by Mandy Magro
Turning her attention back to the present, Emma followed the flight of a magnificent Ulysses butterfly, its vibrant blue wings spellbinding. Afternoon sunshine filtered through the canopy of leaves and touched her face. The rolling land that stretched out to meet with the bluest of skies dusted with the occasional wisp of cloud, was bathed in warm golden light. Her two beloved cows, Gertrude and Helga, old dairy girls she’d saved from a distant cousin the morning before they were destined for the meatworks, grazed lazily, their days certainly not numbered here. Along the rustic timber fence that separated the backyard from the neatly arranged agistment paddocks, the brilliant yellow sunflowers she and Riley had planted a few months ago stood tall, their petals reaching for the sunshine. The scene truly was worthy to be on a postcard. Her eyelids heavy, she allowed them to shut as she drifted with the sway of the hammock, suspended in the blissful land between consciousness and daydreams.
A delighted squeal woke her with a start. Flicking her eyes open, she was briefly met with a cobalt-blue gaze and a delighted Twistie-stained grin as Riley raced past with three of her friends and Tiny hurtling behind them – the mammoth puppy all legs and paws, and no sense. She missed her old doggy mate Bo like mad, losing him to old age a year ago, but Tiny had certainly helped fill the void in both her and Riley’s hearts. All four girls giggled madly as Tiny finally caught up, bowled them over, and then licked them excitedly. Their laughter was heart-warming, and Emma sighed, deeply satisfied with her role as a mother. Her life might not always be a bed of roses, but what more could she ask for than a happy, healthy child, with a heart so big it sometimes brought her to tears.
Looking to where her dad snoozed in his newly purchased, you-beaut fold-out camp chair, his tattered, wide-brimmed hat pulled down and snoring for all of Australia, she chuckled to herself. How her mother got any sleep beside him was beyond her. As a child she could hear him from her room – he used to almost suck the walls in with his relentless snorts. Her uncle and a few of his mates mulled about, beers in hand, beside the barbeque as men do, and a few of the teenagers were sprawled out on the grass staring at their phones like their lives depended on it. Her nanna and mum, god bless their country-loving souls, were in deep conversation with the rest of their CWA crew about how good the sponge cake had been. Emma had to agree; the fresh strawberries and cream had been finger-lickingly decadent amongst the layers of soft, fluffy cake.
If only she’d spent more time indoors with her mum and nanna, learning the art of baking, instead of outside with her cattleman father, learning the ways of the land and the art of horsemanship, she may have shared their passion. When she was little, she thought her nanna had an apron permanently tied around her waist and a wooden spoon constantly in hand for both cooking and for occasionally tapping very naughty bums when the need arose. For her part, Emma wouldn’t be happy stuck inside. A tomboy through and through, the only time she’d stayed indoors was when she’d been grounded, which had happened quite often in her teenage years. Give her a view of wide-open fields from up high in a saddle over cooking any day. It was a side of her that Michael had increasingly struggled with, but had known and liked when he’d first met her. Emma had discovered that things could gradually change once a wedding ring was slid on a finger.
From her comfy spot in the hammock, she couldn’t help but admire the way Zane’s jeans fit so snugly around his butt, or how his t-shirt stretched across his deliciously wide chest, six-packed abs and brawny tattooed arms, or his messy yet somehow perfect dark hair that fell across his forehead; she knew all too well what it felt like to press her lips against his body. A quiver ran through her with the memory, and she mentally slapped herself for her wayward thoughts. Even though she hadn’t felt the intimate touch of a man for months – Michael seemingly uninterested in being affectionate because he was always too tired – she was a married woman. It was wrong of her to look at Zane in such a way, but she’d also come to accept that the chemistry they’d shared as teenagers was never going away. They just had to keep it at bay, and keep pretending their one night of unadulterated, toe-curling passion never happened, unless the paternity test she’d secretly done with Michael and Riley’s samples came back confirming what she felt in her bones was true.
Breaking away from the huddle of men, Zane met her eyes and smiled charmingly, right before being tackled to the ground by Riley and her friends. Tiny made sure to include himself in the fun. The four girls giggled and begged Zane to start the pony rides he’d promised. Trying unsuccessfully to avoid slobbery doggy kisses, he quickly succumbed to their demands, the huge grin on his rugged face enhancing his dimples. Emma smiled from the heart. Zane was still the life of any party – even for these demanding whippersnappers. The piñata he’d brought along had been a hit; the lollies that had rained down as he’d helped the kids slog the thing to smithereens had sent them into an absolute feeding frenzy. If only Michael could be more like him, then her life and Riley’s would be filled with all the enjoyment that came with being a family, and hers would be filled with the passion, excitement and contentment she craved every day. Occasionally, she fantasied that she’d married Zane and not his brother. She would imagine his hands sliding around her waist and his lips trailing down her neck as she stood at the kitchen sink, the tower of a manly man taking her then and there with the kind of fervent desire she’d only ever felt with him.
Oh, a sex-deprived woman could dream …
But the voice of reason would always remind her that the chivalrous and ever-so-charming Zane Wolfe had never been one to take commitment seriously, his gypsy soul giving him itchy feet as soon as anything in life got too serious. Knowing that Zane left a trail of broken hearts wherever he went, Emma had never let herself become another notch on his bedpost. She was well aware his blazing fire would only consume her, leaving the charred ashes of her heart behind. Nonetheless, it was a romp between the sheets she’d never, ever forget.
The erotic memories searing her thoughts and making her ache with longing in places she shouldn’t, Emma suddenly needed to move. So up she got, quick smart, almost upending the hammock and landing on the ground as she did. With Zane and Riley’s retired trail-riding horse keeping the partygoers busy, she grabbed the opportunity to tidy up. Rearranging what was left of the fairy bread, sausage rolls, chips, lollies and birthday cake, and then gathering the empty plates and cups, she made her way towards the back stairs of the cottage. She graciously declined help along the way from Renee’s granny, May, and the beer-wielding blokes.
As the afternoon breeze picked up, the bamboo wind chimes she’d bought in Thailand last year played melodious tunes as she climbed the back steps. As beautiful as they were, and as much as she loved the tinkles and jingles, they did tend to remind her of Michael’s absence, both then and now. It was a family trip only she and Riley had gone on, after Michael told her at the last minute that he couldn’t go. Her heart pinched. When had they fallen out of love and out of sync with each other?
Reaching the back door, it was a feat to flick off her thongs, kick Riley’s muddy gumboots out of the way, and then open the flyscreen door with the tip of her toe while balancing an armful of plates and cups. But as her mother always said, where there’s a will, there’s a way – a motto Emma liked to live by. Stepping inside, her eyes took a few seconds to adjust as the screen door groaned shut behind her. The scent of incense lingered and mingled with what she could only describe as home, the Cat Stevens’ tune playing from the radio tempting her into singing the lyrics softly. As she carefully manoeuvred around the couch and coffee table, a distinguishable pitter-pattering caught her attention. It only took her a second to figure out what was going on.
‘Peking, you little bugger,’ she grumbled. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not allowed in the house?’ The insubordinate duck had obviously come in through the cat door. Again. Locking it didn’t help one little bit now he’d figured out how to unlock it with his beak.
The timber fl
oorboards cool against her bare feet, and her paisley-patterned boho skirt swishing around her ankles, she hightailed it down the hallway and into the kitchen, barely avoiding falling flat on her face as her Russian Blue kitten darted in front of her. ‘Oh dear, Kat, are you okay, love?’ she cooed, smiling.
Peking was in hot pursuit; the web-footed brute was hell bent on tormenting Kat whenever he had the chance. It was all in good fun for Peking, but certainly not for the frightened feline. Emma watched Kat hightail it into the open pantry cupboard just in time, before Peking could get a hold of her tail. When a box of fruit loops came crashing to the floor, spilling half the contents, Peking lost interest in the chase and eagerly helped himself to the sugary morsels.
‘The way to your heart is through your stomach, hey, Peking,’ she said, chuckling to herself.
Now safe and sound, and feeling like the queen of the castle, Kat snarled a low warning meow for the duck to back off. Emma rolled her eyes at the mayhem. If only she’d had her phone handy, it would have made for the perfect entry for Australia’s Funniest Home Videos.
Dumping her armful of crockery on the bench, she checked that Kat was all right. Then, after picking up the box and what was left of the fruit loops, she ushered a quacking Peking out of the kitchen, down the hallway and back out the way he’d come – through the cat door. He looked her fair in the eyes and shat on the verandah, twice, as if to say Stuff you, before waddling off.
She guffawed. ‘You little shit … literally!’ Funny but not funny at the same time; she shook her head, groaning. She’d clean it up when she’d finished with the dishes.
Wandering back to the kitchen she made a mental note to not shut Kat in the pantry, as she had accidentally done a few times before. It was her kitten’s go-to place when life became too hectic – and with fifteen-odd kids squealing and running about, it was certainly one of those days.
Filling the sink with hot soapy water, putting the pile of plates into it, then tossing the disposable cups into the recycling bin she paused, mesmerised by the view out the window. She and Michael had called the cottage home for eight and a half years now, and although it was a bit on the small side, she loved the rustic charm of the place. The fact she was right next door to her parents was a bonus, although Michael didn’t see it that way. He was never backwards in coming forwards about how much he wanted to move from here. A big flash apartment in Cairns was high on his agenda, but certainly not on hers. Silvergum was her home and always would be.
She looked past the old jacaranda tree that had covered the grass beneath in a blanket of purple flowers, and to the place where Michael’s flash four-wheel drive, which would never see a true-bush track in its life, should be parked. Anger simmered, and her heart squeezed. How he thought missing Riley’s birthday party was acceptable was beyond her comprehension, and the fact he wasn’t answering her calls to explain why was even more infuriating. But with his track record of late, why had she expected anything more from him? School plays, parent–teacher interviews, daddy–daughter days at school, even Christmas – work came before anything and everything these past couple of years. Then again, maybe he wasn’t at work but was having an affair? The scenario had crossed her mind more and more of late, and had kept her awake at night. It would explain his lack of affection. Her irritation rising to a whole new level, she decided to leave the dishes and head outside again.
Perching on the back steps alongside an exhausted Tiny, she watched Zane swoop Riley up and into the saddle of her pony, her pretty dress now covered in god only knew what. While giving her pooch a preoccupied scratch behind the ears, his tail smacking the verandah floorboards in pleasure, she couldn’t help the warm smile that claimed her lips. The bond Zane and Riley shared was unique, immeasurable – the pair’s love of horses and anything to do with getting muddy or dirty was always high on their agendas. With the past week spent doing exactly that, while Zane crashed in the guest room at her parents’ place, he and Riley were now best buddies. Or was it more than that? Matching crooked little toes, comparable hands, and the same little curl at the corners of their lips when they smiled, could he be Riley’s father? And if he were, would he run for the hills and never come back, his commitment phobia going into overdrive, if she told him? She honestly had no idea. Feeling someone standing beside her, she tensed – the chinking of ice and the smell of whisky told her that Peter had chosen to show his face.
‘Emma.’ His tone was, as always, terse.
‘Peter.’ She matched his coolness, the cold-hearted man the only person who could get beneath her skin within seconds.
He looked to the sky. ‘Nice day for it.’ Groaning as he tried to bend over his plump belly, he placed a huge wrapped box down on the ground. Then shoving Tiny aside with his Louis Vuitton shoes, he sat; his strong cologne was overpowering – just like him. Tiny growled, and even though Emma almost wished her dog would give Peter Wolfe a damn good bite to the rump, she told him to behave. Tiny obliged and came to her other side, well away from Peter – a testament to the fact that dogs were great judges of character.
Peter took a swig from the glass of whisky he’d helped himself to inside. ‘Michael’s been waylaid with a client. From the list of the charges, I think it may be another late night.’
‘I gathered that.’ Emma bit back the swearwords vying to roll off her tongue as she looked to the gift, recalling how last year Peter had turned up with a guinea pig, wrapped in a very similar box. The poor thing was almost dead from lack of oxygen. ‘So, do I need to know if something is alive in there?’
‘Don’t worry, after seeing how distraught Riley was when her guinea pig was taken by a snake because you weren’t keeping an eye on it, I’ve decided not to give her any more pets.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, Peter.’
He smirked. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes, it is. I can’t be expected to watch a guinea pig twenty-four-seven with the workload I’ve got here, and it’s not like I can rely on Michael to help me.’ Her blood reaching boiling point, she couldn’t help but snap.
Peter tutted. ‘That subject is getting old, Emma. Michael is where he should be, beside me at the firm … not gallivanting around the countryside like some hillbilly cowboy with no purpose.’
Emma bit her tongue so hard she almost expected to taste blood. Now wasn’t the time to get into an explosive argument.
‘I hope Riley likes it.’ He tipped his head towards the box. ‘It’s a cubby house.’
‘Bit small for a cubby house, isn’t it?’
‘It’s one of those pop-up thingamajigs, you know, like a tepee – my secretary picked it out because her granddaughter has one, and apparently loves it.’
Couldn’t even take the time to go and get your own granddaughter a gift? Emma wanted to say but chose to remain silent.
‘Before I forget …’ Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a wad of mail bound by a rubber band. ‘Janine asked me to give these to you. She said you were meant to sign for one of them, but seeing as we’re family she didn’t think you’d mind her giving them to me to pass on.’ His gaze darkened. ‘So thoughtful of her, wasn’t it, Emma?’
Emma’s heart skidded to a stop as she took them from him. She peered down at the torn top of one envelope. Despite the warmth, she was suddenly chilled to the bone. The ground beneath her spun so wildly, her belly pitched and rolled. Peter leant into her space, chilling her with the look in his eyes. It took a few seconds for Emma to register what he murmured into her ear, and once she did, his words smashed her hard. Blood drained from her head in a dizzying rush. Her throat was tight as she struggled to draw a breath. Stumbling to her feet, she took a few steps back from him, almost tripping over Tiny as she did. He was the last person on earth she wanted to know what was inside that envelope.
His gaze never leaving hers, Peter pushed himself to standing and then straightened his tie; the knowing smirk plastered on his thin lips was sickening. She remained staring at him for a long moment, and
all the while his sneer widened. Livid he’d invaded her privacy, and then that he’d threatened her, she finally found her nerve. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Although surprisingly steady, her voice didn’t sound like her own.
‘Let’s not play games, Emma. We both know who the father is … I’ve had my suspicions for a long time and this has only confirmed it.’ Peter shook his head, his huff one of utter impatience. ‘If I were you, I’d keep your mouth firmly shut about the results, or I will do as just I promised.’
‘You mean threatened?’
Peter shrugged. ‘Take it however you wish.’
She felt as if she’d just been king hit in the chest, and struggled to draw in a breath. ‘I don’t believe you’d go to the police about that night, not when you’d be an accessory, along with Michael, I might add.’
‘I’m at the top of the courtroom food chain now, Emma, and I have my ways and means – it’s not necessarily what you know, but who.’ He rolled his eyes as if she were a pathetic annoyance. ‘Don’t doubt for a second I’ll swear under oath that Michael and I weren’t even home that night, and that I’ve only been made privy to what went down now because you came to me out of fear for your life, asking for my professional help. I’ll walk away from it all, as will Michael, whereas you’ll go to prison for a very long time, along with Zane when I drop his name into the mix.’ His face glowing a bright shade of red, he flashed her a shrewd smile that spoke of just how much he wasn’t going to give an inch.
