Secrets of Silvergum

by Mandy Magro

  CHAPTER 15

  Silvery moonlight bounced off the row of herb-filled jars lined up along the window ledge, and the scent of the vanilla candles they’d lit at the dinner table lingered. His chin resting on his paws, Tiny snored from his king-size doona folded up on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. Kat was curled up on top of the deep freeze, in what used to be the potato basket but had eventually become her bed. The last of the dishes now packed in the dishwasher, and the leftover potato bake covered and in the fridge for lunch tomorrow, Emma hung the tea towel back in its place on the oven door and yawned for all of Australia.

  ‘I’m a bit like that too, Mum. I’m going to hit the sack before I fall asleep standing up.’ Riley rubbed her eyes and then stretched her arms high. ‘And I ate way too much. I’m so full.’

  ‘Tell me about it …’ Zane pointed to his belt. ‘I had to loosen this bugger off, and that gig started before two helpings of your mum’s awesome apple pie and custard.’ He grinned towards Emma. ‘You’ve always been a damn good cook, just like your mum is.’

  ‘Thanks, Zane, but that awesome apple pie was all thanks to the forever reliable Mrs Sara Lee.’ Her legs weary, Emma leant against the bench, her soft smile coming from the depths of her heart.

  ‘Well, however it was made, it was super delish,’ Zane said, a little too enthusiastically.

  ‘It sure was.’ Wrapping her arms around Emma, Riley gave her mum a kiss on the cheek. ‘Love you so much, night, Mum.’

  ‘Love you too, sweetheart.’ Emma squeezed Riley tight, savouring the scent of her freshly washed hair before letting her go. ‘I hope you have a good sleep, and thanks for helping clean up.’

  ‘No worries.’ Padding towards Zane, Riley hesitated momentarily before reaching out and giving him a hug too. ‘Thanks for a nice night, Uncle Zane. I haven’t laughed so much in ages.’

  Cuddling her, Zane beamed at Emma over Riley’s shoulder. ‘I don’t reckon I’ve laughed so much in yonks either, Riley.’ He smiled tenderly as she stepped back from him. ‘Thanks for the good company and the ripper jokes. Tonight was just what the doctor ordered, for all of us.’

  ‘It sure was. I’ll try and come up with a few more knock knocks, and we can have a joke-off again tomorrow maybe?’

  ‘I’m up for the challenge, if you are?’

  ‘Great, you’re on!’ Riley gave him a broad smile. ‘Catch you tomorrow then?’

  ‘Seeing I’m calling the workers’ cottage home for now, you most surely will.’

  ‘I’m glad you decided to stay a bit longer,’ she said, before disappearing out the doorway.

  Zane smiled so wide his dimples were like craters.

  With a melting heart, Emma admired the bond that was evidently there – more by blood than either of them knew. Even after all the years apart, it hadn’t taken much for them to warm to each other again. ‘Thanks for tonight. I think we all needed it after the week we’ve had.’

  ‘It’s been my pleasure, Em. I really enjoyed myself and getting to know Riley again. You always make me feel part of the family, and I appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart.’

  Emma edged a little closer to him, her hand coming to his arm. ‘You are a part of the family, Zane, and always will be, so no need to thank me. You’re welcome here, anytime.’

  ‘Well, now you’re not married to Michael, I’m not really family, but thanks.’ Sighing, he rubbed a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. ‘It’s nice to feel like I actually belong somewhere, and I’m not just this tumbleweed, rolling wherever the wind blows me, without much of a reason to be anywhere, except to get on the back of a bull.’

  Seeing the lonesomeness in Zane’s eyes broke Emma’s resolve. ‘Oh, Zane …’ Biting her lip, she glanced out the window at the full moon hovering in the velvet black sky, surrounded by millions of sparkling stars. ‘You’ve been a bit of a lost soul since your mum passed, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, you could say that.’ He sounded as if he were a million miles away. ‘And getting married, and then divorced, didn’t help.’ He offered her a sad smile. ‘But you know all about that, with what you’ve just been through with Michael.’

  ‘Yes, I sure do.’ Having pulled herself together as much as she could, she dared a glance back at him. ‘I’m so sorry I made you feel unwelcome when you were here last. It’s just, after what happened the first time we gave in to—’

  He cut her off with a shake of his head. ‘I totally get it, Em. You were a married woman, and I was overstepping the boundaries, big time, so please don’t feel like you have to explain yourself.’ Hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, he shrugged. ‘Like you said, what’s done is done, and regrets aren’t going to change anything, so let’s just leave the past where it should be. It’ll do us no favours, bringing it back up again.’

  ‘Yeah, true.’ A smile tugged the corners of her lips. ‘I’m glad we’re friends again. As much as you can drive me batty sometimes, I’ve really missed you.’

  ‘I’ve really missed you too.’

  ‘You have?’ Although being playful, she couldn’t help but take great pleasure in hearing his words.

  ‘Uh-huh, shitloads.’

  ‘Good, and so you should.’ She tossed him a carefree smile, which was anything but.

  Their eyes met and something inside her slipped. Heat flickered within the deep blue she was helplessly tumbling into. Something shifted; the walls between them started to crumble. She could feel the ties that bound them tightening, pulling her closer to him. Boundaries disappeared, as did the world around them. She wanted him. All of him. Pressed up against her. Making love to her like only he could. If only …

  Zane cleared his throat. ‘Well, I should be off, let you get some sleep.’

  Snapping herself out of her lust-fuelled trance, Emma looked at the clock above the stove. It was almost midnight. ‘Yeah, I better hit the sack, before I turn into a pumpkin.’

  Zane gave her a quick hug and kissed her on the forehead. As nice as it was, it just felt awkward, as if they were pretending to be something they weren’t – both of them ignoring all that they could be.

  ‘Night, Em, dream sweet.’

  ‘You too, catch you in the morning.’ She smiled as he picked up his boots, tugged them on, and then disappeared into the night.

  Finally on her own, the reality of what was upstairs hit her like a slap to the face. Flicking off the kitchen lights, she told Tiny to stay on his rug and then raced up the stairs two at a time, almost tripping over her own feet, twice. Dashing into her bedroom, she closed the door and locked it for good measure, grabbed the envelope from where she’d shoved it under her mattress, and tore at it, hands shaking and her heart in her throat. It was only one page, and handwritten. Her stomach churned and she held her breath as she climbed over to the corner of her bed and began reading.

  Emma,

  If you’re reading this, I’m obviously dead, but I’m certainly not going to lie in my grave and let you make light of that. I know, now I’m no longer around, you’ll feel you’re free to tell Michael and Zane the truth about Riley, and possibly even want to tell Zane about it being his father you killed that night. Knowing you as I do, you will want to clear your conscience.

  I’m warning you, if you go and do such a thing, I have evidence linking you to the murder of Zane’s father in my safe, and strict instructions to pass this on to the authorities if you go against my requests. I may be gone for good, but I have eyes and ears everywhere, some of them in the unlikeliest of places. I highly doubt going to jail is on your bucket list now, is it?

  Don’t underestimate the power I still hold, or the people left behind who will enforce my wishes if the need arises. You will never be able to get away from me, or out from the shadows I cast over you. If I were you, I’d keep those lips of yours sealed, for everyone’s sakes, especially Riley’s. Zane is not the kind of man you want as a father for your daughter, if his own father is anything to go by. He doesn’t know the meanin
g of sacrifice, or what it takes to financially support a child. And you’ll be no good to Riley from behind bars.

  You take care now,

  Peter

  The words blurring, Emma lifted her gaze to where the curtains fluttered in the soft evening breeze. Foreboding enclosed her, and as if a pillow had been pressed down on her face, she struggled to draw a breath. Starved for air, she ran for the open window and gulped in the cool night. Her hand going to her mouth, she muffled a sob, and then another. Soft light spilled from the bedroom window of the cottage. Zane was still awake, and she longed to run over there, to tell him everything, but now she never would.

  How foolish of her to have thought, even with Peter now dead, that she was allowed to speak the truth. She would never be free of the manipulating, heartless bastard. She was perpetually trapped in her past. Adrenaline fuelled her fear and anger, and she turned away from the window, from Zane, needing to sit down before she collapsed on the floor. Her back to the wall, she slid down, cradled her knees and cried for all that she’d done, and for the love of her life she would lose because of it; not because he resented her for the truth, but because she needed to draw the bridge from the chasm they’d almost crossed. They could never meet on one side of it, not now. She would never be able to be with him, knowing what she did, and not tell him. Self-control was in order, no matter how hard that was, and if it meant being cool, detached even, then that’s what she had to do.

  * * *

  Daybreak flittered between the slats of the timber blinds and dust particles floated on the rays of sunlight like sparkling jewels. The dawning of a new day rousing Zane, he woke to the chatter of crickets, the laughter of kookaburras and the distant drone of a tractor – just shy of six o’clock and it sounded like Emma was already hard at it. He instantly felt guilty for the small sleep-in – farm life always began before sunup, and usually went well after sundown. He’d slept so well in the comfortable queen-size bed and thanks to the calmness he felt just by being at Serendipity. But he better get up, because if he was going to be here for a few days, he would have to pull his weight. It was a lot for Emma to do on her own, as determined and capable as she was to do it. Her fierce independence was even more of a reason to love her, if he didn’t have enough reasons already.

  Kicking off the cotton sheet, he stretched his long body to life, unkinking it bit by bit, and then not wanting to allow himself too much time to think about the past couple of days, he bounced out of bed. It was always easier to keep moving – a sure way to distract his thoughts from delving too deeply. Pulling his last pair of clean jeans out of his bag, he made a mental note to put some washing on. While getting dressed, he couldn’t help but feel enthusiastic about the day ahead, spent with two beautiful people who meant the absolute world to him. But first things first, he needed his morning coffee to help wake him up, and some brekkie.

  Wandering into the modernised open-plan lounge, kitchen and dining area, he recalled the time when he and Mister Kensington had knocked the walls down. He liked the fact not much had changed since he used to crash here when Peter was in one of his dark and stormy moods, which had been quite often after his mum had passed away. If Peter had made it known he hadn’t liked him much while she was alive, he’d certainly hit the point home hard once she’d gone. No matter the time of day or night, Emma’s parents had always welcomed him in with open arms and made him feel a part of the family – the little two-bedder cottage had been his second home.

  Other than the new cream paint being less assaulting on the eyes (the psychedelic orange and green floral wallpaper had been a bit overwhelming), and the addition of a new modular lounge suite scattered with patterned cushions and a flat-pack style six-seater dining table, it still felt the same. The warm vibe of the place complemented the little sign hanging above the stove that read, Please make yourself at home. The floorboards beneath his bare feet were timeworn, and the pink and lime bathroom was still in the old retro seventies style. He adored the rustic, mismatched character of the place.

  His stomach rumbling, he wandered around the timber bench and pulled the fridge open. As usual, Emma had thought of everything – there was milk, butter, a bowl of bum nuts so fresh they still had a bit of chicken poo on them, a loaf of bread, and some freshly sliced leg ham. As much as he liked the smell of bacon cooking, it had always given him heartburn – he loved that she remembered such trivial things. Slicing the bread, he popped two pieces in the toaster and then helped himself to a slice of ham. Flicking the kettle on, he grabbed a mug and spoon and tossed in two heaped spoons of coffee and sugar, added a splash of milk and then impatiently drummed the bench as he waited for the water to boil and his toast to pop up.

  Carrying his version of a toasted ham sandwich in hand, along with his half-drunk cuppa, he shoved open the flyscreen door with his toe and stepped out onto the porch to bear witness to a jaw-dropping scarlet and tangerine sky. The golden wattle trees lining the back fence were blooming, the heady perfume similar to that of caramel popcorn. Sinking into a fold-out camp chair, he breathed in the rain-soaked grass, lemon-scented gums and the unmistakable sweetness of the mangos hanging ripe and plump from the tree near the homestead. The smells brought him back to his childhood, when his world was anything but what it was now. Briefly closing his eyes, he smiled, the aroma of the untainted earth invigorating him beyond what any amount of caffeine could. It felt good, better than good, way too good in fact. Although he’d decided to change his ticket and stay for three weeks, it was going to be a fleeting moment in time here at Serendipity; one he knew he had to appreciate every second of before heading back to the States.

  The sun reaching across the porch, it brushed over his face. Squinting into it, he looked to the tops of the far-flung mountains, now aglow as the soft morning sunlight brought the distant line of pine trees into silhouette and made the cattle and horses high up on the ridge appear dreamlike. Raucous native birds were taking their first flights of the day, their wings flapping like mad as they rose into the ever-lightening sky. The old outbuildings scattered around the property were scarred with age and the elements, giving them a charm unsurpassed by any new steel shed or stables. Even the old thunderbox had an appeal about it that a toilet really shouldn’t. He smiled from deep within. Everything about being back in the Australian bush gave him a sense of strength and solace. Although the United States was beautiful in its own way, it was no comparison to this vast and picturesque, yet sometimes brutal and unforgiving land he’d once called home. This was the place he felt his authentic self, and nothing would ever change that. It made his heart heavy to know he would never own a piece of it.

  Sighing, nostalgia struck him with force – so many happy memories had been made here, with Emma, who he’d considered to be one of his best mates, by his side. The majestic Serendipity sprawled across eighty acres, the property bordering Wattle Acres on one side and the Silvergum National Park on the other. He and Emma had always joked about one day combining the two properties and turning it into a happy farm for creatures both great and small. Now Michael had his hands on Wattle Acres that was never going to happen. And with this in mind, his good mood quickly darkened like a storm rolling in. It was so damn unfair that a man who had no love for the place was now the sole heir to the property Zane had dreamt of one day making his own. With just under two hundred thousand dollars in the bank, and no way to borrow any more – Wattle Acres would be worth a million at least – he had to find a way to accept it, and to let the pent-up anger go, because there was nothing he could do about it. Bitterness would get him nowhere fast.

  Sculling the last of his coffee, he stood up. Idle time made for pointless thoughts. The yards around the cottage and the homestead looked like they could do with a tidy up, and a few of the trees should be trimmed back in case there was a tropical cyclone. It was the season for it, and jellyfish, and mosquitos and sandflies and deadly snakes – the list went on and on. Everything in a hot North Queensland summer was out to bite
you. He had to do something other than sitting here twiddling his thumbs and cursing Michael’s name, so yard work it would be. Wandering back inside, he rinsed his cup and cleaned the crumbs from the bench. Emma had told him to rest up for the day, but that didn’t sit well with him, especially while she was out busting her bones. He was an able-bodied man, and he was going to help her. Collecting his hat from the back of the dining chair, he tugged it on and headed out, a man on a mission if there were ever one.

  It was already hot as he traipsed across the yard, towards the ride-on mower parked under a lean-to. Finding the key in the ignition, he hopped on and revved it to life. He’d start on the homestead yard first, and then work his way over to the cottage and behind the outbuildings. Then hopefully Riley would be up and about, and he could get started on chain-sawing some of the trees near the homestead to get rid of the branches that could damage the roof in a storm.

  The rumble of the four-stroke engine blocking everything else out, his mind went in what felt like a million different directions – from Peter’s death, to Michael’s self-absorption, to never stepping foot on Wattle Acres again, to his beloved mum, to how sweet Riley was, to the mesmerising look in Emma’s eyes last night when he’d been so tempted to try to kiss her. Again. What would she have done if he had? Kissed him back, or slapped him in the face? If he went off the last experience, it would have definitely been the latter. He actually chuckled with the thought.

  He was doing figure eights in the backyard of the homestead when Riley caught his eye as she stepped from the verandah, two glasses in hand. Pulling the cutter up, he sped over, killing the engine when he reached her. Dressed in jeans, a pretty button-up top and her cowgirl boots, she was the spitting image of Emma at fifteen.

  ‘Morning, Uncle Zane.’ Her smile was as warm as the sun beating down on his back.

  ‘Morning, Riley.’ He took the glass of water from her. ‘You must have read my mind, thanks.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’ She took a sip. ‘Are you going to come and watch me at horse sports today?’ She seemed a little unsure about asking.