Jillaroo from jacaranda, p.1
Jillaroo from Jacaranda, page 1
MANDY MAGRO lives in Cairns, Far North Queensland, with her daughter, Chloe Rose, and their adorable toy poodle, Sophie. With pristine aqua-blue coastline in one direction and sweeping rural landscapes in the other, she describes her home as heaven on earth. A passionate woman and a romantic at heart, Mandy loves writing about soul-deep love, the Australian rural way of life, and the wonderful characters who call the country home.
Also by Mandy Magro
Rosalee Station
Jacaranda
Flame Tree Hill
Driftwood
Country at Heart
The Wildwood Sisters
Bluegrass Bend
Walking the Line
Along Country Roads
Moment of Truth
A Country Mile
Return to Rosalee Station
Secrets of Silvergum
Riverstone Ridge
The Stockman’s Secret
Home Sweet Home
Savannah’s Secret
Road to Rosalee
Back to the Country
www.harpercollins.com.au/hq
For Josephine Wiese, for raising the most amazingly loving, kind, loyal and devoted man I’ve ever met. You’ve blessed me with my forevermore in your wonderful son, Des. Xx
If you never allow your deepest feelings to surface, if you never take the risk to freefall into love, you’ll live a life filled with regret…
CONTENTS
Also by Mandy Magro
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
Rose Jones lifted her dark sunglasses to the top of her head, took a shaky breath and braved a glance left and right. All around her, the pews of the church were packed with mourners, from near and far. Her beautiful great-grandmother had touched many hearts over the years. Elizabeth Jones was going to be deeply missed.
Bringing her attention from where her stepfather, Heath, had his arm wrapped tightly around her grieving mother, Rose looked to the mahogany casket adorned with flowers through tear-blurred eyes. She jumped as her father, Mark, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Swivelling in her seat, she graced him with an appreciative glance over her shoulder. His kind eyes were filled with the same sadness she carried in her heart.
She was grateful for his comfort, especially as the poker-faced man beside her was cold as ice after an argument this morning, and had offered her no support. It showed to Rose how insensitive her fiancé had become. Rose and Finley Cole had been together for years, sharing dreams, fears, goals … and yet, she felt as if she didn’t know him at all anymore. Cracks were appearing in every part of their relationship, but after months of trying to be the only peacekeeper, she just didn’t have the energy anymore, and they were sinking, fast.
Watching GG, her great-grandfather, shuffle up to say his final words very nearly had her sobbing uncontrollably. But with her mother squeezing her hand tight, she held it together, just. She also felt consoled in knowing her great-grandmother was no longer suffering from the cancer that had stolen her bright spirit and riddled her body with pain, even if it didn’t curb the fathomless anguish of her loss. Never had she thought her heart could break like this; it was as if she could barely draw a breath.
Taking a moment to gather himself, David Jones cleared his throat before leaning into the microphone. ‘Elizabeth was the absolute light, and love, of my life. She was a wonderful wife, a devoted mother, a loving great-grandmother and a loyal friend to many. She always believed that love was the greatest of gifts, and we all know how much of it she gave to each and every one of us.’ His chin wobbled, and he paused, gripping the lectern tightly. ‘Excuse me for a minute.’ Closing his eyes, he turned his back to the mourners, his burly shoulders shaking.
Unable to sit back and see her hero in so much pain, Rose shot to her feet, disregarding her wobbly legs, and rushed to his side. ‘It’s okay, GG. I can finish your speech if you like,’ she whispered, rubbing his back.
‘Thank you, little one, but I want to try to do this. For her.’ Wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, he brought his big hand to her cheek. ‘But can you stay here with me, just in case?’
Biting her trembling lip, Rose bit back a sob. ‘Of course I can.’ In her line of sight, her mum, Molly Jones, offered her an appreciative look.
After a few breaths, her great-grandfather turned back to the sea of mourners, and she slipped an arm around him. Together, somehow, they got through it. As they always had, and always would, no matter what life threw at them. Then, taking his hand in hers, she led him back to his seat, beside her stepfather. Step by step, they had been moving through the motions of death as the tight-knit family they were. Day by day, they now had to find a way to get through their mountains of sorrow. She didn’t know how it was going to be possible, but one thing was for certain, she was going to make sure she was there for her family, just as they’d all been loyally by her side throughout her twenty-one years of life.
CHAPTER
1
One month later – Jacaranda Farm
After dumping the grooming bucket onto the timeworn timber workbench, Rose stole a moment to ease out her tight neck. Tossing and turning all night long while she worried herself sick was doing her no favours. She really needed to get back to her yoga and meditation; it would help her to relax and switch off her overactive mind. With the new year only weeks away, maybe that could be her resolution to welcome the next year in? Not that her resolution for this year had come to fruition – with her busy lifestyle, taking better care of herself had proved difficult. Between teaching kids how to ride, meeting her writing deadlines, keeping in touch with family and friends, being a good fiancée/homemaker and the intense training and competition schedule that came with her barrel racing, she barely had time to stop and take a much-needed breath. If only she had the chance to slow down and smell the proverbial roses, just for a little while. Now, wouldn’t that be nice?
Pigs might fly too.
Sighing, she looked at the two posters her great-grandmother had made, which Rose had pinned to the tack-shed wall as an eleven-year-old girl. Now faded – even the tacks that held the laminated placards in place were rusting – the posters had been a way to encourage her big dreams of becoming Australia’s barrel-racing champion, just like her great-grandmother had once been. She remembered working with GG, hammering each pin into place – her up on the bench with swinging legs, GG with hammer in hand, the next tack held between his teeth.
She quietly read each inspiring quote for the umpteenth time in her life.
‘I figure if a girl wants to become a legend, she should just go ahead and be one.’
– Calamity Jane
‘Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.’
– John Wayne
She softly smiled to herself. This kind of encouragement and inspiration was what pushed her through the hard times and lately, she’d had many challenging times. Sure, barrel racing was tough – the hours on the road were gruelling and the injuries could sometimes be excruciating – but it was all worth the blood, sweat and tears. Not that Finley shared her opinion. And to prove the point, he’d stopped showing any interest in her endeavours. Sure, it would never make her a millionaire, but between the prize money, the income from her horse-riding school, occasional jillarooing jobs and the royalties from her barrel-racing guidebooks, she was living comfortably doing something she was passionate about. Yes, she was juggling a few balls, but she always found a way to fit everything in, and to put time aside to spend together as a couple. Although, for the past few months, he didn’t seem keen to be in her company. It felt like he was avoiding her.
With a heavy heart, her thoughts drifted back to their argument yesterday. She plucked her mobile from her pocket and re-read the text message he’d sent her last night.
You’re going to be my wife in six months’ time, Rose, and you know I want a family sooner rather than later. You really need to start looking towards motherhood, which means letting go of your barrel racing and riding school. You can’t ride a horse like that when you’re pregnant. That would just be stupid, and selfish.
No mention of ‘I love you’, or ‘We will work this out’. Just demands. That had become Finley’s way. And she didn’t like being told what to do.
Cursing beneath her breath, she gritted her teeth as she shoved the phone back into her jeans pocket. It was a given that she’d never compete while she was pregnant – she’d never dream of endangering her unborn child’s life. But wasn’t it her choice too, as to when she and Finley had children? She wasn’t ready yet. Especially considering she was just shy of twenty-two. Yes, Finley was seven years older, but that gave him no right to pressure her into his timeline – one that she’d known nothing about until recently – and she’d said as much in her reply text to him, to which she’d received no response. Nor had he answered her three calls this morning. Her annoyance rose another notch just thinking about it. Hopefully, when he arrived home tonight, they could have a calm conversation, like the adults they were supposed to be.
You’re kidding yourself, Jones. He’s never going to listen. You should’ve learnt that by now.
Rose huffed her voice of reason away. Love was unconditional, uplifting and encouraging … wasn’t it? But since getting engaged five months before, the rose-coloured glasses had tumbled off and been crushed beneath her boots. The position Finley had taken at his father’s insurance firm meant many nights away from home, and he was gradually turning into a person she didn’t know and, at times, didn’t like very much. Not to mention his outdated expectations had thrown her off-kilter, with him transforming suddenly from an easygoing larrikin who laughed a lot to a suit-wearing solemn man who lived to work.
If they could only iron out the matters that were causing their recurring arguments, she truly believed they could be happy again. She wasn’t asking much. He wanted four children; she’d be happy with one or two, and she didn’t want any for a few more years. He wanted her to stay home, but she didn’t want him to be the only breadwinner; she believed in mutual contributions. She didn’t believe he needed to know where she was all the time because she was as loyal and trustworthy as a person came, and she thought it was a double standard that he expected her to give him complete freedom to do as he wished, whenever he wanted, without question. It just all seemed a little one-sided, and it was beginning to wear her on patience and optimism.
Heaving another weighty sigh, she tried to shake the contemplations from her mind. There’d be plenty of time for her to mull it all over later, like she’d been doing all week, with Finley away on yet another work trip. Right now, she needed to put one hundred and ten percent focus into her barrel racing. She couldn’t risk an injury to herself or Buck, especially when it was so close to the end of the rodeo circuit. She needed top points to walk away Australian barrel-racing champion for the second year running – handing the trophy over to her arch-nemesis would be an utter nightmare. Madeline Hew might have been an excellent rider, but she was a horrid human being, a bad sport and a shocking loser.
Leaning in, Rose placed a hand on her great-grandmother’s cursive writing. ‘I’m going to make you super proud this weekend, Great-Grandma,’ she said quietly, blinking back tears. ‘I just wish you were here to watch.’ She bit down on her bottom lip to stop from crying. ‘But I know you’ll be cheering me on from heaven.’
Running at her dreams head-on had been a trait the strong women of her family had taught her – her grandmother, her mum and her aunties. She wasn’t about to let go of that, not even for Finley. She just hoped he loved her enough to accept who she truly was.
Taking a breath, she turned and gathered her emotions before stepping from the shade of the leather-scented tack shed. Having made the effort to dress in her competitive gear – it always gave her that extra oomph – she looked every part of the champion barrel racer, with her diamanté-studded jeans, blingy belt, pink and purple checked Western shirt and timeworn Ariat boots.
Hands on hips, her wide-brimmed hat pulled level to her brows and her long brown hair pulled into a tightly plaited ponytail, she narrowed her gaze and looked towards the arena that she’d spent countless hours in over the years. Heath had positioned the three barrels perfectly for her cloverleaf pattern. She adored that he cared enough to know that every second counted.
The terrain underfoot was a little soft after the overnight rain – something to take into consideration. With her trained eye, backed up by a nudge with the toe of her boot, she could tell if an arena was going to be shallow or deep or have a deceptively hard pan underneath which could injure a horse. And even though winning was important, she’d prefer to knock back a race than risk hurting her beloved gelding.
As if sensing her thoughts were on him, Buck turned and whinnied from where he was patiently waiting for their training session to begin. His red chestnut coat glistened beneath the mid-morning sunshine, and he looked mighty dapper in his new set of splint boots and glittery halter. Shoving her hands into her pockets, Rose forgot about everything that had been weighing her down and smiled from the inside out. Three turns, two hearts and one pair of tightly united souls – that was her and Buck down to a tee. God, how she loved him. In thirteen years, they’d been through so much together and knew each other like only best mates could. He made her laugh with his playful antics, and had taken her on many adventures, while his mane had wiped away many of her tears. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
The crunch of gravel under tyres pulled her gaze down the earthy track. Spotting Molly climb from her new LandCruiser Sahara, she instantly felt the familiar peace her mother had always brought into her life.
‘Hey, Mum.’ Rose gave her a wave as she took steps to close the distance.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ Molly hollered back as she ambled towards her with Rose’s six-year-old sister, Lizzy, in tow. ‘Sorry I’m a little late, but this munchkin was a right Little Miss Grumpy Pants this morning.’
Lizzy glanced up at her mum, her face crumpled with characteristic Miller rebelliousness. ‘It was Angus’s fault for eating all the peanut butter.’
‘Yes, so you’ve said.’ Molly offered a playful glance to Rose. ‘Many times.’
‘Wowsers.’ Rose had to fight to curb her laughter. She wasn’t surprised, given their teenage brother’s appetite. ‘Sounds serious.’ She forced a frown in Lizzy’s direction.
‘Oh, trust me, Rose, it was almost World War III.’ Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Thank god Heath came to the rescue with one of those little sachet thingies of peanut butter he gets from the breakfast bar at the mine.’
‘Ha, yeah. At least now you’ll live to fight another day.’ Grinning at her mum’s exasperated expression, Rose brushed a kiss on her cheek then bent to do the same to Lizzy. ‘You’re going to turn into a tub of peanut butter one of these days, my little ferret.’
Lizzy giggled. ‘You’re so silly, sis.’
‘I try to be.’ Ruffling Lizzy’s platinum blonde ringlets, Rose straightened.
‘Right then.’ Molly clapped her hands together. ‘Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Before it gets too hot to think.’
‘Yes.’ Rose nodded. ‘Let’s.’
Though she hadn’t carried on in her mother’s vein of horse whispering, the love of these magnificent creatures ran deep in her blood. She adored teaching kids to ride, found the thrill of rounding up cattle and wayward bulls addictive, and sharing her wealth of knowledge in her bestselling guidebooks was such a blessing – she wasn’t about to put all of that on hold for the life Finley had apparently chosen for her. He was clearly counting on her to be a stay-at-home wife and mother, and although she wanted to make him happy, the thought of being housebound for the next twenty-odd years terrified her. That was where one of her favoured lines from her favourite Nicholas Sparks movie, The Longest Ride, about love requiring sacrifice, came into play. If only it was as easily done as said.
Rose couldn’t wait to be in the saddle – it’s where she lived to be – and she was eager to get into the last training session before the annual Mareeba Christmas Eve Rodeo on the weekend.
Reaching Buck, Rose pecked him on the muzzle. ‘Right, my boy. Let’s do this.’ She vaulted into the saddle. Locking her boot heels into the stirrups, she quickly got settled as she studied the cloverleaf pattern she was about to make around the three barrels. With Buck eyeing the path too, the gelding pushed into the bit as she got him into starting position. His body twitching with anticipation, he snorted and stomped his hoof, ears forward and muscles coiling tightly beneath the saddle. Rose knew every bit of Buck’s powerful build was honed and ready – she treasured how he was always as keen as she was to reach the finishing line. It’s what made them a team to be reckoned with.
Standing on the bottom rail with her arms resting on the top one, Molly held the stopwatch up. ‘You two ready to go, sweetheart?’ Her singsong voice carried across the yard.
Rose flashed her a smile. ‘Yes.’
‘And … go.’
