by Mandy Magro
Mandy Magro lives on the family fruit farm in the picturesque country township of Mareeba, Far North Queensland, with her daughter Chloe Rose. She loves writing about the Australian outback and all the wonderful characters that live there, and her own adventures on the land have made her the passionate country woman she is today.
www.mandymagro.com
www.facebook.com/mandymagroauthor
MANDY MAGRO
Country at Heart
www.harlequinbooks.com.au
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Huge cheers to my awesome team at Harlequin Australia – my publisher, Sue Brockhoff, my editors Annabel Blay and Kylie Mason, and the rest of the dedicated team that have made Country At Heart the very best it can be. I cannot thank you enough for believing in me, and for always giving 110%. I feel extremely blessed to be a part of the wonderful Harlequin family.
To my always loving and incredibly supportive fiancé, Clancy, your unconditional love has allowed me to let my true self shine, and proven to me that soul-deep love conquers all. I cherish every second I spend with you, and fall in love with you more and more, each and every day. Love you, beautiful.
To my darling little girl, Chloe Rose, every single day you amaze me with your beautiful spirit, kind ways and loving heart and your smile brings so much happiness to my days. You mean the world to me, sweetie, and I love you with all my heart.
To my devoted dad, John, you have stood by me through so much, and are always there when I need gentle arms to hug me, or words of wisdom to guide me. Everything you say and do comes straight from the heart. I love you.
To my stepdad, Trevor, thank you for always loving me for who I am, and instilling in me that life is what you make of it. You have such a kind and loving heart, and I feel very blessed to have you in my life.
Wayne and Pam, I couldn’t ask for nicer in-laws. You have welcomed me into your lives with open arms, and made me feel like part of the family from day one. I honestly feel like I have known you both for a lifetime.
To Taylor, I feel so lucky to have you in mine and Chloe’s life. You’re such a sweet, kind, gentle and loving soul – just like your dad.
To my beautiful best mates, Jo and Tia, how fortunate am I to have friends like you? You’re both such amazing and inspirational women. You’re always there to have a good natter to, or share a laugh, or to do something a little crazy with, and you’re also always there to offer love and support, and to encourage me when I’ve lost faith in myself. And the beautiful thing is, neither of you ever expect anything in return. True friends. Love yas!
To my Aunty Kulsoom, you’re a very special part of my life, always have been and always will be. Thank you for proofreading Country At Heart and helping me edit the first draft, like you have with all my books. Love you.
To my beautiful sisters, Karla, Mia, Hayley and Rochelle, you all rock! I count my blessings for having such great sisters, but also for having sisters I can say are my best friends. My life is enriched by all of you!
To my soul sister, Fiona Stanford, you’re a truly beautiful mate. You inspire me to believe in myself, and to follow my dream of writing no matter what. You rock!
A big thank you to Tony Park, for inspiring me to write Country At Heart, and for so generously offering your brilliant author’s mind, and eyes, to help me with the army storyline. I couldn’t have made Country At Heart what it is without your guidance and advice. A big grateful hug to you!
And last but not least, a huge thank you to YOU, the reader. It is you who keeps my dream of writing alive by picking up my books and wanting to read inside the cover. I wish I could give each and every one of you a big appreciative hug! I’m so proud to be an Aussie, and I hope my country storytelling takes you to the heart and soul of this beautiful land down under.
Until my next book, keep smiling and dreaming,
Country cheers!
Mandy Magro
To my darling daughter, Chloe Rose
my adorable niece, Monique
and Wayne and Pam, my wonderful in-laws.
In memory of my Grandma, Valmai Joy Place
17 September 1927 – 19 February 2014
Contents
Acknowledgements
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
Epilogue
Excerpt from Driftwood by Mandy Magro
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
CHAPTER
1
‘You sound a little edgy today, Dean, are you okay? Do you still feel safe there?’
‘Yep, I’m right as rain, sis. Just a little tired, that’s all.’ Dean swallowed hard. He hated lying, it was a practice he tried his very best to avoid, but in this instance he felt it was justified. His sister didn’t need to be worrying about him too. ‘How’s Dad going, any improvement on last week?’
Kim sighed. ‘Nope, he’s still the same. If anything, I reckon he’s been a little worse this past week. He’s so bloody angry at the world all the time. He snapped his physiotherapist’s head off yesterday, the poor woman. Even Max can’t seem to cheer him up any more, and this is the grandson who used to brighten Dad’s every waking day before the …’ She paused and Dean thought he heard her sniffle. It sucked knowing she was hurting and he couldn’t be there to wrap his arms around her. ‘Dad’s accident, his injuries … it scares me to death, Dean. What if he never heals, you know, on the inside? The stubborn bugger bluntly refuses to go to the psychiatrist and I can’t drag him there. I’ve told him he can’t stay living on his own like this, but he refuses to listen. I’m at my wits’ end with him, to be honest.’
Dean couldn’t admit that what was happening to his usually tough-as-nails dad scared the hell out of him too, even more than this damn war he was fighting. But he had to stay strong for his family, no matter what – giving in to his emotions was not an option right now; Kim, Max and his dad needed him. He was all they had.
He shook his head, feeling utterly helpless. ‘Shit, sis. Let’s not give up hope yet, though, okay? I reckon Dad will pull through. He’s a tough old bugger. You’ll see.’ Dean squeezed his eyes shut, willing his voice to stay even, hoping he sounded somewhat convincing. ‘I wish I could be there to take some of the pressure off you, Kimmy. But only another couple of weeks and I’ll be home for fourteen days’ relief leave. I know it’s been a lot for you to handle, I mean, you know, since Mum—’
Kim cut him off: ‘I don’t want you worrying about me, Dean. I’ve got my big girl boots on and can handle things here at home. Anyway, work’s helping – I love doing the trail rides. The horses are like my therapy: just being around them seems to heal the heartache, if only for a few hours. You stay safe and look after yourself over there, you hear me?’ Her voice was strong, but Dean knew his iron-willed sister was beginning to crumble.
Heavy footsteps pulled Dean’s gaze from the wall he’d been lightly kicking with the scuffed toe of his tan army boot. He turned to see his childhood mate, Tommy Walters, trademark Joker-esque smile creasing his round, freckled face.
‘Hey Lockwood, the briefing starts in two minutes and
I wouldn’t be late, the sergeant’s been in a shocker of a mood today, if you haven’t already noticed.’
Dean nodded, giving Tommy the thumbs up. ‘I gotta go, Kimmy. Say hi to Dad and Max for me.’
‘Will do, hopefully I’ll catch Dad on a good day tomorrow. And Max really misses you … he can’t wait to see you – I can’t wait to see you. It’ll be good to be able to spend Christmas together.’
Dean cleared the lump from his throat, blinking his wet eyes. ‘I know, I really miss you and the little fella too. Give Max a kiss and cuddle from me, will you? Love you, Kim.’
‘Love you, too, little brother. Talk again soon.’
The PowerPoint briefing included aerial shots of the village and maps showing the route the patrol would be taking – including the likely enemy positions in rocky hillsides perfect for a Taliban ambush on the convoy.
Sergeant Harrison’s bushy black eyebrows furrowed as he firmly tapped the large drop-down screen with a ruler. ‘The area we’re entering is heavily populated and as you can all see, well built up around the village. The chance of contact is highly likely. We will have US air support, but watch each other’s backs like hawks, fellas.’
This was met with nods, the half-dozen men of the engineer detachment concentrating on Harrison’s every word; their lives and the lives of their comrades depended on a complete understanding of the mission and its risks.
Harrison turned to face his team, stroking his neatly trimmed moustache as he paused for a few seconds. ‘The heads from the mentoring team and the Afghan National Army want to show the Taliban they can’t have freedom of movement here any more. As usual, our job is to search choke points on the way and likely sites for IEDs and weapons and ammo caches in the village.’ Harrison removed his reading glasses and leant on the desk, unsmiling. ‘Any questions?’
The room remained quiet. Missions such as this were common and everyone knew the drill; they had already cleared many villages of dozens of IEDs, and the operation today would be no different.
‘Good. Ready to move at oh-four-hundred tomorrow.’ Harrison turned to leave.
Dean knew his work was going to be cut out for him as the nearby village was renowned for buried and cunningly concealed improvised explosive devices – IEDs. Bombs were planted everywhere in Afghanistan, like seedlings; children, the elderly and families were not exempt from the disfiguring or deadly consequences of stepping on one. Locals living in the affected villages were like prisoners in mud-walled compounds, and venturing out to meet neighbours or to collect food was fraught with danger. It was Dean’s job – with his beloved dog, Indy – to make sure the Aussie diggers and the fledgling soldiers of the Afghan National Army weren’t killed or maimed by an IED. At the same time, the work he and Indy were doing was helping make the country that little bit safer for the people who lived here.
In the pre-dawn gloom, Dean and Indy and the other army engineers climbed aboard their vehicles. At the same time, the Australian infantrymen of the mentoring teams and their Afghan charges were doing last-minute radio checks and loading and cocking their weapons. As per routine, the vehicles were armour-hulled Bushmasters, the tough-as-guts trucks built to protect ten passengers from roadside bombs, land mines and rocket-propelled grenades. Some of the weaponry the Taliban was using dated back thirty years or more to the Russian invasion; it seemed like this bloody place had been at war since time began. Dean and Indy were in the lead vehicle, which was always the one at highest risk as it would be the first vehicle to drive over a mine if there was one planted in the road. It was first in the sights of Taliban combatants hiding in the distance, waiting to press a button to trigger a bomb on the roadside.
As the convoy rolled out of the gates, Dean glanced behind him at Camp Baker Military Base and the dirt-filled hesco walls topped with razor wire that protected his dusty home away from home. On a pole above the camp the high-powered rocket and mortar sensor rotated, giving them 360-degree, 24-hour-a-day coverage. This high-tech device was essential to their survival, since the military base was a regular target of the insurgents. Only last week they had all dropped to the ground as the distinctive alarm had rung out, and a 107 rocket landed in a hesco barrier, only metres from a soldier enjoying a midnight cigarette. In Afghanistan, living life on the edge took on a whole new meaning.
With stinking hot dry summers and freezing cold winters, Afghanistan was one of the most trying places in the world to live but within the confines of Camp Baker, the Australian government endeavoured to make their soldiers feel at home, as much as was possible. The Aussie diggers had even planted lawn in their small courtyard, each and every one of them very proud of the fact it was the only patch of grass, albeit a bit brown, in the entire Kandahar Province. Dean often strolled around on it shoeless, enjoying the sensation of grass crunching underfoot; in times of war, the simple things could give so much pleasure. Afghanistan had taught him a lot, especially not to take anything, or anyone, for granted.
At Camp Baker – named after Trooper Baker, who lost his life in a Black Hawk crash in 1996 – Dean could surf the net behind walls thick enough to stop a Taliban rocket while lying on his bed in air-conditioned comfort; watch telly or DVDs in the communal TV room; play touch footy with his fellow diggers out in what they liked to call the CBD of Camp Baker; hang out with Tommy in the mess over a coffee or a soft drink – there was no booze allowed – or spend a few hours in the well-equipped gym, something he did often. Here, exercise, particularly lifting weights, was the only time he found he could shut off from everything, especially from this war, giving him time to think. Dean’s strong physique was solid proof of the many countless hours he’d spent thinking. His dad had nicknamed him Sage when he was a kid because of his habit and the nickname had stuck into adulthood. Back home, his Ducati Streetfighter motorbike was his escape, his time to contemplate, and the freedom he felt as he cruised the open roads was unsurpassable.
Sitting beside Tommy, Dean ruffled Indy’s coat and the Blue Heeler nestled her head in his lap. He couldn’t imagine being in this hellish shithole without her by his side. The bond between them was unparalleled; man and dog had a complete dependence on each other: Dean relied on Indy’s ability to sniff out bombs and Indy relied on Dean for everything a dog needs to survive: food, water, a safe place to sleep and, of course, love. As an explosive detection dog, Indy was an essential addition to the military effort in Afghanistan. In a place that had no neutral ground, dogs, with their keen sense of smell, were the frontline weapons in the war against IEDs. Their presence on the ground also had other benefits, such as helping to control antsy or panicked villagers during searches, hunting for hidden weapons and ammunition, and even boosting morale – Dean hadn’t met a digger yet who didn’t want to ruffle Indy’s coat when he passed her. Indy always gave him hope, never judged him, kept the many secrets he told her and made him smile when he was down, which was quite often out here. And she was loyal, with nerves of steel, willing to protect him at any given moment, as he would her. Indy’s work was play to her and all she expected when she found an IED was her favourite toy, a squishy ball.
The ride was rocky and slow; the convoy section commander had taken them off-road to confuse the Taliban, who would logically place mines and IEDs there. With dust enveloping the vehicles, Dean closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to go back over the phone conversation he’d had with his sister last night. He couldn’t tell her the truth – that, no, he didn’t feel safe. That something didn’t feel right. But did anything in this war-ravaged hellhole of a country ever feel right? And after suddenly losing his mum, Patricia, earlier this year, how was he meant to cope with the deterioration of his dad? He prayed Tony Lockwood would make a full recovery from the horrific accident that had killed Patty on Valentine’s Day, but if he were honest, Dean doubted he would. How could a man ever get over being the one responsible for the love of his life’s death?
He and Kim had forgiven their dad a long time ago, but Tony doggedly refused
to forgive himself, his resentment and fury never allowing him to fully mourn the loss of his loving wife. Come to think of it, Dean hadn’t seen his dad shed a tear to this day. Even when sitting in his wheelchair beside the freshly dug grave, staring into his wife’s final resting place, Tony had remained dry eyed and stony faced, but there wasn’t a doubt in Dean’s mind that the loss of Patricia to such a terrible death was tearing his father apart.
Tony Lockwood had been bred tough, a true-blue, old-fashioned, morally upright country bloke, and a Vietnam veteran. He was certainly not the type of man to freely show his emotions, although Dean never doubted his father’s deep love for him and Kim. Tony was the reason why Dean had happily joined the Royal Australian Engineers corps seven years ago – he wanted to make his father proud. He believed he had.
Tony had endured clearing Vietcong tunnels, an extremely dangerous job, for years in the Vietnam War, and he’d survived with all limbs intact. But now, after losing his beloved wife and part of his right leg in the accident, it seemed Tony Lockwood had also lost his will to live. And that broke Dean’s heart. Dean wasn’t sure his dad would ever be able to forgive himself, but if he did, it was going to be a bloody miracle.
Releasing a long, drawn-out breath, Dean focussed on the familiar surroundings as the rising sun lightened the far-reaching land to shades of fiery red and then dazzling gold. It looked like it was going to be a textbook autumn day – perfect for the job at hand. On the horizon, jagged mountain ranges knifed their way into the empty blue sky, the distant mountain tops revealing a hint of snow on their peaks. The mountains of Afghanistan were scenic from a distance, but up close, the land where most of the combat took place was always brutal, unforgiving and inhospitable. Men fought and died on barren dirt and rock, in medieval mud compounds, or in the menacing, claustrophobic fields of poppies and marijuana that choked the narrow strips of arable land along the rivers. It was such different countryside to Whispering Meadows, his family’s lush green acreage in Australia, where rolling pastoral land met in an almost seductive embrace with the golden shores of Majestic Beach. What Dean wouldn’t give to feel the sand between his toes and smell the glorious scent of the ocean right now.
