Outlast the Night by Ariel Tachna Page B

wool. The rest of the year, it’s a question of pinching pennies and hoping nothing breaks or needs to be replaced because until the next season, there’s no guarantee of how much money will come in to keep things running. Pity doesn’t have any place in running a station. If Caine hired you, it’s because he believes doing so is in the best interest of the station. I don’t know a lot about his background, but I know he got a business degree in the US. A Yank degree might not be worth a lot here, but it proves he knows his way around money, which tells me you impressed him, and that, in turn, impresses me.”
    “That doesn’t change the rest of it,” Sam said. “You can hardly argue about my hairline.”
    Jeremy rolled his eyes. “There’s a lot more to loving someone than how thick their hair is, you know. By the time my mother died, my father had a beer belly big enough to merit its own time zone and no hair whatsoever, but she still loved him as much as the day they met. And your hairline is fine. I just thought you had a high forehead, not that you were losing your hair.”
    “I appreciate what you’re doing,” Sam said. “Really. But you don’t need to. I know what I am and what I’m not. I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”
    “If that’s what this was, that might sway me,” Jeremy said, “but I didn’t spend the day talking to you out of pity. I didn’t offer to teach you about the station out of pity. I enjoyed your company today, and that’s far more important than how cut you are or whether you’re losing a little hair. You don’t have to believe me, but I need to say it at least this once: I think you’re an interesting, attractive man, and I’d like to get to know you better, but I realize you’re in the middle of a divorce and that you have issues to work out around that, so I’m not going to push. I am, however, going to be your friend.”

Chapter 8

     
    S AM walked into the station office the next morning, booted up the computer, and did his best to pretend he’d gotten a good night’s sleep and that everything was normal. Nobody else had to know his conversation with Jeremy on the way back from Boorowa the day before had sent him into a complete tailspin.
    Caine walked in a few minutes later. “You’re in here early today,” he said with a smile. “Things are more laid-back in the winter. Less to do in the paddocks, and all.”
    Sam summoned a smile, refusing to acknowledge how fake it felt. “Jeremy said something to that effect yesterday, but we hadn’t talked about it, and I didn’t want to presume.”
    “Now we’ve talked about it,” Caine said. “Macklin was talking about riding out to check on some of the drover’s huts in a little bit, to make sure they weathered last night’s storm and that they’re sound when the next one comes.”
    “Is storm damage a problem?” Sam asked.
    “It can be,” Caine replied. “We usually get one or two bad storms a winter, but Macklin assures me that’s completely unpredictable.”
    “Your insurance should cover those repairs,” Sam said.
    “It might,” Caine agreed, “but the cost of replacing a few shingles isn’t worth the hassle of having the insurance inspector come out.”
    “You should look into it, though,” Sam said. “If you use a digital camera with a timestamp, you have proof of when the picture was taken. There’s no reason to pay for repairs that should be covered. You spend enough in maintenance without adding to it. Even if you do the repairs yourself, you could submit a claim for reimbursement.”
    “Won’t submitting too many claims drive up our premiums?” Caine asked. “I’d rather keep the premiums relatively low and absorb small costs here and there than have them go up because we’re nickel-and-diming them to death.”
    “I’d have to look at the details of your coverage and the company’s policy,” Sam replied, “but if that’s the case, I’d