Page 1 of The Science of Attraction

CHAPTERONE

Jules

“Awesome lunch, Norma. Thank you.”Tennyson scraped his chair back across the smooth-worn flagstone floor and headed for the dishwasher.

“You’re more than welcome.” My mother blushed prettily. “But you boys really don’t need to clean up. I can manage.”

“Not a chance.” Tennyson signalled for Stuart and Brent to get their butts over to the sink and the two shepherds leaped to their feet like someone lit a fire under their arses. “The cook never clears. It was a law when I was growing up, and I doubt it’s changed.”

I cast a sideways look at my father who was staring at the eighty-year-old kauri tabletop, busy avoiding my mother’s gaze. Paddy Lane hadn’t cleared a plate in my living memory, and very likely hadn’t since Noah looked across the rising waters and declared it was a good day for a boat trip.

“Kitchen’s no place for men,” Marty muttered from the far end of the table with his usual charming misogyny. At seventy-something, Marty was my father’s number-one fan and Lane Station’s oldest longstanding resident shepherd. He was living out his retirement in one of the station cottages, helping out when his Parkinson’s allowed, and generally getting up my nose with his red-necked commentary.

As a kid, I worshipped the ground the curmudgeonly man walked on. But when Zach came out, I’d glimpsed a seriously nasty homophobic side to the Marty I’d loved like a father, and I wasn’t such a fan anymore. The revelation was still screwing with my head. Not that my father would hear a word said against Marty, mostly since they shared similar world views.

Which was another problem.

“Well, I’m not gonna fight you boys on it.” My mother took a sip of her steaming tea and settled back in her chair. “My hands are a bit achy today anyway.”

My father shot her a concerned look but she waved him off. “I’m fine, Paddy. It was a heavy frost last night, that’s all. September weather is always so unpredictable. Took a while to get them moving.”

I lifted my hands so Stuart could take my empty plate, then smiled at our head shepherd. “Damn, Ten, I wish we could inspire the same enthusiasm from these two when the pens need mucking out.”

Tennyson snorted. Brent flipped me off. And our youngest shepherd, Stuart, blushed to the roots of his hair. All in all, a one-second summation of their relative personalities.

My father threw a scowl Tennyson’s way, most likely for having the audacity to show him up in front of my mother. But when he looked about to open his mouth and shove his foot right in it as well, I caught his eye and narrowed my gaze.Don’t you fucking dare.

He gritted his teeth and went back to staring at the table, running his fingertips appreciatively over its silky, aged patina. Paddy Lane hatedany and allchange, but he particularly hated the changes I’d instituted in the months he’d been away recovering from a major stroke. And of all of the changes I’d made—and okay, there’d been a few—my new policy of gathering all the shepherds around the kitchen table for lunch whenever we could manage it seemed to piss him off the most.

And I knew exactly why.

It was because I’d adopted the idea from our next-door neighbour, Miller Station. Dad’s nemesis. And for no other reason than the couple running it were gay, along with my brother who’d left home and moved over there when Dad had been less than welcoming at Zach’s coming out. Go figure.

But I’d spent a lot of time on Miller Station while Dad had been in Christchurch—first in hospital and then at a rehab facility—and I’d admired the warm camaraderie. I wanted that same feel for Lane Station as well—a sharp turnaround from my father’s autocratic style where everyone knew their place and initiative was a dirty word. I’d grown up being told that needing or asking for help was a weakness. I’d had it drummed into me all my life—step up, show up, don’t be a pussy—all that shit.

At times I still found it hard to open up to my team. To let them see I didn’t have all the answers on the tip of my tongue. To ask for their opinions. It wasn’t easy to change a lifetime of criticism, and I wondered if that’s why my father was like he was. His father, my grandfather, had been a hard man as well, one of the toughest. I’d never really known him that well; he died while I was still a child. But I’d heard enough stories to have zero regrets about him not being around. My father hadn’t had it easy.

But unlike back in the day when shepherds often lived and died loyal to one station, in modern times good shepherds were like gold dust to find and even harder to hold on to. Station life was a tough, isolated, and at times excruciatingly lonely experience. But it could also be fun and supportive, and when you were mustering the mob high in the Southern Alps, it was the most exhilarating job in the world. I wanted our station to feel more like a team. Likemyteam. Like we were in this together. Like we were family.

But switching things up involved four men descending on my mother’s kitchen on a daily basis, so I needed to have her on board. She’d been surprisingly all for it, and three months later, I could see the difference. My mother even confessed that the change had made her feel part of the station for the first time in years.

“Right, you lot—” Tennyson waved the other shepherds toward the mudroom. “—lunchtime is over. Back to work.”

The crew, including Marty, started to make their way out. Ten’s gaze lingered on mine just long enough to give me warning before he turned to Paddy. “I can deliver those feed and stock numbers you wanted, later this afternoon, if that suits?”

I bit back a groan, knowing Ten was referring to our aborted lunch discussion about the feed crop rotation. He’d unwittingly mentioned the plan we’d been developing, not realising I hadn’t brought my father up to speed.

My father shot me a pissy look, and there was a gleam in his eyes as he worked on getting his answer out clearly. “M-make shhhhhuure... you do.”

I sighed. “There’s no need for Ten to take time out of his day, Dad. I can walk you through them.”

My father gave a sharp shake of his head. “Ten... head... st-stock... man... not you.”

Like bullshit he was.I’d been running this station for over five months, but my father never could resist a jab.

Tennyson shot me an apologetic look. “Will I see you back in the shed before you head to the south pasture?”

I nodded. “I want to check the morning’s fleeces and see what the classer thinks. Do they still reckon they’ll be done shearing by the end of the week?”

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