by Mandy Magro
Finally catching up, Digger fell into step, panting, and contentedly plodded along beside them. The creak of the saddle, the call of the native birds, and the clip-clop of Justice’s hooves were all music to Logan’s ears. Snaking down a small slope and then crossing a trickling creek bed, he paused to let both horse and dog have a much-needed drink while he took a swig from his water bottle, before they wound their way up the small bank and up the mountainside. Attuned to his horse, Logan could feel every tiny shift as Justice picked a hoof up higher or changed his weight a little to avoid overhanging branches. The three of them together, just like the good old days: man, horse and dog. They manoeuvred through the thin track they’d created over the years, one that was a little overgrown after a lull between visits. They’d come up here so many times, Justice knew the way well, as did he and Digger – they could do this trek blindfolded.
They cruised on at a casual pace for another half an hour. All the while, Logan drank in everything around him – the sights, smells and sounds of the Australian bush invigorating to both his heart and soul. Up above, the sun slipped its fingers through the arching branches of the treetops, dappling golden light over his face and skittering it over the path in front of them. Tugging his Akubra down a little lower, sweat stung his eyes as he narrowed them into the glare of the midday sun just up ahead. With only a few hundred metres to go, they were almost at the top, where the thicket of trees would bow out to the most amazing threehundred-and-sixty-degree views of Willowbrook, Riverstone Ridge, and beyond.
He and Jessica had spent many a day up here, sprawled out on a blanket, eating lunch from a picnic basket with a glass of wine in hand, their horses resting near them, Violet picking the wildflowers and tucking them behind her petite little ears, and Digger curled up at their feet. Logan missed those times one hell of a lot. He had just about come to grips with the fact he’d never have them again – not with Jessica or Violet. He knew in his heart of hearts that Jessica would want him to move on, to find a woman who would make him feel as loved as she had, and he wished he could, but something was stopping him. Was it because he hadn’t met a woman who could touch that part of his heart again, or was it because he was refusing to let the memory of Jessica go?
He had to admit, he longed to be fortunate enough to share such simple yet poignant times again, along with his dream of being a father again one day. But at thirty-nine, he was well aware he wasn’t getting any younger and time was slipping away, real fast … He could only hope fate had positive plans.
They finally reached the summit, and he dismounted. Leaving Justice and Digger resting beneath the shade of a blooming poinsettia tree with its swathe of blood-red flowers in sharp contrast to the lush green surrounds, he wandered over to the edge of the bluff and took the lavender from his pocket. Begging his heart not to betray him – he didn’t want to mourn today but instead celebrate the time he’d had with his beautiful wife and child – he stepped forwards, leaving nothing between himself and thin air. Rubble clattered down the rock face as the toes of his boots teetered on the edge of the seventy-metre drop. Looking down, he felt the inevitable dizziness that heights always gave him – more out of awe than fear. Back when it had all happened, when he’d stood in this exact spot, he’d humoured letting himself tumble forwards so he could be with Jessica and Violet, but his aspiration to live his life, for them, in honour of them, and to not put his parents through the hell he was living day in, day out, kept him from plunging to his death.
Holding the flowers out while determinedly blinking wet eyes, he whispered, ‘I miss you, and I love you both,’ before releasing the purple stems to fly free with the wind. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, easing the heartache by recalling happy times together, momentarily resting within that bliss, just long enough to centre himself before returning to the present. He needed to let this boulder of grief within his chest go, somehow, someway, or he was going to grow old a very lonely man.
He eased himself down to sitting, his legs dangling over the edge of the cliff face. The vast valley spread out before him, as did the outlying, distinctive buildings that made up Riverstone Ridge. As if they had a mind of their very own, his thoughts travelled from the woman to whom he’d pledged his vows, to the woman who had shared so much of his youth. He wondered if she still chewed gum like a cow chewed its cud, if she was still terrified of dams, and if she thought swearing like a trooper made her more like one of the boys. He was planning on going over to welcome her home and to also offer his condolences, but there was a small part of him terrified of finding himself tonguetied in her presence. She’d always had that effect on him, one no other woman had ever had, even Jessica. That night he and Nina had spent together in his swag had been one he’d been hoping for, dreaming of, ever since he’d thrown caution to the wind and kissed her in the stables two years earlier.
Mates since they were kids, he’d known the exact moment he’d figured out his feelings for her were more than platonic when one of the guys from his footy team had decided to brag about a girl he wanted to have his way with – giving every sordid detail of what he’d do to her if he got her naked. That girl had been Nina Jones, and the guy had been Josh Harper. Standing in the middle of the changing rooms, amongst his teammates after a winning game, his hands had jolted into fists and, before he knew it, with the suddenness of a piston, he’d fired the football at Josh’s face and knocked the dirty-mouthed lowlife out cold. Even now, with the memory, his jaw clenched. Needless to say, he and Josh had never shaken hands and forgiven each other, or forgotten. Still to this day, they avoided each other when possible – not a simple feat in a small town, especially when Josh was the only auto-electrician around. Logan still couldn’t believe that Nina had gone on to date the dickhead for almost a year. Girls and their bad boys – go figure.
Logan sat for a while longer, thinking about nothing, everything, and anything in between. Then, with his stomach rumbling, he stood, wandered over to Justice and Digger and, slipping back into the saddle, casually made his way home, giving Justice his head for the last few kilometres – a final gallop was always welcomed by all three of them.
Nearing the stables, he dismounted and was suddenly very aware of his stiffening muscles, unaccustomed to hours in the saddle. Just like any other exercise, he needed to do it more often, to get used to it again. Plenty of time for that now he wasn’t needed at the station – although not being needed didn’t sit well with him. Whatsoever. It made him feel even more alone than he already did. And that sucked. Big time.
Trying not to focus on the negative thoughts capable of ruining the rest of his day, Logan followed the usual routine after a ride, and once done, decided to head into town to grab some sweet treats from the bakery so he didn’t turn up to Nina’s empty-handed. As his mother always said, a man should always arrive at a woman’s house bearing gifts, even if it’s a flower snatched from a garden. He had his dear mum and the beautiful relationship she and his father shared to thank for the way he treated women, and also the way he wanted a possible relationship to be – friends first and foremost, lovers second. The other way around, in his opinion, the relationship was destined to fail from the get-go.
Leaving the saddle and bridle in the tack room, now that he’d be using it more often, and bidding Justice goodbye, Logan started his short walk back to the homestead. Digger, who’d been dozing in the midafternoon sunshine as he’d unsaddled, brushed and hosed down Justice, now stretched his four short legs to life and joined him. Logan leant over and gave him a ruffle behind his ears. ‘You going to come over and say g’day to Nina too, buddy?’
Digger looked up at him with kind eyes, and Logan smiled. ‘Of course you’re tagging along. You’re stuck with me for six long weeks – not that I reckon you’re gonna mind the company,’ he said, striding along with a little bit more of a spring in his step from both the bliss of being in the saddle, out in nature, and the anticipation of seeing Nina Jones after all these years.
CHAP
TER
7
The scent of the sugar mill drifted upon the morning breeze. From her seat upon the quad motorbike, and chewing a wad of now tasteless gum like her life depended upon it, Nina blinked grit from her eyes as she stealthily avoided mammoth anthills and potholes. At first, when she’d decided to go for a look-see around the place, she’d poked along the fence line, familiarising herself with the gears and the brake as she’d stuck to the dirt track leading through the paddocks and into the surrounding scrub. Now, an hour later, she was savouring the freedom of hooning around Riverstone Ridge, without a helmet, without traffic jams, and without road rules – letting herself succumb to the ways of the city all these years, she’d forgotten just how fun this was.
She looked across to Maxwell, bolting alongside her, his tongue lolling out to the side. Now splattered with mud and with half the countryside embedded in his thick coat, he looked the part of the farm dog he so clearly loved to be. Going down the gears, Nina slowed and carefully steered the rumbling bike down a ravine, across a running creek bed, and up the other side. Whereas Maxwell paused and flopped himself right into the stream, rolling in the water like it was heaven on earth. She pulled to a stop, laughing as she watched him stand and shake himself somewhat dry before scooting up beside her once more.
‘Good god, Maxi-boy, if only William could see you now, I’m pretty sure he’d have a damn fit.’
Maxwell barked a short, sharp reply, his tail going like the clappers as he eagerly waited for her to take off again. And so she did.
As Nina circled the edges of the property and smoothly clicked the quad bike into the fourth and final gear, her soft smile spread wide – she had this down pat. The whip of wind tossed stray wisps of hair across her cheeks. She plucked one from her glossy lips and tucked it behind her ear before tugging Bea’s wide-brimmed hat down a little lower, so it stayed put. A bend approaching at warp speed, she skilfully skidded around it, the back end of the bike losing traction momentarily before re-gripping the gravel. An involuntary squeal of delight escaped her as she regained control, and then as she revved a little harder. She passed an open field, dotted with a few old dairy cows – girls Bea had saved from the meatworks, she gathered – before heading past the first of the lower horse agistment paddocks. Some were empty now, the paddocks closer to the homestead the only ones with four-legged inhabitants. Poor Bea, having to give up her life’s work when she’d got sick – it would have broken her heart. It shattered Nina, knowing what her aunt would have gone through. If things were different, if she hadn’t made a life for herself in the city, she’d revive the place in Bea’s honour – but she just couldn’t stay here. Besides the fact there was nobody to stay here for, there were just too many shadows looming over her in this place.
Pulling back up beneath the shade of the lean-to carport, she switched the bike off, alighted, gave Maxwell a loving ruffle – grimacing when she touched something a little gloopy feeling and wiping whatever it was on her jeans – before turning towards the homestead paddock. The paddock was home to Bea’s two horses, Frank and Betty – named after Bea’s favourite show, Some Mothers Do Have Them – alongside the donkey that had appeared in Bea’s headlights while they were bumping down their long dirt drive one stormy night. The very lucky donkey was only spared from an untimely death because Bea had hit the brakes and brought the LandCruiser to a shuddering stop while muttering, ‘What in the world…?’ as the animal came into rainspattered focus. Don – aptly named by a nine-year-old Nina – had been as shocked as they were that night. His eyes had been as wide as theirs as he’d peered at them through the windshield, mid-chew with grass protruding from either side of his mouth, and his gigantic ears pricked forward. It had taken them a while to usher him into a paddock, and, after not being able to locate his owners, Riverstone Ridge had been Don’s forever home ever since.
It was time she reacquainted herself with Don the donkey, and Frank and Betty. God help her if Don was in one of his moods. But she had a weapon of attack in her back pocket if he was reluctant to bond with her, a small packet of his favourites she’d found in the pantry – salt and vinegar chips.
A windmill spun lazily at the side of round yard, pumping essential water to the troughs and up to the homestead, and the chickens she’d let out early this morning pecked away at the ground beneath the cluster of Bea’s fruit-laden citrus trees. Passing the two massive rainwater tanks, a meow caught her attention and stopped her in her tracks. Spotting her cat, Nina instantly went into panic mode – how in the hell had Tom gotten outside? She’d made sure all the doors had been shut when she’d left to stop him from escaping. She looked to the verandah. The sight of the back timber door – wide open – made the hairs prickle on the back of her neck. Was someone in the house? Or had she lost her mind and thought she’d shut it when she hadn’t? Possibly. Taking a few steps back, she peered around the water tanks, looking for signs of visitors – there were no cars, no horses. Her pulse quickened as she imagined some murderer hiding in the homestead … She mentally slapped herself. She was being stupid – she’d forgotten to shut it. Simple as that.
Shrugging off the uneasy sensation, she made a beeline for her cat, and Tom, surprisingly, did the same, both of them stopping just short of each other. At a standstill, like two gunslingers ready to pull their weapons, they remained a metre apart, eyeing each other. Nina didn’t want to suddenly reach for him, only to have him scoot off into the scrub. Lord knew what would happen to Tom out there if he got himself lost.
‘What are you doing out here, mister?’ Nina said gently, as she knelt down, enticing Tom to come to her.
Her tactic worked a treat, and Tom padded towards her, purring like mad. In arm’s reach, she quickly plucked him from the ground and stood, massaging the place on his neck he loved. He kneaded her arm with his paw in appreciation.
‘You seem very relaxed, considering we’ve only been here for a night.’ She thought about putting him back inside the homestead, but then reminded herself he’d lived outdoors for the majority of his life, in the backstreets of one of the rough suburbs of Brisbane – street smart he was, but the bush was a whole other ball game. However, she was going to see if she could trust him. Being cooped up in a house all day long just wasn’t Tom’s style. And she had to respect that.
So, cradling him in her arms, and Tom quite happy to stay there, she wandered back over to the homestead paddock and placed him down on top of a sun-dappled molasses barrel. ‘Now, you stay put … and don’t go being an idiot and running off.’ She pointed to the scrub. ‘It’s a big bad world out there, trust me.’
Still purring, Tom rubbed his face against her hand, then stretched out like some yoga guru and got himself comfy, making it very clear he didn’t intend on going anywhere in a hurry.
Confident in her decision to leave Tom where he was, she pointed to Maxwell, now passed out beneath Bea’s dusty old LandCruiser. ‘And don’t you go annoying Tom either, or you’ll be in big trouble, Maxi-boy.’ From the looks of how pooped Maxwell was, she doubted he’d move a muscle until she told him to. It certainly was an animal’s life here at Riverstone Ridge.
Lifting the latch of the gate, she stepped inside the paddock and made sure to shut it behind her. A gentle nicker greeted her, and she gazed over to where Frank stood, his recognisable black coat aglow beneath the sunshine as if made of the most luxurious velvet.
‘Hey, boy, long time no see.’
He snorted and tossed his head, and then proudly trotted over to stand just shy of her. She stepped a little closer to him, worried he might have forgotten her, but looking up into the kind eyes of the gelding, she instantly knew he hadn’t. He dropped his head and closed the distance, his lips green with mushed up grass. She brushed a hand over his face, laughing when he nodded and then nibbled at her hat. Running her hand along his back, she wandered to his other side, assessing him, admiring the powerful muscles twitching beneath her fingertips. ‘It’s great to see you looking so good, b
uddy, even after all these years.’ Age hadn’t stolen his vigour or the clarity from his eyes.
She wrapped her arms around the big horse’s neck and, kissing him softly, breathed in the addictive scent of horse. He nuzzled her hair and snuffled loudly in her ear, making her chuckle and writhe away. This was just the medicine she needed after the last few days – horses always had a way of making her feel better, just by being near them. It was no wonder some people used the majestic creatures for healing broken hearts and souls. From memory, there was a healing horse farm not far from here, at Bluegrass Bend, called Healing Hills. Ivy Tucker and her horses were renowned for their ability to help even the most broken of souls.
Glancing towards where the rump end of Bea’s mare met her, she lightheartedly shook her head. ‘Betty!’ she called, grinning when the appaloosa lifted her head and half turned to stare at her, a chunk of grass hanging out the side of her mouth. ‘Are you going to be your usual snobby self, or are you going to say hello?’ All Bea’s horses were gentle giants, because that’s how Bea had raised them to be, but Betty had the attitude of a hardarsed gangster when she was having an off day.
Ignoring Betty’s oppressive look, she wandered towards her, slowly but confidently. ‘Do you remember me, old girl?’
