Just a reminder that my competition ends soon. You have to be in it to win it. :)Details on my competition page.
Also, here's an excerpt to arouse your reading pleasure. :)
Many thanks to Amazon for putting Outback Fear at the top of the list of about twelve and sending it out as a recommendation. Yah!
Excerpt
of Outback Fear. Name has been removed due to the competition.
She let
out a sigh of relief as another wave of satisfaction floated through
her. She'd finally returned home. Something that had arrived a bit
earlier than planned, but she was here, alone, surrounded by nothing but open
space and darkness.
The shiny blades of the toothless windmill stood out not too
far from the house. It used to be an icon, a guiding light. If she ever got
lost on the property, all she had to do was find a hill and she'd see the
windmill stretching high into the sky, marking home. She breathed in the
fresh clean air, satisfied she had made the trip with safety, satisfied she had
finally made a long overdue change. A change she hoped for the better.
After
closing the gate behind her and driving closer toward the house, what she saw
disturbed her. A shadowy outline of a man was approaching. She leaned forward
and squinted though the windscreen, studying the dark figure.
Not
again. She couldn't take any more of these unexpected shocks to her
system. She braced herself for what was about to come.
It wasn't
until the image moved into the high beam of the headlights that she recognised
him. She slowed the car. Dipping her lights, she hit the button for the
automatic locks on all doors and eased the window down a crack.
??? she called through the
gap. Name removed due to competition.
'Hey.' He
came to a standstill beside the car.
'What are
you doing here?' She eased the window half way
down.
'I used
to work for the owners. Peter and Rebecca Wellings.'
She
figured her brain wasn't functioning properly and after a good night's sleep
everything would seem a lot brighter, and she'd have something resembling a
mind.
'So why
are you still here? They...well...they're dead...three months.' She licked her
dry lips.
He
smiled, the white of his teeth standing out against his olive complexion. 'I
worked here for a while as a Jackaroo. I'm collecting the rest of my
belongings. I've got a few more loads and then I'll be on my way. You didn't
tell me you were coming here.'
Savannah
pulled a lopsided smirk. 'I'm the new owner. Rebecca was my mother.'
'No
kidding. I'm sorry about your loss.'
'Thank
you. It was hard to accept at first, but I guess things take time to heal.'
'Sure
does. I should go about my business. No sense in wasting time. I used to stay
in the shack on the hill, the one over there.' He turned and nodded, indicating
the direction. 'I'll be gone soon.'
Savannah
peered past him. The outline of a building sitting prominently on the hill
certainly wasn't there when she'd left, although she gathered there would be
many changes that had taken place during the last eight years.
'I
thought you would have moved on by this...well it's been a while.'
He shot
her a strange gaze, and his eyes deepened to an intense dark brown. 'As I said
I left a few months back. I had been meaning to collect my stuff for a while
but I've been busy working.'
'Oh...okay.'
'Do you
want a hand to settle in?'
'Um...no
thanks. I'll be fine.' Although her mother trusted him, she sat on the edge of
her seat. He appeared genuine, but Savannah wasn't going to jeopardise their
safety. It wasn't worth the risk.
'Okay.
I'm off. I'll call over in the morning.'
'Okay.
See you then.'
Savannah
veered the car through the gate, pulling up beside the house. A quick
glance in the mirror and she caught ?? silhouette,
edged by soft moonlight as he strode through the tall, dry grass up the
hill.
Her
mother had spoken about him once. She said he was working at Grace Creek as a
Jackaroo, as he stated, and he helped with odd jobs. She also said he was a
decent man and could be trusted. Savannah felt better having someone else
on the property if only for a few days. In a strange way she wished he was
staying for a few weeks, at least until she got used to living alone out in the
sticks. It seemed so far away from the city life she was accustomed to
living.
She
stared at the glow of headlights resting over the side of the house. It didn't
seem much of a place now, but at least she'd have a roof over their head. The
white paintwork showed signs of age, but houses could be transformed with a bit
of imagination and muscle.
Savannah
released a sigh as she dug around in her handbag for the key. Staring at it
lying in her palm, she could scarcely believe that she'd actually returned home
after all this time. She drew in a slow deep breath knowing it would be
different, especially without her mother around. A lump formed in her throat
and she gathered her handbag, opened the glove box and grabbed a torch.
When she
opened the car door a disturbing quietness filled the atmosphere, a quietness
that she'd never sensed before, especially here. She checked her back, checked
to the left and right. Her body oozed with uneasiness as a mental image of
Mark's brutish face sprung to mind.
Trying
not to concentrate on something that gave her the jitters, she gathered Amy in
the baby capsule, and followed the glow of the torchlight making her way around
to the back of the house. She checked on Amy, confirming she remained
asleep. Savannah was positive she'd picked up the wrong child, as the one that
lay in the capsule didn't resemble the child she'd raised during the last three
months. Amy had sensed the hostility in the house, sensed her father's
anger and spent many hours crying. Nothing Savannah did would settle her, and
it took sometime before she'd drift off to sleep.
Mark was
now far away. She repeated. Instilling it in her mind, and gave herself a
shake. Her shoulders loosened and the tension that had been with her for weeks
began to dissolve. This time she would see to it that her life turned around
and big time. She smiled, knowing she'd done the right thing by fleeing Sydney.
She
opened a fly screen door and lodged the key into the lock. The door resembled
the exterior of the house signalling years of neglect. She couldn't understand
why her mother hadn't keep up with the maintenance. It was out of character.
Perhaps one day she could have it painted with a fresh coat of white paint and
re-paint the faded blue shutters.
After
pushing the door open with one hand, she searched for the light switch and
flicked it on. Nothing happened. She stilled and let out a whoosh of air with
frustration. She suspected someone had turned off the generator and had the
electricity disconnected, as no one had lived in the house for three months.
Electricity wasn't something she had thought about in her hasty dash to flee
Sydney.
Struggling
against tiredness, she placed Amy on the kitchen floor in the baby capsule and
searched for a candle. Her mother always had candles, so why was it taking so
long to find them?
Sliding
drawers in and out one after the other, she discovered a candle and a box of
matches. No electricity meant no hot water. Then again, she wasn't sure if the
place ever had a hot water system. She recalled bucketing water from the copper
to take a bath. God, she hated that old thing. It took some time for the water
to heat. She cringed, and the thought of a cold shower gave her the shivers. A
good hot bath was what she needed, somewhere to relax in the peace and quiet
and dream of their future.
When she
settled Amy, she'd take a walk to the powerhouse. She shook her head knowing
she should have realised the place wasn't modern in any fashion compared to her
living standards in Sydney.
After
lighting the candle and holding it in her hand, she glanced around and drew in
a slow breath. It was habitable. A slow combustion stove sat in the corner of
the kitchen. For a moment she closed her eyes and snapped them opened. Although
her mother managed to cook in this kitchen, turning out some heart-warming
meals, she imagined the dilemma she'd face trying to cook. The thing was
totally prehistoric. Lemon painted cupboards protruded from the walls allowing
some room for bench space, which spanned along one wall in front of the
cupboards.
Her gaze
wandered around the room. She remembered waking up early on a cold winter's
morning and breathing the aroma of freshly cooked toast, with the sound of wood
crackling in the open fireplace from the lounge room.
She
placed a hand over her mouth. She could scarcely believe after so many years of
being away she had returned. Although in the back of her mind a dream to
restore the sapphire mine was something she never thought would come to fruition.
She only thought of it as a dream.
Musty
odour reached her nostrils when she walked into the living room. There wasn't
much she could do about that right now. Airing the house out during the day was
the safer option. Mark could make a show and she wasn't about to risk their
safety by making his entry any easier.
In the
centre of the room sat a timber table. It wasn't fancy but at least it was a
table and appeared to have four sturdy legs. She'd cover it with a nice
tablecloth. Beyond the table windows filled two walls. It seemed dust weighed
the lace curtains and she screwed up her nose. They didn't provide privacy, but
who needed it out there in the middle of the bush.
She
explored the house one room at a time. Satisfied that she could make it nice
one day, she set Amy on the lounge room floor and went to unpack the few things
she had grabbed before leaving Sydney. As she did so, her hand objected and
ached in protest under the strain. She finished unpacking and gave Amy a
warmish bottle, thanks to the thermos she'd filled at a garage on the way. As
she swung around in the lounge room she caught her reflection in a gold,
circular mirror above the brick fireplace. Taking a few hesitant steps for a
closer look, she raised the candle and sucked back a startled breath. Savannah
no longer recognised the face she once knew. 'Hell,' she muttered staring at
the bruising. She reached for the tape over her brow and peeled it away.
It didn't
look pretty. The zigzag of stitches in cross-stitch fashion tattooed a line
almost the length of her eyebrow. The bruising to her left cheek, plus the band
of black under her eye gave the impression she wore half a black mask. She
stilled, her breathing slowed, and she wondered what he had thought, although
she did tell him a car accident was responsible. The little tell tale signs in
his eyes stated he didn't quite believe her.
Closing
her eyes for a few short moments she realised what she had gone through. Her
tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she ground her teeth together. Mark
had disfigured her for life. Although the doctor said she'd end up with a fine
scar, it would always be a reminder of the days she'd spent in hell. She'd
be carrying his mark with her for the rest of her life. She cringed and opened
her eyes. The bastard.
She
walked into her mother's room, and her brows drew together as she stood with
bewilderment. Her gaze ping ponged the room. Gone were the little things on
her dresser. Even the music box that she loved so much as a child had vanished.
The cream lace doilies had also disappeared. A brass four-poster bed covered
with a mattress lay bare. She rolled her lips together as she opened a dark
timber cupboard, revealing nothing but dust.
An
uncomfortable feeling swept through her. Who could have packed up her mother's
belongings? Who had the right to sneak in there and do such a thing? She wanted
those items, needed them to remember her mother. How did they get access into
the house? She'd ask ??? tomorrow. Perhaps he
had answers.
Making
her way back into the lounge room, she peeked into Amy's capsule. Her little
chest rose and sunk with angelic peacefulness. Savannah took a few moments, and
her gaze settled over Amy's cute bow lips. Contentment poured through her
heart. It was one of the few times she had witnessed the calm that seemed to
have overcome Amy. It was almost as though they'd stepped into a dream. She
smiled before tiptoeing from the room to head to the powerhouse.
Warm air
seeped into her lungs, and the moon dwarfed the tall, dry grass in the paddock
behind the house. Her heart tapped a little faster, as her gaze glided with the
sweeping motion of the torch light. She eyed the large door to the powerhouse
and gave it a hard shove before pushing it opened, the rusty hinges creaking in
protest.
A strange
feeling overcame her as she recalled standing in this very shed with her mother
when she was ten years old, not long after her father had died. It seemed such
a long time ago, a different lifetime.
Her heart
dipped as she gazed around, and she blew air from her lips. What did she know
about generators? Either they started or they didn't. With that deflating
thought, a small voice inside her head insisted she learn and right then. She
needed hot water to sterilise Amy's bottles, as well as having warm milk for
her feeds, and that warm bath wouldn't go astray either.
Following
the torch light she stepped with caution, her gaze running over assorted tools
she gathered were used in the upkeep of the generator. Fuel containers and oil
containers sat on a bench to one side. Drawing to a standstill, she spotted
large batteries that stored the power for the generator. Her gaze settled on a
silver generator. She squinted. This one was new, as the old red one she
remembered started with a pulley.
Bending
her knees to take a closer look, she shook her head before reaching out,
running her fingers over its surface. They stopped when her fingers rested on a
key. She peered to one side and let out a sigh.
'Too
easy,' she muttered and turned the key, but reeled back with a startle, landing
on her butt.
'Shit,'
she mumbled as the engine spluttered and choked, appearing to want to start,
but soon died. Scrambling to her feet, she turned the key once again. The roar
startled her and kicked her back a few steps. She slammed one hand over her ear
as it clunked with a loud noise before the revves slowed into an even
hum.
'There.
Piece of cake.' She spun on one foot and left the powerhouse only to notice
lights illuminating the inside of the house. Again, she felt proud of such a
small achievement and lazily swung the torch by her side. Half way toward the
back door, she jerked to a standstill and sucked back a gasp.
The sound
of a car idling down the road drew closer. Her gaze tore through the dark
images of the pine trees as she tried to spot headlights, but there wasn't a
sign of light or movement.
Who could
it possibly be at that time of night? Chills raced over her skin. 'Mark,' she
mouthed, but not a sound disturbed the quietness surrounding her except for the
constant humming of a car's engine. The sound drew closer and her heart missed
a beat before jolting with deep thuds.
Her feet
rooted to the spot. Dread caught in her throat and wrapped around her as though
a python had taken a deathly hold.
