The Shearing Gun

The Shearing Gun by Renae Kaye Read Free Book Online

Book: The Shearing Gun by Renae Kaye Read Free Book Online
Authors: Renae Kaye
while I continued. “And this is Doc Elliot. He’s a doctor in town with Doc Larsen. He has a real wanker of a surname that I haven’t been able to remember, so I just call him Doc. We met last week when your arsehole brother broke my collarbone, and now the kind Doc came out to give me a hand while I’m laid up.”
    Middy accepted Elliot’s presence without comment. It was Elliot who looked at Middy in surprise. “Your brother?”
    Middy spat on the ground and mumbled something. He was a shy one, but a top bloke. He had a bit of a stutter, which is why he didn’t open his mouth all that much. I came to his rescue. “Yeah, remember I told you it was Big D MacDonald that started it?”
    Elliot looked puzzled for a moment, but then it was obvious he got the connection. He had to have a brain in order to be a doctor, so he got the joke straightaway. “Middy? As in Mid D? With Big D and Mid D, I guess there’s a Little D too?”
    Middy ducked his head in embarrassment and spoke in his soft manner. “Y-y-yeah. D-d-darren, Dave and Daniel.”
    I chuckled. “Unfortunately Little D ended up to be the biggest, so there’s a bit of confusion at times.”
    We all laughed, and I whistled for Buck to leave Middy’s bitch, Dancer, alone. The two of them still had to sniff each other from top to tail every time they met. We wandered over to the holding pens and checked out the rams. Middy walked around the perimeter and looked them over, occasionally reaching out to take a closer look at a fleece, as I explained to Elliot.
    “The rams here with the blue tags are all two-year olds I bred from my best ewes. The yellow tags are from Dad’s place, and the couple you see with the red tags are the rams I bought my first year here, so they’re the fathers of the blue-tagged rams. I’ll be choosing a couple of blue-tags today that I’ll put in with my ewes for spring lambing. Middy here is going to choose a couple for his place. Dad wants to sell some of his stock off, so we need to separate them all out.”
    Middy wandered back over. “Decent st-stock there, Hank.”
    I clapped him on the back in thanks, and we set to work. I sent Elliot into the pen with a stern warning to watch out for horns, and had him push the stock up to the small, single-corridor race. At the end of the race were two gates. As the rams moved up, Middy and I checked them over. I judged the quality of their fleece, checked their features for deformations, and examined the size of their testicles, satisfied that my gamble was paying off. I’d hand selected the lambs for castration and put a lot of effort into picking the best lambs to remain as rams.
    The ones tagged with yellow were pushed into the pen on the right for Paul to sort later. I was only interested in my stock.
    My rams were specially tagged with numbers—blue plastic tags numbered with three digits and the prefix W. I looked out for W002 and W003, and sure enough, when they came through the race, they were two of the best. Middy saw me checking the numbers.
    “Gonna t-t-tell me about it?”
    I gave a little self-conscious shrug. “These two are Lilly’s.”
    Middy didn’t need any further explanation, but to my humiliation, Elliot heard and asked, “Lilly?”
    I refused to answer so Middy told Elliot, “Hank here has a man-crush on one p-particular sheep of his. He even kn-knows which of the flock are her babies.”
    Completely mortified now, I swung out with my fist, but Middy knew it was coming and blocked it. “Arsehole,” I cried. “I do not have a man-crush on a fucking sheep. She is my best fucking stock, and I would be fucking irresponsible not to utilize that, wouldn’t I? She throws the best fucking fleeces every year, and the quality of those two rams shows you it’s in her bloodline.”
    Middy laughed and danced away from my reach. “As I s-s-said. You love that fucking animal.”
    I glared at my so-called best mate as Elliot teased from behind me, “Aww. Isn’t that

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