The Wildwood Sisters Read online

  Heading off to her bedroom to recover the key from her bedside drawer, and then grabbing a bottle of red wine and a glass from the kitchen, she returned and flopped herself down on the plush sheepskin rug in front of the couch. After pouring a glass of the red, she gulped the entirety of it down while staring at the box with wide eyes. How was she going to react to what was in there?

  Kat took the opportunity to rub herself against the back of Renee’s head. The feline’s company calmed her a little. Kat had been her loyal companion ever since she had found her wandering the streets as a starving scruffy kitten four years ago. And she was certainly a puss unto her own. Kat ate her food with her paws, quite often had lengthy conversations with her in indecipherable cat lingo, and sat and watched the telly whenever it was on. Renee swore she was almost human. She couldn’t imagine her life without her.

  The glass now empty, Renee grabbed the key, brushed the dust from the timber top her father had so painstakingly carved for her for Christmas all those years ago, took a deep breath, and then began unlocking the box with quivering hands. Flicking open the lid, her heart broke when she spotted a small stack of photos with a rubber band around them. The top one was a picture of her and Scarlet with their mum and dad on their tenth birthday, the four of them with a five-metre python wrapped around their shoulders.

  They’d spent the day at Cairns Tropical Zoo and Renee felt like it was only yesterday that she and Scarlet had been hand feeding the kangaroos, cuddling koalas and nursing baby crocodiles—it had been like a day at Disneyland for them. One day later, a horrendous car accident had stolen both her parents’ lives—the bull her father had hit on the blind corner of the highway would have been impossible to see before it was too late. But here they were all so happy, their smiles outshining the sun, all of them without a care in the world. Little had they known the following day was going to change all of that, forever.

  Renee began to look through the photos, smiling at one of her and her best friend from high school, Hayley Gregory. The pair of them were dressed in stonewash denim jeans and matching jackets. Good Lord, the fashion had been atrocious back then.

  Continuing on through the pack, the next one made her heart squeeze tight. She was sitting bareback on her very first horse with her arms wrapped tightly around her dad’s waist, her gappy five-year-old grin as enormous as her dad’s. She smiled sadly as she ran a finger over her father’s youthful face.

  Throughout her early childhood years, he had been both her and Scarlet’s hero. His passion for life and obsession with cattle and horses had been addictive. He had taught her so much in the short time she’d had with him on this earth, her undying love for horses all thanks to him. And her mum had been the typical country housewife, cooking, tending to the homestead and loving her girls and husband with everything she had. Renee closed her eyes and allowed the memories to flood her mind—she could still smell her mum’s rose-scented perfume and feel her tender kisses on her cheeks. Why did God have to call them, and Scarlet, home so early? She missed them all so much.

  Gently placing the photo in her lap as if it were made of the frailest glass, Renee finally got to the bottom of the pile—the last one making her belly do a backflip. Dylan Anderson’s handsome chiselled face smiled back at her from where he was lying in the golden sunlight, the way his hands were tucked beneath his head making his muscular arms prominent. Her entire body tingled with the memory of his touch. With his dark hair and rugged looks, he really was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. And the intense look in his blue eyes, it swept her back to a time and place where love meant everything. She’d been the one who had taken the photo, and she recalled moments before this she and Dylan had been lying in the grass in each other’s arms, cuddling and kissing for hours. Those were the days—if only she could get them back.

  Placing the photographs down on the floor beside her, she slowly began to empty the box. She pulled out old birthday and Christmas cards, knick-knacks she and Scarlet had collected on their many adventures out on Wildwood Acres—including a lump of golden rock that they had at the time thought was a nugget of gold—high school yearbooks and snapshots of their years spent in Opals Ridge. Everything she touched sent waves of bittersweet emotions rushing through her.

  When she pulled out a silver chain with a split heart pendant on it she broke down and wept. Scarlet had bought her this for her fourteenth birthday present, as a symbol of the way they were tied together through their twin bond. They both wore a half, and when put together the pendant read ‘Sisters’. She’d taken it off a few months after Scarlet’s disappearance, unable to bear the pain it brought every time she looked at it. But now she unclasped the latch, lifted the chain to her neck and fastened it, her desire to wear it once again outweighing the sadness. Bringing her fingers to the pendant, she pressed it against her chest, feeling a closeness to Scarlet that she hadn’t experienced in many years.

  Choking back sobs, she reached the bottom of the glory box, where some of her most treasured items had been kept buried—her diary, which matched the one of Scarlet’s they’d never been able to find, along with a Queensland State of Origin scarf Scarlet had bought her for her sixteenth birthday present. Unknowingly, Renee had gone and bought the exact same thing for her sister—she and Scarlet had often unintentionally bought the same things for each other, like perfumes, CDs and books, their connection one that many identical twins shared—the only difference being that she had plaited the tassels on Scarlet’s scarf before giving it to her. It had been their little thing—both of them always plaiting each other’s hair while they had watched telly. Their whole family had been State of Origin addicts, their voices having enough decibels to carry for miles as they’d screamed encouragement at the mighty Maroons on the telly. Those were the good old days.

  Renee smiled softly as more buried memories began to rise to the surface. Scarlet had been in the habit of wearing her scarf to bed every night, and she had apparently been wearing it when she’d disappeared as they’d never been able to find it since.

  She hugged hers to her chest, deep in thought, her heart aching. Who had Scarlet met with that night? She remembered Billy Burton, Scarlet’s boyfriend at the time she’d gone missing. Billy had always been a keen hunter, guns and knives his absolute passion, and his pride had been badly hurt when he and Scarlet had had a very public fight at a party the week before she’d disappeared. He used to always make Renee’s skin crawl and she found it hard to understand what her sister saw in him. But like chalk and cheese, she and Scarlet had had very different ideas about what was attractive in a man. Billy swore black and blue he’d had nothing to do with Scarlet’s disappearance, and had put forward a believable alibi—that he was home all night with his family. His parents had firmly backed him up, but wouldn’t most parents protect their child, no matter what?

  Renee had her doubts about him, and she had made the fact well-known around Opals Ridge. She still felt justified in doing so although she was very sorry about the unjustified accusations she’d made about a few others. She hadn’t been in a very good state of mind at the time, desperately wanting to find who had taken her sister from her, and everyone had been a suspect.

  She shook her head sadly. Nothing about that night added up—then or now—and it still infuriated her that the investigating police had met with dead ends every which way they had turned. Nearly ten years had passed, and Scarlet was now just another missing girl. She sighed despairingly. It was time she shone some light on the shadows of her past. Then she might be able to finally put it all behind her and move forward; for her sake, her grandparents’, and for Scarlet’s.

  CHAPTER

  2

  The relentless Far North Queensland sunshine blazed down upon the rustic timber round yard of Ironbark Plains, and Dylan Anderson pulled his wide-brimmed hat down a little further as he fruitlessly swatted away the persistent flies. After discovering the pump that sent the water from the back creek to his paddocks tampered with
this morning, as well as some fencing down at the back of his property and four of his yet-to-be-branded calves missing, he was seething.

  It had taken a good part of the day to round up the cattle that had wandered off and another three hours to fix the damaged fence and pump. Along with everything else he needed to fit into his days, he didn’t need this shit too. Everything seemed like it was going wrong in his life, as per bloody usual, and he felt as though he was balancing out on a branch that was about to break. It was about time things changed for the better. He had rung his long-time neighbour and true-to-the-core local, Craig Campbell—who was also the local copper and had been for the past ten years—but as usual there wasn’t much the officer could do other than take a statement. There was no hard evidence, and not being aware of any enemies around the Opals Ridge township, neither he nor Craig had any idea as to who would want to do this to him—the trespassers were always fairly diligent in not leaving any clues behind. He suspected it might be some wayward teenagers, with nothing better to do than vandalise a local farmer’s property—but why him?

  Ignoring the beads of sweat running down his face, he spun the worn gold wedding band around on his finger, deep in thought as he weighed up his options. Not that he had many. No matter how much he tightened his belt, or cut corners, the bloody bills just kept rolling in, and with the cost of paying for water because he had no natural supplies on his property, as well as valued stock going missing, it was making him tighten the budget even more. The oversupply of cattle to the Far Northern market was pushing prices down, and with the local farmers feeling the pinch, the demand for his horse training expertise was dropping significantly.

  Thankfully he had a small income from agisted horses, but between that and his thousand head of cattle it still wasn’t enough to keep the place profitable. He’d begrudgingly remortgaged the property a few years back, to pay for an increase in livestock numbers and some much-needed repairs to the cottage and paddocks, but now that was adding pressure from every damn angle. Like a lot of Aussie farmers, between the running costs of the farm, living expenses and the mortgage repayments, he had less money coming in than going out—so something had to give. He needed to come up with a solution, fast, or he was going to be landing himself, and his family, in some deep shit.

  If things were different he could go back and work at the mine as a heavy machinery operator, fly-in fly-out, but that was impossible. He had to think of his little girl, Annabel Rose, who needed him around now more than ever. Annie loved it here so it was over his dead body that he was going to just sit back and let the farm go bankrupt. She had already lost enough in her young life to have to move from the only home she’d ever known.

  And Dylan also had to consider his mum—she needed a place to live after what his low-life father had done to her. The bruises had long gone but the scars on his mother’s heart would be there for eternity.

  Peter Anderson had never been a loving husband—his drunken mood swings becoming more and more frequent over the years and his belittling words breaking his mother’s heart into more and more tiny pieces—but smashing a fist into her face had been a first, and a last. If only he’d got a chance to get his hands on his useless father, he would have made him pay, but the coward had shot through before he’d got home from spending the night with his childhood sweetheart. And the day that had followed his father’s disappearance had been filled with even more heartache, his father’s aggressive behaviour raising suspicion with a girl that meant everything to him—and that had shattered his already crumbling world into a million pieces. It was almost ten years now and they hadn’t heard a word from him—he’d never even met his granddaughter. Although that was probably for the best—Annie didn’t need someone like that in her life, a man that would promise her the world and give her nothing, just as his father had done to his mother, and to him. Karma would get his father for what he’d done to Claire Anderson, Dylan was sure of it. Eventually, everyone paid for his or her sins, in one way or another.

  Feeling as though the weight of the world sat upon his shoulders, Dylan groaned and closed his eyes, rubbing his throbbing temples. He was tired, beyond exhausted. Why did things have to be so damn hard all the time? His heart couldn’t take much more sadness. He couldn’t stand losing much more. But no matter how hard he tried, or how much he prayed, the aching black hole in his life just seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger, and he was afraid at any given moment he was going to fall in and never resurface. But he didn’t have time to be defeated. He needed to stay strong for those around him. When was life going to give him the break he so desperately needed?

  Dylan opened his eyes, took his sunglasses off and wiped the sweat and dust from his face. Squinting, he stared out across his horse-dotted paddocks, admiring the fresh green pasture that had shot up after last week’s much-needed rain. Thank God for small mercies. Ironbark Plains was his dream property, and he and his wife Shelley had worked so hard to get it to where it was. It had been a two thousand-acre run-down farm when they had inherited it from his grandfather seven years ago, and even though it was still in need of some expensive TLC in certain places, he was proud of what they had achieved: well-fenced horse agistment paddocks now marked out neat sections of the fertile land; healthy Santa Gertrudis cattle wandered in the thousand-acre back paddock; and their three-bedroom cottage-style home had undergone impressive refurbishments, mainly thanks to his and Shelley’s dedication to do-it-yourself handiwork. They’d even scrimped and saved enough to put a pool in, much to Annie’s delight. It was all they had wanted, and more. If only life hadn’t dealt them the low blow, their lives would have been close to perfect.

  Now that the bank was on his back Dylan knew he really only had two choices: he could either sell off some of his land, or he could ask around town and see if someone was looking for a bit of casual hired help. He preferred the latter, as long as it didn’t interfere with him being here for Annie. Opals Ridge was a fairly widespread township—expanding almost sixty-five kilometres, with plenty of cattle and fruit farmers, so surely there was a bit of work somewhere. Exhaling a frustrated sigh, he shook his head sadly, his throat constricting as he tried to block out the memory that had haunted him since that fateful day, and still had the power to bring him to his knees every time he allowed the horrific images to fill his mind. Things had been so much easier before…

  With the heel of his timeworn R.M. Williams boot resting up on the rustic timber railings, he blinked back tears and instead turned his focus towards the job at hand. He couldn’t fall in a heap right now—there was work to do. Taking a swig from his water bottle, his gentle gaze came back to rest on the buckskin stock horse he’d so aptly named Rascal, its buttermilk coat contrasting beautifully with its black mane, tail and legs. The saddled horse looked over at him and whickered, his tail curled and his ears pricked forward. Dylan smiled to himself. He’d definitely scored with this one—he was a bloody beauty. He’d always prided himself on having a knack to pick the good ones. He’d put so much blood, sweat, tears and money into the gelding this past month, he hoped the groundwork had paid off. It was about time to get in the saddle and find out.

  He wasn’t going to sell Rascal either, like he did with almost all of the horses he bought and trained. Annie had loved the gelding the second she’d laid eyes on him, and Rascal had equally loved Annie. To Dylan’s amazement, when he had first brought him home from Emerald Station, the horse had stepped off the trailer and immediately walked over to his daughter, dropped his head, and put his nose to hers, blowing gently and also breathing her in. Their bond had been cemented in that very moment. Annie had spent a lot of time with Rascal since, grooming him, reading him her favourite books and simply loving him, and Rascal followed her around like a loyal puppy dog, no halter or rope needed. He was a completely different horse around her. She was going to be over the moon when she could finally ride him, and seeing his little girl smile made his problematic world feel so much better. His darling Ann
ie was the only reason he dragged himself from bed every day. Without her, his life would be meaningless.

  Walking over to the horse, he made sure to talk calmly as he ran his hand along his withers and neck, then carefully but confidently he placed his boot in the stirrups and planted himself firmly in the saddle. Rascal reacted instantly. Dylan gripped the reins as the gelding did what he was renowned for, and what had almost had him sent to the meatworks. Bucking, twisting and pig rooting like a trained bronco, Rascal did his best to throw Dylan off. But with Dylan’s ability to ride the fiercest bucking broncos around, the gelding had Buckley’s.

  Always trying to see things from the horse’s perspective, Dylan understood the bucking was just a defence mechanism, and once the horse figured out it was safe to have a rider on his back, Rascal would give up the buck, because just like a rocking horse, he wouldn’t keep rocking unless Dylan kept him rocking. He believed horses were a mirror to your soul, feeling what you feel and fearing what you fear. If he showed them they were protected, and could trust him, he’d have a devoted friend for life.

  With his body moving in rhythm with the horse, Dylan persevered, knowing that this wasn’t fearful or panicked bucking, which was usually lightning fast and violent. He knew from experience that Rascal was instead being defiant, his bucking feeling somewhat premeditated, and in comparison to fearful bucking, lazy. Dylan just needed to show Rascal he was the boss, but in a way that wasn’t dominating—he would never use whips or spurs on a horse. In the words of his horseman hero Guy McLean, knowledge, patience, compassion and imagination were what brought man and horse together, not heavy-handedness and domination.