Riverstone Ridge

by Mandy Magro

  I love you, always and forever.

  Bea Xo

  Dropping the letter on the table, and with her heart climbing up her throat, Nina raced for the attic. It was a dark and dingy place she’d avoided her entire life, but now she couldn’t wait to get up there. Halfway down the hallway, she paused and reached up on tiptoe, barely able to grab the rope that pulled the steps down. She squinted in anticipation as they bounced to her feet, and step by step, the stairs creaked beneath her weight as she climbed into the dark cavernous room. With a lack of any ventilation, it was hot and suffocating, and she had to duck and weave to avoid the cobwebs. She held up her mobile phone and the flashlight pierced the shadows. As if on a tightrope, she advanced ever so slowly towards where Bea said the box would be, passing piles of sealed cartons labelled in Bea’s precise handwriting. Darkness circled behind her, and her imagination began to run wild. As a child, she’d always believed this was where the boogieman lived, the one she always searched for beneath her bed. Even now, she half believed there was something sinister in here – stupid, she knew, but old habits die hard.

  Reaching the pile of curtains, she stopped dead in her tracks, lifted them off, and buried beneath was what she’d come looking for. Gripping her mobile between her teeth, she leant over and picked it up, the flashlight now darting all over the room. She plucked the phone from her mouth and shoved it down her bra, leaving the light poking out – it worked a treat. Dust covered the top of the treasure box and she brushed it off. Then, cradling it in her arms, she quickly made her way back down the stairs and pushed them back up and into place with a soft thump. Her heart pounded wildly, both from her fear of the attic and for what she was about to find out.

  Before getting herself settled, she raced into the kitchen and grabbed a long-stem glass and a bottle of red wine. It was normally too early for her to drink, but she gathered a glass of vino was going to help calm her nerves. The contents of the box rattled and shifted as she moved, piquing her curiosity further. She was amazed that this little box might somehow help her put her life back together again, that the contents could possibly help answer the questions she was driving herself nuts trying to figure out. She could only hope – fingers crossed. Sitting on the floor with her back up against the couch and the ornate timber chest between her legs, she unclipped the latch, lifted the lid, and stared into it as if into a deep dark hole. Full wine glass in hand, she kept her bottle of pinot noir close because her instincts were telling her there was a damn good chance she was going to need the whole bottle.

  A silk scarf was tucked into the edges, protecting whatever was beneath from dust. She carefully lifted it out, and she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but the soft fabric smelt of Bea. Pressing it to her face, she breathed it in, nostalgia taking a firm grip on her heart. Wrapping the scarf over her shoulders, she began taking the contents out, one after the other. Photo after photo, all black and white, were of a very young Bea, possibly in her late teens or very early twenties. Like they were placed in order of her age, time moved through and onwards, until one particular photograph really caught Nina’s attention. There was Bea, standing out the front of the homestead, wearing a smile as bright and warm as the sunshine with a newborn baby bundled in her arms. Nina flipped it over, but there was nothing written on the back to give her a clue as to who the baby was. She quickly sorted through the thirty or so photos beneath it, her curiosity growing more and more. All of them were of Bea and a very young boy who Nina guessed was around two. And then the photos stopped. And so did her breath when she took a bundle of newspaper clippings held together by a red ribbon out from the bottom of the box, unfolded the top one, and read the heading.

  GRIM FIND – MISSING CAIRNS BOY FOUND IN SHALLOW GRAVE.

  Nina felt as if she’d just been punched in the chest. She heaved in a shuddering lungful of air. Shock overwhelming her, she took a moment to try to catch her breath, her hand over her gaping mouth. She tipped her head back, blinking quickly. Cairns had been where Bea had grown up before moving to Riverstone Ridge when she’d inherited her grandmother’s property. Somehow, Nina gathered her wits enough to bring her gaze back to the piece of timeworn paper and begin reading the article beneath the heading, bracing herself for the horror.

  Almost a week after being reported missing, with search teams combing every square inch of bushland, the body of two-year-old boy Albert Matheson has been discovered in a shallow grave in the scrublands behind the family home. Police report his mother found his remains after his pet dog dug up the grave. Taken from his bed in the dead of night, hopes had been high that the boy would be found alive. The discovery has crushed the community as they rally around Albert’s parents, Beatrice and Bert Matheson. A crime scene has been set up in the area as forensics search for clues. The hunt is now on for the boy’s killer. Police are asking for anyone with information to please come forward.

  Nina’s mind swirled. Bert, her Bert, was the father of Bea’s baby? And Bea had been married to him? She thought of the few conversations she’d shared with Bert over the last few weeks, about how he left Riverstone Ridge as a twenty-year-old, and his years as a stockman travelling around Australia, and how he only moved back here once his body could take no more of being in the saddle all day long, which was almost eight years ago. And now things began to really fall into place – Bert and Bea must have remained in touch over the years, and when he moved back to Huntingvale, Bea had him come work for her. The loss of their child must have torn them apart, and time and love must have brought them back together, only for Bert to lose Bea to cancer in the end. This was just Nina’s assumption, and she wondered if it was right. Maybe Bert would tell her, if she had the courage to come right out and ask him.

  The words blurring with her tears, she shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh my god, Bea, how did you not tell me about all this?’ she whispered, her gaze falling on the photographs now spread out on the floor. The desire to take Bea into her arms right now and tell her how sorry she was for what she’d gone through consumed her. She couldn’t even begin to fathom the heartache caused by the loss of her precious baby boy in such devastating circumstances.

  With red-rimmed eyes she looked to the ceiling, imagining Bea looking down upon her from the heavens. ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this.’

  Nina now comprehended, without a shadow of a doubt, that Bea knew all too well what she’d felt when she’d made her choice as a seventeen-year-old girl, scared out of her wits. Though it would have been nothing like the pain Bea had gone through with her son’s murder. ‘Oh, Bea, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you when you told me you understood.’ Sniffling back tears, she wiped them away with the back of her hand and then took an extra large sip of her wine – more like a gulp.

  Her chin quivered as she took the scarf from around her shoulders and held it tightly to her. Pressure built in her chest and edged up her throat. Sobs rose and escaped her trembling lips. The walls felt as if they were closing in, and the ground gave way beneath her. She closed her eyes and sucked in one shaky breath after another as she tried to regain a sense of control. Angry flickers sparked throughout her, quickly turning into an inferno of rage. What sick bastard would do that to an innocent child? She desperately needed to know if the killer had been caught, and what had happened to them – hopefully locked up for life, with the key thrown away. She flicked through the rest of the box’s contents – a lock of child’s hair, a brooch, and last but not least, one final photograph. Unbidden tears kept building and falling. Bea had looked so happy in all the photos, most of them with her baby boy cradled in her arms. She hugged the last one to her chest, her fingers trembling as she tried to regain some sort of composure – this was all so much to take in.

  Life could be so damn cruel.

  Despite emptying the box, there were no more newspaper clippings that revealed what might have happened to the killer. This was something she clearly was going to have to look into further. She needed to know
what happened. But for now, Nina ran her fingertips over the final faded black-and-white photograph, taking in each and every one of the four faces, trying to recognise them as best she could. William was easy to pick, as was Bea. The man between the two was very familiar, and upon looking closer, his smirk was unmistakable – it was Bert, and he looked extremely cosy with Bea. Nina had been right believing he was handsome as a young man. With charm and good looks, it was no wonder Bea fell for him. A small smile shone through her misery – it touched her heart that they’d once been a couple.

  Her mobile rang from the kitchen, dragging her attention to where she didn’t want it to be. She considered running to grab it, but decided to let it go to voicemail – she’d get back to whoever it was later. About to place the photograph down, she noticed the tall guy at the back, the gap between his teeth incredibly familiar. Unease settled in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t for the life of her work out why. But then it hit her hard, stealing her breath. It was the same guy who had tried to drag her into his Commodore! He was, of course, younger in this photo than on that frightful night – she wouldn’t have even been alive when this image was taken – but she was ninety-nine percent certain that he was the weirdo.

  A fear-filled chill crept up and inside her, freezing her blood to her very core. The events of that night, out on the deserted road, lurked inside her, cold and uneasy. She’d chosen to push it all to the back of her mind and had never told Bea about it because she wasn’t even meant to be out that night, but clearly she’d never fully shaken the fear he’d instilled into her. And she knew, deep down, there was a reason she was piecing all of this together – maybe it was time to tell Logan about her feeling that someone was watching her, and to reveal what Bea had just exposed to her, because if the killer hadn’t been found, she had an inkling the man who had tried to kidnap her that night, the one standing behind Bea in this old photo, might have had something to do with baby Albert’s murder.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Saying a quick goodbye to Nina, Logan shoved his mobile phone back into his pocket – trust him to leave the darn thing on the tack table this morning. A flock of red-tailed black cockatoos squawked overhead as Logan made his way from the stables, his hand pressed to where his lower back ached like buggery. Weary from his long day out in the saddle – a desperate bid to try and shake how much he wanted Nina from his mind, not that it had worked – he strode towards the homestead and stepped into the shade of the verandah, kicked off his boots, yanked off his socks, and with the squeak and the slap of the flyscreen door behind him, wandered inside. The timber floorboards cool against his bare feet, he took off his hat and raked a hand through his wayward hair. Hot and sweaty, he was desperate for a nice hot shower and some food to curb his growling stomach. Having skipped breakfast and lunch, with nothing but a couple of cups of coffee from his flask along his trails, he was starving.

  After stripping off his clothes and tossing them into the washing machine, he started a cycle and then headed down the hallway, annoyed with his unremitting and senseless train of thought – one he’d tried to fight off the entire day. But try as he might, he just couldn’t stop picturing the way the pulse at the side of Nina’s long elegant throat had hammered so frantically with him being so close to her when she’d fallen over thin air; the look in her eyes when their gazes had collided; what it would feel like to take her, and make her his, over and over, while he pleasured her beyond anything she’d ever felt before, or would ever feel again – he’d make damn sure of it. With every fibre of his being, he craved to hear her cry out his name, yearned to wrap her up in his arms as she tumbled over the edge with him, her beautiful legs fastened tight around his hips and her arms entwined around his back, or even better, handcuffed to the head of his king-sized bed. But in the heat of the moment, guilt had overcome him and made him feel as if he were cheating on Jessica by wanting Nina so much. Now that he’d had the time to consider this, he understood the sensation had been because Nina was the first woman since Jessica had passed that he’d craved to make love to. But he also realised it was high time he tried to move on – Jessica would want him to be happy.

  So, allowing himself the freedom of the widowed and single man he was, he had to admit he liked the thought of Nina in his tousled sheets, her hair wild and her green gaze dreamily sated, very much. As he wandered into the bathroom an involuntary groan escaped him while images of a very naked Nina assailed him – just the thought of being able to hold her hand, of kissing her beautiful lips, of being able to caress her sweet soft skin, sent him to blissful places. For the umpteenth time that day, he hardened in an instant. Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, at the state Nina could get him into without the slightest touch, he reminded himself that he really needed to get a damn grip before he went and did something he could possibly regret, something that could jeopardise the promise he’d made to Bea. Was it the memories of them together in his swag, her nails sliding down his back as she tried to catch her breath, that was making him feel like this, coupled with his lack of a sex life since losing his wife? Or was it because he felt way more for Nina than he dared to own up to, for fear of being badly hurt, or even worse, rejected because his feelings were unrequited?

  Grabbing his towel from the rack, he slung it within easy reach over the shower door. He honestly didn’t want to think about her anymore, he didn’t want her beautiful face possessing the bulk of his mind. He’d gone and given his word to Bea, promised he’d get Nina to stay here for herself, and not for any other reason, and that’s what he intended to do. He had no idea how he was going to feel when she showed up with Digger in less than half an hour – what his dog was doing all the way over at Riverstone Ridge was beyond him. It was strange, to say the very least. If only Digger could talk, he’d be able to find out what had led his usually intuitive dog there.

  Turning the taps, he waited a few moments for the water to warm, and then stepped beneath the steaming jets, releasing a pent-up breath. Leaning his head against the tiles, he enjoyed the feel of the scorching stream cascading against his lower back. He wasn’t used to being in the saddle all day long. Stretching out his neck, the hot water helped to ease his aching muscles. Nina’s hands would do a whole lot better, kneading his knots away, but as if that was going to ever happen.

  He was allowed to daydream, though …

  It had been days since he’d felt the connection between them tauten, intensify, solidify, and as everything inside him had burst to life at the time, and he’d almost stepped over the line, had almost kissed her strawberry-scented full lips, had almost succumbed to his burning desire to rip every shed of clothing from her delectable body, he now knew that it would have been a massive mistake. As much as he wanted to make wild, passionate love to her, he simply couldn’t – it had the potential to ruin everything. They’d done that once, and look where it had left them – more apart than they’d ever been. Usually a man of cast-iron self-control, Nina was effortlessly rendering him senseless, and he quietly loved it. It had been a very long time since a woman had had this effect on him. A few times throughout the day, when he’d been close to Riverstone Ridge’s fence line, he’d wanted to head on over, to check in on her and to offer a helping hand, but fearful of giving in to his hunger for her, he’d stopped himself, begrudgingly. How in the hell was he meant to get through the next week? But he’d do it, for Bea, as he’d promised her he would. What was going to happen if Nina decided to stay? Would there ever be a possibility for them to go back to that night? To start over again, and do it right this time round? Did he even want that? Would Nina even want that?

  Drifting into his own little world where time faded away, and with soapsuds covering him, firm urgent knocking had him quickly rinsing off and leaping from the shower. Grabbing his towel, he wrapped it firmly around his waist and raced for the front door, dripping wet. ‘Coming,’ he called, while trying not to slip on the varnished floorboards as he hurried.

&nbs
p; ‘Are you really?’ was the reply – cheeky and wayward, just like Nina had always been.

  It put him at ease immediately, and a mischievous smile claimed his lips as he swung the front door open. ‘Hey, Nina.’ Digger bounced to his side, licking the water droplets from his legs. He leant over and picked him up, unable to avoid the excited doggy licks to his face. ‘Thanks so much for saving my little scallywag. Lord only knows what he was doing all the way over at your place. He never wanders that far anymore.’

  ‘I know, tell me about it – it’s a heck of a long way for his little old legs.’ She reached out and gave Digger a loving ruffle, her hand brushing against Logan and sending a bolt of heat up his arm and straight to his heart. ‘I was shocked to see him racing up the stairs when I got home from checking on the horses earlier on.’

  ‘Ahh, well, I suppose we’ll never know what adventure he was on.’ He placed Digger back to the floor, and when he straightened, his attention snagged on the way Nina was wringing her hands, her smile all but gone, with shadows beneath her eyes, ones he knew all too well were caused by grief. They seemed to grow darker before his very eyes.

  Instinctively, he reached out and placed a hand on her arm. She flinched, ever so slightly, but he refused to pull away. ‘Are you coping okay?’

  ‘Yeah …’ She tried to offer him a smile, but failed. ‘… Actually, not really.’

  ‘Wanna talk about it?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not really.’ Tears welled and she blinked faster.