Hello to you too,” Ryan said dryly, kneeling on the floor to help him.

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“What? Oh, yeah. Hi,” Michael said, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach as Ryan handed him a pile of pill packets, his fingers brushing Michael‟s. “Is this a bad time?” Michael looked up, straight into Ryan‟s intent gaze. They stared at each other for a moment before Ryan‟s gaze flicked down to Michael‟s lips. Michael looked away, piling the packets into a stack and shoving them back against the shelves, not trusting himself not to drop them again if Ryan kept looking at him like that. “No. Sorry, I just… I always pick up too many at once. You surprised me, that‟s all. Everyone else is out.” There was a moment of silence. “Everyone else is out, huh?” Ryan‟s tone was silky, low, packed with a promise that Michael felt in his bones. When Michael looked at Ryan again, he was smiling slightly, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he stared at Michael‟s mouth. “How lucky for me.” Michael laughed shakily and stood, immediately regretting that when it put Ryan‟s head at just the right height for…. “I don‟t know about that.” He turned quickly and headed back around the front desk, feeling a little safer with a barrier between them. “Anyone could come in. Natalie‟ll be back soon.” “I suppose so.” Ryan had stood up during Michael‟s retreat and now stood in the middle of the waiting area, looking at him speculatively, his head tilted a little to the side. He looked calm, collected, but when Michael looked down at Ryan‟s hands, he saw nervous fingers playing with the brim of his hat, knuckles almost white where he clutched it. Oddly, that made Michael feel a little better. “How are you?” Ryan looked surprised at the question, but then he smiled. “Good. Great. You?” “Great.” Ryan nodded, his smile fading a little. “I had a good time the other night.”

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Michael‟s heart did a somersault in his chest. “Yeah, me too.” “I‟d like to do it again. Soon.” Michael nodded. “I‟d like that.” He smiled a little. Ryan let out a noisy breath, a kind of hiccupping laugh. “Good. Great. When can you—?” The bells on the front door jangled as Natalie breezed in. Ryan‟s head jerked around. “Oh. Hey, Natalie.” “Hey, Ryan.” She smiled at him, and Michael felt a stab of unpleasant emotion that he didn‟t want to examine too closely. Ryan smiled at her. “I was just talking to Michael about those supplements I ordered. You wouldn‟t know when they‟re supposed to be in, would you?” “I think Bill said they‟d be in this afternoon,” she said as she rounded the front desk, placing a large takeaway coffee in front of Michael before walking toward the back room to dump her bag. Still talking over her shoulder, she said, “He said we should call you when they came in.” “That would be great if you could. I‟ve almost run out of my last batch,” Ryan said, eyeing Michael as he seized the coffee Natalie had brought and took a large swallow of it, burning his mouth. “Maybe… maybe if someone‟s coming out our way this afternoon, they could drop them off?” He paused, still looking at Michael. “If not, that‟s fine. I‟ll come by tomorrow and get them.” “You might have to do that. We‟re pretty quiet around here today.” She came and stood next to Michael, picking up his coffee and taking a sip of it, as if she hadn‟t just given it to him. She put the cup down, smiled at Ryan again and waggled her eyebrows. “But play your cards right, and you might get a special house call.” Ryan laughed, a strangled sound that had more than an edge of hysteria to it as Michael took his coffee back out of Natalie‟s hand, frowning at her as she poked her tongue out at him. “Yeah, well. Just let me know either way.” He put his hat back on. “I better be going.” He smiled at Natalie briefly, then looked at Michael. “See you later.”

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Michael finally found his voice. “Yeah. See you.” The bells over the door tinkled again as Ryan left, Michael still standing at the front desk staring after him, Natalie still standing beside him. “You shouldn‟t talk to him like that,” he said after a moment of silence. “Surely that‟s like… sexual harassment or something.” He took a sip of his coffee to cover his annoyance. She snorted. “Don‟t be stupid, of course it‟s not. He knows I‟m only joking.” She sighed. “He is hot, though, no doubt about that. I bet he‟s good in bed too.” Michael spluttered, breathing coffee into his lungs. He spent the next few minutes trying to cough his lungs up, as Natalie whacked him enthusiastically on the back. Eventually he gently pushed her arm away. “That‟s enough, thanks. What makes you say that?” “That he‟s good in bed?” She raised her eyebrows, as if it was the most stupid question she‟d ever heard. “Well, for a start, have you seen him? Of course he‟s good in bed. Also, Lisa the manager of the florist‟s down the road—remember I told you she was his high school girlfriend? She took his virginity, and she says he was good even back then. So he could only have gotten better, what with all those girls he must have been with when he was down in Sydney.” Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality. “The only thing is that he‟s not hung like a horse, but I suppose that‟s okay. Lisa said he was just average.” Michael would have said Ryan was a little above average, but he supposed all that had to do with relative sample sizes, statistical means, and for all he knew, gay versus straight. Or gay versus bi, in this case. Not that that was his biggest issue right now. “Jesus, Natalie. Do you know whether he‟s circumcised as well?” The smile she gave him could only be described as lascivious. “Well, as a matter of fact—” “I don‟t want to hear it!” He shoved away from the desk and went back to his pile of worming tablets, crouching on the floor to retrieve them. Ryan‟s cock had featured very heavily in his dreams ever since the weekend, and he did not need that memory spoiled by the thought that he was sharing that mental picture with the female population of

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the town. “The way girls talk, it‟s a wonder that any guy‟s brave enough to drop his trousers in front of you.” Natalie laughed. “You‟re just jealous because we‟re not talking about the size of your cock. Or maybe we are, and you just don‟t know it.” Michael dropped his pile of worming tablets again, swearing as they cascaded to the floor, collecting them up to the sound of Natalie‟s laughter.

THE sun was setting as he drove out to the Mitchell farm, the bag of Ryan‟s supplements on his passenger seat and his stomach full of butterflies. He drove up the driveway and skirted around the back of the main house, following the dirt road that led off the main driveway to Ryan‟s little cabin out the back. Parking in front of the house, he mounted the steps and knocked on the door, but received no answer. Tucking the package under his arm, he stepped off the veranda and went around the back. Ryan was in the practice paddock, taking Charlie through her moves, ducking and weaving around barrels and witches hats, turning and whirling on a twenty-cent piece. It was impressive, just as much as it had been the other day—more so, maybe, because this time the mare had on a different bridle, one without a bit, and Ryan wasn‟t using a saddle. He looked relaxed, fluid, matching Charlie‟s movements as if they were one, of one heart and a single mind. Again, he didn‟t seem to be giving her any direction, although now Michael knew that he had to be, and it was only his untutored eye that couldn‟t see it. Regardless, it was incredible. It was also a massive turn-on. During the next pirouette, Ryan saw him. He grinned and gave Charlie a command, making her stop dead right where she stood. He patted her neck and said something else to her, and then they were

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walking toward him. Michael moved then, too, stepping up to the fence as Ryan drew Charlie up alongside it. “Well… this isn‟t really a surprise,” Ryan said, smiling down at him. “I see you‟ve got my supplements.” Michael smiled and balanced them on a fence post. “Would it matter if I didn‟t?” “Not really, no.” Ryan was staring at Michael‟s mouth again, but instead of hopping down like Michael expected him to, after a moment of silence he slid back a little, toward Charlie‟s rump, then patted where he‟d just been sitting. “C‟mere, you.” “Oh now, I don‟t think that‟s a good idea,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Why don‟t you come down here instead?” “I don‟t think so. Uncle Michael said he‟d try riding later. It‟s later.” Ryan held out his hand, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, intimate enough to give Michael the shivers. “Come on, Michael. I‟ll make it worth your while.” Michael hesitated a moment, then gave in, like there was ever going to be any question when Ryan used that voice on him. “All right, but you better.” “Oh, I will,” Ryan said as Michael climbed the fence, awkwardly hitching himself over it and onto Charlie‟s back. “You better not let me fall.” Ryan chuckled and moved forward, molding himself against Michael‟s back and picking the reins up with one hand. “I won‟t,” he said against Michael‟s ear, and suddenly Charlie stepped forward. “Holy crap!” Surprised, Michael jammed his heels into Charlie‟s sides, and she jumped forward but then pulled up suddenly at a word from Ryan. Michael swayed and grabbed at Ryan‟s thighs to get some purchase. “Oh, this is not a good idea at all. I‟m going to fall off, and it‟s going to be all your fault.” Ryan laughed against the side of Michael‟s neck. “No, it‟s going to be all your fault, since you insist on jamming your heels into the

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sides of my horse.” Ryan‟s feet insinuated themselves in between Michael‟s feet and Charlie‟s belly. “Her skin moves, for Christ‟s sake!” “Of course it does, you bloody idiot. What did you think it‟d do? God, if I‟d known you were going to be such a frigging drama queen….” One arm snaked around Michael‟s waist, holding him tightly against Ryan‟s chest, and they moved forward again. “I‟m not going to let you fall, all right?” Michael remained unconvinced, but after a moment or two of relatively slow and stable movement, he relented a little. “All right. Just… no funny business.” Ryan‟s huff of laughter was warm against his neck. “No funny business, and no one‟s falling off. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Michael snorted. “Yeah, easy for you to say, Man from Snowy River. Shut up and drive.” Ryan laughed again but made no sign of contemplating funny business. Once they‟d completed a couple of sedate turns around the paddock, Michael finally began to relax, and Ryan loosened his hold a little, from vise-like to merely snug. Michael had barely enough time to feel disappointed about that before Ryan moved again, but this time it was to press a soft kiss to the nape of Michael‟s neck. At the same time, the hand resting on Michael‟s waist moved lower, slipped under the hem of Michael‟s shirt and began caressing the skin of his belly. Michael sucked in a shaky breath. “I thought you said there‟d be no funny business.” Ryan laughed softly, his breath tickling the side of Michael‟s neck. “I lied,” he said, nuzzling at Michael‟s ear. Michael closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore how snug his jeans were beginning to get. “No one‟s going to see us out here, are they?” Ryan kissed the nape of Michael‟s neck again as the hand under Michael‟s shirt moved up Michael‟s chest, the material rucking up on Ryan‟s wrist as his fingers brushed over Michael‟s nipple. “Nah. See

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over by the house there? Murphy‟s hanging around, waiting to bludge some food. Good, loyal old Murph never tries to bludge off me if Dad and Andrew are home.” “Oh. Good.” Ryan kissed the side of Michael‟s neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Michael shivered, and felt Ryan‟s lips pull up in a smile. “I‟ve thought about the other night a lot,” Ryan breathed, putting his head up and his lips to Michael‟s ear, his nose in Michael‟s hair. “Too much, probably. Can‟t work, can‟t sleep, and when I do sleep I wake up so hard… God, Michael….” Michael could feel Ryan‟s heart beating fast against his back. Ryan‟s arm tightened around him suddenly, pulling him back against Ryan‟s chest again, Michael‟s backside fitting snugly against Ryan‟s crotch. Michael gasped, his breathing quickening as Ryan bit his shoulder through his shirt, dropping the reins so he could run his free hand up the inside of Michael‟s spread thighs, stopping tantalizingly close to Michael‟s crotch. Michael‟s breath hitched, and he shifted, trying to press back against Ryan some more. “Ryan….” “And today at the surgery…,” Ryan continued, as if Michael hadn‟t spoken, his hand running up and down the inside of Michael‟s thigh now, still not going where Michael wanted it. “Today at the surgery, you looked so good, it was all I could do not to drag you out the back and take you right there, Natalie be damned.” Now his hand moved, pressing against Michael‟s cock through his jeans. Michael moaned and tried to press back again, and suddenly Charlie was stopping and Ryan was pulling him down from her back, turning him, pressing him against the horse‟s side and kissing him. Charlie shifted, moving away from them, and for a moment, Michael thought he was going to fall straight back into the dust, but then Ryan had him held so tightly against him that he couldn‟t have gotten away even if he‟d wanted to. The kiss was feverish, deep, lips and teeth and tongues, breathing each other‟s breath, swallowing each other‟s moans. When they finally broke apart, they were both gasping as if they‟d run a marathon.

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Ryan smiled at him and kissed him again, then pulled away to rid Charlie of her bridle, hooking it over a fence post before taking Michael‟s hand and pulling him toward the house, both of them stumbling over their feet in their desire to not be further apart than they needed to be to move. They got inside, and Michael shoved Ryan back against the door, kissing him again and fumbling with the fastenings of his jeans, getting Ryan‟s fly open and shoving his hand down into Ryan‟s underwear. Ryan moaned, grabbing on to Michael‟s backside hard, then pushed away from the door, walking Michael backward across the kitchen until the back of Michael‟s legs hit the edge of the dining table. Lifting Michael up, Ryan deposited Michael on top of the table and wrapped Michael‟s still-clothed legs around his waist, kissing Michael again as his hands undid Michael‟s fly. Taking both their cocks into his hand, Ryan started to stroke them, both of them moaning at the feel of it. Michael bit at Ryan‟s neck and tightened his legs around Ryan‟s waist, pulling Ryan‟s T-shirt up over his head, his hands moving to Ryan‟s nipples, pinching them hard. “Fuck!” Ryan said, his hips jerking against Michael‟s. He let go of their cocks and scrabbled at Michael‟s jeans again, trying to pull them down. Michael let Ryan pull him off the table, his feet hitting the floor hard. Pushing Ryan away, Michael put a hand into his pocket and got out a condom and lube, slapping them into Ryan‟s palm before shoving his jeans down and turning around, bending over the table. Ryan laughed, low and husky, and pressed against Michael from behind, his cock rubbing between Michael‟s ass cheeks. “Always prepared. Were you a boy scout when you were younger, by any chance?” Michael heard the crackle of the condom wrapper and moaned at the loss of contact with Ryan‟s cock as he stepped away to ready himself. “Don‟t say I never do anything for you.” “I would never say that.” The next moment Ryan‟s cock was back, slick and ready, Ryan rubbing it between Michael‟s ass cheeks

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again, teasing Michael‟s hole with the head of his cock, without pushing in. Michael moaned again. “Ryan, come the fuck on….” Ryan laughed again. “So impatient,” he said, but stopped his teasing and started to press his cock inside Michael, groaning as the head of his cock breached Michael‟s body. “Fucking hell, you feel good,” he gasped. “Too slow,” Michael said, pushing backward. Ryan grabbed his waist with one hand, holding him still. “Don‟t,” he said, his voice strained. “I don‟t want to hurt you.” “You won‟t,” Michael insisted, even as his body burned at Ryan‟s intrusion, the muscles protesting at being stretched with no warning. “I know I won‟t,” Ryan said, keeping his grip on Michael‟s hip as he slowly, slowly pushed forward. Finally he was balls-deep in Michael‟s body. He paused again to lean down and kiss the back of Michael‟s neck, teeth grazing it lightly, before starting to fuck Michael to within an inch of his life. Michael clung to the table and Ryan clung to him, one hand gripping his hip and the other hand fisted in the tail of Michael‟s shirt, his legs pressed against the back of Michael‟s legs, his hips snapping against Michael‟s ass hard and fast, his thrusts forcing breathy gasps and helpless moans from Michael every time he shoved forward. The edge of the table dug into Michael‟s stomach, but somehow that just added to the whole experience, so by the time Ryan reached for his cock Michael was already on the edge of coming, and it only took one squeeze for Michael to be shooting his load all over Ryan‟s hand and his kitchen floor. Ryan kept thrusting hard, once, twice, then came with a shout, the hand on Michael‟s cock squeezing him convulsively. For several moments they stayed joined, the only noise their labored breathing. Then Ryan pulled out, making Michael wince. He heard the slap of the condom hitting the kitchen floor and then Ryan was pulling out a chair, flopping down into it and hauling Michael onto his lap. Both of them still had their jeans pooled around their legs, and

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their shoes on. Ryan kicked his shoes off and peeled off his clothes, then helped Michael with his. Michael ran a hand through his sweaty hair and leaned against Ryan, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Fucking hell.” Ryan chuckled, the sound hoarse. “You can say that again.” He pulled Michael‟s chin up for a kiss. Michael looked down at the floor. “There‟s come all over your kitchen floor.” Ryan laughed again, and wrapped his arms tight around Michael. “I really don‟t give a fuck about my kitchen floor right now.” Michael laughed. “Actually, neither do I.” They both laughed again and kissed, and then Ryan stood, gathering Michael in his arms and carrying him into the bedroom.

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AUGUST THEY settled into a tentative relationship that consisted mainly of fucking each other‟s brains out, mostly at Ryan‟s place because it was more private than Michael‟s. If Ryan wanted to stay at Michael‟s, Michael made him park a couple of streets away and walk down so no one would recognize his car in Michael‟s driveway. They went on like this for two months before Ryan decided to upset Michael‟s carefully constructed equilibrium. “It‟s my dad‟s birthday dinner Wednesday night. I‟d like you to come.” Michael almost dropped the phone. He stood in the middle of his kitchen struck dumb, not able to think of a thing to say. Ryan‟s voice had a sharp edge to it when he said, “Are you there?” “Yes. I—yes, I‟m here.” “Well?” Michael was silent still, Ryan‟s frustration evident in the stony silence on the other end of the phone. “I… is that all right?” “What? Of course it‟s all right, Michael. I‟m asking you, aren‟t I? I wouldn‟t be asking you to come if it wasn‟t going to be all right.” Michael flushed. Funny how Ryan could embarrass him even now, and just over the phone. “Right. Of course.” There was silence on the line again, Ryan eventually breaking it with a, “Well? Will you come or not?”

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Michael hesitated a moment longer, then said, “Ah. Yes. Yeah, I‟ll come. If you want me to.” “Good. Thank you.” Ryan‟s tone hadn‟t softened. “I‟ll see you at my house at seven. You don‟t have to bring anything.” Michael opened his mouth to say something more, but Ryan had already hung up. Michael stood for another few seconds listening to the dial tone, then hung up. If this was any indication of how the evening was going to go, he couldn‟t wait.

MICHAEL‟S stomach was a twisted knot of nerves when he drove up to Ryan‟s house on Wednesday night. As Michael walked up the stairs to Ryan‟s veranda, Ryan opened the door. Michael smiled tentatively, unsure of the reception he was going to get, but Ryan‟s smile was his usual bright, open one. “Hi,” Ryan said, pulling him in for a kiss. “Hi.” Michael held up a six-pack of beer. “I know you said not to bring anything, but more beer can‟t hurt, right?” He hesitated. “Peace offering.” Ryan‟s expression softened. “You don‟t need a peace offering, Mikey,” he said gently, kissing Michael again. “If anything, I should be giving one to you. I got grumpy, and I‟m sorry. I shouldn‟t have.” Michael relaxed, smiling more sincerely now and dismissing Ryan‟s apology with a wave of his hand. “Don‟t worry about it.” “I‟ll try.” Ryan looked at his watch. “We should go over. Ready?” Michael‟s nerves kicked in again, and he took a deep breath, nodding. “As ready as I‟ll ever be.” Ryan smiled and stepped out of the doorway, pulling his door shut behind him. “It‟ll be all right, Mikey. It‟s just dinner.” Michael wasn‟t too sure about that, but he didn‟t argue as they started to walk down Ryan‟s driveway to the main house. Ryan kept close to him, their arms brushing as they walked. They were only a few

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steps down the drive when Ryan took Michael‟s hand and squeezed it, Michael‟s chest tightening at the tender gesture. They walked like that until they got in sight of Ryan‟s father‟s house, Ryan squeezing Michael‟s hand again before letting it drop. The front door was unlocked, and Ryan opened it without knocking. “We‟re here,” he called out. “We‟re in here.” Andrew‟s head poked out from a side doorway that Michael assumed was the kitchen. “Dinner‟s almost ready.” Michael followed Ryan into the kitchen, lagging behind enough so that Ryan had to grab his wrist and pull him forward. Andrew glanced at him, smiling before going back to dishing up the food. “Michael. Glad you made it.” “Hi, Andrew.” Michael looked at Ryan‟s dad, who was leaning back against the kitchen bench with a beer in his hand. “Hi, Mr. Mitchell. Happy birthday.” Greg Mitchell nodded. “Thanks.” He glanced at Ryan, then back to Michael, staring at him in silence for a few moments. It was just starting to make Michael squirm when he finally broke his silence. “How‟s Bill?” “Oh. He‟s… he‟s good.” “He‟s not thinking of retiring, is he?” Michael almost laughed at that. Mr. Mitchell‟s tone made that seem like the worst thing in the world. “Not that I know of, no.” “Good.” Silence fell again. This time Ryan broke it by turning to him with a smile. “So. Here we are. Beer?” Michael nodded immediately. “Please.”

MICHAEL drank half his beer in one go, and after that, things got a little better. He was quiet during dinner, letting the others talk around

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him and only speaking if he was spoken to. Ryan‟s dad made a couple of gruff attempts at engaging him in conversation, most often after Ryan‟s subtle urging, but he mostly just talked with his sons. Michael watched them all, noticing the easy way they spoke to each other, seeing the pride in Greg Mitchell‟s eyes when talk turned to the various campdrafting meets the boys had been successful in and when Ryan talked of his plans for Charlie and building his herd of horses. Michael was sure his own father had never looked at him like that, not as an adult, anyway. And certainly he never would have when confronted with anyone Michael was sleeping with. Michael drank more beer to try and suppress the jealousy that was making his stomach burn and his throat tighten, and he told himself that this wasn‟t Ryan‟s fault. Or Greg Mitchell‟s fault. Or anyone‟s other than his fucking asshole of a father‟s. They stayed to have cake, and then Ryan made their farewells, refusing an offer to stay for more drinks after a careful look at Michael‟s face. Michael stood back as Ryan hugged his father goodbye, then followed him outside, Ryan grabbing his hand as soon as they were clear of the house. “You all right?” Michael was actually quite drunk, and had to depend on Ryan‟s hold to keep him steady, but he nodded anyway. “I‟m fine. Why?” “Just checking.” Ryan squeezed his hand. “Bit unsteady on your feet there, tiger.” “I‟m all right.” “I know. You said that,” Ryan said lightly, evidently deciding to pick his battles. “That went all right, don‟t you think?” Jealousy burned in his stomach again. “Sure. Your dad loves you.” Ryan nodded. “He‟s my dad.” Michael frowned. Ryan kept saying that, as if the fact of fatherhood actually mattered when it came to how someone treated

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their kids. He tried to think of something to say, but all he could come up with was, “Yeah. Well, you‟re lucky.” Ryan was quiet a moment, and he squeezed Michael‟s hand again. “I know.” When they got inside Ryan‟s house, Michael struggled to undress, eventually giving up and letting Ryan help him. He crawled into bed and lay on his side with his back to Ryan. Ryan lay on his back for a minute, then sighed and rolled over to spoon up behind Michael. “What‟s wrong?” Michael didn‟t move. “Nothing.” “Is this about your dad?” “I don‟t want to talk about it.” Ryan sighed. “Michael—” “I said I don‟t want to talk about it, Ryan. Please.” “Okay, fine.” Ryan sighed again. “I just want you to talk to me, Michael. I don‟t understand why you won‟t.” Michael curled up tighter, and Ryan shifted against him, trying to pull him closer. “I can‟t. Not about that.” Ryan‟s lips brushed the back of Michael‟s neck. “I just want to help, that‟s all.” Michael stayed still for a moment, then turned in Ryan‟s arms, tucking his head under Ryan‟s chin and leaning against him. “Sorry. I can‟t help it.” “I know. We‟ll talk about it when you‟re ready.” Ryan kissed the top of his head. “Go to sleep. Everything‟ll look better in the morning." Michael doubted that.

SOMETHING was tickling his nose. Michael frowned, not opening his eyes, and rubbed his nose with his hand before settling back down. Hardly a minute later, and the thing was back, the lightest of touches

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that would have had him thinking he‟d imagined it if it hadn‟t been for the crazy-making itch the touch left in its wake. He grunted and rubbed his nose again, but this time when he tried to relax back into sleep he became aware of another noise, a soft, breathy wheezing noise. He knew that noise all too well. He frowned again and cracked open one eye. “What the hell are you doing?” Ryan, red-faced with trying to hold in his laughter, said gleefully, “Tickling your nose with a piece of grass.” He held the offending torture instrument up so Michael could see it. “And it‟s hilarious too.” “You‟re tickling my nose with a piece of grass? For fuck‟s sake, what are you, five? Fuck off, and let me go back to sleep.” Michael glared at Ryan for a moment, then closed his eyes again. “Oh God, I love it when you‟re grumpy in the morning.” Michael felt the grass tickling his nose again. “Come on, get up. We‟ve got things to do today.” Michael opened his eyes and tried to snatch at the grass, but Ryan was too quick for him, holding it out of his reach. Michael glared at him some more. “What things have we got to do? It‟s Saturday, and I‟m not working.” “Paddock inspecting,” Ryan said breezily, sitting up and smiling down at him. “Paddock inspecting? Can‟t that be done on a weekday?” Michael looked at Ryan, his eyebrows raised. There was no answer forthcoming, but he was distracted from that fact by another noise he heard in the background. “Is that rain?” Ryan‟s smile got wider. “Yep.” “You want to go out inspecting paddocks in the rain, on a Saturday. Are you fucking serious?” “Yes.” As if to illustrate his point, Ryan stood and yanked the covers back, grabbing Michael‟s ankle and starting to drag him off the bed. “Come on, lazy ass. Get up.”

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“Hey!” Michael grabbed for the edge of the mattress and tried to twist his leg out of Ryan‟s grip, the air of the room cold against his skin. “Not fair! You could have just made me coffee like a civilized person would have, instead of trying to manhandle me like I‟m one of your frigging anim—” Ryan had let go of his leg suddenly and dropped down on top of Michael, pressing him into the mattress, the material of the pajama bottoms and T-shirt he wore soft against Michael‟s bare skin. “You are such a pain in the ass,” he said, kissing Michael hard. “What if I said I‟d make it worth your while?” This new turn of events was not entirely surprising, but also not really an inducement to get out of bed. Michael shifted, more to rub himself against Ryan than because he was uncomfortable. “You always say that.” “And I always deliver.” Ryan kissed him again, then got up, taking hold of Michael‟s wrist this time and yanking him upright. “Get up and have a shower or whatever it is that you need to do to wake up, and I‟ll make you your coffee.” “You know, there are a lot more pleasant ways to wake someone up than trying to yank them out of bed. Even coffee comes second to what you could have done, if you‟d taken the time to put some thought into it,” Michael grumbled, but the fight was lost. He sighed and swung his legs over the bed, pulling on a pair of Ryan‟s track suit pants and a T-shirt. “Am I getting breakfast before you force me out into the rain, or do I have to starve?” “You‟re lucky I don‟t make you eat outside with the dogs.” His tone was stern, but when Michael looked up at Ryan, there was a smile in his eyes. Ryan looked at Michael for a moment, then shook his head, laughing a little. “Go have a shower. Breakfast‟ll be ready when you get out.” Ryan was true to his word. When Michael came into the kitchen, clean and dressed, there was coffee and toast and bacon and eggs. Most of his grumpiness washed away by his shower, Michael smiled. “Well.

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If I knew this was going to be waiting for me, I might have got up quicker.” “Maybe, but I doubt it.” Ryan dished up the food and put one plate down on the table in front of Michael. “Here you go.” “Thanks.” Now that the food was in front of him, Michael realized he was starving. Ryan must have been, too, because for several minutes they ate in silence, pausing only to ask for the salt or the sauce or the butter. Michael made them both a second cup of coffee once their plates had been cleared, then finally said what was on his mind. “Are we really going out in the rain?” “Yes, Michael, we are.” Ryan smiled at him over the rim of his mug, shaking his head. “You are such a city person. What if one of the fences was down, and right now cattle—or one or all of my horses— were merrily trotting down the road, never to be seen again? What if some trespasser had left a whole bunch of barbed wire or rusty metal for Charlie or one of the others to get tangled up in again? The fact that it‟s raining or that it‟s Saturday wouldn‟t make a difference.” “All right, all right, I get the picture. You don‟t have to give me a lecture, Constable Mitchell.” Michael drained his coffee, then stood. “And for the record, if any one of those things happened, I‟d drive out to round them up, or I‟d stitch up the wound myself,” he said loftily. “I keep a small emergency kit in the car, just in case I need it.” “Well, let‟s hope you never do.” Ryan stood, came around the table, and pulled Michael into his arms. “I‟m only teasing you, you know,” he said, leaning in for a kiss and resting his forehead against Michael‟s for a moment. “I know.” Michael tightened his arms around Ryan briefly. “So am I. Mostly. The part about going out in the rain‟s serious, though.” “I know.” Ryan grinned and let him go, stepping back and turning toward the back door. “Come on. You‟ve got your own gumboots, right?” “Yeah.” He‟d never thought to need any as a city vet, but a couple of times out in the freezing rain of a Burreela winter, trying to tend to a sick animal in knee-deep, stinking mud had taught him enough about

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the necessity of gumboots and a good raincoat. “The gumboots are in the car. I don‟t have my raincoat, though.” “I‟ve got a raincoat you can borrow,” Ryan said over his shoulder. “Want me to go out to the car for you?” “No, I can do it.” Michael doubled back to get his car keys, then went round to Ryan‟s front yard, jogging across the sodden grass to his car. He kicked off his wet sneakers when he got back to Ryan, dropping them just inside the door to dry out before stepping into his gumboots. Ryan was all kitted out and holding the raincoat for him when he straightened. Michael‟s own raincoat was just a plain red jacket, a hiking raincoat with lots of zippered pockets and snug sleeves and a hood to make sure no water trickled down the back of his neck. He felt much more comfortable in that than he would in the thing that Ryan was holding up. The thing that Ryan was holding up was a proper Driza-Bone, a calf-length, dark brown, stockman‟s raincoat, with the almost double-breasted front and the shoulder flaps that would direct the water harmlessly away from your shoulders instead of down the back of your neck. Looking at it, Michael‟s heart sank. As if the bloody Akubra weren‟t enough, and he was used to that now. “What‟s the holdup?” Ryan was smiling at him. “It‟s just a raincoat, Michael. Come on.” He must have had a look on his face, a look like dread or extreme reluctance. He tried to school his features into a blank expression even as he gave the lie to that by saying, “It‟s not just a raincoat, Ryan. It‟s your raincoat.” “It is my raincoat, yes. And you look extremely sexy in my clothes. So stop being a fucking wuss, and get over here.” Ryan stepped forward and swung the Driza-Bone around Michael‟s shoulders, coaxing his arms into the sleeves. He buttoned it up quickly and efficiently, not giving Michael time to object or even to look at what he was doing. “There,” he said, stepping back and surveying his work. “Perfect.” His gaze grew heated. “Sexy as hell, as predicted. And ready to ride the trails in comfort.”

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Michael had no time to register a reaction to the heat in Ryan‟s eyes, because the last part of what he‟d said filled him with horror. “Oh, God, you‟re not expecting me to ride a horse as well, are you?” Ryan laughed, long and loud, even going so far as to slap his thigh in merriment. “Yeah, ah… no, of course not. What do you think I am, an idiot?” Michael was so relieved he didn‟t even bother to be offended. “Good. Thank God.” He paused, looking out at the rain for a second before looking back at Ryan with a frown. “How are we getting there? Walking?” Ryan shook his head. “No, we‟re taking Drew‟s bike. The trike.” “Oh.” Michael had seen Andrew use the bike sometimes when they‟d been working cattle. “Good.” Ryan grinned at him again and nodded. “Wait for me around the front, and I‟ll go and get it. I would have brought it around while you were still asleep, but I didn‟t want to wake you. Not that early, anyway.” With that, he launched himself off the veranda and jogged out of sight around the house. It didn‟t take Ryan long to retrieve the trike, and then they were on their way. Seated behind Ryan, arms around his waist, Michael reflected that there were really far less pleasant ways to spend a Saturday than having your boyfriend‟s backside fitted snugly in between your thighs, his back warm against your chest. Except being like that inside, in front of the fire, and with far fewer clothes on. But you couldn‟t have everything. His hat kept the rain off his head and mostly off his face, although what he could feel of it was cold. There was no wind, though, so that was something. The Driza-Bone kept him surprisingly warm, as did hopping on and off the bike to open the gates of the various paddocks for Ryan to drive through before shutting them again. By the third gate, his gumboots were covered in mud, and he was beginning to think of them as the best thing he‟d ever bought. It stopped raining sometime after the fourth gate, and they left the bike on the track and started walking along the fence line. Ryan told Michael what weaknesses to

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look for in the fences, but after that they walked in silence, Michael concentrating on checking the fences and sweeping the ground for any rubbish or debris that could injure an unsuspecting animal. After about ten minutes of comfortable silence, the hairs on the back of Michael‟s neck began to prickle. Looking up, he caught Ryan staring at him, a small smile on his face. “What?” Ryan shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing.” He stopped walking and looked around them. “Come on. I want to show you something.” Michael raised his eyebrows. “What? I thought we were supposed to be safety proofing paddocks.” “We are, but this will only take a minute.” Ryan turned and started to walk back toward the bike, stopping a few paces away and turning back. He still had a smile on his face. “Come on.” “Okay, but it better be good,” Michael said, giving in with a shake of his head. The place Ryan wanted to show him was about five or ten minutes away on the bike. It was a dam, as big as an Olympic-sized swimming pool, with eucalyptus trees scattered around its edges. One of the trees had branches that overhung the water, and from one branch a rope hung, a huge tire tied to the end of it to form a makeshift swing. Michael and Ryan stood on the muddy bank of the dam and stared out across the water. “You used to come out here as kids, I take it.” “Yeah.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan nod. “Even now, I come out here sometimes when I‟ve got things I need to think about. In summer it‟s a great place to camp, lying out underneath the stars and just… clearing your head of all the bullshit.” Michael didn‟t do camping. If a place didn‟t have hot showers and a flushing toilet, he wasn‟t interested in staying there, but even he had to admit that the idea of being out here with Ryan held a certain appeal. In fact, the thought of being anywhere with Ryan was getting

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more and more appealing the more time they spent together. He turned to look at Ryan, who was still looking out over the dam. After a moment, Ryan must have sensed eyes on him, because he turned, his gaze meeting Michael‟s, his eyebrows raised. Michael smiled at him and decided to be spontaneous. “Want to come to Sydney with me on the Labour Day long weekend?” Ryan stared at him for so long that Michael started to think that Ryan somehow hadn‟t heard him, or worse, that Ryan had heard him and was wishing that he hadn‟t. He opened his mouth to stammer out an excuse or a retraction or anything, when a slow smile spread across Ryan‟s face. “You want me to come to Sydney with you?” Michael snapped his mouth shut and nodded. “Yeah. The long weekend‟s coming up in a few weeks, and I thought—” Ryan obviously didn‟t care what he thought, because Michael suddenly found his wrist seized, Ryan yanking him in so that they were chest to chest, Ryan‟s arm tight around his waist. “We‟ll go out in public?” Michael felt himself flush, but shoved his first defensive reaction to that down. “Well, yeah, unless you don‟t want to. We can always—” Ryan clearly didn‟t care what else they could do, because he kissed Michael silent, the kiss fierce and possessive. When they eventually broke apart, they were both a little breathless. Michael laughed unsteadily. “So I take it that‟s a yes, then?” Ryan laughed and kissed him again. “Yes, Michael, it‟s a yes.”

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OCTOBER THE dark, rain, and cold that greeted them the Saturday of the long weekend didn‟t seem to dampen Ryan‟s spirits one iota. In fact, he practically bounced up and down in his seat with excitement. It was infectious, and Michael couldn‟t help smiling at him as they started to roll back down Ryan‟s driveway in the pre-dawn darkness. “You right there?” Ryan grinned. “I‟m great. You?” “I‟m good.” Michael turned his attention back to his driving before they rolled to a stop at the last gate before the road. Ryan jumped out to open it and Michael drove through, watching Ryan close the gate in his rearview mirror. “There‟s a thermos of coffee behind your seat if you want some,” he said as Ryan opened the door to get in again. “Oh, you little beauty,” Ryan said, flipping the seat forward and rummaging around in the bag on the floor behind it. “Cake too? God, you‟re organized. I thought we‟d just get something on the road.” Michael shrugged. “We will, but I thought you might be hungry before then. And a long drive like this deserves coffee.” He gestured toward the cake. “The cake‟s not mine. Well, it is, but I didn‟t buy it. Astrid brought it in for us yesterday as a thank-you for fixing up Oscar again.” “You mean as a thank-you to you,” Ryan said dryly as he righted the seat and got in the car, closing the door. “You‟ve got a soft spot for that old duck. Don‟t try to hide it.”

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Michael laughed. “What? She loves that dog. He‟s almost as old as she is. I can hardly refuse him a few things that‟ll make his life easier, can I? And they don‟t cost much.” Ryan chuckled and poured some coffee out into the lid of the thermos. “Even if they did, you‟d still do it, and don‟t deny it.” He held up a hand when Michael opened his mouth to protest. “That‟s not a criticism! In fact, it‟s one of the things I… like about you. That you‟d do that for a little old lady and her dog.” “It‟s not a big deal,” Michael insisted. “It‟s just a few little things.” “Keep telling yourself that,” Ryan said, taking a sip of coffee and sighing loudly. “God, that‟s good.” He yawned, running a hand through his hair. “What are we going to do first?” “Jen‟s expecting us for lunch.” Michael looked at his watch. “So we better get cracking if we‟re going to make it before one.” “And I better conserve my energy for Jack,” Ryan said with a laugh. He put his coffee in the cup holder, reclined the seat back, and settled down into it, pulling Michael‟s jacket from the back seat and using it for a blanket. “Wake me when it‟s my turn to drive.” Michael smiled at him, turning his eyes back to the road as he pulled out of the farm‟s driveway and onto the road that led out of Burreela and to Sydney. “Will do.”

THE drive went much more quickly with someone to share it with. At the start of the drive they both slept when they weren‟t driving, the early start getting to them both, but after that they were more alert and spent the time talking and arguing about what radio station to listen to. They stopped to stretch their legs every time they swapped the driving responsibilities, but despite that, made good time. Michael had booked a hotel for the weekend, not being willing to subject them to the lack of privacy and terrible sofa bed that awaited them at Jen‟s. He was after a dirty weekend full of sex, not hundreds of dollars in chiropractic bills,

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or therapy bills from being caught in the act by his sister, or worse, his nephew, who was sure to be armed with a barrage of awkward and embarrassing questions. They checked into their hotel just after twelve thirty, which gave them hardly any time to enjoy the spectacular view of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House that their room afforded them. Stowing their stuff, they raced to Jen‟s, who welcomed them ecstatically, giving both of them a hug and a kiss before ushering them inside. Ethan managed to keep Jack away from Ryan for long enough to be properly introduced, and then Ryan was whisked away into Jack‟s room to look at all of his plastic farm animals, Michael shooting apologetic looks at a laughing Ryan as Jack hauled on his hand. Jen took the opportunity and did some hauling herself, dragging Michael into the kitchen and hugging him. “Oooh, Mikey, I can‟t believe you‟ve brought him here. This is so exciting!” Michael stared at her. “Um. Okay. Whatever you say.” Jen rolled her eyes at him. “Are you saying that you bringing him to Sydney with you doesn‟t mean anything?” Michael felt himself blush. “No, I‟m not saying that, but… don‟t make a big deal of this, Jen, seriously. It‟s just a weekend away.” Jen looked at him, her expression gentling. “Okay, Mikey. I‟ll back off. But I‟m really glad he‟s here with you.” “Okay, fine. Let‟s just….” Michael smiled. “Let‟s just go back out there and save him from Jack, all right?” Mercifully, Jen didn‟t give him any shit for the rest of the afternoon, and while Michael caught her smiling at the way he and Ryan interacted, it was subtle enough so that he could ignore it and enjoy his afternoon. They couldn‟t stay all night, having made arrangements to meet Ryan‟s friends that evening, and when they were leaving, Jen came outside with them, hugging them both again, keeping Michael back when Ryan went to the car.

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“Thanks for coming,” she said, kissing his cheek. “I know you try and deny it, for some unknown reason, but I can see how happy he makes you. I‟m really happy for you, Mikey.” She hugged him again. Michael had to swallow to try and clear the sudden lump in his throat. “Thanks, Jen.” He hugged her tightly for a moment and then pulled away, jogging down the stairs and getting in the passenger seat, Ryan having taken over driving duties. Their next stop was a dingy pub in Surry Hills for beers and pool, chosen mostly for the fact that it had beer and pool, and was close to the Redfern base of the mounted police, because some of Ryan‟s old squad had been rostered on that day. Michael paced himself with his beer and tried not to stare at Ryan‟s ass whenever he bent over to play a shot. Ryan‟s old workmates were friendly enough to him, no one mentioning the fact that he and Michael were apparently together now until about halfway through the night, when Ryan had headed to the bar to buy the next round. Michael was left with Susie and Duncan while Paul and Anton argued over the progress of their pool game. “So,” Susie said, her tone neutral. “You and Ryan, huh?” Michael‟s stomach twisted. “Ah. Yeah. Me and Ryan.” Susie nodded. Michael glanced at Duncan, who was smirking into his beer. That was not a good sign. “Ryan‟s a good friend of ours.” Michael‟s heart sank. “Yeah. I can see that.” “He‟s a good guy.” Michael nodded, taking a large swallow of his beer. “I know.” “He doesn‟t deserve to get hurt.” “I have no intention of hurting him.” Hurting him by accident, however, was entirely possible. Susie nodded. “See that you don‟t,” she said, and walked off to the pool table to break up the argument. Michael stared after her, then glanced around at Duncan, feeling slightly wild-eyed. “What just happened?”

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Duncan laughed and clapped him on the back. “Don‟t worry, mate. She does that to everyone. Just do what she says, and no one‟ll get hurt.” “Oh, that‟s really comforting,” Michael said, and Duncan laughed again. He was still laughing when Ryan came back with a tray of drinks. “What‟s so funny?” “Nothing,” Michael and Duncan said in chorus. Ryan raised his eyebrows, looking at Michael. “Okay… I‟ll be getting that out of you later.” “Don‟t bet on it,” Michael said, taking another sip of his beer and looking at Duncan, who burst out laughing again. Later, back in their hotel room, they stood in front of the window drinking bourbon from the mini bar and enjoying the nighttime view of the bridge and Opera House. Eventually, Ryan plucked Michael‟s drink out of his hand and put it on the desk beside them. “Hey, I was drinking that.” “You can have it back in a minute,” Ryan said, wrapping his arms around Michael from behind and kissing the side of his neck. “What were you and Duncan laughing about earlier?” Michael smiled. “Bloody busybody! Do you have to know everything?” Ryan kissed his neck again. “Yes.” “What if it was none of your business?” Michael felt the graze of Ryan‟s teeth against his neck then. “Everything involving you is my business.” Michael snorted, only the fact that he was pleasantly drunk stopping him from getting nervous about that statement. That and the fact that part of him liked it. “Not bloody likely.” Ryan bit him again, harder this time. “Tell me, Mikey. What was it?”

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Michael sighed. “You are unbelievable.” He paused. “I got the „hurt him and I‟ll kill you‟ pep talk from Susie.” Ryan burst out laughing. “Are you kidding?” “No. Not kidding at all. Not one bit.” Ryan laughed again. “Well, well….” His arms tightened around Michael, and his lips brushed Michael‟s neck again. “She must think there‟s really something between us if she‟s saying stuff like that.” Michael flushed, his chest tightening with what was undeniably fear, but also just a touch of hope. “I‟d have liked it a bit better if it had been coming from someone who isn‟t allowed to carry a gun.” Michael felt Ryan‟s smile against his neck. “Well, just be nice to me, and she won‟t have to blow your dick off.” “That is really not helping.” “I know.” Ryan‟s arms pulled him in, so that they were snug against each other. “Come to bed and I‟ll make it up to you.”

“IF YOU don‟t stop fidgeting, I‟m going to kill you.” Michael stopped tapping his foot. “Sorry. Can‟t help it.” “In a minute, I‟m going to think you‟re embarrassed to introduce me to your friends,” Ryan said dryly. “What‟s he expecting, some country bumpkin?” Michael laughed nervously. “No, of course not!” Ryan looked at him, then looked away, smiling a little. “Uh huh.” “What? He‟s not!” “Sure Michael, I believe you.” “I don‟t know why—oh, shit, he‟s here.” Michael stood up fast, his chair scraping the pavement noisily. Oxford Street at eleven o‟clock on a Sunday morning was a fairly busy thoroughfare, but still Michael could see Adrian coming from a mile away. Adrian, his oldest friend, the only one who knew all his dirty secrets and loved him anyway.

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Adrian, who could unravel this thing he had going with Ryan in the blink of an eye and completely by accident. Michael bounced on the soles of his feet for a moment and then went to meet him. “You look like you‟re absolutely fucking packing it,” Adrian said as they hugged. “What have you told him about me?” “Nothing!” “Right. What have you told him about you?” Michael hesitated. “Not that much.” “That explains it then.” Adrian looked at him for a moment, then nodded, glancing over Michael‟s shoulder at Ryan. “I can see why. He‟s hot. He‟s got that whole manly stubble, rumpled, outdoorsy thing going on, hasn‟t he? Good in bed, too, I suppose. Don‟t want to let one like that go. By the way, I so should have bet you that you‟d fuck him sooner or later that first time we talked about him. I would have, if I‟d known what he looked like. Could have made some money there.” Michael shoved him. “You can shut up any time, you know.” “Maybe later,” Adrian said, stepping around Michael and heading for Ryan. “Don‟t worry, Stone, your secrets are safe with me.” For the most part, Adrian kept his promise, restricting his embarrassing stories to their high school days or their time at university, before Michael‟s mum died and his life went to shit, and Adrian spent all his time plucking Michael out of the gutter or out of the arms of some of the more unsuitable of Michael‟s encounters, of which there were many. He kept his stories to the innocent and the amusing, and had Ryan in stitches. When he left, Michael hugged him. “Thanks.” Adrian hugged him back hard, saying, “He‟s definitely not a fuckwit. And I‟d tell you if he was,” before walking off and leaving Michael alone with Ryan. When Michael turned back to Ryan, Ryan was smiling. “What?” Ryan shrugged. “Nothing. He seems like a nice guy.”

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Michael nodded. “Yeah. He‟s a good friend.” He paused as a waitress came over and started clearing their plates. “Want to get out of here? “Sure.” Ryan stood as Michael did, but then his attention was caught by a couple walking down the street; two men, walking hand in hand, talking and laughing and smiling into each other‟s eyes. Michael watched as an expression so wistful crossed Ryan‟s face that it took his breath away, and just like that he knew he never wanted to see that look on Ryan‟s face ever again, not because of something that was within Michael‟s power to fix. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping up to Ryan. Ryan turned, and Michael moved closer, slipping his arms around Ryan‟s waist, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered and his heart started to quicken in his chest. Ryan‟s eyebrows rose. “We‟re in the middle of the street.” “I know.” Michael tightened his arms so they were chest to chest, sure that Ryan would be able to feel that his heart was now trying to burst its way through his ribs but doing it anyway. “This is me not caring,” he said and leaned in for a kiss. Ryan spent a few seconds frozen with surprise, but when Michael didn‟t pull away his arms tightened around Michael‟s waist, and he deepened the kiss until he had Michael almost bent backward over a chair, and they were attracting catcalls and wolf whistles from other patrons of the cafe. When they broke apart they were both panting, redfaced, and laughing, and Michael felt happier than he had in a long time when he saw the elation in Ryan‟s eyes. “That was some public display of affection there, Mitchell.” “Hey, you started it,” Ryan said, kissing him again quickly. “Let‟s get out of here.”

THEY spent the rest of the day on their own, strolling up and down Oxford Street, window shopping and people watching. Ryan took his

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hand and Michael let him, allowing Ryan to pull him close when they looked in shop windows, watching their reflection in the window with their arms around each other. They wandered through Hyde Park, and when it started to rain, Ryan pulled him under the shelter of a tree and into his arms, and Michael went, hugging Ryan close, pressing his face against Ryan‟s shoulder and breathing him in, smiling even as rain dripped off the leaves overhead and splattered down onto their heads. They had dinner in Newtown before going back to the hotel (“I remember the rules even if you don‟t, Michael: dinner, then hands in the pants,” Ryan had laughed), and when they got into their room they got ready for bed like they‟d been doing it for thirty years. That should have scared Michael, but all he felt was calm as they slipped between the sheets, and Ryan gathered him close. “Great weekend, huh?” Ryan whispered. Michael smiled. “Yeah, really great.” He wrapped his arms around Ryan‟s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, tenderly at first but then more insistent as the kiss caught and flared. Ryan made a soft eager noise and rolled Michael onto his back, pressing him into the mattress with his weight, their kisses hungry and open-mouthed, their breathing turning rough, loud in the quiet of the room. Ryan started to move then, rubbing against Michael and making him moan, Michael‟s hands grabbing and rubbing at every part of Ryan he could reach. Ryan bit Michael‟s neck and slid downward, kissing, licking, and biting as he went. Ryan‟s hot mouth on one of his nipples made Michael gasp, the gasp turning into a moan as Ryan sucked hard, making a pleased noise in the back of his throat as Michael‟s hips jerked helplessly against his belly. He lifted his head up. “Like that, do you?” Michael put a hand on the back of Ryan‟s head and tried to force his head back down. “You know I do.” “I just like to hear you say it.” Ryan smiled and bent his head again, sucking on Michael‟s other nipple before licking his way down to Michael‟s cock, making Michael groan with teasing licks followed by warm breath, his lips sliding up and down the underside of Michael‟s cock. Michael put his hands on Ryan‟s head again, fingers tangling in Ryan‟s hair and tugging.

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“Fucking tease! Either do it or don‟t do it, for fuck‟s sake.” Ryan laughed. “Bossy!” He licked the head of Michael‟s cock again, resisting the pull of Michael‟s hands, but then took pity on him and took him in slow and deep. Michael moaned loudly, fingers flexing against Ryan‟s scalp, and Ryan started up a slow, steady rhythm that had Michael wound like a spring. He kept it up until Michael was making desperate, keening cries and trying to thrust into Ryan‟s mouth, Ryan‟s hands heavy on his hips to keep him still. Eventually Ryan moaned and let Michael‟s cock slip from his mouth, panting hard. “Fuck, I can‟t wait anymore. You‟re so fucking…,” he trailed off, diving for the bedside drawer, yanking it open to retrieve a condom and some lube. “On your knees.” Michael stayed where he was, waiting until Ryan turned back around again to say, “Let‟s stay like this. I want to see your face.” Ryan looked at Michael for a moment, his eyebrows raised, then he smiled almost bashfully, his eyes shining. “Yeah?” Michael nodded. “Yeah.” They‟d been face to face before, but only with Michael on top, controlling what they did and where he looked. He‟d always avoided any position where he‟d have no choice but to look at Ryan‟s face, but not anymore. It was a small thing, maybe, but not really. Watching the way Ryan looked at him, he knew that Ryan knew it wasn‟t a small thing just as much as he did. Ryan moved over to him again and knelt between his legs, putting the condom on and slicking himself before putting a hand on Michael‟s knee. “Last chance to change your mind, Mikey,” he said softly as he leaned forward, his body pushing Michael‟s legs up and out slowly. Michael shook his head, his hands coming up to caress Ryan‟s arms. “Not going to.” Ryan smiled again and leaned down to kiss him, then pulled back, and Michael felt the head of Ryan‟s cock press against his entrance. He moaned as Ryan breached him, grabbing on to Ryan‟s shoulders and arching as Ryan pressed forward, wrapping his legs around Ryan‟s waist. Ryan moaned as he sheathed himself completely, leaning down to kiss Michael hard.

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“God, I love this,” Ryan whispered against Michael‟s mouth. He kissed Michael again and started to thrust, both of them moaning into each other‟s mouths at the feel of it. Ryan kept kissing him as they moved together, tangling his hand in Michael‟s hair, Michael‟s arms wrapping tightly around Ryan‟s neck. He kept his thrusts deep and slow, until Michael started to make noise with every thrust, his hands wandering, running down Ryan‟s back to clutch at his ass, kneading hard, wordlessly urging him to speed up, to thrust harder. Ryan reached between them to grasp Michael‟s cock and stroke it firmly. Michael tore his mouth away from Ryan‟s to throw his head back and groan, and Ryan bit his neck before pulling back, panting as he thrust hard into Michael‟s body. “Look at me, Michael.” “Fuck,” Michael gasped, looking up into Ryan‟s face as Ryan squeezed his cock hard and he came, struggling to keep his eyes open as his orgasm shook him, his body tightening around Ryan‟s cock. Ryan‟s face twisted and he cried out, thrusting hard once more into Michael before coming himself, his eyes never leaving Michael‟s. After a moment of holding himself over Michael‟s body as he tried to catch his breath, Ryan pulled out and eased Michael‟s legs down before lying on top of him, his hands cupping Michael‟s face as they kissed again, this time a tender brush of lips. “I love you,” Ryan said again as they pulled apart. Michael‟s breath caught, and he couldn‟t have said if it was terror or amazement he was feeling at Ryan‟s confession. After a moment amazement won out, and he found himself smiling, grinning, more like. He put his hands into Ryan‟s hair and pulled him down again, pressing Ryan‟s forehead to his own. “I love you too.”

THEY had lunch with Jen again before they left, and if she sensed anything different between them, she didn‟t say anything. They were quiet on the way home, but it wasn‟t awkward like it could have been, like Michael might have expected it to be, if he‟d thought about it.

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They took turns driving again, the other sleeping when it wasn‟t his turn, and chatted idly about nothing, neither of them mentioning the night before. Michael drove the last leg of the trip in the dark, but every time he glanced at Ryan, he could see that he wasn‟t asleep. They pulled into Ryan‟s yard in silence. Michael turned the car engine off, and they sat in the dark, the only sound the tick-tick of the car engine as it began to cool. Ryan shifted. “So. Back to work tomorrow.” Michael nodded. “Yeah. I suppose you‟ve got an early start.” “Yeah.” Ryan looked at his watch. “I better go. And let you go too.” Michael nodded again. “Yeah.” They sat in silence for another moment, then Ryan turned to Michael, cupping his hand around the back of Michael‟s neck to pull him in for a kiss. “Thanks for driving,” Ryan said, pulling away and opening the car door. Once he‟d gotten his bag out of the back seat, he leaned in the open passenger door. “See you later?” Michael nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Night.” Ryan smiled. “Night.” Michael waited until Ryan was inside, then headed into Burreela, staring almost unseeing at the road in front of him. His little flat seemed deathly quiet when he got home, and he found himself wandering from room to room, not able to settle. He tried to watch TV for a while, but couldn‟t do anything but mindlessly flick from channel to channel, so he gave up and went to bed. He‟d lain in bed staring at the ceiling for over an hour before he gave up and got up, heading out to the living room to fetch his phone. The phone rang for so long that he almost hung up, but then Ryan finally answered. “Hello?” “Hi,” Michael said quickly. “You weren‟t asleep, were you?”

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Ryan laughed. “No. I was in bed, but I couldn‟t sleep. And then I couldn‟t find the phone.” He paused. “Couldn‟t sleep either, huh?” Michael shook his head, but then realized Ryan couldn‟t see him. “No. I‟ve been trying to for a while.” “Me too.” There was a pause before they both spoke at once. “Hey, would it be alright if—?” “Do you want to come over?” There was another pause, and they both laughed. “I‟d love to come over,” Ryan said, his tone warm. “I‟ll be there as soon as I can.” They rang off, and Michael spent the longest half hour of his life pacing his living room, until the noise of a car coming down the street had him rushing to the window. He watched as Ryan‟s car turned into the driveway at the side of the clinic, and heard it come to a stop just under his stairs. A car door slammed, but by the time Ryan‟s footsteps could be heard on the stairs, Michael had his front door open and was standing on the landing. They grinned at each other for a moment, Michael looking down at Ryan‟s car, parked behind his own, before looking back at Ryan. Ryan‟s smile never faltered. “Want me to move it?” Michael shook his head. “No.” He stepped back into his flat, still smiling, and Ryan followed him in, kicking the door shut before pulling Michael into his arms to kiss him breathless, Michael laughing as Ryan picked him up over his shoulder and carried him into the bedroom.

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NOVEMBER THEY were lying tangled together on Michael‟s bed, smiling into each other‟s eyes as Michael trailed his hand down Ryan‟s belly. His fingertips were just touching the waistband of Ryan‟s jeans when Michael‟s mobile rang. Michael made a soft noise of annoyance and moved to answer it until Ryan‟s hand slapped down on his wrist and pulled him back. “Don‟t even think about answering that phone,” he growled, pressing Michael‟s hand against the front of his jeans. “What if it‟s important?” “They‟ll ring back.” Michael frowned but squeezed Ryan‟s cock through his jeans as his phone threatened to vibrate right off the bedside table. Ryan grunted and relaxed his grip on Michael‟s wrist. Michael squeezed him again, then leaned in for a quick kiss before sitting up. “Sorry. I‟m on call.” Ryan groaned and grabbed for him, but Michael was already up and answering the phone. “Hello?” “Michael. It‟s Ethan.” Ryan reached for him again, hooking his hand into the waistband of Michael‟s jeans. Michael reached behind him and batted Ryan‟s hand away harder than he probably deserved before stepping further from the bed, his heart thudding unpleasantly in his chest. “Ethan. What‟s wrong? Is Jen all right?” He saw Ryan sit up in his peripheral vision as Ethan said, “Oh yeah, she‟s fine. It‟s not her I‟m calling about.”

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Michael couldn‟t decide whether to be relieved or disturbed by that, since if it wasn‟t Jen who was hurt, then it was… but he tried the other alternative. “The kids are all right?” “Yeah, they‟re fine too,” Ethan said. “Look, it‟s your dad, Michael. He‟s had a stroke. The ambulance took him to Royal North Shore. Jen‟s at the hospital with him now, and as far as I know, they‟re still running tests. They think it was a bad one, though.” “Oh.” Michael ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, turning toward Ryan, who was sitting on the edge of the bed now, staring at him. “Well… I don‟t know what to say.” “Jen wants you to come home to see him.” “Oh, I don‟t know if that‟s—” “Look, I know it‟s awkward, and I know you haven‟t been speaking, but he might die, Michael.” Ethan sighed. “Maybe it‟s time to let bygones be bygones.” Michael closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the familiar rush of anger at the implication that his father shunning him because he was gay was something trivial. “My father hating my guts is hardly something I can just brush under the carpet, Ethan. I know you think— ” “You don‟t know what I think, Michael,” Ethan said sharply. “But now‟s not the time for me to tell you. If you don‟t want to do it for your dad or for you, then do it for Jen.” He sighed, and his tone softened. “She really wants you here. If your dad dies, then you‟re the only family she‟s got.” Michael stayed silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I‟ll come. I‟ll just have to clear it with my boss first. I‟ll leave as soon as I do that.” “Good,” Ethan said. “That‟ll be a weight off her shoulders. I‟ll see you when you get here. I‟m dropping the kids off at my mum‟s and going to the hospital to meet Jen. We‟ll stay there until they kick us out.”

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“Okay.” Michael nodded. “I‟ll text you when I get close to see where you are.” They rang off, and Michael turned, looking up at the top of his wardrobe to where he kept his suitcase. He went over and pulled it down, aware of Ryan still sitting on the bed watching him. “I take it you‟re going somewhere,” he said eventually, his tone dry. “Want to tell me what‟s going on?” Michael looked at him but only for a moment. Ryan‟s intensity was too much for him when all he wanted was to run away. “Oh, um… my dad‟s in the hospital. They think he‟s had a stroke. I have to ring Bill.” He turned away as Ryan started to say something, walking out into the living room to call Bill. “You take as long as you need, son,” Bill said when Michael filled him in on what was happening. “Everything will still be here when you get back.” He got a sudden lump in his throat at that, and when he hung up, he had to stand for a minute with the phone pressed to his chest to get himself under control. When he turned back to the bedroom, Ryan was standing in the doorway. “Are you all right?” Michael tried for a smile; it felt weak even to him. “Of course I‟m all right. Why wouldn‟t I be? I‟m only going for Jen. If it was up to me, I wouldn‟t be going at all.” “Michael—” “What, Ryan?” The anger was back again, and he glared at Ryan. “Don‟t give me shit about this, all right? I‟m not in the mood for it. Just let me get ready to go.” Ryan didn‟t acknowledge his anger. “I was just going to ask if you wanted me to come with you.” “Oh.” Michael cringed inwardly at what an asshole he was, at the same time as Ryan‟s gesture made him want to run away even more.

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“Thanks, but… that‟s not necessary. You‟ve got things to do here. What about the horses?” “I‟ll get Dad and Andrew to look after the horses.” Michael shook his head. “You don‟t want to do that. You‟ve got a herd to build. You‟re supposed to be trying to find a stallion for Charlie.” “Don‟t worry about that,” Ryan said, stepping forward into the living room and reaching for Michael‟s hand. “I‟d rather be helping you.” Michael snatched his hand back. “Don‟t!” The lump was back in his throat once more, and he had to stop again to get himself under control, closing his eyes against Ryan‟s sympathetic expression. When he opened his eyes, he couldn‟t look Ryan in the face. “You‟ll make it worse, all right? The less you see, the better off we‟ll both be.” “I don‟t think so, but okay.” Ryan stepped away from him, toward the kitchen. “Why don‟t I make you a thermos of coffee, then? It‟s a long drive. You‟ll need it.” A pang of guilt gripped Michael at that, but Ryan was already walking into the kitchen, so Michael let him go. By the time he‟d finished packing, Ryan was waiting for him in the living room, a thermos of coffee and some sandwiches sitting on Michael‟s dining table. Ryan looked a little sheepish when Michael looked from the table up at him. “It‟s a long drive,” he said again. “You might get hungry.” Michael smiled, an effort to make up for being an ass before. “Yeah, I might. Look, Ryan—” “I know, Michael.” Ryan smiled. “It‟s okay. Family stuff is hard. Just… call me if you need anything, okay?” “Okay.” Michael stepped up to him, kissed him softly. “Thanks.” Ryan‟s arms came around him and tightened, and he kissed Michael again before saying, “Drive safely. Stop every couple of hours. More if you‟re feeling tired.” Michael chuckled. “Yes, Constable Mitchell. Whatever you say.”

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Ryan‟s arms tightened. “I mean it.” He kissed him again, but when the kiss broke, he didn‟t pull away, resting his forehead against Michael‟s. At such close range, his smile was fuzzy, but it was there. “You owe me a hand job. Don‟t think I‟ll forget that.” Michael laughed and hugged Ryan back. “I won‟t forget. You can have a hand job with interest when I get back.” “I‟ll look forward to it.” Ryan held him tight for a few moments before pulling away. “Take care of yourself, Michael. Don‟t stay away too long.” “I won‟t,” Michael said, even as he knew that he couldn‟t possibly promise such a thing. They hugged once more, then finally let each other go, Ryan following Michael out and down the stairs to their cars. Ryan stood next to Michael‟s door as he got in and wound the window down. “Call me when you get there.” “Okay,” Michael said, all business now that he was in the car. He just wanted to get this over and done with. “Bye.” He started the car, and Ryan stepped back. He rolled out of his driveway and paused to wait for the road outside the surgery to clear so he could turn onto it. Ryan was outlined in his rearview mirror, the sun picking out the red highlights in his brown hair. As Michael watched him, he raised his hand in a casual wave. Michael did the same, and then the road was clear. He pulled onto it and out of Ryan‟s sight, Ryan lost to him as well. He watched for a couple of minutes to see if he could see Ryan‟s car leaving his house, but he didn‟t. Sighing, he stopped at a set of lights and unscrewed his coffee, pouring himself some and resting it in his cup holder. It was going to be a long trip.

IT

HAD been just before lunch when he set off. He‟d drunk half the coffee and eaten all the sandwiches Ryan had made him by the time he was an hour outside of Burreela. He regretted that in another hour‟s time, when he had to stop and get something to eat. He shoveled some

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more food and coffee in as quickly as he could, then set off again. He stopped once more, mainly because he promised Ryan he would than because he actually wanted to, and then pressed on into Sydney. It was different without Ryan there to distract him. His chest tightened as night began to fall and the city started to build up around him, his stomach full of butterflies at the thought of what he might find when he got to where he was going and what it might make him do. There were so many memories here, but what frightened him the most was the number of things he knew he didn‟t remember and the fact that he wanted to forget again and would have taken almost anything that he was offered to make that happen. He detoured past his childhood home just to torture himself some more. Pulling up outside it, he turned the car off and rang Jen. “Hello?” She sounded frazzled. “Hey, it‟s me,” he said. “I‟m near Mum and D-Dad‟s house. Are you still at the hospital?” “Yeah. Yep.” She sounded like she wanted to cry. “They‟re going to kick us out soon, though, visiting hours finish at eight. Are you going to come straight here?” He didn‟t want to, but he hardly had a choice. “Yep, I am. I‟ll be there soon, Jen.” There was silence for a moment, and then Michael heard her snuffling, Ethan saying something in the background before he was suddenly on the line. “Michael.” “Yeah. Is she all right?” “Yeah, she‟s fine.” Michael heard Jen blowing her nose. “We‟ll see you soon.” They rang off, but Michael paused for a moment or two to look out into the darkness at his family home. It looked dark and deserted, and unkempt as well, as if the gardens his mother had loved so much hadn‟t been touched since she‟d died. Before Michael could get angry about that, too, he started the car again and pointed its nose toward the hospital.

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Visiting hours were almost over by the time he managed to find the waiting room where Jen and Ethan were waiting on news of his father. As he walked down the corridor, he could see them, Jen leaning against Ethan, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. A pang of unreasonable jealousy went through him at that. Ridiculous, since he‟d told Ryan not to come and didn‟t even really want him to be there in case he realized what a shambles Michael‟s life really was. He shook it off as Jen looked up at the sound of his footsteps and got up to come to him. She barreled into his arms and hugged him tightly, bursting into tears against his shoulder as he tightened his arms around her. “Hey, Jen… it‟s okay,” he soothed. “I‟m here now, and Dad‟s going to be okay, you‟ll see.” He didn‟t know whether he believed that or not. Or whether he cared. She didn‟t bother to question him about it. “Thank God you came,” she sniffled into his neck. “When I asked Ethan to call you, I thought… I thought you might refuse to come.” Michael looked at Ethan over the top of Jen‟s head. Ethan was watching them, and he smiled a little when he met Michael‟s gaze. He obviously hadn‟t told Jen about Michael‟s initial reluctance, which was probably for the best. Michael made a mental note to thank him later. “I‟m here for you, Jen, not Dad.” It was safe to say that, at least, since it surely couldn‟t be news to her. “But it doesn‟t matter right now. The important thing is that I‟m here, right?” “Right.” Jen got hold of herself and stepped back, pulling a tissue out of her sleeve and mopping her face. “A nurse came by a little while ago and told us to go home, there‟s nothing more we can do here tonight. We were just waiting for you to get here. Have you eaten?” “Not properly, no. Not for a couple of hours, anyway.” She nodded. “Okay. Come back to our place, and we‟ll eat, and I‟ll tell you what happened.” She paused. “Do you want to see him?” Michael cringed inwardly. “Not tonight.” Or ever. “I‟ll see him tomorrow.” “He‟s sleeping right now. They‟ve doped him up pretty well.”

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That was tempting, but a visit tonight wouldn‟t rid him of his obligation tomorrow. “I‟ll see him tomorrow,” Michael repeated. “Let‟s go, and you can tell me everything.” Back at Jen and Ethan‟s place, Ethan threw together some pasta while Jen filled Michael in on what had happened. “It was awful,” Jen said, her elbows on the dining room table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. “One minute he was putting the kettle on, the next minute he was talking in tongues or something, I don‟t—” Her eyes filling with tears, she got up abruptly, went into the kitchen and grabbed a paper towel, pressing it against her eyes before coming to sit back down at the table and smiling weakly. “Sorry.” “Jen, don‟t be stupid. It‟s okay.” Michael reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing it. “What do you mean, „talking in tongues‟?” She shrugged. “He just wasn‟t making any sense. He was trying to talk to me, and just talking nonsense, saying nothing that made any sense. And I could see that he could hear what he was saying, and he kept trying to say something different, but everything he said was all… scrambled.” She sniffed, wiping her nose roughly with the paper towel as her eyes got teary again. “And then he suddenly clutched his head and yelled, yelled with pain, and fell on the floor. He was so still, I thought—” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought he‟d dropped dead right then and there. But then I got down on the floor with him and saw he was still breathing, and I called an ambulance.” She smiled weakly. “You can guess the rest, I suppose.” Michael nodded. “Yeah.” He paused. “I‟m sorry you had to go through that alone.” “Yeah, well.” Jen mopped at her eyes and blew her nose. “It‟s not your fault. No one could have known that was going to happen.” And even if he had been in Sydney, he wouldn‟t have been ‟round at Dad‟s having a nice cozy cuppa and a bit of sponge cake anyway. “No. And I came as soon as I could.”

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“Yeah, you did.” She squeezed his hand, then let it drop to pick up her mug again. “I‟m glad you‟re here.” Michael smiled and lied to her. “Me too.”

HE SLEPT on the sofa bed in Jen and Ethan‟s living room that night, if slept didn‟t include much actual sleeping at all. It was near to midnight when he realized he‟d forgotten to ring Ryan. Rolling over, he felt blindly for his phone, then rolled over onto his back and started keying in a text. Hey. I’m here. He pressed send and dropped his arm down by his side, holding the phone in his hand. For a minute or two there was no reply, and he closed his eyes, drifting a little, until the buzz of the phone in his hand had him startling awake again. All right? He started a complicated reply but then changed his mind, deciding to keep it simple. Yeah. The reply came back only moments later. I’m glad. Night. Michael smiled and keyed in his reply. Night. He put the phone down on the floor this time and settled down to sleep, but just when he‟d started drifting off, it buzzed again. Frowning, he picked it up and read the message. What are you wearing? Michael laughed, his thumbs already busy on the keys. Now, that’s enough of that, horse whisperer. The reply came back in a flash.

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You’re no fun. City boys are supposed to be adventurous. Michael laughed again and put the phone down without answering, knowing that they could go on all night like that. Smiling, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

HE

WAS woken by Ethan getting up for work, the smell of coffee getting him half out of bed before he was even properly awake. He shuffled into the kitchen, where there was already a mug on the counter waiting for him. He groaned happily. “You know, you‟ve always been my favorite brother-in-law,” he said. Ethan‟s tone was dry. “I‟ve always been your only brother-inlaw.” Two pieces of toast popped out of the toaster, and Ethan put them onto a plate, pushing the plate toward Michael. “Very true.” Michael caught the edge of the plate and pulled it toward him. “Peanut butter?” “Above your head.” Michael opened the cupboard above his head and got out the peanut butter as Ethan put two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “Jen‟s okay with you going to work?” Ethan shrugged. “I‟ve got some things on today that I can‟t get out of. I‟ll come to the hospital after work, after I check in on the kids.” Ethan looked at him. “She‟s got you to keep her company today, anyway.” “Yeah.” Michael looked away and concentrated on spreading peanut butter on his toast. He definitely did not relish a day spent at the hospital, even without having to talk to his father. When he thought about having to combine the two, it was almost unbearable. “I wonder if Dad‟ll be awake today.” Ethan turned, leaning his back against the counter and sipping his coffee. “I‟m sure he will be at some stage, although I don‟t know how lucid he‟ll be. They kept him pretty out of it yesterday, so I don‟t know

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that they even know exactly how bad it was yet.” He paused. “How long has it been since you‟ve spoken to him?” Michael took a bite of his toast before answering. “A while. Since just after Mum died, so almost three years now, I think.” Ethan was silent a moment. “That‟s a long time to not talk to someone.” Michael damped down a surge of annoyance at the way everyone seemed to want to put their two cents in on this. “Yeah, well. He‟s the one who disowned me. I don‟t know why everyone‟s forgetting that.” “We‟re not forgetting it, Michael.” “Oh, yeah? That‟s the way it seems to me.” “Oh, for God‟s sake.” The toast popped up out of the toaster with a quiet metallic click, and Ethan turned around to get it out. “We‟re on your side in this, all right? It‟s just that—” “Just what, Ethan? Dad doesn‟t want anything to do with me.” “How do you know that if you haven‟t spoken to him for three years?” “He threw me out!” Ethan turned to him, frowning. “Keep your voice down. You‟ll wake Jen.” He turned back to the toast. “I know he threw you out, but the doctors told us yesterday that he‟s got a good chance of having another stroke now that he‟s had this one, and if he does, he might not survive it.” He turned back to Michael, coming around the counter and drawing up a stool next to him at the breakfast bar. “We know you‟re not in the wrong here, but do you really want him to die without having at least tried to make up with him? Why did you even come down here if you weren‟t going to try to see him?” Michael stared at Ethan, then looked down at his plate, letting his shoulders slump. “I came because Jen asked me to.” And Jen had said a similar thing to him when she‟d visited him with the kids, worrying that something would happen before they‟d made up, and now it was coming true. He sighed. “But you‟re right. I don‟t want him to die without trying again.”

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“No. Of course not.” Ethan‟s hand grazed his shoulder briefly. “And at least if you try now and he won‟t budge, then you‟ll know you did all you could.” “I won‟t try again,” Michael said, contemplating the rest of his breakfast, then putting it aside, not hungry anymore. “If he won‟t talk to me today, then that‟s it. Never again, whether he‟s going to die or not.” “Hopefully it won‟t come to that.” “Yeah.” Michael suspected it probably would. Ethan inhaled his breakfast then went to wake Jen while Michael took another cup of coffee into the living room and curled up in front of the television. By the time Ethan left for work, he‟d managed to tie himself in knots over the prospect of seeing his father, and by the time he and Jen left for the hospital, it was a thousand times worse. Jen seemed not to notice, distracted by her own worries over their father or the kids or God knows what. Michael didn‟t ask. They made tense small talk on the way to the hospital, Michael wishing every minute for some sort of pharmaceutical assistance to steady his nerves. By the time they got up to the ward and had the doctor give them an update, Michael was so jittery he could barely keep still. Luckily he had a few minutes reprieve when Jen stopped outside their father‟s room and put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe I should go in first.” She smiled weakly. “Prepare him for another visitor.” Michael nodded, his heart in his throat. Jen slipped into the room, and Michael stepped closer to the door so he could watch through the small glass window set in it, catching his first glimpse of his father in almost three years. Surrounded by machines and apparently dressed in a voluminous hospital gown, he looked frail and tired, his hair mussed, lines of exhaustion on his pale face as he stared at the ceiling. Michael‟s heart leapt into his throat as his father‟s head turned toward the door, only through the greatest effort of will resisting the urge to jump back from the doorway. His father didn‟t see him anyway, his eyes all for Jen as always, these days

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at least. Michael lost sight of his father‟s face as Jen approached the bed, feeling a surprising stab of jealousy as she stopped next to it and took his hand in hers. He stepped away from the door then, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. He turned his back to his father‟s room and got his phone out. He was scrolling through his contacts to get to Ryan‟s number when the door behind him opened. “Mikey.” She spoke softly, almost whispering, and for a moment he considered pretending he hadn‟t heard her, but he knew she wouldn‟t fall for that. He closed his eyes, snapped his phone shut, and turned around. “Did he tell you to tell me to fuck off?” “Of course not,” she said firmly, stepping out of the room and letting the door close behind her. She paused, then looked up, but not at him. “He doesn‟t know it‟s you.” She caught his gaze then, and at least had the grace to look sheepish before she looked away. “I thought it‟d be easier that way.” The urge to shout at her was overwhelming. He gritted his teeth against it. “Better for who?” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then Jen took a deep breath and got herself together. “Does it matter? You‟re here now, so let‟s do this. It‟ll be fine.” It wouldn‟t be. He knew it wouldn‟t be. She knew it, too, otherwise she‟d have told their father he was here. So he had no idea what made him nod and say, “Right, yeah. It‟ll be fine. Let‟s do this.” She looked surprised for a moment, as if she‟d expected him to put up more of a fight. “Right. Okay.” She turned for the door again, and Michael followed her, his guts turning to water as she put her hand on the door handle and turned it. By the time he stepped over the threshold, he wasn‟t sure his legs would hold up long enough for him to cross the room, and his heart was hammering so hard he knew with absolute certainty that he wasn‟t going to be able to keep his voice under control. All of a sudden, all he could do was wish that Ryan was there.

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Jen had kept ahead of him as they crossed the room, but as they got near to the bedside, Jen stepped aside to allow Michael to get closer to the bed. “Look, Dad, Michael‟s here. He‟s here to see if you‟re all right.” Michael stepped close to the bed, avoiding looking at his father‟s face until the last possible moment. When he did look up, his father was staring at him, his eyebrows drawn down into a frown, his jaw tight as if he was gritting his teeth. Michael‟s heart sank. He tried for a smile. “Hi, Dad. Jen told me you were sick, so… here I am.” He hesitated a moment, then reached out to touch his father‟s hand. “How‟ve you been?” “How do you think I‟ve been? Does this look like a penthouse suite at the Hilton?” His father‟s hand twitched underneath Michael‟s, and then suddenly it was gone, his father crossing his arms across his chest. “I didn‟t ask for you to come here. I don‟t want you here.” “Dad, come on…,” Jen said faintly, her cheeks coloring as she refused to look at Michael. “No, you come on, Jennifer!” Their father was struggling to sit up, and the heart monitor by the bed started quickening its pace. “Is he still a fucking pillow biter?” He turned to Michael, glaring at him as he spat, “Are you still a pillow biter? Or would you rather fairy? Or poofter?” “Fuck you, Dad,” Michael said bitterly. “I knew I shouldn‟t have bothered.” He turned on his heel and started to walk toward the door. “I‟m only glad your mother never lived to see you still carrying on like this.” Michael spun back around and stalked toward the bed, moving Jen aside when she tried to get in his way. “Fuck you!” he said again, leaning over the bed and into his father‟s face. “Mum loved me just as I was, you fucking asshole. She just wanted me to be happy. Which is more than what she had with you, you dumb, selfish, bigoted cunt.” His father‟s face turned bright red, and he surged up into a sitting position as the heart monitors started to go crazy, grabbing at the front

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of Michael‟s shirt. “She thought it was just a phase,” he growled into Michael‟s face. “You didn‟t see her crying over it, wishing that you‟d just meet some nice girl who‟d show you the error of your ways.” Michael felt like he‟d been punched. “She did not say that.” “Not to you she didn‟t,” his father sneered. “But she did to me. And she‟d be devastated to know that you‟re still carrying on with it.” His father smiled, and the expression was nasty, gloating. “How do you like them apples, hmm?” His father let him go, giving him a little shove, and Michael stumbled back, barely noticing Jen standing a few feet from him, her hand over her mouth and tears running down her face. “That‟s a lie. You‟re a fucking liar.” His voice sounded far away, nothing like his own. His father smirked. “Get out, and don‟t come back here again while you carry on like a filthy pervert, do you hear me?” Michael heard, all right. He reeled around, yanking the door open and stumbling through it, heading down the corridor to the bank of elevators. He punched all the buttons, wanting to be anywhere than right there, but then he heard Jen‟s hurried footsteps, her voice calling his name. He turned away from the elevators and went for the stairs, barreling through the heavy door and throwing himself down staircase after staircase until he‟d reached the ground floor. He emerged into the sunlight gasping for breath and holding his side, trying to squeeze the stitch out of it. Catching his breath, he reached for his phone again, punching in Ryan‟s number instead of wasting time scrolling, but after three rings he hung up. He was still holding it in his hand and wondering what to do when it started ringing, almost making him jump out of his skin. For a moment he hoped it was Ryan returning his call, but the number that came up on the display was Jen‟s. He hurriedly diverted the call to his voice mail and then turned his phone off. Looking around the hospital car park, he spied a taxi rank a little way down the road. Pocketing his phone, he started for it, getting in the first taxi he reached and giving the man an address.

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“FUCK me,” Adrian breathed, taking a deep drag on the joint he held between his fingers. “He really said that?” “He really said that,” Michael said, plucking the joint out of Adrian‟s fingers and taking a hit himself. “What an asshole.” Michael leaned his head back against the lounge and closed his eyes, savoring the smoke for a moment before blowing a thin stream of it up toward the ceiling. “You can say that again. But once an asshole, always an asshole, right?” “Right.” Adrian took the joint from Michael and took another drag. “But after three years, I would‟ve thought… and to say that about your mum….” Michael‟s chest tightened, and he rubbed at it, as if the knot there would loosen just from pressure alone. He frowned. “Yeah, well.” He was silent a moment, then reached to take the joint back off Adrian, holding it up in Adrian‟s face before putting it to his lips. “Have you got anything stronger than this?” “I thought you didn‟t do that stuff anymore.” Michael drew back on the joint, but barely had a chance to enjoy it before blowing it out again. “Don‟t fucking start, Ade, and I mean it. If you don‟t give it to me, I‟ll go get it from someone else. Have you got anything?” Adrian stared at him, then shook his head, the gesture more one of surrender than any answer in the negative. “I‟ve got some E, but that‟s all.” Michael nodded. “That‟ll do. Thanks.” Adrian kept looking at him for a moment, until Michael made little shooing motions with his hands, the joint clamped between his lips. “Go on. Off you go.” Adrian sighed and got up. Michael watched him go, then took a deep drag of the joint and stubbed it out against the side of his coffee mug, which was sitting on the coffee table before him. Laying it carefully beside the mug, he got up and got a glass of water from the

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kitchen, returning to the lounge room just as Adrian came back, a bag of pills in his hand. Michael waited only long enough to sit back down beside Adrian on the lounge before plucking the bag out of his hands. “Give us a look.” “They‟re just E‟s, Mike. I told you already.” Adrian‟s voice had more than a little whine in it. “I know. I heard you.” Michael shook a couple of pills out into his hand and threw them into his mouth, washing them back with half a glass of water. When he put the glass back down with a satisfied sigh, Adrian was looking at him again. “What, for fuck‟s sake?” “Nothing.” Adrian took the bag of pills from him, hesitated for a moment, then got one out for himself and took it with the rest of Michael‟s water. Michael grinned and slapped him on the back. He felt like a weight had lifted off his shoulders. “Right, now we‟re set. Let‟s go out.” “Out? Where to? It‟s a Monday night.” “Yeah, out,” Michael said, frowning again. “Of course out. Anywhere, I don‟t care. I‟m not wasting two Es sitting around here with you. No offense.” “Oh, none taken,” Adrian said weakly. Michael stood. “Let‟s go, come on.” Adrian sighed and got to his feet.

MONDAY night it might have been, but there were still places open if you knew where to look, places where the music was loud and you could dance and get lost in the beat and the lights and press of bodies on the dance floor. His head whirled, colors dancing behind his eyelids as he swayed to the music, allowing himself to be gathered against this body or that one, letting them feel him up only for a moment before

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pushing them away. It made him hard, to be fondled by strangers while flying high, and he remembered what it used to feel like, and why he‟d liked it so much then. Back then he hadn‟t had Ryan, but Ryan wasn‟t here now, and the drugs were making his whole body feel like a live wire, his cock a hard bulge in the front of his jeans. Someone else grabbed him, and the scrape of stubble and teeth against his throat sent sparks of electricity straight to his cock, and he groaned, his resistance crumbling, tangling his hands in the man‟s hair and pulling his head up for a proper kiss as the man‟s arms tightened around him. But then there was a hand at the scruff of his neck, rough fingers tangled in his shirt collar pulling him back, pulling him away from the man and off the dance floor. The party pooper didn‟t stop dragging him away until they were outside on the footpath, away from the huge bouncers at the door of the club. Michael regained his footing and whirled to face the man, who— of course—was a grim-faced Adrian. “What the fuck do you think you‟re doing?” Michael growled, stabbing him in the chest with a finger. “I was just having a bit of fun.” “You were just about to do something you‟d regret,” Adrian said, his voice calm despite his angry demeanor. “I‟m saving you from yourself.” “Fuck you!” Michael shoved Adrian hard, but his friend hardly moved. “I don‟t need saving, by you or anyone else.” “We‟re going home.” “I‟m not going anywhere with you,” Michael said, shoving Adrian again and turning to walk away. “Oh yes, you are,” Adrian said, grabbing Michael‟s arm. Michael turned back to go on the attack again, but then Adrian‟s fist slammed into his face, and he knew no more.

HE WOKE up on Adrian‟s lounge with a blanket thrown over him and an ice pack balanced on his cheek. His throat was parched, and his head

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throbbed. The house was completely dark, and silent, no noise coming from Adrian‟s bedroom. Michael swore softly and got up, shuffling to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. Drinking three in quick succession, he rummaged around in Adrian‟s drawers for some painkillers before going out into the lounge room again. His head still felt light, fuzzy, the effect of the ecstasy he‟d taken still apparent even after the walloping Adrian had given him. His wallet and phone sat on the coffee table. The joint from earlier in the night was still tucked next to his empty coffee cup, along with the lighter and papers they‟d used. Michael picked the joint up and lit it again, taking a deep drag that made his head spin. He closed his eyes and rode it out, then reached for his phone with shaking hands. He counted nine rings and was about to hang up when the phone was picked up. For a moment there was the sound of fumbling, the phone at the other end knocking against something and someone swearing softly as they pressed random buttons, the tones loud in Michael‟s ear. Then Ryan said in a voice hoarse and thick with sleep, “Hello?” “Hey,” Michael said, injecting as much cheerfulness into his voice as he could. “Did I wake you up?” “Michael…,” Ryan trailed off into silence, but when he spoke again he sounded much more alert. “What is it? Is something wrong? Has something happened with your dad?” Michael had to struggle with a sudden lump in his throat that was making it hard for him to breathe, let alone speak, and his chest ached so much he had to put up a hand to rub at it, as if that would make it go away. “No, nothing‟s wrong. Nothing‟s happened,” he lied, taking another drag on the joint. “I just wanted to hear your voice, that‟s all.” There was another long silence on the other end of the phone, but this time when Ryan spoke again his tone was flat, all concern leeched out of it. “It‟s three in the morning, Michael.”

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“Is it?” Michael looked around for a clock, squinting at the bright digital numbers on Adrian‟s DVD player. He couldn‟t make them out. “Didn‟t know that.” “Well, it is. And now you do.” Michael counted to five before he couldn‟t stand the silence any longer. “Oh. Well. There you go.” “Michael….” Michael could practically hear Ryan scrubbing a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Are you drunk?” Michael frowned, carefully not looking at the joint in his hand. “No! Of course I‟m not drunk, Ryan, Jesus. What sort of a question is that?” “One that you ask when you‟re woken up by your boyfriend at three in the morning for a chat.” Ryan paused again, his tone softer when he next spoke. “Are you sure you‟re all right? I can still come down there, you know.” The joint was burning down to a stub, and burning Michael‟s fingers in the process. He dropped it into the coffee cup and rubbed his hand along the leg of his jeans, fighting to talk around the lump in his throat again and trying not to think of Ryan offering that after what Michael had almost done to him a few hours ago because he‟d been too high to care. “I‟m fine. Sorry I called. I really didn‟t mean to wake you.” “Michael, wait, don‟t—” He hung up, but held the phone in his hand and started counting. He‟d gotten to four when his phone lit up, the display telling him it was Ryan, even though he didn‟t need it to tell him that to know. He let it ring a moment longer, then switched it off and threw it back on the coffee table. He sat there and stared at it for a minute or two, then lay down again, shoving a cushion under his head and attempting to sleep. It was a long time coming.

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WHEN Michael woke up, the sun was shining full in his face through Adrian‟s lounge room window, and the man himself was nowhere to be seen. He‟d left a note, though, stuck to the coffee maker instructing Michael on how to use it, as if a year living in the country would have made him forget, and telling him to lock up when he eventually roused his sorry ass enough to go home. Taking his coffee into the bathroom he inspected his face. Underneath the stubble shadowing his jaw on the left side of his face there was a healthy bruise where Adrian‟s fist had connected with his face, but it definitely could have been worse. The side of his face did seem a little swollen, and it was definitely tender to the touch. Michael winced as he poked at it. Cursing Adrian for being a prick and a bastard, Michael opened the medicine cabinet and hunted through it looking for anything good, but apart from a few painkillers, there was nothing worth nicking. Adrian must have kept the good stuff away from prying eyes these days. Michael could remember a time when it definitely wasn‟t like that, or rather, it had been a time when they‟d taken everything so frequently it never got a chance to be put away. He considered rifling through the rest of Adrian‟s stuff to try to find the remainder of the pills he‟d taken last night, but decided that was going a little too far, even in his present state of mind. He took a few painkillers instead, washing them down with the rest of his coffee, and splashed some water on his face before heading back out into the lounge room to call a taxi to take him back to Jen‟s. Jen‟s was deserted, too, but that suited Michael just fine. He took a long, hot shower and tried not to think about his father and about the fact that Jen was probably with him. The thought that Jen was probably at that moment holding their father‟s hand and acting like he wasn‟t a hateful, disgusting, lying homophobe made Michael so angry that after his shower, he rifled through Jen‟s medicine cabinet as well. This time it was a little more fruitful, Ethan‟s history of fucking his back up trying to be Mr. Fixit around the house yielding a tidy amount of valium. He washed a few of those down with some water and dressed, going back out to his makeshift bed in the lounge. His phone was still

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turned off from the night before. He picked it up, thinking of Ryan, but then put it back down again without turning it on. If he checked his messages and Ryan hadn‟t called, that would piss him off, and if he called Ryan and couldn‟t reach him, that would piss him off too. He would probably get pissed off listening to any message Ryan left, or if he actually managed to talk to him, so any way Michael looked at it, it all ended with him being pissed off. He lay down and closed his eyes, sighing softly and folding his hands over his stomach. Best just to ignore his phone and Ryan for now, and his father, and concentrate on the pleasant fuzziness that the valium was starting to make him feel. Maybe he‟d have a little nap, just for ten minutes or so…. “Michael, wake up.” Michael frowned and made to turn over, but then there was a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging into the bone there. “Oh, no you don‟t. Get up now. Now, Michael.” Ethan could be such a pain in the ass sometimes. “What the fuck do you want, Ethan?” he grumbled, his voice still thick with sleep and valium. “I‟m tired. Leave me alone.” “I don‟t give a shit. Your father‟s dead, all right? He died this morning. So get the fuck up and pull yourself together, because Jen needs you.” Ethan might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water on him. Michael felt cold wash over him, and he opened his eyes to stare at Ethan, suddenly wide awake. “What?” “Your dad‟s dead,” Ethan repeated slowly, an edge of exasperation in his voice. “We‟ve been trying to call you all day, but your phone‟s been off.” “My phone, I—” Michael frowned and rolled over, feeling around on the floor for his phone. “I must have… when I—” “Fucking hell, Michael.” Ethan‟s tone made Michael look up, to see his brother-in-law shaking his head. “Look at you, for God‟s sake. What have you been taking?”

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“What? Nothing!” Michael frowned and sat up, realizing only then that he‟d slept in his clothes. “I‟m just tired, that‟s all.” “Tired. Yeah, right.” Ethan shook his head again. “Jen doesn‟t want to see it, so she doesn‟t, but I‟m not her, and I can. I‟ve always been able to.” He sighed. “But your drug problems aren‟t my concern right now. Right now all I care about is Jen, and she‟s at the hospital all alone dealing with your father‟s death. So get up, go splash some water on your face or take some speed or whatever the fuck it is you have to do to be functional, because I am taking you over to the hospital so you can give her some moral support.” Michael stared down at his jeans-covered knees. “Dad‟s… what happened?” Ethan sighed, but when he spoke his tone was softer. “He had another stroke, a massive one. Apparently it‟s a common thing to happen, so the doctors say. It was really sudden. He was asleep when it happened. Jen came back into the room after getting a coffee, and he was gone.” “Oh.” Michael kept staring down at his knees, wondering if it was the residual effects of the drugs that were making him feel so numb. “We tried to call you, like I said. We rang the house phone, too, but you didn‟t pick that one up either.” Michael nodded, but didn‟t make any further attempt to defend himself. After a moment of silence, he heaved himself up off the sofa and went into the bathroom to do as he was told.

JEN was standing at the nurse‟s station of their dad‟s ward when Ethan and Michael arrived at the hospital, her nose and eyes red from crying. She looked up as they approached, and when she saw Michael she burst into tears and came toward them, almost knocking Michael over when she flung herself into his arms. “Where have you been?” she said, her voice full of anguish. “We‟ve been trying to call you all day.”

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They definitely weren‟t going to let him forget that in a hurry. “Yeah, I know. I‟d accidentally turned my phone off, and I—I was asleep. I had a late night last night. Sorry.” She pulled back a little, wiping her nose on a tissue she clutched in her hand. “It‟s okay. You‟re here now. I just… I just needed you to be here. I‟ve got….” Her face started crumpling again, but she took a deep breath and tried to rally, “I‟ve got to make all these arrangements. They want to do an autopsy.” “An autopsy?” Jen nodded, blowing her nose noisily. “Yeah. They need to confirm it was a stroke, even though everyone thinks that‟s what it was.” She started crying again in earnest, and Ethan stepped forward to pull her into his arms. She collapsed against him, and he pressed his cheek against her hair. “Shh, now, love, come on, we‟re here now. Come over here, and sit down for a bit.” As he led her away he looked at Michael over the top of her head. “See what needs to be done, would you?” Michael nodded numbly. “Sure.” He turned to the nurse‟s station as Ethan and Jen walked to the waiting area and sat down. As he asked the nurse what had to be done next, he could hear Ethan talking to Jen in a low, soothing voice, and all that did was make him think of Ryan. He looked toward Jen and Ethan, a tightness in his chest that hadn‟t been there before, and fished his phone out of his pocket, finally turning it on. He had seven missed calls: three from Ryan and four from Ethan and Jen. He stared at Ryan‟s number in his missed call log, the ache in his chest intensifying until he almost couldn‟t breathe, but then the nurse was handing him a clipboard full of forms to fill out and the spell was broken. He swallowed hard and snapped his phone shut, turning his thoughts to the here and now. He‟d deal with Ryan later. There seemed to be about a million forms on the clipboard, so with a sinking heart, Michael shuffled over to the waiting area and sat down next to Jen, who was still crying quietly against Ethan‟s chest. He sat the clipboard on his knees and stared at the top form without seeing a single word, until Ethan‟s voice snapped him out of his trance.

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“I‟m just going to take her outside to get some fresh air, all right? Michael?” Michael looked up at him. “Oh. Yeah, sure, Ethan, you… you go on.” Ethan hesitated. “You‟ll be all right here?” Michael nodded. “Sure, of course. You go on.” Ethan nodded and got up, pulling Jen up with him. Michael watched them as they walked to the elevators and pressed the call button, Jen leaning against Ethan as they waited for the elevator to arrive, his arm securely circling her shoulders. The soft ping of the elevator doors had Jen straightening up a little, and even from behind, Michael could see her pulling herself together, running a hand through her hair and stepping away from Ethan, Ethan‟s hand sliding from her shoulder to the back of her neck. There was no one in the elevator to take note of this effort, though, and neither of them looked at Michael as they stepped inside and turned to face the front, the elevator doors sliding shut and blocking them from Michael‟s view. He watched the closed elevator doors for a moment and then turned back to his forms with a sigh, staring at them again without seeing or writing a word. Suddenly he roused himself and pulled his phone out of his pocket again, flipping it open to scroll through his missed calls again. He selected the most recent of Ryan‟s calls, but then hesitated, his thumb resting on the button that, if he pressed it, would call Ryan back. He took a moment to steel his nerves, then pressed down firmly and put the phone to his ear. His heart skipped a beat as the call connected and the phone started to ring, but ring was all it did. Michael‟s heart sank when the call clicked over into voicemail. He listened to Ryan‟s message, his heart rate picking up again at the beep, but hung up and turned the phone off after he opened his mouth to leave a message, and his mind went blank. Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he picked up the forms, but when he started to read them properly a wave of anger rushed over him. He didn‟t know any of the details they wanted. He wasn‟t their father‟s next of kin. He had no idea of anything other than the man‟s

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name and birthday, and even that, his father had probably wished he didn‟t know. If his father had a grave now he‟d be rolling in it at the mere thought of Michael handling any of the arrangements. He was probably down in the hospital morgue spinning right then at the thought of Michael having a hand in any of this. The thought of his father down in the morgue made Michael feel sick, but then the memory of his father‟s last words to him made him angry all over again. That old bastard didn‟t deserve any of Michael‟s sympathy, after what he‟d done. Michael sat clutching the clipboard for another moment, then picked up the pen and scrawled “Sorry Jen, I can‟t.” on the topmost form. Putting the clipboard on Jen‟s seat he stood and headed for the elevators, deciding at the last minute to take the stairs instead. He ran down the stairs, reaching the bottom, out of breath and even angrier than he‟d been before. There was no sign of Ethan or Jen when he walked out of the hospital‟s main entrance, but he was glad about that, because he didn‟t need any more shit from them. He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed across the hospital campus toward St Leonards train station. He bought a ticket and went through the turnstiles and down the escalators to the station platform. It was past rush hour by now, the after-work crowd having thinned enough so that when the train came he could get a seat on his own. He took the stairs to the top level of the train two at a time and folded himself into a seat next to the window, hunching down and closing his eyes, his arms folded over his chest. No one sat near him, and he dozed a little as the train pulled out from the station. Better to be asleep than brooding on the disaster that was his life. The train stopped at Wollstonecraft and Waverton, Michael hearing the announcements as he dozed but not rousing himself to look at the scenery until after they stopped at North Sydney. Sitting up, he watched as the train pulled into Milson‟s Point, the northern pylons of the Harbour Bridge coming into view. Michael sat up and watched out the window as passengers left the train and others boarded, and when the train left the station, he watched the cars crossing the bridge through its somber gray girders. On the other side of the bridge, the

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sails of the Opera House came into view, and upon seeing them, Michael‟s heart began to ache, and he slumped down again, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, fishing his phone out of his pocket, and turning it on. There were no new messages, from Ryan or anyone else. A wave of guilt and anger washed over him, and he switched his phone off again before shoving it back in his pocket. At Town Hall he got off the train, lingering on the platform for a few moments as people stepped around him to move up the stairs to the station exit. When he‟d gotten on the train, he‟d had no real idea where he wanted to go, just that he didn‟t want to be where he was, but now he had to make a decision. He was pretty sure that whatever he chose would be the wrong thing, but he was here now and there was no going back. After a few more moments of dithering, he headed for the stairs up to the exit and left the station, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he strolled through the arcade shops of the Queen Victoria Building, pausing to look in shop windows without seeing a thing except his own miserable reflection. Reaching the end of the arcade, he paused for a moment next to a kiosk selling newspapers and magazines, then turned and headed toward Hyde Park. It was still early, just after seven thirty, the sky dark in the way that told you that the light had only recently left it. There were still people in the park, cutting through on their way into the city or out of it. Michael joined the people heading out, turning his head toward Oxford Street. At this early hour, Oxford Street was relatively quiet. There was still a healthy number of people loitering around Taylor Square, sitting in groups with their friends or alone, looking for some company. Once upon a time, Michael might have been one of the ones looking for someone to share a bed with, although he‟d never done that here or for money. Some might have said that he was a prostitute in all but name anyway. He veered away up Oxford Street, doing his best not to think about the day that he and Ryan had spent there. He went into the first bar he came across, letting the darkness and the throb of the music envelop him. It wasn‟t hard to find drugs if you wanted them, and in a darkened corner of that club he bought a handful of ecstasy off a guy

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who looked like he wouldn‟t be out of place in an accountant‟s office. He washed a couple of pills down with a shot of bourbon and went into the bathroom, pushing the dealer away when the man followed him in and tried to press him up against the wall. He left that club and went to another, one with more drinks, more darkness and more men, but every time he was approached, he shoved them away, the tightness in his chest and lump in his throat increasing each time. He told himself it was because the drugs hadn‟t kicked in yet. He left Oxford Street behind with a growing sense of desperation, heading toward William Street and the heart of the Cross. By the time he walked past the train station and onto the strip, he was as high as a kite, his heart pounding, his palms sweaty, every nerve in his body feeling as if it was on fire. He pushed through the people loitering on the footpath, ignoring any who tried to stop him as he almost jogged down the road. The neon lights of the strip club signs hurt his eyes, people shouting from doorways making him wince. A couple of huge bouncers tried to get him to go into their club, but he yanked his arm free of their grasp and ran, looking behind him as if they‟d be coming after him, as if he was running for his life. He stopped eventually, down near the end of William Street, gasping for breath and rubbing his chest, his head swimming. Taking deep breaths, he looked around him. Up ahead was the fountain, the spherical shape formed by its water jets lit from behind by the lights of the clubs and bars behind it. Just near there, outside the Bourbon and Beefsteak, two men were pushing and shoving each other. As Michael watched, more men started to join them, people spilling out onto the promenade from the nearby bars, and he started to hear them shouting. A surge of sudden violent rage gripped him, and as one man swung a punch at the other, the beaten man‟s head snapping back hard as other men ran in to join them, Michael started to run toward them as well. If he couldn‟t fuck, he‟d fight, one just as much a release of pent up energy as the other. He ran fast, throwing himself into the middle of the melee without a second thought. It was chaos, with people shouting and swearing as they grappled with each other. Michael slammed his fist into a man‟s face, that man

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punching him hard in the stomach in return. Michael went down, gasping, someone kicking him in the back as he lay there. He struggled to his feet and grabbed the man‟s legs, yanking hard and toppling him before jumping on top of him and swinging his fist in the man‟s face. Someone grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled, and dimly, he could hear the material ripping as he was hauled to his feet and punched in the face again. He couldn‟t even see who was punching him, or whom he was punching, but he didn‟t care. All that mattered was the anger and pain, and the ability to inflict as much pain as possible on someone else for a change. The man in front of him went down, punched in the gut by someone else, and Michael lashed out, kicking the man hard in the back. Dimly, in the back of his consciousness, he could hear sirens above the shouting and the noise of the fight, and then another noise above that, a rhythmic noise that he couldn‟t identify until he was almost bowled over by a huge brown horse shoving its way into the crowd. Michael reeled back as a voice above him said, “Break it up, fellas. That‟s enough!” Michael looked up, dazed, straight into the face of Ryan‟s friend Duncan. His stomach dropped as Duncan turned and looked down at him, his mouth dropping open in surprise. “Michael? What the bloody hell—?” Michael didn‟t stay to hear the rest of it, turning on his heel to get the hell out of there. He fought his way through the rest of the brawlers only to come out the other side, straight into a wall of policemen rounding up people into a paddy wagon. “Not so fast there, buddy,” one of them said as he grabbed Michael by the collar of his shirt and hauled him over to the van. Michael looked back over his shoulder to where the police horses were still breaking up the fight, catching Duncan‟s eye again. Michael looked away and down at the ground, and he didn‟t bother to look back. He didn‟t need to look again to know that he was doomed.

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MICHAEL was rolling the cup the copper had given him between his palms and contemplating asking for more water when there was the sound of footsteps and the cell door opening again. Michael looked up to see the same officer who‟d brought the water beckoning to him. “Mr. Stone. Come with me, please.” Michael stood, ignoring the disgruntled mutterings around him, and walked out of the cell, the sound of it shutting behind him like music to his ears. “What‟s this about?” “You‟ve been sprung,” the officer said. “You can go.” Michael raised his eyebrows. “Just like that?” The officer put a hand to Michael‟s shoulder and gave him a nudge down the corridor. “Well, we‟re not letting you out all on your own. You‟ve got someone here to collect you.” Michael didn‟t start walking. “My sister?” “Not unless your sister‟s a big hairy bloke.” The officer chuckled a little. “If you‟d walk out there, you‟d see who it is.” “Oh.” Michael turned without another word and walked out into the waiting area of the station. He‟d expected Ethan, but the person who stood when he entered the room was Ryan. Michael stopped dead in his tracks, blurting out, “What are you doing here?” Ryan gave him a tense smile even as he fidgeted with the sunglasses and keys he held in his hands. “Happy to see you, too, Michael. Jen asked me to come.” Michael blushed. “Oh, I… sorry. I didn‟t mean… you‟re supposed to be in Burreela.” “Yeah, well. I‟m not.” Ryan gestured at the front desk, where the large yellow envelope that they‟d put his things in sat next to the clipboard they‟d had him sign. “Want to get your stuff so we can get out of here?” “Oh.” Michael turned toward the desk and retrieved his belongings, signing next to where he‟d signed when they brought him

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in. He looked at the officer behind the desk. “Is that it? There‟s no… no charges or anything?” She shook her head. “No, no charges.” Her eyes flicked to Ryan for a second. “Not this time, anyway.” Michael didn‟t miss the significance of the glance, but he kept his mouth shut, deciding not to push his luck. “Right. Well… thanks.” He turned and walked toward the front doors of the station, Ryan following him out. As soon as the door shut behind them he turned his head to talk over his shoulder. “Did you make some kind of deal in there to get me off?” “Maybe I did, maybe I didn‟t, but if I did, you should be thanking me, all things considered.” Ryan‟s tone was flat. It was obvious he was in no mood to humor Michael, but Michael wasn‟t completely over trying to make his life as miserable as possible yet. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Quicker than Michael could react, Ryan had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him around the corner of the building, where they were less likely to be seen by everyone coming and going. He shoved Michael up against the wall and stepped close, hissing into Michael‟s face, “What it means is you were more than just drunk, Michael, you were high as well. Fucking hell, even Pete and Duncan saw it when they were breaking up the brawl. You were tested for it! They found ecstasy in your system. You know they did, for fuck‟s sake.” He shoved again, even though Michael hadn‟t moved. “And don‟t think they weren‟t going to charge you for it, because they were. You might have gotten off lightly because it‟s your first offense, and you didn‟t have many on you, so they were obviously all for you. But you‟d still have a criminal record, so if you‟re going to get pissed off at me for telling them your dad died yesterday, then go right ahead, but you can fuck right off because I saved your sorry ass.” Breathing heavily, Ryan stepped back a little, gradually loosening his fingers where they clutched at the material of Michael‟s shirt, making a visible effort to calm himself. “I saved you, you idiot,” he said, more softly.

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Michael stared at him, at a loss for words, suppressing the desire to scratch at the crook of his elbow, where the dressing they‟d used when they‟d taken blood from him still was. “I… sorry, I didn‟t mean… I know. Sorry. I… it‟s been a long night, that‟s all.” Ryan closed his eyes for a minute, sighed, then nodded. “I know.” He stepped back again, and turned. “Come on, let‟s go.” They walked to Ryan‟s car in silence, Michael only speaking when they got to the car and he saw the suitcase in the back seat. “Is that my bag?” Ryan unlocked the car and nodded. “Yeah. Ethan‟s pretty angry about what happened at the hospital last night. He doesn‟t really want to see you for a couple of days.” “Oh.” Michael stood in silence for a moment, aware of Ryan watching him over the roof of the car. Eventually he looked at Ryan and nodded. “Fair enough.” Ryan nodded back and opened his door. Michael did the same, and there was another stretch of silence as Ryan started the car, pulled out of the car park, and turned down toward Woolloomooloo. As they drove down the winding road toward the navy base, Michael said, “So where are we going?” “I‟m staying at a friend‟s house in Wollstonecraft,” Ryan answered. “He and his wife are away in Bali at the moment, so they‟re okay with me staying there a few days at short notice. I thought we‟d go there.” He glanced over at Michael. “Unless you‟ve got somewhere else you want to go.” Michael thought briefly of Adrian, but he knew he‟d get raked over the coals just as much by Adrian as he had with Ryan. Even more, probably. “No, there‟s nowhere else.” Ryan nodded and drove them on past the navy base and Harry‟s pie cart, then turned onto the Harbour Bridge. It was going to be a fine day, only a few clouds marring the light blue of the early morning sky as they drove on, the sails of the Opera House bright in the morning sun. Michael hunched down in his seat with his arms across his chest and squinted in the sunlight. Every so often he saw Ryan look at him

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out of the corner of his eye, but Ryan didn‟t try to start a conversation and Michael did nothing to encourage it. As they came up from the Cahill Expressway and onto the bridge proper, Ryan sighed and reached for the radio, leaving it on some God-awful radio station where the DJs were so falsely cheerful Michael wanted to have them—or failing that, himself—shot. Turning off the bridge into the early-morning streets of North Sydney, the streams of people in business suits and kids in school uniforms heading for trains or buses told Michael it had to be around eight in the morning. Ryan navigated the crowds of pedestrians patiently, leaving them behind as he drove on to the relative quiet of Wollstonecraft. Parking the car on the street, they got out, Ryan leading Michael into an old-style brownstone building and up several flights of stairs until they reached the third and final story. There were two flats on each level, Ryan approaching one and opening the door before turning to usher Michael in with a gesture of his arm. Michael stepped into the flat, which opened out into a living room with the most perfect view of the Harbour Bridge that Michael had ever seen. “Wow,” Michael said softly, unable to help himself. “That‟s some view.” Ryan closed the door and dropped his keys on the table just inside the entranceway. “Yeah. When I lived in Sydney, we used to come here for New Year‟s Eve, just a few of us, sitting out on the balcony with a few beers and watching the fireworks.” Michael kept his gaze on the bridge as he felt Ryan come up to stand beside him. “Must have been good.” “Yeah, it was.” Ryan didn‟t elaborate further, and the silence stretched between them until the tension of it scraped across Michael‟s nerves like fingernails across a chalkboard. Ryan must have felt it, too, because he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say, “Look, Michael, I—” at the same time Michael said, “Do you mind if I—?” They both stopped, and Michael said, “Go on.”

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Ryan shook his head, smiling ruefully. “No, you go. Do I mind if you what?” Michael‟s face heated. “Can I have a drink please? Just water. I‟m really thirsty.” “Oh. Sure,” Ryan said, turning to head into the kitchen, rattling through cupboards and the fridge for a minute before emerging again with a glass of water. Michael did his best not to notice how their fingers brushed when he took the glass from Ryan. It was ridiculous for that to affect him, given the fact that they‟d been sleeping together for months and had only been apart for a few days, but Ryan‟s knowledge of his antics put a whole new spin on things. Their little run-in in the car park made Michael think that maybe they might not be sleeping together again. After all, what sort of ex-cop wants an ex-druggie who‟ll fall off the wagon any time things get tough? Not that he was going to ask that question aloud. “Thanks,” he said stiffly, and turned toward the window again, taking a sip of the water as he did. It was ice-cold, but God it felt good, and before he knew it, he‟d downed the whole glass. “Must have been thirsty.” Ryan‟s tone was light, but still it made Michael flush. “Yeah, well. I was. You know how it is.” “Yeah, I do.” That was said lightly, too, but that was the whole problem. Ryan knew too much about popping pills. He‟d probably arrested people who‟d popped pills, gone through their pockets and their stuff. Michael wondered suddenly if Ryan had gone through his stuff while he‟d been waiting for Michael to be released, and a shiver of horror, embarrassment, and self-loathing ran down his spine. Ryan took Michael‟s silence as his cue to try to talk again. “Listen, Michael….” Michael didn‟t want to listen. He looked directly at Ryan for the first time since they‟d entered the flat. “Do you mind if I have a shower?”

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Ryan stopped, and for a moment a flicker of annoyance showed on his face. Then he seemed to resign himself to the inevitable, sighed softly, and nodded. “Sure. The bathroom‟s through that doorway there and down the hall. Can‟t miss it.” Michael nodded and headed for the bathroom, taking his bag with him. Ryan didn‟t try to follow him. He stood under the shower a long time, making it as hot as he could stand it so that when he got, out his skin was rosy red, as if he‟d been in the sun for a few hours. The heat made him lightheaded, so he sat naked on the closed lid of the toilet for a while, until a knock on the door made him almost jump out of his skin. “Michael, are you all right?” Ryan, of course, still sounding tentative and uncertain. Michael found he didn‟t like that much, but he had no idea how to fix it. “You‟ve been in there for ages.” “Yeah, sorry. I‟ll be out in a minute,” he called, standing up and starting to rummage through his bag for some clean clothes. Pulling on some tracksuit pants and a T-shirt, he opened the door, to find Ryan still on the other side. “Are you all right?” Ryan repeated. Michael nodded. “Yeah, I‟m just tired, that‟s all. Have you—is there somewhere I can lie down for a while?” He tried for a smile. “I didn‟t get much rest last night.” “Ah. Yeah. Yeah, you can….” Ryan stepped back and gestured down the hallway, toward the bedroom that Michael had passed on his way to the bathroom. “You can sleep in there.” “Isn‟t that your room?” Ryan‟s smile was crooked, and didn‟t reach his eyes. “Don‟t want to share a bed with me anymore, huh?” He didn‟t wait for Michael to answer that. “I won‟t be wanting to sleep for a while anyway. Not now.” Michael thought about protesting, but he was really too tired for arguing. “Okay.” He picked up his bag and squeezed past Ryan in the doorway, who stepped back as if he didn‟t want Michael to touch him.

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Michael didn‟t say anything, but when he got to the doorway of the bedroom he stopped. “I never said I didn‟t want to share a bed with you,” he said back over his shoulder. “Maybe you don‟t want to share one with me.” That was defensive and stupid, but he couldn‟t help himself. Behind him, he heard Ryan sigh. “Just go to sleep, Michael. We‟ll talk about it later.” “Fine.” Michael stepped into the room and closed the door, putting his bag down at the foot of the bed and pulling the blankets back on the side nearest the door. When he lay down, the pillow smelled like Ryan. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply around a sudden lump in his throat, his chest aching. He hugged the pillow to himself and tried to settle down. Exhaustion finally took over and sleep pulled him down.

WHEN Michael woke up two hours later, the house was deathly quiet, so much so that he half-expected Ryan had left while he‟d been asleep. When he walked out into the living room, Ryan was there, standing at the window and staring out at the bridge. Michael stopped in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. Ryan didn‟t turn around. “Why didn‟t you tell me you had a history of drug use?” God, he really sounded like a copper then. “It‟s not the easiest thing to tell someone, you know.” Ryan turned his head, not enough to look over his shoulder, but enough so that Michael could see his profile. His expression was hard, and Michael‟s stomach sank. “Did you take drugs while you were in Burreela?” Michael shook his head. “No. Only… well. I smoked pot once, with Adrian. But nothing harder. I only take the hard stuff here.” “Take.” Ryan‟s shoulders tensed. “Did you take anything Labour Day weekend?”

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Michael felt a flare of anger at that. He had hardly been out of Ryan‟s sight that weekend, so for him to think that Michael had sneaked off to get high, that he would have, considering what had happened that weekend…. “No, I didn‟t. Of course I didn‟t. I only… I only took things this trip.” Ryan‟s shoulders relaxed a little, but after a moment of silence he turned around and said, “The other night when you rang me at 3 a.m. Were you high then?” Michael was silent for so long that Ryan knew the answer before he spoke. Michael could see it in his eyes. “Yes.” Ryan laughed, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. “Jesus fucking Christ. I was so worried about you yesterday. I didn‟t go back to sleep after you called. I was so sure there was something wrong, but then your phone was off, and I couldn‟t get in contact with you, even though I kept calling and calling….” He sighed. “I was trying to help Dad and Andrew with the cattle, but I was fucking useless, because all I could do was think about you. I finally gave in and got Jen‟s number off Bill and called her, and she said your dad had died, but only just then, not the night before, and that they‟d been trying to call you, and they couldn‟t reach you. So I freaked out and dropped everything, drove for eight fucking hours nonstop to get here because I was sure that something had happened to you, that you‟d done something to yourself.” Ryan‟s voice had started to rise, the edge of anger creeping into it making it rough. “And then I get here, and you‟re still fucking missing. No one knows where you are, and everyone‟s looking for you. We looked everywhere for you, and then I get a phone call from fucking Duncan at one in the morning telling me that he‟s just seen you brawling in the fucking Cross, and he can‟t be certain because it all happened so fast, and he didn‟t see you for very long before you got arrested—fucking arrested!—but he thinks you were on something more than just booze, and I‟m such a fucking idiot, because I‟m so relieved that someone‟s actually seen you that I just ignore that part, because that can‟t be right, can it? The Michael I know buys fancy shampoo for an old lady‟s dog and doesn‟t want to eat cows that have a

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name, he doesn‟t get stoned out of his gourd and go down to the Cross and get in street brawls! “But then I ring the King‟s Cross station, and they say that they‟re not letting you out because you‟re under the influence of ecstasy and have to sleep it off, and they‟re probably going to charge you with possession because you had more pills on you, and I just… bloody fucking hell, Michael! It‟s like I don‟t know you at all.” Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, then let go and looked up at Michael. “You know what, I can‟t… I can‟t do this right now.” He threw his hands up and headed for the front door, sweeping his keys off the table near the door. “I‟m going to get some fresh air.” Michael stood in the middle of the living room staring at the front door after it closed behind Ryan with a resounding bang. Once five minutes had gone past with no sign of Ryan‟s return, Michael sat on the sofa staring at the wall opposite. When an hour had gone by and there was still no sign of Ryan, Michael called Adrian. Adrian didn‟t even bother to say hello. “You are such a fucking idiot, do you know that?” Michael cursed caller ID. “Do you know that I really don‟t need any bullshit from you right now? Will you come and pick me up?” Adrian paused. “Where‟s Ryan?” “He‟s not here right now.” The silence that followed that statement was loaded, but thankfully all Adrian did was sigh. “What‟s the address?” Michael got up and went into the kitchen, finding an old telephone bill stuck to the fridge with an address on it, and read it out to Adrian. “I‟ll be there in half an hour,” Adrian said and rang off. Michael threw his things together and sat down to wait, deleting all the messages left on his phone the previous day without listening to them. After a moment‟s hesitation he left Ryan a note, leaving it in the middle of the coffee table so he‟d be sure to see it. When he opened the door for Adrian, Adrian took one look at him and shook his head.

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“You‟re unbelievable. Where‟s your bag?” Michael held it up, and Adrian took it from him with a sigh. “Come on, let‟s get out of here. You can stay at my house for as long as you need to.” “Thanks,” Michael said, and followed him down the stairs.

MICHAEL stood next to Jen at the side of his father‟s grave while she cried softly into a tissue. He felt absolutely nothing at all. He‟d been surprised when he‟d first walked into the church at how small his father‟s coffin was, at how a man who‟d dictated so many of Michael‟s emotions in the last couple of years could fit into such a tiny box. Then the priest had started to talk about his father, and what he said described no man Michael had ever known, so he‟d sat quietly from then on, not listening to a word. No family member said a eulogy, Jen being too distraught and Michael having nothing to say. It was time for the coffin to be lowered. After that, Michael stood and watched as Jen, supported by Ethan, walked to the edge of their father‟s graveside and threw some dirt down onto the coffin. Looking up and across, his gaze was caught by Ryan, standing opposite him across the gravesite. Michael didn‟t know if Ryan had been in the church, but he was relieved that he was there now, more relieved than he had any right to be, considering their last conversation. Ryan was looking at him, his expression solemn until the tiniest hint of a smile touched his lips a moment before he looked away, back down at the coffin. Seeing that, Michael‟s chest loosened, and he breathed a little easier. The mourners dispersed after the funeral, and Ryan didn‟t try to speak to him. Michael watched his retreating back with a sinking heart as he, Ethan, and Adrian helped Jen over to the family‟s car. He clung onto the hope that he‟d see Ryan at the wake. Jen‟s house was full to capacity with people, most of whom Michael didn‟t know or care about, but all of whom wanted to talk to him. It was annoying, if only for the fact that it kept him from searching for Ryan, who he was still hoping was there. He endured as

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much as he could of strangers giving him their condolences before shutting himself in Jack‟s bedroom with a large glass of bourbon. He sat on the end of the bed and put the glass on the floor, running his hands through his hair before resting his elbows on his knees and propping his head in his hands, looking up at the sound of the door opening to see Ryan slipping into the room and closing the door behind him. Ryan leaned up against the door, his gaze flicking to the glass on the floor before finding Michael‟s face. “All right?” Michael shrugged, smiling weakly. “Yeah. You?” Ryan shrugged as well and pushed away from the door, crossing the room slowly. “Okay,” he said, coming to sit on the bed beside Michael. “I‟m more concerned with you right now, though.” Michael sighed and leaned against Ryan a little. “Whoever all these people were talking about today wasn‟t the person that I knew.” Ryan put his arm around Michael‟s shoulders. “I know.” He fell silent, then Michael felt a small tug. “Come on. Lie down with me.” Michael looked at them, and then down at the bed. “We‟re in suits. And this is a kid‟s bed. With cartoon character sheets.” Ryan smiled. “So what? Live a little, Michael. And these sheets are cool, anyway. I would have loved sheets like this when I was a kid.” Ryan tugged again, and this time Michael went. Two grown men were not meant to lie on a five-year-old‟s bed, but they managed it eventually, Michael ending up lying half on top of Ryan. Michael had to admit that that aspect of things was quite appealing, after the day he‟d had. After they settled, they were quiet, Michael at least not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that they seemed to have found. Ryan‟s hand stroked lazily up and down Michael‟s arm, and Michael found himself drifting, almost dozing, until Ryan decided they‟d had enough quiet. “Tell me what happened.” Michael hesitated. “Which part?”

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Ryan‟s fingers never stopped moving on his arm. “Everything. As far back as you want to go.” Michael stayed silent, for so long that Ryan squeezed him gently. “Still awake?” “Yeah, I just… it‟s hard to know where to start.” He didn‟t want to start at all, but he wasn‟t an idiot. If he didn‟t talk to Ryan now, then they were finished. Maybe not right then, but sooner or later they would be, and it would be all his fault. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and talked. He talked about everything: his realization about being gay; his first real boyfriend, whom he‟d met his first year of uni; his desire to tell his parents who he really was and how afraid he was about doing that; his mother‟s illness; more details about his confession to her on her deathbed and her reaction to it, which was better than he‟d expected and such an incredible relief; his father throwing him out and his descent into drug- and sex-fueled hell. “I could barely function properly. It was amazing I didn‟t get sacked,” he said softly, sniffing and swiping at his damp cheeks with the heel of his hand. “But the day I found myself in the stock room staring at the ketamine and wondering how many I could nick without getting caught, I knew that if I didn‟t stop, I was going to die, one way or another.” Ryan‟s arms tightened around him, and he took a deep breath and went on. “So the next day I went cold turkey and started looking for a job out of Sydney. Bill‟s was one of the first ones I applied for. Four weeks after I got the job, I packed everything that would fit into my car, sold or gave away the rest, and moved to Burreela. You know the rest.” “Sort of.” Ryan sighed softly. “You‟re a hard man to get to know, Michael Stone. You could have told me all this before.” “I was scared, Ryan.” Michael put his head up. “The Friday after we met, when I saw you at the pub. If I‟d told you then—you, the excop—that I‟d done practically everything but sell my grandmother to get drugs, would you have still wanted to be friends with me? If I‟d told you that I slept my way around Oxford Street and the Cross for two years and could barely remember any of it, including exactly how many, would you have still wanted to sleep with me?”

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Ryan just looked at him. “You never gave me the chance to find out. You never gave yourself the chance to find out.” Michael sighed and put his head down. “I know. And I‟m sorry. Really sorry. If I could change it, I would.” Ryan was quiet for so long that Michael would have thought he was asleep if not for the fact that his hold was still so tight. “I know,” Ryan said eventually. “But Michael, I‟m telling you, no more of this. If there‟s anything else you need to tell me, do it now. I can‟t have this happen again. Once was enough.” “It won‟t happen again, I swear. There‟s nothing else. No more secrets.” Ryan squeezed him gently. “You sure?” “I‟m sure.” Michael put his head up again. “I won‟t be doing this to you again.” Ryan looked at him intently for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” He tipped Michael‟s chin up and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Listen, now that we‟ve got that out of the way, I‟ve got something I need to tell you.” Michael‟s stomach lurched. “Oh?” Ryan smiled slightly. “It‟s nothing drastic, don‟t worry. It‟s just that I have to go home. Back to Burreela. It‟s calving season, they‟re busy, and I‟ve already been away longer than I should have been.” Michael nodded. “Of course. I understand.” Ryan kissed him again. “I love you,” he said softly. “And I‟ll be waiting for you. You‟ve got some things you need to do here, fine. They'll take some time, but when you're done, come home to me, Mikey. Don‟t make me wait too long.” Michael had to struggle with the lump in his throat before he could speak. “I won‟t.” “Good.” Ryan kissed him again and hugged him tightly. “I‟ve got to go.” Michael sat up. “What, right now?”

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“Yeah, now. Sorry.” Ryan sat up, then stood, straightening his clothes. When Michael stood up as well, Ryan cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. This time when they broke apart, they were both breathing fast, Ryan‟s thumb still stroking the back of Michael‟s neck. “Do what you‟ve got to do, Michael, as fast as you can. I‟m not going to call you, and don‟t waste time calling me. But never forget that I‟m waiting for you, and come home soon,” Ryan said, and then he was gone.

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DECEMBER IT TOOK four weeks to get their father‟s affairs in order. Michael had been written out of the will, of course, which was nothing less than what he‟d expected, so it was a shock to go to his father‟s house to help Jen pack it up and find his old bedroom more or less just how he‟d left it the day he‟d stormed out. He stood speechless in the doorway of his room, his heart aching, until Jen put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “What kind of man throws his kid out, then keeps his room the same?” he asked her. “I don‟t know, Mikey,” she sighed. “A mixed up one.” She didn‟t try to make excuses for their father anymore, and not once had she or Ethan insinuated that he should let the whole thing go, like they used to. Deep down, he knew that that was probably because the man was dead, but he preferred to think that it was because of what had happened in the hospital when his father displayed his true colors for everyone to see. Jen squeezed his shoulder again. “Should we get this over with?” Michael nodded. “Yeah.” Cleaning out their father‟s house was both cathartic and painful, most especially when he found the old photo albums from when they were kids, and some of the things of his mother‟s that his father had kept. Michael didn‟t keep anything from his old room, donating every bit of it to charity, but he did take a few memories of his mother, photos mostly, tucking them carefully in between his clothes in his suitcase so they wouldn‟t get damaged.

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Eventually everything had been packed up or donated, and he and Jen stood in the living room of an empty house. “Half of this house is yours, you know, no matter what the will said,” Jen said to him. Michael shook his head. “I don‟t want anything from him.” Jen smiled sadly. “Well, technically, it‟s from me.” She paused. “You could live here, if you wanted. We could put off selling it.” Michael shook his head again. “No, Jen. No way. I don‟t—this is not my home now.” She looked at him, tilting her head a little. “Not like Burreela is, right? Or like Ryan is.” Michael paused, but he really didn‟t have to think about it. “Right.” Jen‟s smile broadened into a grin, and she pulled him into a hug. “You don‟t know how long I‟ve been waiting for you to realize that,” she said, kissing his cheek. “I can take it from here. You go home to your man, and give him a hug for me when you get there.”

MICHAEL drove for eight hours straight without stopping, making it on a combination of energy drinks and pure willpower. It was midnight before he got to the outskirts of Burreela, but still he drove straight to the Mitchell farm. Ryan‟s house was all in darkness, which was to be expected, but that no one answered his knock wasn‟t expected at all. Michael stood on Ryan‟s veranda trying to think of what to do next and failing miserably. He was on his way back to his car to head back into town when it occurred to him where Ryan might be. It was a long shot, mostly because there were about ten other places where Ryan could be as well, but it was worth a try. He decided to walk, more to burn off nervous energy than anything else, the full moon providing enough light to see by so that he wasn‟t in danger of falling and breaking a leg. He wasn‟t sure that he‟d remember the way at first, and in the end he thought he‟d probably

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taken the long way ‟round, but none of that mattered when he saw the moonlight glinting off the dam and turning the trunks of the pale gum trees an unearthly silver. There was no tent, like he‟d half-expected, but there was the outline of a horse among the trees, and stretched out on the ground in the moonlight, his head resting on a rolled up blanket as he stared up at the sky, was a form that Michael hadn‟t realized just how much he‟d missed until it was right there in front of him. He didn‟t make any effort to hide his approach, and eventually Ryan turned his head to see what the noise was. After a moment of dead stillness, Ryan was suddenly on his feet and striding forward, and Michael found himself laughing and quickening his pace. They came together almost at a run, Ryan nearly lifting him off his feet as they kissed each other breathless. “Finally,” Ryan whispered, fingers tangling in Michael‟s hair, their foreheads still pressed together. “Finally, you‟re home.” Michael nodded. “I‟m home.” Michael kissed Ryan again. “I missed you.” “I missed you too.” Ryan‟s arms tightened around him. “Don‟t ever leave me again.” “I won‟t,” Michael said, hugging Ryan back. “I‟m home now, and I‟m not going anywhere.”

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About the Author

A scientist in a past life, these days MEREDITH SHAYNE mainly uses her scientific training to poke holes in television pseudoscience. Originally from Australia, she moved to New Zealand to start a new life a few years ago and hasn‟t regretted it for one minute, even if she frequently wishes that the New Zealand weather was a little better; if she‟s forced, she‟ll admit that the refreshing lack of animals that can kill you in New Zealand makes up for a little rain. Meredith travels a lot, so much so that she has developed a shameful love of airplane food and knows her passport number by heart. When she is at home, she enjoys baking, horrible music from the 1980s, reality television, and gloating any time Australia thrashes the living daylights out of New Zealand on the sporting field. Visit Meredith at http://meredith-shayne.livejournal.com/ and http:// twitter.com/meredithshayne.

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