Undara

by Annie Seaton

  ANNIE SEATON lives near the beach on the mid-north coast of New South Wales. Her career and studies have spanned the education sector for most of her working life, including a Masters Degree in Education, and working as an academic research librarian, a high school principal and a university tutor until she took early retirement and fulfilled a lifelong dream of a full-time writing career. Since 2014 Annie has been voted Author of the Year (2014) and Best Established Author (2015 and 2017) in the AusRom Today.com Reader’s Choice Awards. In 2018 Whitsunday Dawn was voted Book of the Year by AusRom readers, and also finalled in the ARRA Romantic Suspense book of the year awards.

  Each winter, Annie and her husband leave the beach to roam the remote areas of Australia for story ideas and research. In 2016 they visited the Undara lava tubes. The Undara lava tubes stretch for 160 kilometres—indeed Undara is an Aboriginal word for ‘a long way’. Ancient roof collapses have formed a network of caves where plants and wildlife thrive in unique ecosystems. This fascinating geological marvel inspired Undara, and the story of Emlyn Rees, and the Carlyle family.

  Readers can contact Annie through her website, annieseaton.net or find her on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

  Also by Annie Seaton

  Whitsunday Dawn

  Undara

  Annie Seaton

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  As always, to Ian, the love of my life.

  You are always there for me.

  The cruelest lies are often told in silence.

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  Contents

  Also by Annie Seaton

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  PROLOGUE

  Emlyn tried to look out over the bright-white sand to the water, but her head was aching, and her eyelids were too heavy to open. Her arms burned as the tropical sun seared her skin. ‘Pass my hat … please.’

  She reached out to the beach mat to see if he was still there beside her.

  Shimmering, blinding light.

  Damn eyes, why can’t I open them? She raised her hand to her face and tried to force her eyelids open. She drew in a shaking breath, but her hands were still by her side.

  ‘Am I asleep?’ she asked. ‘David?’

  No answer. Of course he wouldn’t answer. She hadn’t spoken to him since they’d left home. They’d hardly spoken at all since the fight about the wedding.

  The first fight they’d ever had.

  Why can’t I hear the water anymore? Where is everybody?

  Only low voices surrounded her. Maybe they’ve gone back to the bungalow for a nap.

  Panic bubbled in her chest and she willed her eyes to open. Fear took her voice and her lips wouldn’t shape the words.

  ‘David. Where are you?’

  No words. There was only a vibration in her chest where they formed.

  ‘She’s coming around.’ The unfamiliar voice was calm.

  She fisted her fingers into the sand to lift herself, but firm hands gently pushed her shoulders back.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Barber.’

  No. There is no Mrs Barber. Not anymore.

  Pain rolled over Emlyn Rees in waves, as conscious thought slammed back and she turned into the pillow.

  My heart can’t bear it.

  As quiet surrounded her, she opened her lips to catch the hot saltiness of the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

  It’s not real.

  It’s a dream. Only a dream.

  CHAPTER

  1

  Hidden Valley, New Year’s Eve, 2018

  Emlyn Rees frowned and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of the Troop Carrier she’d picked up in Townsville. The directions on the map that had been emailed to her, outlining the route to the Hidden Valley cattle station, were detailed. Exactly thirty kilometres past Conjuboy, she’d turned left off the Kennedy Developmental Road onto an unsealed road, but there’d been no sign of any property name at the intersection. She’d been driving along the road for almost half an hour and was beginning to think she’d turned off too soon, when it narrowed, and she had to grip the manual shift and change down a gear. As the road became little more than a goat track, dense thickets of black tea-trees edged it, and the front tyres of the four-wheel drive dropped into a deep rut that was obviously cut by torrential rain.

  Biting her lip, she glanced over at the printed email that now lay on the passenger seat beside her. A stand of fig trees formed a canopy over the track ahead, and with an impatient huff, she accelerated out of the rut, steered the vehicle to the side and switched off the engine.

  Reaching for her water bottle, she took a deep swig before rolling the cool glass over her forehead; despite the air-conditioning, she was still perspiring. The humid air pressed in close and sticky as a bank of dark cloud edged the sky ahead. Frustration filled Emlyn and she frowned, ignoring the uncertainty that settled heavily in her chest. Flipping up her sunglasses, she reached for the printed map. She traced her shaking finger over the route from Greenvale, the last town she’d travelled through, and then along to the small square that was marked ‘Hidden Valley’. This was the right road, although it was hard to believe that this narrow track could lead to one of the largest working cattle stations in the Einasleigh River area. The station was located halfway between the Undara Volcanic National Park and the tiny town of Einasleigh, almost four hundred kilometres west of Townsville in the tropical north. Emlyn had read up on the tourist facility—the Undara Experience—where some of the lava tubes were open for public viewing. The caves and tubes on Hidden Valley had not been explored and were not part of the national park.

  After another kilometre along this track, she should go around a sweeping curve past the river, where the homestead would be on her left.

  With a shake of her head, Emlyn put the map onto the dashboard. Despite only being mid-afternoon, it was quite dark. For the first time since she’d picked up the hire car, her unease grew, moving up her spine and making a home at the base of her neck.

  The tension spread to her temples, a headache threatened, and her arm ached as it always did when she was tired … or stressed. For a fleeting moment, she considered digging out a paracetamol capsule, but shook her head. She’d had enough painkillers—and anti-depressants—over the past months to last a lifetime; a simple headache wasn’t going to kill her. As soon as she was settled in, she’d relax, and a good night’s sleep would put paid to any tension.

  With a determined set to her lips, she started the car and drove carefully down the track. Travis Carlyle, the property owner, had assured her that there would be someone at the homestead to meet her and take her across to the accommodation. His email assurance had been at odds with the disinterested tone of his voice in the three brief telephone conversat
ions they’d had during the three months of planning. Making his preference to organise details by email very clear, it had seemed that Carlyle had done his best to delay the start of the research, which originally had been scheduled for late October. Carlyle had always had a reason each time he’d postponed the start date.

  It was the first time Emlyn had been involved in negotiation with property owners, which was usually coordinated by the university; it hadn’t been an easy experience. The delays now meant that their arrival coincided with that of the ‘green’ season, when the rainfall could potentially be high, and they would have to work quickly as the threat of flooding in the tubes would hamper their efforts. The initial agreement was for a three-month minimum stay and the six team members would be living in the dongas in the old resource centre.

  The road ahead curved as she’d expected, and as soon as she left the river, relief eased the ache a little as a homestead appeared, perched high on the hill just past the fork in the track. The sun broke through the heavy cloud for a few seconds and she caught a glimpse of water past the house. Gripping the wheel, Emlyn took the right-hand turn that led up to the building and pulled the car up outside the gate of the small house yard. Although there was no obvious need for a gate; the dilapidated fence did little to separate the front yard from the road. The building was surrounded by acres of dry brown grass, broken only by dead tree stumps and the rusting bodies of old cars. A water tank at the side of the house leaned drunkenly on uneven posts.

  She shook her head. This was supposed to be the main house of one of the largest pastoral stations in North Queensland. Maybe this was a worker’s house and the main homestead was further ahead. She glanced at the map on the seat and wondered what to do.

  Grey and box-like with flat fibro walls, the place looked to be uninhabited. David would have smiled and called it a ‘doer-upper’. She closed down that line of thought before it could take root in her tired brain. A couple of small windows sat either side of a front door that was located at the top of a flight of stairs. As Emlyn looked up, the late-afternoon light left dirty blood-red shadows on the rusting roof and one of the curtains twitched. She blinked and then stared; maybe she’d imagined it?

  Another shiver ran down her spine and she fought off the fingers of panic that threatened to take hold. Despite the heat, goosebumps prickled her neck, and she forced herself to breathe deeply as the bands of tension tightened around her temples.

  A flash of movement caught her eye, and as she turned a red kelpie shot down the stairs towards her vehicle. Emlyn sat back, waiting for someone to follow the dog through the half-open door, but there was no sign of life apart from the dog now yipping and jumping at the wheels. Someone must have opened the door to let the dog out. Eventually, the kelpie lost interest and slunk off to the shadows at the side of the house. Emlyn laid her head back on the headrest and waited until someone appeared.

  And waited.

  A couple of times, she’d swear she saw the same curtain move, but no one came outside. Normally, being alone didn’t bother her—in fact, it had been her preferred option over the past year—but the stillness of the landscape and the eerie light through the strange brownish-hued clouds were unsettling her. Not a sound and not a breath of wind.

  The dead grass stretched to the top of the hill, broken only by the decaying bodies of the old cars. She brought her gaze back to the house and the dog’s eyes glinted in the half-light as he watched her.

  Glancing at her wristwatch, Emlyn considered her options. There was no way she was going to get out of the car while the dog was around; she’d been terrified of them ever since she’d been bitten as a child. The red kelpie kept lifting its head and watching her. Maybe she’d keep driving and try to find the resource centre herself, but she needed a key to get in so that wasn’t an option. Sleeping in the car wasn’t terribly appealing, although if it came to that, she’d do it.

  Damn, she’d just have to go up to the house and knock on the door. She knew there was someone inside, and she’d pound on the door until she got a response. Emlyn turned around and picked up the large umbrella off the back seat. If she needed a weapon to keep the dog away, that would have to suffice. Digging deep for courage, she smoothed her damp hands on her cargo pants and reached for the doorhandle. The dog lay in the shadows at the base of the water tank, but it was still very close to the bottom of the stairs.

  As she opened the car door, a puff of dust indicated an approaching vehicle. The dog took off down the hill, and Emlyn climbed out of the vehicle and waited. It was a motorbike, and when the rider saw the Troop Carrier parked by the gate he roared up the road towards her, closely followed by the yipping dog.

  Emlyn swallowed. Surely it wouldn’t bite now that its owner was there?

  ‘Bits!’ the man called to the dog as he stopped the bike close to her bull bar. He pointed to the dirt and the dog sank in the fine red dust beside the motorbike. He then swung his leg over the bike and walked over to Emlyn.

  She leaned the umbrella against the car door and held out her hand. ‘Travis Carlyle?’

  He ignored her outstretched hand, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, I’m filthy. You must be Emlyn Rees.’

  ‘Yes.’ She shoved her hands into her pockets and waited for him to continue, but he just stood there watching her without speaking. Looking up at the dark clouds above them, she forced her voice to stay firm. ‘Can you take me over to the accommodation, please?’

  With a shrug, Carlyle whistled for the dog before he turned back to Emlyn. His words were curt. ‘Follow the bike. It’s another five kilometres west.’

  What a charmer.

  Shaggy fair hair in need of a cut surrounded a rugged face that held no welcome. He was younger than she’d expected—probably in his early forties—but even less personable than he’d come across in the terse emails and phone conversations. With a sigh, she put the umbrella back into the car and climbed into the front.

  * * *

  The last thing Travis Carlyle wanted was a bunch of damn scientists poking around his property. Times were hard enough, and if it hadn’t been for the payment already made by the university, he would have given this woman short shrift. He threw an irritated look towards the house as he kickstarted the bike. Gavin was inside, and he could have at least come out and taken her down to the dongas. He’d be on that damn computer, and too shy to come out to meet a stranger.

  In the months since the boys had gone back to their mother in Townsville at the end of the last school holidays, Gavin had barely left the study. Dreaming about bloody cryptocurrency and how he was going to make them a fortune when he should have been out helping Travis in the paddocks. At least the boys helped him with the cattle when they were home. That was the only way the station was going to make a living, although any chance of a fortune had long gone with the fluctuations in the cattle industry. Hard work and skill weren’t enough anymore. And only having the boys home in the school holidays made it so difficult. Custody arrangements were informal, and in the end, Travis had agreed to school-holiday access. He had no other option when his wife—as they were still married—lived six hours away by road.

  There were cattle to be moved from the middle paddocks before the rain hit; Travis looked up at the sky and frowned. That was the last thing he needed, having the herd washed away in a flash flood. And rain it would, he had no doubt about that. As well as the dark clouds building since late morning, his right knee had been giving him gip since he’d got out of bed before dawn. With any luck the tubes would flood, and these bloody scientists could go back to their laboratories and leave him in peace.

  He glanced behind him and slowed the bike as they passed the vine thicket where the first lava tube crossed his land. The tubes functioned like giant stormwater drains as they collected and carried much of the summer rains. He had a feeling that Ms Rees—or professor or doctor or whatever she was—had disappointment ahead. He’d tried to tell her it was the wrong time of year to be poking about the caves
, but like a typical woman, she’d dismissed his objections when he’d tried to put them off till autumn.

  He muttered as he recalled the German blokes who’d first come looking at their place a few years ago. The Undara tubes fifty kilometres to the east had been discovered back in the sixties before Travis and Gavin had been born, and his grandfather and father had watched as the government had resumed part of that property as a national park. As kids, he and Gavin had played in the caves on their station and they’d taken for granted the strange beauty of their surroundings. Five generations of the Carlyle family had worked this land since one of their forebears had secured the pastoral lease over 150 years ago. Now with the scientific interest in the caves, and the ongoing struggle to keep the property viable, the chances of holding onto the family land were becoming less certain every year. So when the university had offered a substantial payment for their research visit, he’d had no option but to accept. He shrugged; the three months would pass quickly and they could get back to normal.

  While ever there was breath in his lungs, he would not let the property go; he’d do anything to save it for the boys. There was too much history, too much family, to walk off the place. Travis gripped the handlebars as he went down the last hill and waited for the Troop Carrier to catch up.

  He hid the smile that tugged at his lips as the woman parked the large vehicle. She stared at the neglected dongas for a moment before she crossed to where he waited on the bike. The buildings had sat empty for five years; no one had been here since National Parks had built them when they’d charted the area around his caves. There’d been little feedback after they’d moved on, and the only communication had been a short email referring to the area as an undeveloped national park. He’d not followed up; if they forgot about it, that suited him well.

  Large dark eyes smudged with shadows in a delicate face held his as the woman stood beside his bike. For a brief moment, he felt sorry for what she had ahead of her in the filthy dongas, but then he shrugged it away. It wasn’t his problem. One of those university types, her hair—cut close to her head at the back with longer strands covering her forehead and reaching her chin at the front—screamed trendy at him. He looked down at the sturdy work boots and the brand-new, full-length khaki cargo pants. As he watched, she raised a shaking hand to her head and smoothed her hair flat against her cheek.