Jack’s younger sister’s taupe suit fit snugly over her ample bust and hips. It was a far cry from the casual dress Sienna had seen on her last Saturday.
Smiling, she said, “Renita? Would you like to come in now?” She led the way back down the hall.
“Have a seat.” Sienna gestured to the chair next to her desk and sank onto her exercise ball. “How’ve you been?”
“I think I have a sinus infection.” Renita’s voice was clogged and nasal. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Thanks for seeing me. Is it okay that I came to you, I mean since we’re friends?”
“If you’re comfortable with it, I’m fine.” Sienna warmed inside at Renita considering her a friend so quickly. She rose and went to the cabinet for her otoscope. “Are your sinuses hurting?”
Renita nodded. “It started Sunday morning. I thought at first it was just a cold, but the pain is bad all around my eyes and nose. I can hardly breathe.”
Sienna pulled up a chair, pushed Renita’s hair back and inserted the instrument to examine her eardrum. It was red and swollen. “Any fever? Yellow or green nasal discharge?”
“Yes to fever and yellow discharge.”
Sienna took routine blood pressure and heart rate measurements and tapped her observations into her computer. “I’ll give you a prescription for antibiotics. Take an antihistamine as well to dry it up. You should start to feel better in a few days.”
“Jack mentioned you asked him to start up a Men’s Shed.”
Ah. She’d wondered if he would mention it to his sister. “Has he changed his mind?”
“No. May I?” Renita reached for a tissue from the box on Sienna’s desk and blew her nose. “I just hope you don’t think badly of him for refusing.”
The printer started to spit out the prescription. “It’s not up to me to tell him what to do. He’s obviously got his life figured out.”
“He went through a really rough time after his wife, Leanne, died. He hasn’t gotten over it. He doesn’t like talking about it.”
“I’m very sorry,” Sienna said quietly. “The Men’s Shed might take his mind off his loss.”
“Jack’s fine.” Renita shrugged, balling her tissue in her fist.
Sienna hesitated. “Do you really believe that?” When Renita glanced away, she couldn’t help pursuing the point. “I don’t mean to be judgmental, but I can’t imagine not having a purpose in life. The philosophy of living purely for today makes no sense.”
Renita offered her a sad smile. “When your past has been wiped out and you can’t bear the thought of the future, the present is all you have.”
Sienna was silenced momentarily at the thought of Jack’s grief. Then she said, “You just have to pick yourself up and keep going.”
“That’s what he’s doing,” Renita replied.
Sienna bit her lip. She should just butt out. This was not professional. Her mother always told her to remember she was a doctor, not a friend or a therapist or a relative. Jack wasn’t even her patient. “Look, I’m sorry. This is none of my business. Forget I said anything.”
Renita twisted the sodden tissue. “This might be premature, but Lexie and I were hoping that you and he might get together…”
That such a gorgeous man came with two cool sisters was a bonus. But in spite of her strong attraction to Jack she knew that in the long term she couldn’t be happy with anyone so aimless.
Your standards are too high for ordinary mortals to live up to.
Anthony had said that the night she’d confronted him about his affair with Erica. It had stung. Until she remembered that Anthony was defending his weakness and deceit. High standards were
good.
“Jack and I aren’t right for each other, I’m afraid.” Sienna rose and handed Renita the prescription. “If you’re not starting to feel better in a few days, come see me again.”
“I brought some cinnamon buns.” Steve took the bag to the kitchen. “I’ll put coffee on.”
“Go ahead.” Jack’s fingers were greasy from the lawn mower engine he was overhauling for his father. He’d removed the handle and had the base overturned on the benchtop. “I’ve almost got this finished.”
“No rush.” Steve plugged in the kettle. “Take a break.”
Jack ignored the suggestion. Although Sienna’s attitude toward his lifestyle rankled, since her visit he’d decided to tackle a few projects he’d been putting off. When he looked back over the past year he hadn’t accomplished half of what he had in the first two years after his “early retirement.” Once he’d recovered from his injuries and got his strength back he’d done heaps of things—painted his entire house and Lexie’s, landscaped Renita’s garden, organized the sale of his parents’ farm and machinery, helped a friend at his winery…and much more.
This year, not so much. Parkinson’s Law, “work expands to fill the time allotted,” seemed to hold true for him. Never mind. Once he got these few tasks out of the way he’d go back to enjoying life.
Steve got himself a cinnamon bun and wandered over to the ultralight, a natural draw for everyone, it seemed. “It’s been a while since you’ve flown.”
Three years, two months and one week. Of course, Steve didn’t mean the ultralight—that was just a toy—but a real plane like the Cessna 172 Jack used to charter out. He fitted the rotary blade to the motor. “Your lawn must be a mile high now.”
“I should get a sheep. It’d be easier.” Steve wiggled the joystick. “Seems a shame you gave it all up. Don’t you miss it?”
Jack tightened the screws on the blade, hiding the sharp ache tugging at his insides. Yeah, he missed flying. He missed the surge of power at liftoff and the weightless feeling that followed. He missed the buffeting wind and the exhilaration of soaring through the wide-open sky. He missed the quiet satisfaction of a safe landing and a hot cup of coffee afterward. Keeping the ultralight in the shed was a peculiar form of self-torture. Flying had once been his greatest joy.
“I’ve got my hands full with this and that.” He turned the lawn mower over and wiped it down with a rag. Glancing up, he saw Steve wince and hold his stomach. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
Steve grimaced again. “I think the meat pie I had for dinner last night was a bit dodgy.”
“Jeez, Dad, what are you doing eating meat pies that have gone off? Come over to my place for dinner.”
“Your meals are too spicy for my poor stomach.” He lumbered over to the couch and sat down heavily.
“So I’ll make you roast lamb. When’s Mum coming home?”
“Dunno,” Steve said with a gloomy scowl. “I thought when we retired we’d travel around the country together. But no, she’d rather go on an inner journey by herself.”
“She’s found something that makes her happy.” Jack defended his mother. Even so, he felt sorry for his father, who’d been left behind.
“We should never have sold the farm,” Steve complained, rubbing a hand across his thigh. “She wouldn’t have gotten all enlightened and I would have chores to do.”
Jack set about reattaching the handle to the base of the lawn mower. “You should make some friends in Summerside,” he said, fitting a bolt. “Join the lawn bowling club.”
“You sound like the doctor,” Steve grumbled. “Killing time, I call those sorts of activities. Give me something worth doing and I’d do it.”
A twinge of guilt made Jack turn the wrench too hard. He swore as he stripped the bolt. “Your house doesn’t keep you busy?”
“I’ve fixed every bloody thing that needs fixing, some twice.”
Jack worked in silence a moment. He hated to admit it, but Sienna was right—his dad needed something. “Do you remember that wooden rocking horse you made for me when I was small? And the dollhouses you built for Lexie and Renita?”
“’Course.” Steve helped himself to another cinnamon bun.
“That sugary stuff will kill you,” Jack warned.
“Once in a while doesn’t hurt.” Steve licked the icing off his fingers.
“You still got the patterns?”
“They must be somewhere in the boxes I stored in the garage,” Steve said. “Why?”
“Just thinking. Would you go to a Men’s Shed if one was available?”
“Have you been talking to that doctor, Sienna?” Agitated, Steve put down his half-eaten sweet roll, crumbs spilling over the plate onto the table. “What is she saying about me?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. She asked me to run a Men’s Shed. I said no.”
“Oh.” Steve settled down and reached for the bun again.
Jack stroked his jaw, noting his father’s flat expression and mindless chewing. “But I’m considering it.”
Footsteps thudded on the pavement behind her and she moved over to allow the runner to pass.
Instead the steps slowed. “Sienna.”
“Jack!” When he fell into pace beside her she forgot everything in frank admiration of his muscular legs, ripped biceps and broad shoulders, gleaming with perspiration.
“This is a coincidence,” she said to hide her confusion. “Running into each other out here.”
“No coincidence. I called your house,” he said. “Oliver told me where you run.”
Sienna slowed her pace. “You wanted to see me? Why?”
“I’ve decided to give Men’s Shed a trial,” he said.
“You’re kidding.” She was so surprised she stopped running altogether.
“No, I’m serious,” he said, jogging on the spot. “We’ll make toys for the Trivia Night.”
“That’s wonderful! What made you change your mind?”
“My father. You were right—he’s floundering.” Jack slanted her a hard glance. “I don’t want anything official, mind you. This is only temporary until Trivia Night is over. Hopefully Dad will get himself sorted out by then. I figure if he meets a few men his own age, it’ll help him adjust to retirement.”
“I’ve still got the brochures and the information I downloaded from the internet,” Sienna said. “Do you want to stop by my house and pick them up after your run?”
“Sorry, no time.” He started jogging backward. “I’ve got to clean up my workshop and get it ready for next week.”
Sienna started running again. “Then I’ll drop the information off next time I’m going past. How are you planning to find recruits?”
Jack ran along beside her. “I’ve put up notices around Summerside and spread the word among my friends.”
“Sounds like you’re all organized.”
“Don’t get the idea that I’ll devote my life to this project.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Sienna ran onto the grass to avoid a woman walking her dog. “I’m just pleased you’re doing it at all. You should come to the Trivia Night. It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see the toys you make raffled off.”
“I might. Are you going?”
“Of course.” She flicked her gaze sideways. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, giving nothing away. Why was her pulse racing as if she was sprinting instead of jogging? “I’m on a team with one of my patients, Penelope, who’s a teacher. I think she’s filled all the other seats at our table.”
“I’ll sit with Sharon and Glenn.” He grinned. “We’ll whup your ass.”
“You want to make a bet on that?” Her chin came up, and before she knew what she was doing, she surged forward, overtaking him in a burst of speed.
Seconds later he floated effortlessly past her, tweaking her braid. As his long legs carried him ahead she laughed.
Then her laughter faded. She had put childish things behind her when she’d become a doctor. When she’d taken full responsibility for her son. She needed to set a good example for Oliver…for herself.
By flirting with Jack, an unemployed charmer, she was misleading him. She wouldn’t let it happen again.
“Okay, guys, listen up,” Jack said, more gruffly than he’d intended. He was out of practice at organizing other people. “Our project is to make toys to raffle off for the high school’s new sports center. Steve knows how to make rocking horses. Does anyone else have any skills or ideas of what they could do?”
Ralph raised a shaky, gnarled hand. “I can make wooden toys. Cars, boats, trucks. I got my tools out in my truck.”
“Excellent,” Jack said, nodding. “Steve’s brought over his lathe and I have a circular saw, so we should have woodworking covered. Bob, what’s your specialty?”
Bob shrugged beefy shoulders colorfully decorated with dragons and pouncing eagles. “Dunno.”
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“Making beer.”
Over the chuckles of the other men, Jack said, “I’m not sure the PTO will let us raffle off alcohol, even to help the kids.”
Bob smoothed the soul patch beneath his bottom lip with a calloused thumb. “I learned how to make fighter kites in prison.”
“Nothing dangerous,” Jack said.
“No worries,” Bob said cheerfully. “I’ll leave the metal knives and ground glass off the kite string.”
“O-kay, you can give that a go.” Jack turned to Paul. “What about you—any hobbies?”
“Polo—” He broke off as Bob sniggered. “Do you have a problem?”
“Polo? Pah-don me.” Bob put on an exaggerated English accent. “I didn’t know we had royalty in the shed.”
“Cool it,” Jack said sharply and threw Bob a warning glance. “Do you know anything about bikes?” he asked Paul.
“I cycle around the bay from Brighton to Mount Eliza every Sunday morning.” The ex-executive’s face brightened as he spoke.
“You’re one of those wankers in Italian Lycra who ride in a pack and clog up the highway on your ten-thousand-dollar bikes,” Bob muttered.
“We’re not all
wankers,
as you so crudely put it. Some of us are serious riders.” Paul turned to Jack. “Why do you ask about bikes?”
In the background Bob mincingly mimed “serious riders” to Ralph, who frowned back at him. Paul noticed. A muscle in his jaw ticked and he reached into his pocket. Jack heard a metallic clink and then he saw that the guy had two small steel balls in his palm, rolling them.
Ignoring Bob, Jack explained, “A couple of used kids’ bikes have been donated, but they need refurbishing. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes,” Paul said. Clink, clink.
“Let’s get started,” Jack said before Bob could make any more comments. “Steve and Ralph, take the long section of the workbench. Bob, we’ll clear a space at the far end, next to my electronics. Paul, why not spread out the bicycle parts on the floor over by the ultralight? I’ll lend you a pair of overalls. I’ll get them and be back in a minute. You boys play nice while I’m gone.”
Jack crunched down the driveway and up the path to his house, Bogie at his heels. “Thank God I only agreed to do this temporarily,” he muttered to the golden retriever. “We’ll make a few toys, raise some money and then I’ll resume normal programming. Sound good? It does to me.”
Bogie nudged his hand with a cool moist nose. Jack took that as a sign he agreed and stroked the soft golden fur. Dogs were pretty darn smart.
“Do you always talk to your dog?” a woman asked, laughing.
“Sienna?” He looked over his shoulder.
There was no one there.
This was weird. She’d invaded his peace with her plans and her projects, spurring him into action. Now he was hearing her voice when she wasn’t there. He’d hate to think what a shrink would make of that.
He hadn’t been able to help flirting with her the other day while out running. She looked good in her T-shirt and jogging pants. Approachable. Sexy.
But he couldn’t fall for a woman who regarded work as some kind of religion, a woman who would never be happy with him for who he was.
Walking faster, as if he could escape his thoughts, he let himself into the house and went through the kitchen, along the hall and into his bedroom, Bogie dogging his footsteps.
Jack slid open the closet door and rummaged through the back of the shelves among the piles of folded sweatshirts and blue jeans until he found a pair of old overalls. As he pulled them out, he knocked over a shoe box hidden among the clothes. Postcards spilled out.
His heart twisted. He thought he’d gotten rid of those. The postcards were painful reminders of the weekends he and Leanne would fly the Cessna to wherever fancy took them. As long as it had a landing strip. She would collect a card from every town they visited. She didn’t write on them or mail them to anyone; she just bought them as a souvenir.
Warrnambool, Wagga Wagga… He flicked through the colorful cards. Merimbula. His hand stilled and he felt sick all of a sudden. They’d arrived at the seaside town on the New South Wales coast on a Friday afternoon. By Sunday morning when they’d departed, a low pressure system had rolled over the Great Dividing Range, bringing heavy rain.
He shut his eyes as he remembered the sound of her voice, the things they’d talked about that day. The hopes and dreams they’d shared. All gone now. All his fault. Like his broken GPS, these postcards anchored him to the past, to his grief and guilt.
Jack shoved the postcards back into the box, grabbed the overalls and hurried back to the shed, forcing Bogie into a trot.
The scent of warm cinnamon and caramelized sugar hit him as he walked in. The men had abandoned their tools and were clustered in the kitchen area. Ralph’s wife, Jean, orange haired and plump in flowered capri pants, was cutting a freshly baked coffee cake.
“Ralph asked me to make something for morning tea,” Jean told Jack as she handed around big slices. She was as round as Ralph was spare and clearly pleased to have a group of appreciative men to bake for.
Steve’s gaze met Jack’s as he lifted a piece of cake to his mouth. His dad hesitated. Jack raised his eyebrows at his father’s sheepish expression. His dad needed to lose weight, sure, but since when had he needed Jack’s approval to eat?
Jack dropped the overalls on the bench and walked over to get some cake. Within a few minutes Steve was reaching for his second piece. “Go easy, Dad,” he said with good humor. “Save some for the rest of us.”
“Oh, don’t listen to him.” Jean thrust the plate under Steve’s nose. “You go right ahead.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Steve helped himself.
A pair of boys in gray-and-green school uniforms with schoolbags on their backs appeared in the open double doorway. The curly blond head belonged to Oliver. With him was a shorter boy with shiny brown hair that fell across his eyes.
“Hey, Oliver,” Jack said. “Don’t you have school?”
“We got out early because of a teacher’s conference. Mum said you were starting the Men’s Shed. We came to help you make toys.”
“Does Sienna know you’re here?”
“We stopped at the clinic on the way. It’s cool.” Oliver came to a halt in front of Jack. “This is Jason.”
The Men’s Shed was available to males of all ages, although Jack hadn’t anticipated teenage boys coming along. But why not? “You boys want cake?”
Oliver’s eyes lit. Jason smiled, revealing a mouth full of stainless steel braces. “Yes please,” they said in unison.
Jean happily fussed over them as if she was their own grandmother.
The men had finished eating and gone back to work. Jack approached Steve, who was measuring a length of pine with a metal ruler and a carpenter’s pencil. Smedley had slithered under the bench to snooze, his muzzle resting on his front paws. “How would you like to teach Dr. Maxwell’s son and his friend to make rocking horses?”
Steve nodded. “Send them over.”
Jack found Oliver and Jason washing their plates under Jean’s supervision. “You boys go see Steve, the older man with the glasses. He’s my father. He’ll sort you out.” The boys hurried off and Jack turned to Jean. “Thanks for bringing the cake. It was delicious.”
Jean’s round face was wreathed in smiles as she picked up a tea towel to start drying. “I’ll bring scones and jam tomorrow. And I make a nice pound cake, too.”
“Excuse me?” Oliver was at his side.
Jack turned. “Yes?”
“I’d rather help you if that’s okay. I brought some old computer disks to make robots.” Oliver’s soft-featured, pimply face was transformed by interest and hope.
Jack rubbed the back of his head. “I guess I could fast-track the school project I’m developing. How would you like to help me build a prototype dogbot?”
“Cool!” Oliver grinned, eyes shining. “What’s a dogbot?”
The boy’s eager curiosity reminded Jack of himself at that age. Something tripped over in his gut. It must be tough on Olly not to have his dad around. If Leanne hadn’t died, Jack might have had a son who would look at him the way Oliver was looking at him now.
He clapped an arm around Oliver’s shoulder. “That is what we’re going to find out.”