Magpie's Bend Read online

  Praise for Maya Linnell and Bottlebrush Creek

  New Idea Book of the Month, June 2020

  Sunday Age #3 Bestselling Romance, June 2020

  Top 10 Aus Fiction Bestseller, June 2020

  Weekend Australian #4 Bestselling Romance, July 2020

  Shortlisted for Favourite Australian-set Romance in the

  Australian Romance Readers Association Awards, 2020

  ‘Two big thumbs up for an authentic Aussie story.’ Mercedes Maguire, Daily Telegraph

  ‘Loved this book … such a delight from beginning to end.’ Emma Babbington, New Idea

  ‘Charming and enjoyable … fans of Maya’s first novel will keenly enjoy this latest outing.’ Canberra Weekly

  ‘Pure escapism, with a plot twist you won’t see coming.’ Lifestyle1 Magazine

  ‘A natural warmth oozes from the pages … a truly heart-warming read.’ Western District Farmer News

  ‘Engaging and distinctly Australian. A great country read.’ Rick Whittle, ABC Wide Bay

  ‘Bottlebrush Creek will keep you turning pages into the early hours of the next morning.’ Bestselling author Tabitha Bird

  ‘Everything you want in a rural romance: relatable characters, farm life, the sound of the ocean … and the perfect fixer-upper.’ Bestselling author Fiona Lowe

  ‘Maya’s deep understanding of living in country Australia and down-to-earth good humour give her story great authenticity. Bottlebrush Creek is a ripping good read.’ Australian Country Magazine

  ‘A beautiful story that illustrates the loves and lives of rural Australia.’ Tanya Nellestein, Hearts Talk Magazine

  ‘Heart-warming, funny and poignant, Bottlebrush Creek will capture your heart and imagination. An absolutely delightful and enjoyable read.’ Blue Wolf Reviews

  ‘A stellar follow-up … an incredibly modern and relatable tale.’ 6PR Perth Tonight Book Club

  Praise for Maya Linnell and Wildflower Ridge

  Shortlisted for Favourite Australian Romance Author, Favourite Debut Romance Author and Favourite Small Town Romance in the Australian Romance Readers Awards 2019

  ‘A sparkling entry into the rural romance arena.’ Canberra Weekly

  ‘You’ll devour this rural read in one go.’ New Idea

  ‘Very authentic rural flavour, a surprise fast-paced ending, shows you can’t deny what’s in your heart.’ Australian Romance Readers Association

  ‘My favourite romance of 2019. A masterful and moving tale … her writing is flawless and very believable. Can’t wait to see what’s next!’ Michelle Beesley, SHE Society

  ‘Idyllic … Maya Linnell tells a good yarn.’ Ruth magazine, Queensland CWA

  ‘Beautifully written with strong characters and a true depiction of life on a farm with all its trials, tribulations … love, family and laughter. I loved this book and didn’t want it to end.’ Beauty & Lace

  ‘Five stars—a great addition to the rural family fiction with a dash of romance, a sophisticated plot, very convincing characters … a book you can’t pass up.’ Happy Valley Books

  ‘Moving and heartfelt … Five stars.’ Helen, Family Saga Blogspot

  ‘Familiar, comforting and warm—perfect for a winter’s day read in front of the fire.’ Blue Wolf Reviews

  Bestselling rural fiction author Maya Linnell gathers inspiration from her rural upbringing and the small communities she has always lived in and loved. Magpie’s Bend is her third novel, following Bottlebrush Creek and Wildflower Ridge. A former country journalist and radio host, Maya also blogs for Romance Writers Australia, loves baking up a storm, tending to her rambling garden and raising three young bookworms. She writes to a soundtrack of magpies and chickens on a small property in country Victoria, where she lives with her family, their menagerie of farm animals and the odd tiger snake or two. For a regular slice of country living, follow Maya on social media or sign up to her monthly newsletter at mayalinnell.com.

  @maya.linnell.writes

  First published in 2021

  Copyright © 2021 Maya Linnell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100

  Email:[email protected]

  Web:www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 76087 733 0

  eISBN 978 1 76106 197 4

  Set by Bookhouse, Sydney

  Cover design: Nada Backovic

  Cover photograph: iStock (woman); Emily McCormack (background)

  For Charles, Amelia and Elizabeth.

  My three littlest loves

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  One

  Lara McIntyre charged through the front door of the Bridgefield General Store and headed straight for the postcard display.

  As a kid she’d delighted in the store’s one-cent lollies; through her teen years she’d posted letters to her pen pals and ordered countless hot pies and cold drinks; and she had bought more bread, milk and newspapers than she could remember—but never before had she browsed the postcard range.

  In fact, Lara decided, wiping the layer of dust from the panoramas of mountains, sheep-filled paddocks and the sun setting over Bridgefield Lake, it seemed like nobody had browsed the postcard range in decades.

  She chose one featuring the Grampians Mountain Range and headed to the counter, certain the memento would put a smile on her daughter Evie’s face when it arrived at her fancy city boarding school.

  The pie warmer glowed and cricket commentary blared from the radio, but there was no sign of the town’s postmistress or her wayward nephew who helped run the shop.

  Lara craned her neck to see into the back room.

  ‘Mrs Beggs?’

  Lara called out again. It still felt a little odd to not be standing on the other side of the counter serving, as she had done all through her teens. ‘Mrs Beggs?’

  Nothing.

  She sniffed, trying to identify the strange smell. And what was that crackling noise?

  Lara felt a prickle of apprehension. She dumped her postcard and keyring on the counter and rushed into the shop’s kitchen.

  A well-worn novel lay on the tea-room table, next to a half-drunk mug of tea and an empty egg carton. Eggs jumped in the now-dry saucepan, not just hard boiled but burned beyond redemption. Lara switched off the stovetop and opened a window to disperse the acrid smell.

  ‘Mrs Beggs? Dalla
s?’

  Sweeping into the cluttered storeroom, Lara kept her voice calm. She gulped when she spotted a black shoe beside a pile of boxes.

  Her nursing instincts kicked in. She quickly assessed the situation.

  If it wasn’t for the arm twisted behind her, or the blood seeping from a wound on her cheek, Mrs Beggs could have been sleeping. She and Evie had both joked about being buried alive in Mrs Beggs’ storeroom during their years at the shop, but the sight of those boxes resting awkwardly on the postmistress’s chest wasn’t the least bit funny.

  Lara crouched down, gently trying to rouse her.

  ‘Mrs Beggs, are you okay? Mrs Beggs?’

  Toby Paxton whistled as he locked the newspaper building. The decrepit offices of the Bridgefield Advertiser were a far cry from The Ballarat Daily’s bustling newsroom, but there was a charm to the heritage-listed building. The small farming community had a similar allure, and the 5 p.m. knock-offs were a pretty good perk of the job too.

  He pulled on his bike helmet and cycled to the general store, sniffing as he opened the large glass door. The old-fashioned doorbell jangled and the strange smell grew stronger.

  Maybe the pie warmer’s on the fritz?

  Toby grabbed a lonely bottle of soy milk from the fridge, plus a handful of bananas, and placed them on the counter, eyeing a seemingly forgotten set of car keys.

  ‘Hello?’

  Normally the shopkeeper was eager to greet each customer, the potential for local gossip quickening her movements, but not today. Mrs Beggs was too wide to hide behind the rack of birthday cards or disappear between the shelves of over-priced groceries. Her assistant, Dallas, was nowhere to be seen either. Toby scanned the bright little general store, normally pumping with customers but now eerily quiet. Something’s burning …

  His thoughts were interrupted as a slender woman rushed out from the back of the store. Her hair was scraped up into a high, auburn ponytail and there was a symmetry to her features that would look striking in black and white. He couldn’t quite make out the logo on her monogrammed shirt, but whoever she was, she didn’t look like she was here to serve pies or hand over his mail.

  ‘Hurry, I need a hand back here,’ she called, retreating without waiting for an answer. Toby automatically reached into his camera bag, then hesitated.

  You’re not in the city anymore.

  He pulled out the Nikon anyway.

  Lara cleared the boxes and pressed a tea towel against the wound on the older woman’s cheek.

  ‘Mrs Beggs, Winnie, can you hear me? It’s Lara. We’re going to get you to hospital,’ she said as footsteps clattered down the hallway. Lara spoke over her shoulder, firing out instructions to the customer buying fancy milk.

  ‘Do you have a mobile? I’ve left mine in the car. Can you call an ambulance? And flick the door sign to closed. We don’t need somebody running off with the till while she’s crashed out here. And a blanket if you can find one,’ said Lara, checking the pulse again.

  Weaker than she would have liked.

  ‘Hang in there, Mrs Beggs,’ she said, her concern growing at the postmistress’s vague murmurings.

  ‘I’ve got a delivery coming, Annabel … Christmas specials … Down by the lake, I said.’

  Lara swept the curls off Mrs Beggs’ forehead and pushed a small step-ladder aside to give her more space.

  ‘It’s Lara McIntyre, not Annabel,’ she said gently. ‘And Christmas has been and gone, Mrs Beggs.’ Whatever box had knocked Mrs Beggs down, it had done a good job of it. Annabel McIntyre had passed away almost twenty years ago, when Lara and her sisters were in high school. Although Lara had the same pale skin, straight teeth and glossy copper-coloured hair, it was rare for anyone to mistake her for her mother, especially Mrs Beggs, who had been Annabel’s best friend and a strong, warm presence in Lara’s life as long as she could remember.

  The man returned with a phone. He crouched down beside her, draping a tablecloth over Mrs Beggs. In the midst of the chaos, Lara noticed the gap between his shoes and his trousers: one sock was blue and the other featured colourful cartoons.

  ‘What’s happened? Should we sit her up?’

  What type of idiot is this guy? Lara spun around and fixed him with a withering glare, first noticing the camera slung around his neck, then the bicycle helmet he wore, and finally the deep black eyelashes that belonged on a jersey cow, not a man.

  Of all the people to walk into the general store when she needed help, did it have to be a cyclist with no idea of first aid who couldn’t even match his socks? Even Mrs Beggs’ inept nephew, Dallas Ruggles, would be more helpful than this bloke.

  She looked at him again, placing his face. The new journalist in town. ‘Brilliant, the paparazzi’s here. Call the ambulance already!’

  She kept one eye on him and one on Mrs Beggs, wishing he’d move a little faster. He toyed with the camera strap as he spoke with the emergency operator.

  ‘We’ve got a woman injured at the Bridgefield General Store. Hmm, not sure. Hang on.’ He turned back to Lara.

  ‘Her condition?’

  ‘Dropping in and out of consciousness. Deformed right shoulder, possibly dislocated or fractured. Pulse is weak, with an open wound to her cheek. I think she’s been down for about ten minutes or so. Tell them I’m a nurse.’

  He repeated the information, then added his own. ‘We’re in Bridgefield, western Victoria. Um …’ He looked at Lara. ‘Street number?’ Then shook his head. ‘It’s the only shop in the main street. Stripy verandah. Old bluestone. Trust me, the ambos won’t miss it.’

  He bobbed his head. ‘They’re on their way,’ he said, shoving the phone into his pocket.

  Mrs Beggs groaned. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘Let’s make you more comfortable,’ said Lara, helping roll her onto her side. The arm dangled awkwardly. Lara couldn’t leave it like that. ‘This might hurt a bit,’ she said, repositioning Mrs Beggs’ arm and shoulder as carefully as she could.

  Mrs Beggs’ breathing accelerated, and she gave a sudden shudder before going limp.

  ‘She all right?’ Toby crouched down beside them.

  ‘I think she’ll be fine until the ambulance gets here, it’s just the pain,’ said Lara tersely.

  Lara worked on autopilot, blocking out the cluttered room and the tall reporter. She splinted Mrs Beggs’ arm to immobilise the shoulder, and dressed the wound on her cheek, all the while keeping an eye on her pulse and breathing. She was used to handling patients and emergencies, yet she still breathed a sigh of relief when the paramedics filed into the storeroom.

  Lara followed as they stretchered Mrs Beggs out of the store. She was surprised to find the sun still high in the sky, and fluttered her shirt to get some air on her clammy skin. A crowd formed in the street, locals unashamedly jostling for a better view.

  ‘You’ve done well, Mrs Beggs.’ Lara gently squeezed the older woman’s good hand before she was loaded into the ambulance.

  A light touch on her shoulder made Lara jump. She whirled around.

  It was the newspaper guy, camera still dangling around his neck, his bike helmet now sitting at a jaunty angle.

  ‘You’ve done well too,’ he said kindly. ‘You saved her life in there.’

  ‘Anyone with basic first-aid skills would have done exactly the same,’ Lara said, dismissing the praise.

  He stuck out a hand. His smile was lopsided, which added a boyish charm to his closely cropped hair and carefully pressed clothes.

  No wonder Mrs Beggs was singing his praises the other week. Half of Bridgefield’s divorcees probably had designs on him already.

  ‘Toby Paxton.’

  Lara shook his hand quickly but firmly.

  ‘Lara McIntyre.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Lara. I got some great photos of you in action.’

  Lara’s stomach dropped.

  What?!? She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Delete them. Now. Every bloody one of them.’

  Alar
m flashed across his face as she reached for the camera. He covered the Nikon protectively.

  ‘I wasn’t going to put them in the paper or anything. Well, not unless you and Mrs Beggs give the all-clear. They’re great pictures. Don’t you even want to see them?’

  Like hell she did. She knew firsthand that nothing good ever came from sneaky photography.

  ‘Unless you fancy joining Mrs Beggs in the back of that ambulance, you’d better hit delete.’

  A long run and a hot shower beckoned, but Lara stood her ground and waited as Toby fiddled with his camera.

  ‘Done,’ he said quietly, twisting the camera monitor to her. She peered at the screen, still seething. The cheek of him. At her terse nod, he loaded the Nikon into a padded bag and slung it over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  Lara watched him cycle away, then scanned the crowd, her frown deepening as a familiar Hawaiian-shirted man made his way towards her.

  Dallas Bloody Ruggles.

  ‘Bit of action in the street, eh? What did I miss?’

  The man’s eagerness was almost as off-putting as the strong cologne and cheap button-up he wore.

  ‘Your aunt’s on her way to hospital, which you’d have noticed if you were actually at work.’

  Dallas gaped. He whirled around to see the ambulance disappear around the corner.

  ‘No way? What happened? Is she okay?’

  She caught his guilty glance towards the pub.

  Putting another flutter on, I’ll bet.

  Lara narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t know. But I’m sure she would have appreciated your help.’

  Dallas followed her into the general store.

  ‘Guess I’ll lock up, then?’ he said, the note of uncertainty in his voice making it clear that he was not normally given such responsibility.

  Lara collected her belongings as well as Mrs Beggs’ handbag, and shrugged off the temptation to watch Dallas close the shop for the night, just to be sure. It wasn’t until she was halfway home that she realised she’d left Evie’s postcard on the counter. And not only that, but for the first time in months, she’d spent two whole hours without dwelling on the Evie-shaped hole in her life.