Secrets of Silvergum

by Mandy Magro

  ‘I know, I know.’ Riley rolled her eyes. ‘That’s exactly what I said to Uncle Zane.’ She smiled, looking in his direction. ‘Hey?’

  ‘You sure did.’ He found Emma’s behaviour a little strange but decided not to say anything more. Emma would tell him if there was anything she wanted him to know, or worry about, or so he hoped. ‘Well, I’m going to grab myself some lunch, and a cold shower. Catch you two a bit later on.’

  ‘Yup, me too.’ Emma wrapped her arm around Riley’s shoulder and walked towards the homestead. ‘Thank for the lift,’ she called out.

  ‘All good, anytime.’

  * * *

  Having had a few hours to gather her wits, Emma couldn’t believe her bad luck – first breaking down and then Zane finding her. She knew she’d done a pretty shitty job of trying to act cool, calm and collected, possibly coming across pigheaded and defensive instead, but what else was she meant to do? He couldn’t know why she’d dared to go over to Wattle Acres, even though it had been a wasted trip. Her nerves getting the better of her, she’d sat in her Land Rover behind the stables for half an hour, trying to will herself to go inside. Finally, once she’d gathered enough courage to get out of the four-wheel drive and walk to the back door, all the while terrified Michael was going to show up, she’d realised she’d brought the wrong set of keys. A walk around the outside of the homestead, to try to find another way in, had proved fruitless; the place was locked up like a fortress. She’d try again tomorrow, she decided, and this time, there’d be no chickening out. She needed to know what was in that goddamn safe, if anything – there was the possibility that Peter was playing her bluff.

  * * *

  Her footfalls echoed as she traipsed across the front verandah of the cottage. Knocking three times, she called out, ‘Anyone home?’ Of course there was, but still a bit shaken, it was the first thing that came to her mind.

  ‘Hang ten, I’m coming.’ A few seconds later, Zane came to the door, shirtless, a towel wrapped low on his waist and his hair damp. A trickle of water ran down his chiselled chest, and she ached to lean in and lick it off. Caught up in his manliness, she suddenly forgot how to breathe as her insides steamed up.

  ‘Hey, Em.’ He smiled lazily, matching the mood of the Sunday afternoon.

  Stepping back a little, to make some space between her and this hunk of spunkiness, she said, ‘Hey, there, you. Good shower?’ Tongue-tied she shook her head. What in the hell was she doing, acting like some loved-up fool? She had to fight to focus on his face and not on his washboard abs.

  He eyed her with a searing blue gaze. ‘Sure was.’ Raising his arm, he rested against the doorframe, the muscles in his bicep clenching. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Oh …’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Riley and I were wondering if you’d like to come for that ride? Better late than never, hey?’

  He gave her the most brilliant smile. ‘Damn straight I would, thanks, Em.’ He moved past her, the brush of his arm sending shockwaves through her, and gave Riley a wave. ‘Thanks for the invite!’ he called out.

  Riley grinned and gave him the thumbs up. ‘All good, you coming?’

  ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’

  She tipped her head, and then shook it, smiling. ‘You and your sayings.’

  Laughing, he stepped back past Emma. ‘I’ll just go and put some clothes on. Meet you over at the stables in five.’

  ‘Cool beans, I’ll go and start saddling up Dad’s old horse for you,’ said Emma.

  ‘Hank Williams?’

  ‘The one and only, you remember him?’

  Zane smiled. ‘How could I forget him? The bugger threw me off a couple of times when your dad and I were breaking him in to the saddle.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right, I forgot about that.’ She grinned with the memory, and then spun around and walked away. ‘Don’t rush.’

  ‘Be there in a sec, I want to help you saddle up.’

  I’d like to saddle you up, she thought waywardly as she wandered back towards the stables.

  * * *

  Creaking saddles, clinking metal and the rhythmic sounds of the horses’ hooves – this was Emma’s idea of heaven. They’d been riding for a few hours, the dirt track that meandered in a ribbon now drawing them back out of the national park bordering Serendipity. Trying not to take too much notice of the way Zane’s hands slid over his jeans or wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, or held the reins, or stroked Hank’s neck, Emma smiled from deep within her soul. The three of them having fallen into a comfortable silence, and their horses into a steady walk, the soft jingle of harnesses and the clip clop of hooves were the only sounds. Meaningless chatter wasn’t needed to pass the time. This vast land rolling out before them had a voice of its own, one that could be heard in the call of the birds, the thump of a bounding kangaroo, and the whisper of the wind. The sigh of the warm breeze stirred the leaves of the towering natives. Dappled light through the branches fell on their path, and the horizon shimmered.

  ‘You’re far away.’ Zane’s husky voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Emma looked over at him, a smile curling her lips. ‘Oh, sorry, no, I’m very much here, actually.’ Her gaze swept their scenic surroundings. ‘We couldn’t want for a more picturesque place to ride, or live.’

  ‘A big fat ditto to that, Em.’ His sleeves rolled up, exposing sun-bronzed, tattooed forearms, Zane tugged the brim of his hat down further, shadowing his handsome face. ‘There’s something special about this place. The smells and sounds make me feel so at home.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ She offered him a warm smile and he returned it.

  ‘Are you two starving, or what?’ Riley came up between them. ‘I’m about to chew my own arm off I’m that hungry.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m a bit Hank Marvin myself.’ Zane grinned.

  ‘Is that old person’s lingo for “starved”, Uncle Zane?’

  He grinned even wider and nodded. ‘Yup.’

  ‘Well then, we better get home before we all starve to death, don’t you reckon?’ She turned to Emma. ‘That lamb stew you put on before we left is calling our names, Mum. I can almost smell it from here.’

  Emma licked her lips. ‘Oh stop, just the thought of it is making my mouth water.’ She looked to Zane. ‘And yes, before you ask, of course you’re invited.’

  ‘You bewdy! Now if that isn’t an open invitation to race home, I don’t know what is.’

  ‘First one back gets the biggest bowl, and the loser has to do the cleaning up after dinner,’ Emma said, her reins at the ready.

  ‘Them’s fighting words, Em. You know you’re setting yourself up for a thrashing, don’t you?’ Zane gathered up his reins and grinned.

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Oo-roo,’ he said, as he and Hank whooshed past her.

  ‘Oi, that’s not fair!’ Bum glued to the saddle, Emma flicked the reins and took off after him, as thunderous hooves quickly approached from behind.

  ‘I’ll see you two losers back there.’ Hand over her hat, Riley tore past them both, her face a picture of triumph.

  ‘You little terror,’ Emma called after her as she and Zane gave chase.

  They reached the stables in record time, all of them breathless. ‘You won fair and square, Riley,’ Emma called out as she followed Riley into the round yard.

  Zane fastened the gate behind them. ‘Hot dang, that girl rides like there’s no tomorrow.’

  ‘Bloody oath. I’m super proud of her.’

  ‘And so you should be.’ Zane dismounted. ‘You two go and have showers and I’ll put the horses in their paddocks, if you like.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘You cooked dinner, so damn straight I’m sure.’ He waved them off. ‘Go on, you’re both making the place look untidy.’

  Later, with the pot of stew all but demolished, the cleaning up done, and Riley now in bed with her earphones in, Emma poured them both a nightcap and they headed outside.

  Zane nodded towards to the cottage.
‘How bout we hang over at my place tonight, change things up a bit?’

  Emma changed direction and headed down the steps. ‘Sure, why not?’ Tiny agreed, and was at the cottage before them, his butt reversed up on one of the camp chairs. Shaking her head, Emma laughed at her lanky, four-legged mate.

  A thin sliver of moonlight shone, lighting the verandah as they sat down on the comfortable double-seater cane chair. For a moment, neither of them spoke, but sipped their hot chocolates, laced with whisky, as they stared out at the moon-drenched landscape.

  ‘I’m so tired, as usual,’ Emma said softly.

  Zane smiled. ‘Me too … comes with being an adult, I reckon.’

  ‘Ha, yeah. You’re probably right.’

  Sliding his arm across the back of the chair, he massaged her neck, making her even sleepier, and also hungry for him to pick her up and take her to his bed. It would be so easy for her to rest her head on his shoulder, like she had last night, close her eyes, and drift off to another time and place for a while. It wasn’t until she jerked herself awake that she realised she’d done just that.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said.

  Zane chuckled. ‘What for?’

  ‘Being such terrible company.’

  ‘You’re not terrible company at all, Em.’ He gazed at her as if she were the most beautiful woman on earth. ‘I love hanging out with you, even when you’re sound asleep.’ The atmosphere sizzled between them.

  Emma suddenly sat up straight, deciding she should go before she did something really stupid.

  ‘Leaving so soon?’

  ‘Yeah, I need to hit the hay,’ she said, part of her wishing he’d ask her to stay. ‘And I better let you get some sleep.’ His shaggy, dark hair begged to be ruffled by her fingers.

  He nodded. ‘Night then.’

  ‘Night.’ She padded down the steps and across the lawn, every single inch of her wanting to turn around, run to him, and never let him go.

  CHAPTER 19

  Although exhausted when she’d climbed into bed, as soon as her head had hit the pillow Emma’s brain had kicked into action. She couldn’t sleep, wondering what in the hell Peter had on her, imagining all sorts of things, hardly any of them making any sense. At first light, she slipped her runners on and greeted the rising sun. She needed to clear her head, and what better way to do it than some cardio and fresh air – and this would also be the safest way to go to Wattle Acres, her Land Rover proving yesterday to be too unreliable for her secret mission. There was no way she was going to risk breaking down on that long, dead-end of a road again. And at this time in the morning, it would be very unlikely that Michael would be anywhere near the place, with Cairns being an hour’s drive away.

  Trying to remain calm and focused, Dolly Parton’s ‘Silver Threads and Golden Needles’ playing from her headphones, Emma slowed her pace to admire the silhouettes of the horses and cattle backdropped by the pink-hued sky. Sunrises and sunsets usually captivated her, but today, she didn’t have the luxury of time. Picking up speed again, she headed towards the hill where she would catch a glimpse of Wattle Acres. Just the thought of sneaking in there again made beads of sweat form above her brows and her stomach tighten. If she got caught, how would she explain herself? She’d just have to ad lib in the moment. Reaching the crest, she paused, her breath unusually heavy – her nerves were getting the better of her. Her gaze locked on Wattle Acres homestead. Strands of loose hair clung to her sweaty face and she tucked them behind her ears, her heartbeats frenzied. Jerking the cord lying across her chest, she freed the headphones, bent over, and tried to catch her breath, and her nerve.

  Not wanting to stay still for too long, for fear of chickening out, she straightened and pounded the dirt road again, her eyes fixed on her finishing line – the back door of the homestead. The key in her pocket felt leaden; the fact she’d kept it all these years now made perfect sense. So many times she’d gone to throw it out, but her instincts had told her to hang onto it. Go figure. Reaching the fence, she made sure to stay in the shadows as she dashed across the house paddock, through the gate, up the steps and to the back door. Her hands shook like crazy as she pushed the key into the lock and quickly slipped inside. Pausing, she listened for any sounds of life, but other than the ticking of the grandfather clock, there was none.

  Padding down the shadowy hallway, her eyes flicked over the valuable paintings hanging on the walls. Not one family photograph was amongst them all – although, with Peter, it didn’t surprise her. Her running shoes were silent on the Persian rug as she approached his office. As her hand went to take the door handle, men’s voices caught her attention. She sucked in a breath, covered her mouth, and stepped back. There hadn’t been any cars out front, but why hadn’t she checked the garage? Terrified, her instinct was to get the hell out of there, but then curiosity got the better of her. Cautiously, she flattened her back against the wall and pressed her ear in close. Someone was pacing impatiently, his footfalls heavy.

  ‘So, have you found her will yet or the deeds for this place?’ Michael’s voice was unmistakable.

  ‘I’ve searched high and low, but nothing. Wherever Kay put it, she’s done a damn good job of hiding it.’

  Silence fell and footsteps paced once more. Emma picked the other man’s nasally voice as Peter’s head honcho solicitor – she’d dealt with him a fair bit last year during her divorce, and she knew he was as dirty and shrewd as they came.

  ‘Goddamn it, George, we can’t risk it ever being found. The truth about bloody Zane’s father being the sole heir to this place has to stay under lock and key, for more reasons than one, as you very well know.’

  Emma smothered a gasp. So that’s what Zane’s father was doing there that night, looking for paperwork to show this place was rightfully his. No wonder Peter was so keen to get rid of the body and demanded she didn’t go to the police. All so that he could keep his grimy hands on something that wasn’t his to begin with.

  ‘You really need to calm down, Michael, stressing is going to get you nowhere fast.’ George’s voice was urgent, gruff.

  ‘Sorry, yes, you’re right. It’s just, not only could it land me in jail, but it would legally show Wattle Acres is Zane’s, because he’s his deadbeat father’s only successor.’ Michael huffed. ‘It’s over my dead body I’m ever going to let that bastard get this place.’

  With everything falling into place, Emma’s head spun, and the walls felt as if they were closing in on her. She recalled Zane’s father down on his knees, feeling around the floor in front of the sink as if he’d dropped something. She’d thought it was a knife, or a gun, but … And then it hit her like a slap to the face. The kickboard below the sink …

  ‘I know it’s worrying you, Michael, but there’s nothing more I can do, other than tear the place down searching for some paperwork that might not even exist.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt for a second that it exists. Mum’s will and the deeds were exactly what he would’ve been here looking for that night it all went down. We’re just lucky Emma stumbled in on him, or things could have worked out very differently, for all of us.’

  Although frozen to the spot and terrified of being busted in the hallway, Emma felt like barging through the door and punching Michael right where it hurt – the selfish, greedy, son of a bitch.

  ‘Maybe you’re right, Michael, who knows? One thing I know for certain, though, is that Peter spent years trying to find where she’d put them, and he came up empty-handed too, so I don’t reckon I’ve got any more of a chance than he did of finding them, and therefore, neither does anyone else.’

  ‘For god’s sake, George, as if Dad’s death isn’t enough for me to deal with right now.’

  ‘I know, but try to take comfort in the fact Peter has covered his tracks, as best he could, of course. There’s no reason to not go ahead with the sale of Wattle Acres.’

  So he was selling it, although no shock there, Emma thought.

  ‘There’s no possible
way these fake deeds Peter paid a fortune for will come back to bite me on the arse?’

  ‘Unless the real ones are found, which I really doubt they will be, your arse is safe and sound, Michael.’ George chuckled.

  ‘Good, because I’ve already put an offer of 1.2 million in for a waterfront house in Cairns, and I’m going to be needing the money for it real soon, before someone else snaps it up.’ There were more footfalls, followed by a weighty huff. Emma primed herself to run, if need be. ‘Just how long are all the legalities going to take?’

  ‘As you of all people know, I have to follow protocol, so we don’t raise any red flags. We’re a week into the twenty-eight day cooling-off period now, so just three weeks to go.’

  Emma breathed a small sigh of relief. At least this gave her some time to try to stop Michael and his shonky deal.

  ‘There’s no way to make it go faster?’

  ‘Afraid not, Michael.’

  ‘Even with a substantial bribe.’

  ‘Not when it comes to this.’

  ‘Damn it all to hell.’ Michael’s voice was becoming louder, his footsteps heavier.

  ‘Look, there’s nothing that either of us can do, so just take a deep breath and sit back. The CEO of Zhao Pastoral is keen to get started on the demolition of this place, so they can start building the feedlot before the meddlesome locals of Silvergum have too much time to get up in arms about it all.’

  Emma’s heart sunk to deeper depths. Demolish the place? Not only would this kill Zane, but it also meant she would have a major corporation as her neighbour, and they obviously didn’t give a shit about anyone.

  ‘There’s so much at stake, George,’ Michael grumbled.

  ‘I know, but everything will work out, you have my word.’

  ‘And they’re good for it, the money, I mean?’