by Mandy Magro
Now, after two years of being alone, he yearned to be in a relationship again but his demanding life as a soldier hadn’t allowed him any opportunities. If he was lucky enough to find a woman who would understand his life as a digger, could he ever fully trust her with his heart? She would have to be one in a million for him to pull down the walls and try.
A gentle breeze picked up outside his bedroom window, tossing leaves against the glass as the towering weeping willow tree beside the rainwater tank scraped its branches across the metal awnings of the back verandah, awnings his mother had always referred to as hat brims for the house. Even though the house was far from modern, and definitely nothing like the opulent monstrosities up the top of the hill, it was warm and welcoming, and very comfortable. With its timeworn couches, well-used kitchen, walls full of framed photos and scuffed timber floorboards, the cottage was a place Dean had always felt safe and a home he felt so very blessed to have grown up in. Within the walls of this humble home were many treasured memories, memories he clutched tightly now his mum was no longer around.
Money was never in big supply throughout during his childhood and still wasn’t after the high running costs of the family’s beach trail-riding business. Not that it mattered, because in the Lockwood home, the emphasis had always been more on family life and spending quality time together and for Dean that was all that mattered. How the rich got through life having to make more and more money to feed their ever-increasingly lavish lifestyles was beyond him.
Fighting to ignore his welling emotions, Dean rolled onto his side, squinting as he read the luminous clock on his bedside table. Five twenty-five, almost time to get up. When he was at home, it was routine for him to go for a jog on the beach with his horse, Harley, before he started his workday. Harely couldn’t be ridden because of arthritis in his back legs, but he still loved going for gentle jogs, happily cantering alongside Dean as they pounded the sand together. He was a bit of an oddball, old Harley, but Dean loved him to bits. After his jog his day would be filled with chores, ones that he was more than happy to do. There were always horses to tend to, stables to clean, fences to fix, fields to slash, eggs to collect and most importantly of all this time round, his dad to look after. They always closed the trail riding down over Christmas and New Year so it was great timing that Dean could be home now, giving Kim a much needed and well deserved break. He’d made her promise she would steer clear of the farm today and instead spend some time with her girlfriends in town. Besides, she was only fifteen minutes down the road if he needed her. She’d hesitantly agreed after much persuasion.
Dean switched on the bedside lamp and slowly scanned the room, smiling at the familiar plainness of it. The walls were still the same lemony-lime colour they’d been painted when the house was built, which was before Dean was born, and the same chipboard cupboard he’d had since he was a toddler sat in the corner of the room, the wood-effect laminate looking a little worse for wear. The matching dressing table still had all the things he’d left on it the last time he was here five months ago, including a framed faded snapshot of him and his mum. In the photo Patty sat beside her son, her face lit up with her contagious smile, while Dean grinned stupidly at the camera, his metal braces glowing in the flash. I miss you so much, Mum.
Dragging his wet eyes from the photo, Dean stared at the ceiling where the fan squeaked madly while spinning at top speed. It was probably about time he started renovating the old beach shack his mum and dad had given him the keys to on his twenty-first birthday. Now wouldn’t that be a treat, to have his very own pad to come home to? Maybe he could get a lick of paint on the old girl at least. And being only a hop, skip and jump from here, it would be a perfect way to give his fiercely independent dad space but still be in earshot if he was needed.
Deciding to start his day, he leapt from the bed and grabbed a pair of running shorts, socks and a singlet from his drawers, quickly got dressed, and then snuck down the hallway, avoiding the floorboards he knew creaked so as to not wake his dad.
Stepping out in the open spaces of Whispering Meadows, Dean breathed in the glorious land, the green lushness of it so invigorating after the dusty ochre deserts of Afghanistan. The short summer shower had stopped and the sun was still languishing behind the Hideaway Mountains, sending hues of pink, orange and gold skittling across the vast countryside. Nothing much had changed, the farm still looked exactly the same as it had five months ago, but the true heart of the farm had disappeared, leaving only emptiness in her place.
An ancient rusty shed sat off to the side of the cottage, housing an equally ancient Fiat tractor and enough bits of scrap metal to build a spaceship. Beyond that a windmill turned slowly, pumping essential water up from the bore for the horse paddocks. Mango, lemon, macadamia, lime, lychee, avocado and mulberry trees shadowed the white picket fence of the large front yard, and the abundant gardens were filled with native flowering shrubs and tropical plants. Gardening had always been his mum’s passion. Kim appeared to be continuing the tradition, as the entire garden and vegie patch still thrived. How she managed to keep this place in tip-top shape and also keep up the running of her own household was beyond him.
Passing the rustic timber cattle yards and wandering down a rutted dirt track peppered with wild orchids, Dean beamed as he approached the horse paddocks, his stocky palomino horse snapping at the air trying to nab a pesky fly. Dean remained quiet and still at a distance to admire Harley’s golden-honey coat as the horse swished his white tail, his distinguishing snowy blaze glowing in the morning sunlight. Dean loved this magnificent creature, who’d been a prominent part of his life before going to war. Harley had heard all his secrets, made him laugh until his sides ached and had even caught quite a few of his tears, as Dean found solace in Harley’s company when he’d lost his mum.
At seventeen, Harley’s physique was still on the muscular side although his tummy was a little too rotund for Dean’s liking, but Dean knew he had to give his buddy a get-out-of-jail-free card. His irreversible arthritis had allowed Harley to retire after fourteen dedicated years of trail riding, and he spent his days lazing in his paddock, the daily exercise he was accustomed to a thing of the past.
With the irritating fly either caught or luckily departed, Harley casually began pulling up clumps of grass. Dean whistled and Harley’s head flew up, his ears pricked. The gelding recognised him instantly, nickering animatedly as he broke away from his fellow horses and trotted towards the timber railings of the yard. He pranced along the fence line, nose high in the gentle wind, ears slightly forward, blond mane fluttering and tail raised, strutting his stuff. Show pony! Dean chuckled at his long-time buddy as he jogged towards him and then stepped into the yard, making sure to close the gate behind him. Harley met him at the gate with a horsey sniff, and then another nicker, before proceeding to nuzzle Dean’s short-cropped hair.
Dean gently shoved him, giving him a friendly scratch on the withers, and Harley showed his appreciation by rubbing his head against Dean’s chest. ‘Hey buddy, it’s good to see you too! It feels like forever!’ He grinned, breathing in Harley’s horsey scent. There wasn’t an aroma better, other than a beautiful woman’s sweet perfume. ‘Wanna go for a jog?’
With the mention of the magic word, Harley nodded his head and then, blowing air from his lips, he lightly stamped his front foot.
Dean laughed as he held the bridle up, allowing Harley to sniff it before he began to put it on. Not that he needed the bridle and reins on to ride him, but like a dog, Harley need a bit of a leash, just in case he decided to trot off somewhere while they were on the beach. Bridle on, Dean gestured for Harley’s front leg and Harley obeyed, allowing Dean to gently massage and stretch each one. The white willow bark Harley was given helped immensely with his arthritis, the herb having an effect similar to aspirin on the joints, but Dean always liked to warm up his limbs before any exercise.
Finally ready to go, he led an eager Harley towards the track that bumped off through the sc
rub and towards the sandy shores of Majestic Beach, feeling as enthusiastic as his horse. With the flawless blue sky above and the singsong of native birds among the gently swaying treetops, it was looking to be a glorious day in this magnificent land of freedom.
Golden sunlight crept through the parted curtains, the brightening room stirring Summer from her deep slumber. Ascending rapidly from an indecipherable dream, she flicked open her heavy eyelids and tumbled into a wakeful state, panic filling her instantly. What happened last night? Feeling like there was a jackhammer in her head, she lightly rubbed her temples as she tried to remember. She began putting the day before back together, piece by piece, until she could go no further. A lazy day, a yummy dinner, a small tiff over the table about homophobia, Fiona leaving with Bailey, Marcus and her alone, drinking a cocktail Marcus had made, Marcus telling her to relax and go with it … A bolt of adrenaline shot through her.
Did Marcus put something in my drink? Would he do that?
She slowly sat up, her mind whirling out of control, and her mouth drier than the Simpson Desert. How dare he secretly give her drugs!
Still feeling weak, she tried to gather her senses, struggling to piece together how she had gotten to bed. She peaked beneath the sheets … And how in the hell did I get into my pyjamas? Now alert with ravenous curiosity, albeit still a little drowsy from whatever she’d ingested, she became acutely aware of someone else in the room. The sudden realisation ripped the breath from her lungs. Frozen with fear, she heaved in oxygen, her throat tightening with each tortured breath as she peered around the room.
The doona shifted off her lap as the body on the other side of her king-size bed stirred, terrifying her even more. Warily turning her head her eyes widened. It was him, in her bed, dressed only in his boxers. Oh my God, what have I done?
Clambering from the bed as though Marcus were a venomous snake, she tumbled to the floor. She held her breath and listened for any movement in the bed then spotted her clothes from last night strewn on the floor near Marcus’s. It looked fairly obvious now what had taken place. Sobbing, she crawled to the bathroom and quietly shut the door, every inch of her feeling sullied. A million questions swamped her as she clutched the sides of the toilet, the sickening realisation making her heave until her sides hurt.
Peeling her aching body from the bathroom floor, she quickly tugged on some clothes from the clothes basket and then splashed water over her face, desperately ignoring her reflection, unable to face herself or Marcus right now. Holding her breath she crept out of the bathroom and snuck past the bed, begging silently for Marcus to remain asleep. She had no idea what to say to him and she had to get her head straight first.
Escaping out her bedroom door she ran down the hall towards the back of the house, hot tears blurring her vision. She avoided the kitchen in case Astrid was already in there. She scuttled across the lawn, past the pool and then down the short flight of steps that led to the beach. She felt a certain comfort when she spotted Fonzie at her feet. Picking him up as she reached the sand, she collapsed to her knees and buried her face in his tiny form, the heartache and fear escaping her in loud, soul-wrenching sobs.
CHAPTER
6
A droning motor snatched Summer from her dark thoughts and she looked at the ocean, catching a glimpse of a jet ski as it whooshed past her, a fine spray of water arcing out behind it. The two people onboard were having a whale of a time, their laughter lingering for the briefest of moments before they whizzed away. How she wished she could be like them right now, careless, happy and free.
Feeling as though she’d cried a river she tried to gather herself, wiping her puffy, red-rimmed eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. The thoughts of what might have happened in the hours she had no recollection of were horrible, hideous, heartbreaking, but she had to pull herself together if she was going to make any sense of it. She could hear her yoga guru in her mind: Defeat lies not in failing or making mistakes; rather, it lies in giving up on ourselves when we do so. And these words were so true, although it was going to take every bit of her strength not to blame herself, even though she knew deep down that Marcus had to take some of the responsibility.
Sniffling, she rubbed her eyes again. She’d cried for so hard and so long she’d be surprised if she had any tears left. She wrapped her arms around her shins, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them as she began to rock gently. Fonzie sat squashed against her, chewing on a piece of cuttlebone, his little paws resting on her feet. She smiled weakly down at him; he stopped chewing to look at her and his big brown eyes were full of so much concern it melted her heart. To her frustration, the floodgates opened once again, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks and dripping onto Fonzie’s loveable face. He whined as he pawed her leg and she gently rubbed his head, paying particular attention to his floppy ears. ‘It’s okay, buddy, I’ll be fine – I hope.’
Exhaling a long, drawn-out breath, Summer angrily wiped away her tears. Christmas was only two days away, and with her parents arriving tomorrow morning with Marcus’s, she had little time to sort out her emotions. She had to find a way to come to terms with this, and fast. She didn’t want to be the one to ruin everyone’s Christmas.
Dropping her head in her trembling hands, she tried to remember something, anything. Had they slept together? And if they had, had she given herself to Marcus willingly? Surely if she hadn’t he wouldn’t still be in her bed this morning, would he? Obviously he felt he hadn’t done anything wrong, but giving someone drugs without their consent was very wrong, especially if he’d had his way with her while she was out cold. The very thought disgusted her. There was no way in hell her parents could hear of this. Part of her – a very big part – felt too ashamed to speak of it. How could she sleep with a man she felt nothing for? It went against everything she believed in.
She shook her head, wishing she could destroy the torturous images there. Marcus had a damned lot of explaining to do once she collected enough courage to face him. If he had spiked her drink with drugs, like her instincts were telling her, and taken advantage of her, then Marcus had proven that he couldn’t be trusted. How was she going to get through the next few days, pretending everything was all right in front their families?
Summer shifted her gaze to the horizon and tried to slow her racing thoughts. The golden sphere of the sun had finally risen high over the water and, unlike yesterday, the beauty of it did nothing to lift her downtrodden spirit. She really had to get a grip or risk slipping into a deep, dark abyss. She had to be stronger than this; there was so much to look forward to in her life and she needed to focus on getting her yoga studio up and running. She desperately wished she could talk to Fiona right now but there was no way she was going to go and wake her up when Bailey was in bed with her. And feeling so terribly ashamed, she was undecided as to whether she wanted to tell anyone about this.
She lay back on the sand, her hands behind her head, and closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she remember a thing that had happened after her frightening episode at the table? It was a spooky feeling, to lose fragments of your life like they’d just blown away in the wind. With her thoughts slowing and becoming more rational, she focussed on what she did know. The only certainty was that Marcus had put something in her drink, but for what purpose? Foolishly, for a bit of fun, or was it for far more sinister reasons? She didn’t want to believe that Marcus would stoop so low. There was only one way to get answers, and that was to talk to him. But in the end, was he going to tell her the truth? A rush of anger washed over her, the bitterness she felt towards him foreign.
Desperate to get rid of the negativity flowing through her, Summer sat on her heels in yoga pose, closing her eyes once again. She had to keep it together, find a way to cleanse herself of the bitterness. She believed very strongly in the Buddhist teachings, that negative emotions caused disease in the body, so resentment and loathing had no place in hers. As the saying went, ‘Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting
the other person to die.’
With tiny pleasure-filled snorts, Harley jogged beside Dean, the horse’s head held high as he surveyed the deserted beach. Dean grinned as he rounded a bend and opened his stride, Harley matching him for speed as they raced towards their imaginary finishing line: the Mayor of Edens Edge’s private beach. They came to a skidding halt, horse and human panting heavily, Harley beating Dean by a whisker. Harley whickered, clearly chuffed, and then headed into the ocean to cool off. Dean chuckled at his horse’s audacity as he collapsed to his knees, sucking air into his heaving lungs. Running on the beach was damn hard work, but he thrived on it. Later this afternoon, he was going to indulge in his other passion and go for a burn on his Ducati.
As he daydreamed about swallowing up the kilometres on his motorbike, a yapping sausage dog dragged his attention to the bottom of the stairs that led up to the mayor’s overstated holiday home. A beautiful young woman stared back him, her long blonde hair hanging chaotically around her petite face. Striking electric-blue eyes connected with his, sending a thunderbolt of something through him, before the woman broke the hold she had on him and instead looked over his shoulder towards Harley.
While she wasn’t looking directly at him, Dean stole a few moments to drink her in. With her messy honey-blonde hair, sporty build, tanned skin and full lips she was undeniably eye-catching. Craving to hold her exquisite gaze once more, Dean smiled, giving her a brief wave. She returned his gesture half-heartedly, her eyes darting from him to Harley and then back again. She seemed a little unnerved, as though he’d invaded a private moment. Out of common decency, he tried to look away but couldn’t. She was captivating.