by Sarah Barrie
Legacy of Hunters Ridge
Sarah Barrie
www.escapepublishing.com.au
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Barrie lives with her husband and children on a property on the Central Coast of New South Wales. She divides her time between writing, being a mum and her position as editor of an Australian equestrian magazine. When she finds a spare moment or two, she enjoys spending time with her Arabian horses and the various other animals that call the farm home. She enjoys writing romantic suspense and contemporary romance set in beautiful locations in rural Australia.
ALSO BY SARAH BARRIE
Secrets of Whitewater Creek
To Mum and Dad
CONTENTS
About the Author
Also by Sarah Barrie
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
The monster consumed without thought, without remorse. As it ate, it bellowed and sang, belching out thick black smoke and hideous heat. Its hungry flames devoured all in its path.
‘No! No! You have to let me past – let me go!’ Her desperate screams became strained as she begged and pleaded, then her voice cracked as the scorching fumes hit her throat. Tremors and hysterical sobs racked her body. ‘Please!’
The man in the heavy yellow fire suit had an arm like a vice and it didn’t budge from around her waist. He was yelling at her but the words weren’t registering.
Another explosion, a high-pitched squeal. She fought with everything she had. ‘My husband might still be in there! My horses are dying!’ Her words broke off as a coughing fit made her collapse. The fireman’s grip supported her, dragging her back even as her legs pedalled desperately to hold her position.
Smoke and soot filled her parched lungs as she struggled against dizziness and stomach-wrenching nausea. A helicopter beat a loud, steady rhythm overhead, almost drowning out the sirens.
Everything was a blur of pain and terror. Her eyes stung and watered. She could hear the panic within the stables, the screams of the horses sounded human, tortured, and their pain sliced through her more viciously than the flames. Her life was in there. She was dying with them. Was David still inside? No, he was out, he had to be out.
With her last reserve of strength, she twisted and lunged towards the stables, evading her captor. The heat was excruciating, but even as the flames caught her hair, she found the padlocked breezeway doors. On the other side, just a few feet away, was her precious mare. The screams were louder here.
‘Miss!’ Again she was caught.
‘No! No! They’re so close!’ She threw out her arms and as she was forcibly dragged back, her fingers connected with the padlock. She held on while the super-heated metal seared into her palm, melting skin, beyond pain.
‘Miss, we have to move!’
A groan was followed by a thunderous explosion. The world disintegrated. She felt herself become airborne, felt the blast of heat slam into her as the stables imploded. She hit the ground and skidded, the impact stripping clothing and flesh from her body. Splinters of debris shot like missiles. A heavy section of roof slammed onto her, pinning her by the chest.
Her ears rang, her vision tunnelled. The wet earth soaked her from beneath, and the heat singed her broken body from above, but the sensations were nothing more than the faintest acknowledgements in the back of her consciousness. The sounds of the fire, of the men and the machines and the sirens, faded. The screaming had stopped.
Her lungs wouldn’t work, so she stopped fighting for breath. It was easy to let go. Embers danced and whirled in front of her staring eyes, towards the inky blackness of the sky. She wanted to go with them, waited for the smoke to take her. She wouldn’t think, she wouldn’t feel.
There was nothing left. It was over.
CHAPTER
1
Apart from the flickering of a candle by the doorway and the soft glow of others on the stairwell, the breezeway of the large stable complex was in darkness. A gentle nicker greeted her and she absently stroked her hand over the face of her most precious mare. ‘It’s okay, Magna. What’s going on here, hmm?’ More horses stirred at the sound of her voice and pricked their ears or sighed in contentment.
She’d left the office door open, and a draught from the oncoming change stirred the air within, teasing stray wisps of her shoulder-length blonde hair from its ponytail and across her face. In the sultry night, the cool was welcome. She considered unlocking the breezeway doors, allowing it to flow through the warm stables, but the horses were too valuable to leave unprotected at night.
A rustling of paper had her gaze returning to the tall white pillar candle that the note sat under. A long-stemmed red rose blew down and fell gently to her feet. She picked it up, lifted it to her face. Its delicate perfume was sweet and heady. Twirling it slowly between her fingers, she tilted her head to read her husband’s scrawled handwriting.
Upstairs.
A smile touched the corners of her mouth. He’d known she’d find a way to get home for their anniversary, just as he’d guessed she’d drop by the stables as she always did on her way to the house. Maybe the two weeks she’d spent overseas had been good for both of them, for the relationship she’d feared was in trouble. A wave of love surged through her, along with relief.
They were going to be okay.
She pulled the band from her hair and shook it loose, tucking the rose carefully behind her ear. The tealight candles on the stairs were almost burned out. The flight she’d managed to catch had gotten in late. He’d been waiting a long time.
She climbed slowly up the steps, slipping open the top button of her shirt, then the next, and the next. The main room of the loft level was set up with more candles, more flowers. Blankets were spread and heaped on the floor.
Her smile widened as she searched for his outline beneath the blankets. Oh, the things she was going to do to him.
Her amazing, wonderful David.
A figure shot upright from the floor, a burned, ruined body with a hideous charred face that melted and boiled in front of her petrified eyes. The thing grinned maniacally. ‘Yes, look what you did to me, Ally! Look what you did!’
Bang, bang, bang!
The sharp knocks jolted Ally awake. Tangled and bound in the blanket, blinded from the hair plastered to her face by tears, she fell from the armchair, landing with a muffled thud on the carpeted floor. She sat, heart pounding, breathing shallow, while her mind fought to clear itself of the nightmare and the heavy, medication-induced sleep. While the banging had woken her, the nightmare had played itself out. It was always the same, and that was where it always ended.
She concentrated on bringing her breathing back under control, just as Dr Jackson had taught her. In, out. In … out. Breathe, focus, relax.
‘Ally! For God’s sake open the door!’
Mia.
‘Minute!’ She struggled from the blankets and opened the door, before sinking back into her chair. Cartoon s
uperheroes were fighting it out on the television, and she found the remote in the blanket, silenced the battle.
Mia Morgan looked her sister over with her usual concern. Her tight-lipped gaze moved from Ally’s dishevelled appearance to the chair she knew she’d slept in every night since returning from the hospital. ‘Another nightmare?’
‘It wasn’t too bad.’
‘Sweetie, I just had to convince Mrs Harris over the road not to call the cops. You were screaming.’
Ally sighed, dragging her fingers across her eyes. ‘How about … no worse than usual? You look nice.’
Mia’s tunic top was a complicated swirl of colour worn over white leggings. Her copper-blonde hair was pulled back in a pretty braid, showing off the gold discs glinting from her ears. The T-strap heels were a staple of Mia’s wardrobe – and higher than Ally would wear, even for a formal occasion. The effect was chic, professional – Mia.
Her sister had always been taller, slimmer, prettier, more popular. While Mia was playing around with fashion and photography, Ally had still – at times to their parents’ dismay – been playing with horses. In many ways they were polar opposites, but Mia’s support since the fire, especially once their parents had resumed travelling, had been lifesaving.
‘Do you have a shoot this morning?’
Mia’s lovely face twisted into a grimace. ‘Mrs Frank’s poodles.’
Ally managed a smile. ‘You like your job, remember?’
‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’ Her expression softened. ‘You look like you’ve gone three rounds with Rocky. Have you had your pills?’
‘Not yet. Mia, I can –’ But Mia was already striding towards the kitchen, returning a moment later with the tablets and a glass of water. Ally obediently swallowed them.
‘I thought you said you needed to be at the solicitors’ at nine, so I came over to give you a lift.’
‘I forgot about that.’ Her gaze focused on the clock and she raked her fingers through her hair again, catching them in the damp knots. ‘I should shower.’
‘You really should. Or I won’t be seen with you in public.’
‘I thought sisters were supposed to be supportive,’ Ally mumbled, heading into the bedroom and dragging out her robe.
‘You want supportive? I’ll move back in.’
Ally stopped in the bathroom doorway and looked over her shoulder. ‘Real estate agent thinks someone’s going to put in an offer on the house today.’
Mia’s brows shot up. ‘That’s great news.’
‘Yeah. I guess.’
‘Did you see Dr Jackson yesterday?’
‘No. I was busy.’
‘Ally, post-traumatic stress disorder is a serious illness, you can’t just skip appointments.’
‘Fine.’ There was no point arguing. ‘I’ll reschedule the damn thing.’
Mia sighed heavily but let it go. ‘Good, now would you get in the damn shower? What’s the appointment about, anyway?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Detective Bowden thinks he can finally charge me with something.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous – he’d be on the doorstep himself, smug bastard.’ But a noticeable shiver raced over her sister. ‘Maybe I should go in with you.’
‘No, you have to go take photos of poodles, remember? I’ll be fine.’
She turned on the shower, slumped a little from the effort of appearing cheerful for Mia, and waited for the water to wash away the dregs of her sedative-induced hangover. The nightmares taunted her relentlessly. They told her she still, on some level, believed the fire was her fault. When she came to terms with the fact it was an accident, when she really believed that, the dreams would stop. Dr Jackson said so.
But the memories were worse than the nightmares. Though her mind could barely recall the shouts of the fireman, the whooshing of the enormous hoses, the blaring of the sirens and the unearthly noise of the fire itself, it registered in amplified, soul-destroying clarity the screams of the horses, their terror and pain as they fought uselessly to escape their prisons, to evade the monster that would ultimately take their lives. Those sounds ripped new and vicious holes in Ally’s heart every time she closed her eyes.
From her husband there had been no scream. The coroner believed he’d died before the emergency teams arrived. Him and his mistress. Humiliation to add to the grief. He hadn’t been waiting for her that night. He hadn’t expected her home at all. She grieved for him, but she held on to the anger, because to think past that betrayal, to forgive him, would make her loss too hard, too complete. She wasn’t ready to face it, wouldn’t survive it.
Surviving the speculation was difficult enough. There were those who thought she sent the place up on purpose, murdering everything she loved in a jealous rage, Detective Bowden among them.
Suspicions, accusations, investigations, nightmares, flashbacks, medication; eighteen months of living hell.
She turned her hands over and stared at the water streaming down her arms and dripping from her fingers. Other than the imprint on her palm from the padlock, for the most part the scars were fading, slowly. She had to believe that one day the screams, the emptiness, the hopelessness would fade too.
Or what was the point?
McInerney, Bates and Associates was a thriving inner city business. She’d sat in the waiting room on enough occasions to know the staff was polite, the waiting room magazines were up to date, the music was always classical and her appointment would be kept to the minute. Courtesy of the ducted air conditioning, the offices were a comfortable twenty-two degrees. The décor was soft, neutral tones, thick carpets, rich mahogany furniture and tasteful artworks; beautiful, classy, comfortable.
She caught herself fiddling with the hem of her shirt and stilled her hands in her lap. She’d dressed for the part – it was important to her to present herself well. The worse everything was screwed up on the inside, the more important to project a tidy and ordered persona on the outside. It threw people off – they didn’t realise they were talking to a nut. So when a few tendrils of hair floated along her cheek, she worried over tucking them sternly back into place.
‘Mr Blake will see you now, Ms Morgan.’
Alissa got to her feet with a small nod for the young, immaculately presented secretary. ‘Thank you.’
‘Follow me, please.’
Gordon Blake was a stocky, fifty-something gentleman with soft hands, a quiet voice and a sharp mind. What he lacked in empathy, he made up for in practicality and sound advice.
‘Alissa! Lovely to see you, my dear. How are you getting on?’
‘Hello, Gordon.’ She pulled together a smile and accepted his handshake. ‘I’m fine. Why am I here?’
He took a seat and gestured for her to do the same. After a slight hesitation and a sip of water, he cleared his throat.
‘It’s about Mavis Littleton.’
At the sound of David’s birthmother’s name, Ally’s chest tightened. ‘What about her?’
‘She’s requested to see you.’
‘I can’t imagine why, and I’m sorry, but I’d rather gouge out my own eyes.’
Expression sympathetic, he nodded. ‘Yes, well … I realise there’s been some tension between you.’
‘Tension?’ she repeated. A gross understatement. ‘I was happy for David when he found her, I really was. He’d wanted to track her down his whole life. I helped him. You know this. And for what? Four years of hell. The woman’s evil.’
‘Ally, that’s unkind. She has dementia and schizophrenia.’
‘I am not unkind,’ she defended herself, just a little hurt. No one who knew her well would ever have accused her of that. ‘And I wasn’t referring to the dementia or the schizophrenia, though neither helped. On our wedding day, she chased after our car, screaming that fornication will lead to the spawn of Satan.’
‘I do remember David mentioning she was having an episode.’
‘Sure she was. Just like the one at David’s funeral when she anno
unced I’d set the fires of hell loose on my husband. There were bible quotes flying so thick and fast even the priest she insisted on for the service couldn’t keep up. She launched herself at me with a crucifix, Gordon, she told me I should have burned with him. And that is why I’m not going near her.’
‘If it makes a difference, she’s promised to be on her best behaviour.’
Her best behaviour probably involves stabbing me through the heart with a stake. Ally’s fingers played with the hem of her shirt. ‘What’s this about?’
Gordon shifted in his chair. ‘She’s dying, Alissa. She had a fall and shattered her hip. Doctors discovered advanced bone cancer. The dementia is also very bad. She’s been placed in palliative care in the local hospice. She has a number of weeks at best.’
‘Oh.’ Despite the history, Ally felt a brief stab of sympathy.
‘Arrangements need to be made for the property. It does belong to you.’
‘Yes, well, only because she couldn’t afford to keep the place and she couldn’t bear to lose it. She had David wrapped around her little finger. We’d been doing so well, then all our savings and a loan went into that. I agreed so she wouldn’t land on our doorstep, and because David promised to develop it as a horse-spelling facility for some extra income. But nothing ever came of it.’
‘Well, now that Mavis no longer resides there, you might want to think about your own plans for it.’
Ally lifted her shoulders, dropped them. ‘I don’t have any. Mia’s been taking care of everything. I … haven’t been coping very well since the fire. I just assumed David would have willed it to Mavis.’
‘Mavis was given certain legal rights regarding residing there, but she was only to inherit it in the event of both your deaths. You don’t remember the details?’
Ally shook her head. ‘To be honest, I don’t remember much from the time of David’s death at all. He’d made those arrangements himself, and I was still in hospital when the will was read.’
‘Of course, I’m sorry.’ Gordon’s tone softened. ‘Alissa, I know you’ve been through a lot, but you need to know the insurance company is flatly refusing to pay out on your claim until the investigation is concluded.’