by JoAnn Durgin
Serenity took a long sip of her coffee. “Yes, but I’ve been learning lately that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, if you’ll excuse the cliché. I think it’s more the idea He equips us with what we need to cope. As far as children, I think they have an uncanny ability to see things grownups are too jaded to see. Their approach to faith and their perspective is fresh and open.” She raised her chin. “Is that how you see it?”
A light of interest flickered in his eyes. “Exactly. I want my patients to understand there’s hope. There’s an inherent trust children have. The way I look at it, it’s a sacred thing. But, unfortunately, it’s also that same innocence that makes them easy targets for exploitation.” Jackson’s eyes were moist as he cleared his throat. “My role is to be a facilitator and help them understand things that have happened in their life and help them cope, as you said.” Lowering his gaze, he fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup.
This man’s personal scorecard shot through the roof. Overwhelmed with emotion, she remained silent even though she felt the somewhat irrational impulse to reach across the table and smooth the lines on his brow. Instead, she kept her hands on her lap.
“Did I say something wrong?” Jackson asked after a full minute passed, although the time lapse hadn’t felt awkward. Strangely enough, she felt entirely comfortable with him.
“Not at all,” she said, swallowing hard. “I was just wondering where you were when I could have used you a few years ago. I mean…” This conversation was much too heavy, especially considering they’d just met. Other than Deidre, she’d shared more with Jackson than anyone—man or woman—since she’d left Croisette Shores. In Atlanta, she’d kept to herself for the most part and focused on her studies, rarely going out for social events although she’d had plenty of invitations.
Nancy brought the slice of cherry cheesecake with a plate and two forks. “Eat up. Holler if you need anything.” Good old Nancy. Forcing intimacy by bringing only one plate. At least she’d brought two forks. Stop overanalyzing. It’s what the concept of sharing is all about. Still, there were a lot worse things in life than sharing germs with a healthy-looking doctor.
“Thanks. We’ll do that.” Jackson handed her a fork. “Do you mind if I ask a blessing?”
Embarrassed, Serenity lowered her fork from where she’d poised it above the plate. “Not at all. Please. Go right ahead.” Feeling silly and inarticulate, she bowed her head and listened as Jackson prayed for the food and asked God to bless their working relationship. Never in her life had she been with a man her own age who prayed outside the doors of the church. Wow. When he ended the prayer and she raised her head, she felt the stares focused on her. Well, to be fair, none of the regulars had ever witnessed her in prayer before. More than likely, it’d start a whole new thread of speculation and gossip. At least it’d be about something positive.
“We should probably discuss decorating your office,” she said. That was the purpose of their meeting, after all. “Why don’t you tell me some of your ideas?”
Jackson was even more attractive when a slow smile spread across his face, revealing a small but deep dimple on the left side. A similar smile framed by two dimples had been her undoing, so she should tread with extreme caution. This man jumpstarted her pulse unlike any man since Danny, and she needed to stick to business.
Pulling her notepad from her purse, Serenity listened as Jackson began to share his vision for a kid-friendly but functional office. “I brought most of the furniture I had in my Chicago office, but I need to update it. Throw some pillows on the chairs, a rug or two on the floor, liven it up. It’s all pretty plain and boring, and that’s why I need your help. The goal isn’t to put my patients to sleep, but to stimulate their imagination so they’ll be at ease and comfortable.” He grinned. “I have animals, though. That’s what saved me before.”
Serenity raised a brow. “Animals? Are we talking live or inanimate?”
“Let’s save that for when you visit the office.”
“Okay. What are the floors made from?”
“They’re hardwood. Oak, I think. Maybe maple. Sorry, I’m not sure.”
She made a notation. “I’ll take a look. Northern red oak was used in a lot of the buildings near where your office is located. Are the floors in good condition?”
“Seem to be,” Jackson said. “It’s not my intent to cover them up, but to enhance them or whatever.”
In-between bites of cheesecake and sipping coffee, she posed her prepared list of questions. Jackson seemed at ease with himself and his world, as much as anyone she’d ever met. If he’d experienced heartache in his life, he’d buried it deep inside where no one could see it on the surface. He intrigued her. Dr. Ross is a client. Don’t start speculating on his personal life.
Jackson lowered his fork and crossed his arms on the table. “After listening to me babble for the last ten minutes, I’d like to hear your thoughts for decorating my home-away-from home.”
“If it’s a second home, then maybe we should start with a portable cot?”
He ran a hand over his chin. She’d meant it to be amusing, but he appeared to take the question seriously. “Using my practice in Chicago as a guideline, it might come in handy. Sometimes I lose track of time and spend hours researching case histories, that kind of thing.”
“Workaholic tendencies or an abundance of clients?” Serenity swallowed, hoping he hadn’t taken offense. Should have stuck with her prearranged questions, her “script.”
The muscles in Jackson’s jaw twitched. “I prefer to call it attention to detail.” Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms. “Your turn.”
She glanced at the notes she’d taken. “I’m envisioning light, bright, fun and colorful.” As she shared her ideas, Jackson nodded on occasion and made a comment here and there. From his remarks, he seemed pleased with the majority of her suggestions. The vertical line that surfaced between his brows clued her in to the ones he didn’t particularly like, and she scratched them off her list.
“Sounds good,” he said when she finished, “but I have a make-or-break question.”
Her pulse escalated. “What’s that?”
“Do you think you can find a giraffe for my office?” When her eyes widened, he laughed. “Strictly a cute stuffed animal. My first patient in Croisette Shores tells me it’s a personal favorite, and I aim to please.”
Serenity slowly eased out her sigh. If nothing else, this man would keep her attention. “I love them, too, and I’ll get on it this afternoon.” Wasn’t a giraffe the mascot for a chain of toy stores? Later in the day, if she had time, she’d find the nearest location and get a giraffe. Going into a toy store might be a little difficult, but she’d manage somehow. Maybe she could convince Deidre to go with her.
“Great. I think we’ll make a good team.” Finishing his last bite of cheesecake, Jackson drained his coffee and those dark eyes met hers above the rim of his cup. “The coffee here is strong, but good. So was the cheesecake.” Glancing around, he nodded at a few of the older men. “Seems there’s a lot of local flavor in this coffee shop. If you’re game and have time, I’d like you to take a walk with me.”
She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin, wondering what was in his mind. “Now?” Where could he take her that she hadn’t already been, didn’t already know? She knew this town inside and out. From all appearances, it hadn’t changed much since she’d been away. Croisette Shores hadn’t changed much since she’d been born.
“I have a flexible schedule, and where I’d like to take you actually involves the project with you. Well, sort of. If you’re not free…”
“It’s not that.”
“I assure you, I’m completely honest, above-board, and have no criminal record. Or no ulterior motive.”
What prompted that speech? No way could Jackson know her personal history. Charlie knew plenty, but he was her friend and even orchestrated this meeting, so no, he wouldn’t sabotage her. She liked Dr. Ro
ss but didn’t wish to diffuse any bombs so soon after meeting him. She imagined most women would jump at the opportunity to go anywhere with this man. The expectant expression on his face was rather endearing.
“All right, but only because you’ve made me curious. Can we get something settled first?”
He held her gaze steady. “Sure. Name it.”
“Are you definitely contracting my services for the decorating job?” Standing, Serenity ran a quick hand over a wrinkle in her pale pink cotton top, not wanting to seem too eager. Her question probably gave her anxiousness away, as it was. If he was pleased with her work, he might be amenable to giving her a recommendation and referring her services to other professionals in Croisette Shores and the surrounding towns.
Jackson rose to his feet, a good three or four inches taller and—at almost five foot nine—she was no slouch in the height department. “Yes, you’re definitely hired,” he said. “Do you have the contract with you now? I’ll sign it, shake your hand, whatever you want. I look forward to working with you, Serenity. After all, any woman who can appreciate my affinity for animals and not veto it on principle is my kind of decorator.”
“I’ll have my assistant deliver the contract to you tomorrow morning if you’ll be in your office.” How she loved saying that…my assistant.
“Great. I’m working out of Dr. Rasmussen’s office while he’s on holiday or until my office is ready. Do you think we can get it put together in the next couple of weeks, or is that pushing it? I don’t want to rush you.”
“Since you’re keeping most of your furniture from your previous office, I don’t see why not. And,” she gave him a small smile, “you’re not rushing me.” Other things, yes, but no rushing was involved.
Jackson tossed a few bills on the table, more than enough for their coffee and the cheesecake, although Nancy told them she’d cover the cost of the dessert. If Sophia in the deli at McHenry’s Market was to be believed, Nancy had gone through some tough times lately. Maybe Jackson somehow knew that, too, and wanted to repay her.
“Where are we going next, Doc Jack?”
His smile disarmed her. “Somewhere that might change your life.”
~CHAPTER 5~
Where is Jackson taking me?
Serenity appreciated how Jackson waited beside her chair as she stepped around the table and made her way toward the front door. She nodded at a few of the townspeople and exchanged a quick hug with a couple of the ladies. As she introduced Jackson, she tried to ignore the knowing smiles and once-overs from all directions. Jackson seemed to take it all in stride, but she wondered what he was thinking as they continued on their way to the cashier. Without a doubt, they’d be the subject of speculation by day’s end. Aretha Simmons—Old Persimmonhead—sitting by the picture window, would make sure of that. An unkind nickname, yes, but the woman’s head was irregularly-shaped, her lips puckered in a permanent state of displeasure.
She offered to pay her portion of the bill, but Jackson waved his hand in dismissal. “Thanks, but I’m a paying client, and that includes the initial meeting.” The girl behind the counter was young, pretty and gave Jackson a flirty glance while handing over his change. Joining her a few seconds later, he opened the glass door and sent that bell jingling. If the patrons inside hadn’t yet noticed their departure, the bell sounded the alarm. Through the years, many customers had tried to yank that bell away, but the owner insisted it stay.
“Nothing like being the subject of town gossip,” Jackson said under his breath as they stepped outside in the bright sunlight.
“Welcome to small town living.” Pulling her sunglasses out of her purse, Serenity positioned them. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it. Which way?”
“Would you prefer to drive or walk?”
“Depends on how far we’re going.” Her new leather sandals were comfortable, but not for an extended walk.
“Only a few blocks. It’d be a shame to waste such a gorgeous day.” He motioned to the right and fell into step beside her.
“How long have you lived in Croisette Shores?” she asked.
“All of four days. Didn’t you see the headline in the Croisette Shores Daily News when I hit the town limits?”
That made her laugh. “Sounds like you’ve already got us pegged. Rest assured, someone’s already digging into your background to find out if you’re a long-lost descendant of Croisette Shores royalty.”
Stepping ahead and pulling a low-hanging branch out of her way, Jackson arched a brow. “Royalty?”
Thanking him for his gallantry, she nodded. “Legend has it French royals discovered and settled our fair village in the mid-1800s. Somewhere along the way—no one seems to know when—the bloodline petered out. It doesn’t stop people from speculating about a royal surfacing here again someday.”
Jackson chuckled. “Sounds fun, but if I was descended from royalty—which I’m not—I’d prefer to keep my life private. The life of a royal would be too burdensome, don’t you think? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go bring around my yacht.” He might not be royalty, but the man had a devastating smile.
She laughed. “Right. I think you’ll discover soon enough the people here are loyal to their own.”
A small gust of wind whipped hair across his forehead as they walked. She liked how the sun brought out highlights in his hair and it curled on the ends. Danny had curls like that, and she’d always loved them. Even though Jackson possessed a casual, friendly air, he also projected an air of easy sophistication. This man would probably be equally at home in a tuxedo—brushing elbows with the elite at one of town’s charity galas—or casual on the beach.
“Tell me.”
Serenity snapped to attention, but she tried not to be obvious about how distracting she found him. “We might annoy each other to the point of nausea sometimes,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but deep down, the people are here for each other in a heartbeat. Loyalty means something.”
Jackson slid his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I have to ask, are you speaking from personal experience?”
She slowed her steps, as measured as her thoughts. “The answer to that one could take a while.” No way could she tell him she’d run away because she’d felt claustrophobic in Croisette Shores. Pity and too many stares could do that to a person, no matter how well-meaning the intent.
“You’re a puzzle, Serenity McClaren.”
If only you knew. Because he was a psychologist, he’d probably embrace the opportunity to unravel the mysteries in her life and try to fit the pieces back together. But no, finding the answers was something she needed to figure out for herself. What would be the point of bringing someone else into the tragedies of her life? It served no worthwhile purpose and she wouldn’t—she couldn’t—impose that burden on anyone else.
The image of the note popped into her mind. Well, at least one other person knew the truth or wanted to help her find it. It’s not like she could post a want ad in the paper or make the rounds, asking what anyone might know.
Averting her eyes from the intensity of his gaze, Serenity forced a lightness into her tone. “What exactly did Charlie tell you about me?” Surely Charlie wouldn’t have blabbed her secrets.
“Confession time. He told me you love cherry cheesecake.”
“And I thought it was a lucky guess.”
“He also told me you beat the boys in kickball in first grade. Outran them all. You’re also uncommonly smart and won the South Carolina statewide spelling bee when you were in the eighth grade.”
“Sixth grade, but I don’t know how smart I am.”
“Something Charlie didn’t tell me was how humble you are,” Jackson said. “Tell me something else he wouldn’t know.”
Clever man, he’d turned the conversation around to suit his purposes. “I don’t spill my deepest secrets to anyone I’ve only known an hour, even if you are a psychologist and a paying client.” Her first paying client, but who was counting?
“I’m listening.” He’d stated his case well, although they didn’t technically have to work together. Basically, he’d tell her what he envisioned for his office and she’d take care of seeing those needs realized. But no, her first client wanted more.
“I play the piano,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “I’m spectacularly terrible, but I try. That’s got to count for something, right? Your turn.”
Sticking with musical instruments should be a safe enough topic. “I play the saxophone. Or I did in middle school.”
“Really? I would have pegged you more for a flute or clarinet player.”
“How so?”
“Most of the saxophone players I’ve known are big guys who blow a lot of hot air on a regular basis. You seem more...delicate, for lack of a better term.”
I’m not as delicate as you might think. “Here’s one,” she said. “I stink at navigation. Even with a map, I can’t find my way out of a paper bag.”
“Do you have a GPS?”
“Yes, but we have a love-hate relationship.” She darted around an overgrown tree encroaching the sidewalk. “Another reason to love Croisette Shores. Not much changes around here, and I know where everything is. I was a mess in Atlanta, but it didn’t help that every street downtown was named Peach something-or-other. Don’t city planners know that confuses people?” Engrossed in their conversation, she hadn’t noticed they were nearing the fringes of her old neighborhood. Stopping, she looked around in dismay. “This is the area of town where I grew up. My dad still lives in the old homestead a few streets over. Why are we here?”
Stopping beside her, Jackson nodded to the left. “The playground.”
