Flame Tree Hill

by Mandy Magro

  Kirsty’s face brightened with interest and she placed a lingering kiss on Aden’s lips. ‘Tell me, what’s this surprise? I can’t stand not knowing.’

  ‘No way are you going to win me over with seduction, Miss Mitchell. You’ll have to come inside to see what it is. It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now, would it?’

  Kirsty eyed him curiously as he leapt to his feet and held out his hand, grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘Come on then, let’s get inside. I can’t wait to see your face!’

  Epilogue

  THE skies were an endless blue and the autumn temperature a glorious nineteen degrees: perfect weather for one of the biggest days of Kirsty’s life. And best of all, Aden would be by her side. She couldn’t imagine doing it without him. But first she had a few things to do on her own.

  She tiptoed across the cemetery, acutely aware she was walking on people’s final resting places. Kirsty had already visited Bec’s, James’s and Peta’s graves, and now she finally reached Mary’s. She sat down on the grass near the headstone, placing the bright yellow sunflowers she had brought into the vase in the ground.

  Wiping the thin layer of dust from the headstone, she shook her head in disbelief as she realised it had been almost a year since Mary had passed away. So much had happened, and yet it still felt like only yesterday that Kirsty herself was battling breast cancer along with Mary. Thank God her own struggle was over. The tissue the doctors removed in her lumpectomy had been perfectly healthy and clear of any cancer, and her first six-monthly check-up had been clear as well. Dear old Mary hadn’t been as lucky. Kirsty felt tears come to her eyes as she reflected on the pain Mary had gone through in her final months.

  She pulled a tissue from her handbag and wiped her eyes. ‘Hi, Mary. Sorry it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve visited, but I’ve been flat out organising the grand opening of my gallery. You know that Aden found the perfect spot in town and we’ve both been working hard getting it all ready. Aden even went to the trouble of making frames for the pieces I’m putting on show tonight. I suspect he’s a little self-conscious that he’s in a few of the photographs, even though he’s assured me he’s fine with me exhibiting them. I think I’m still in shock about the gallery – I can’t believe that he bought the space for me without even knowing if I was going to live, or if we were ever going to be together again. The night he gave me the official paperwork, with my name on it, will go down as one of the best nights of my life. Aden had more faith in me than I ever did, bless him. He never gave up on me, even when I had given up on him, and myself.’

  Kirsty paused and gazed into the distance, the horizon soft against the blue sky. The cemetery was silent but for birdsong and the gentle sound of the breeze in the trees. She felt like Mary was there, in the trees, in the wind, listening to her. And that brought the most incredible sense of peace and happiness to her heart.

  The growing crowd wandered around the stylishly designed gallery, champagne glasses in hand, pausing to admire the landscape photography that was showcased beneath the subtle gallery lighting. Kirsty watched her guests from the corner of the room, their reactions filling her with satisfaction and confidence.

  The time had come for the unveiling of her pièce de résistance and she took a few deep breaths, calming herself before she had to give a speech.

  Aden squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll do great, beautiful, don’t worry. Are you ready?’

  Kirsty nodded, smiling uneasily.

  Aden placed his hand on her cheek. ‘Don’t fret, K. Look at them all. They love your work. You’ve sold five pieces already and there’s still two hours to go. Mind you, the one of me and Robbie with Joy and Hank prancing about in the background was a doozy. My mum couldn’t resist it.’

  Kirsty’s smile broadened, her confidence beginning to outweigh her niggling doubts. ‘They do seem to be enjoying the exhibition, don’t they? Righto, let’s do it.’

  Kirsty took her position at the microphone while Aden tapped his glass loudly. The crowd hushed and all eyes fell upon Kirsty. She swallowed hard, her heart feeling as though it were beating in her mouth. Lynette, Ron, Kulsoom, Harry, Robbie and Jo, along with Aden’s immediate family, all smiled proudly at her from the front of the crowd, their presence boosting her self-confidence.

  ‘Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Captivate Gallery. I’m honoured you’ve all joined me for the opening night. Thank you for making the effort to be here. I hope you are all enjoying the canapés and wine – and, of course, the photographs.’ She motioned to her right. ‘It is now time to unveil the centrepiece of the evening. This is a photograph that is very close to my heart. I have an admission to make before I reveal it to you all, though; this photo wasn’t taken by me. It was taken by my fiancé, Aden Maloney. It’s an example of how a photograph can truly capture emotions, which is what inspires me in my work every day.’

  She gently pulled the white silk sheet from a massive easel, to reveal the black-and-white image underneath. The woman staring back at her from the photo was a mere shadow of her now radiant and healthy self.

  The crowd remained hushed as they gazed at the photo. It showed Kirsty at the lowest point of her breast cancer, and although it was a confronting image, Kirsty wanted people to experience how powerful a photo could be.

  Kirsty stood at her bedroom window, the morning sunlight pouring in around her, giving her an almost angelic glow. She was dressed in a white button-up chiffon shirt with a pair of boy leg undies beneath, her wasted limbs evident. Her head was bald, and the toll the disease had taken on her was visible in the frailness of her body. But her face projected an inner strength, her eyes full of passion and determination, a delicate smile on her lips. The contrast between her body and her eyes was startling. The photo seemed to show a woman on the brink of death, but her eyes displayed an inner fire. It was a beautiful, moving, haunting image, and Kirsty finally understood that it was this part of herself – the determination, the will to live – that she had not been able to see. But her beautiful Aden had. By displaying the photo so publicly, she hoped to make her own tribute to the women who had battled, or were still battling, breast cancer. She wanted them to see that no matter how horrible they felt, they were still beautiful, and that they should never underestimate themselves or their will to survive.

  Aden took Kirsty by the hand and led her into the bedroom, where the delicate scent of vanilla and musk wafted from the candles he had lit beside the bed. Country love songs floated from the stereo, adding to the romantic atmosphere. The two glasses of red wine Kirsty had enjoyed at the opening had made her slightly light-headed, erasing any self-consciousness she might have felt. Aden hadn’t seen her naked before, and she knew that the lumpectomy had left her right breast less than complete. But all that seemed irrelevant now.

  She had been waiting for this moment for what seemed like forever, her body finally strong enough to be at one with his. How long had she waited! The soft candlelight intensified his handsome ruggedness, his dimples and the scar on his lip adding to his roguish sexiness.

  They remained silent, their eyes saying everything that needed to be said, the energy between them electric. Aden slowly unzipped her black cocktail dress, letting it slip to the floor, leaving Kirsty only in her bra and lace pants. She shivered as he began to lay lingering kisses on her ears, her neck and then down her back, his warm breath igniting her skin, quickening her pulse. She turned to him, her lips searching for his, as he lifted her in one easy movement and carried her to the bed.

  Aden moved over her, his kisses hungry, as Kirsty began to remove his clothing. He slid his hands around her pants and pulled them down swiftly as she unhooked her bra for him. Skin on skin, body to body; every inch was now bared for each to kiss, to caress, to discover. Aden brought his lips down to hers, stopping short of kissing her as he lightly ran his tongue over them. Her body responded, quivering with longing. A sigh of pleasure escaped her as his warm mouth travelled down her body and he began to taste her –
gently, slowly, irresistibly. She arched her back as she felt herself start to climb towards her peak, every single part of her pulsing, trembling, shivering. It was so tempting to give in to the ecstasy.

  Aden stopped, leaving her balancing on the edge of euphoria, kissing her thighs as he made his way back up to her stomach, pausing to tenderly trace his fingers over the scar on her hip, then up towards her lips.

  Kirsty took control and pushed Aden onto his back, her entire body tingling with sensation. She ran her lips down his broad chest, biting his nipples, his groans of satisfaction music to her ears. She continued her descent, letting her lips slide teasingly over his groin, and then she blew warmth over the tip of him before slowly moving her tongue downwards, bit by bit. Aden cried out her name, his voice husky with desire as he pulled her upwards and on top of him, his eyes locked on hers.

  They paused for a moment, holding each other’s gaze, their breathing heavy.

  ‘I love you so much,’ Aden said, his voice rough with longing.

  ‘I love you too,’ Kirsty whispered. ‘Forever and always.’

  They wrapped their arms around one another as Kirsty tipped her head back, moving her hips in time with his, their moans of satisfaction filling the room. At first their movements were slow, deliberate, but rapidly the yearning for complete rapture overpowered them. Reaching the summit, they struggled for breath, calling each other’s names out in ecstasy.

  Kirsty nestled into Aden, his muscular body resting against her own. Aden gently leant across her, blowing the candles out, and the room fell into darkness. He pulled her in closer as he wrapped his arms around her and she shut her eyes, incredibly thankful for everything. For a long time she would never have believed she could be here, lying in Aden Maloney’s arms, exhausted after making passionate love to him. Her past was firmly behind her, and her future was bright. It was more than she had ever hoped for, and she was blessed, contented and breathlessly in love.

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, a heartfelt thank you goes to my darling mate Joanne Jackson. Flame Tree Hill couldn’t have been written without you. This story is a tribute to your battle, your immense courage and your victory. You’re beautiful, inside and out, and tremendously supportive of everything I do in my life. I love you, mate.

  Big grateful county cheers to the wonderful team at Penguin, my publisher Belinda Byrne, editors Arwen Summers and Caro Cooper, publicist Alysha Farry, and go-get-’em sales rep Nicole Armanno, along with the many other talented Penguins behind the making of each of my books. I cannot thank you enough for believing in me.

  To my loving hubby Drew and my darling Chloe Rose. My life wouldn’t be the same without you. You make me laugh, fill me with love and inspire me in so many diverse ways. You are my world and I love you both with all my heart.

  To my brilliant mum, Gaye, you’re not only my mum, but my best friend too. You’ve always been there for me, no matter what, and so proudly tell everyone about my books. Thank you, for everything. I love you heaps.

  My dad, John, you give quiet compliments that come straight from the heart. Your pride in my achievements means more than words could ever say. Thank you. Love you.

  My step-dad, Trevor, you’ve been there for me my entire life, to talk to, laugh with and love. I adore every minute we get to spend together.

  My sisters, Karla, Talia, Mia, Rochelle and Hayley, I am very blessed to have you all in my life.

  My amazing father-in-law, Rich, for the endless hours you looked after Chloe while I wrote my heart out in the UK, I’m truly grateful. I love you lots.

  Aunty Kulsoom, your true strength and beautiful spirit is shown throughout Flame Tree Hill. I hope, by reading this novel, you can see just how much you mean to me.

  Aunty Debbie, thanks for always being there for me. You’re a beautiful soul and always so thoughtful of everyone.

  My wonderful extended family, Rich, Sharon, Sue, Roy, Ollie, Sam, Sally, Owen, Harry, Norris, Pete, Emma, Stewart, Izzy and Will, cheers for all your support and encouragement.

  To my fabulous mates, Kirsty, Tia, Vanessa, Katharina and Gail, cheers for the unconditional friendship you all give me in your own unique ways. I’m one lucky gal to have friends like you!

  To my very special mate, Fiona Stanford, for the many amazing and selfless ways you show your friendship. I am so blessed to have crossed paths with you in this life.

  To Talia and Mika from Heaven On Earth Photography, thanks for taking such wonderful promotional photos.

  To the wonderful women I’ve met along my writer’s journey who are always there to chat to and support me, Amanda Crookes, Rebekah Clark, Nik Graham, Corinne Jones and Danielle Moyses. You all rock!

  To my fellow author buddies, who keep me sane throughout the many stages of writing a novel, Cathryn Hein, Fiona Palmer, Rachael Johns, Jennifer Scoullar, Margareta Osborn, Helene Young, Fleur McDonald and Barbara Hannay. Cheers to you all!

  And finally, but most importantly, a big grateful hug goes to you, the reader, for picking up Flame Tree Hill. It is you that allows my dream of writing to continue on. I hope my country stories inspire you, make you swoon, make you laugh, sometimes cry, and most essentially of all, help you to feel extremely proud of this beautiful land, Australia.

  Want More Mandy Magro? Read on for the first chapter of Jacaranda.

  Prologue

  SIX-YEAR-OLD Molly Jones nervously gripped her grand­father’s weathered hand as she looked into the skies above her. It looked so serene and peaceful up there, like it was part of a totally different world; a world in which she hoped heaven existed. White fluffy clouds drifted in an infinite sea of blue, and for a moment she felt like she was back in a magical place full of safety and happiness. Standing under her favourite jacaranda tree, she stared up at the canopy of beautiful purple flowers and remembered picnics with her mum and dad on the lush grass beneath the tree. They would eat the treats her grandma baked for them and then she would snuggle into her dad as her mum read out loud from her favourite books. But those days were gone forever now, all because the bad man had driven his car drunk.

  When Molly climbed into her grandfather’s lap she could feel his body shaking. She had never seen her granddad cry before. Tears poured down her own cheeks and dripped onto the pretty dress her mum had made her only a week ago for her birthday. She buried her face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her tenderly on the cheek, the faint scent of tobacco on his shirt a familiar comfort.

  ‘We’ll make it through this, little one,’ he whispered in her ear.

  Her grandma reached out and stroked her hair and Molly tried to imagine it was all going to be okay. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that when she opened them she’d find this was just a terrifying nightmare and her mum would be there to soothe her back to sleep as she always was. But her ears could not block out the priest’s solemn voice as he read the words no six-year-old girl should hear.

  ‘Why did you have to die?’ Molly whispered as she began sobbing uncontrollably, the thought of never seeing her parents again making her tremble with fear. How would she ever live without them?

  Chapter 1

  THE blistering sun shone unrelentingly on Molly Jones. The sheer heat of it felt like it had the power to burn right through her long-sleeved button-up shirt and sear her already olive skin to a crisp. She took a swig from her water bottle and tied her long, wavy, jet-black hair back into a ponytail, pulling the broad brim of her hat down to shade her petite features from the unforgiving rays. It was a typical summer’s day in Dimbulah, Tropical North Queensland – hot enough to fry an egg on the bonnet of her Land Cruiser.

  Molly stepped into the second round yard, the one that was home to her newest horsy recruit, and double-checked that the gate was securely shut behind her. She knew there was no hope of ever getting the wild horse back if he made a sudden break for it. Outside the confines of the round yard there was nothing but farmland for miles, Jacaranda Farm making up
a thousand hectares of it. Beyond that was untamed countryside in which a wayward horse would easily be concealed if it wanted to be. And Buck most certainly would want to. He was the most challenging horse Molly had ever worked with but she wasn’t going to give up on him. How could she? Her daughter had her heart set on the gelding being her very own one day.

  It was only a few months ago that they’d had to put down Rose’s beloved old bombproof horse, Jimmy, due to cancer. It had broken Rose’s heart, and Molly’s. That was why Buck was here, to be Rose’s new horse, and Molly was going to make sure he was the best horse he could be before Rose sat in the saddle. Safety was her number-one priority, especially for her precious little girl.

  Molly smiled as she remembered Rose, her six-year-old, begging her to bring Buck home with them from Silverspur Station. The station owner had been about to send the horse to the meatworks because it had kicked him viciously in the back, leaving a purple bruise the size of a football. Mind you, the station owner wasn’t the nicest of blokes either – he’d probably done something to deserve it. Molly found herself unable to deny Rose her wish, admiring her little daughter’s passion for horses – a passion that matched her own. And she felt there was something special about the horse too, underneath its rebellious bravado. Molly truly believed that the horse had just been mistreated, misunderstood, and harshly trained by the hard hand of the station owner’s son. Rose had aptly named the horse Buck, as that was all he seemed to want to do. That is, when he wasn’t trying to bite you.

  Ignoring the beads of sweat rolling down her cheeks, Molly kept her gaze soft but steady, being careful not to look directly into Buck’s big brown eyes as he stood warily in front of her. She knew direct eye contact was very unsettling to a nervous horse, arousing its powerful fight-or-flight instincts. Not the ideal way to make a horse feel at ease.