by Joan Kilby
“He’s forever bringing home birds with broken wings, possums that’ve fallen out of their mother’s pouches, salamanders that’ve lost a tail,” she said as she dragged the good tire to the front of the car. “Well, he used to. He has more outside interests these days.”
With a lot of grunting and cursing, she managed to heave it up and onto the axle. When it was done she straightened and looked Jack in the eye. “I know my son. I want what’s best for him.”
“I’m sure you do.” Jack was frustrated because he could see her side, but she couldn’t seem to understand where he was coming from. “But how good a parent are you if you don’t pay attention to what Oliver wants?”
“He’s too young to know.”
“I knew at that age.”
“And look at you now.” She twirled the nuts back into place on the bolts. “Just because you’re not fulfilling your potential is no reason to encourage Oliver to settle for less than he’s capable of.”
“Whoa!” Was she trying to make him angry? “So we’re back to talking about me now?”
“I’m just calling it like I see it.” She tightened the nuts with the wrench, then turned the jack handle the opposite direction to bring the car down. “Forget about your ambitions for him,” Jack said. “Think about what will make Oliver happy.”
She straightened and planted both hands on her hips. “Happy isn’t about playing at your hobbies all day. It’s about living a productive life.”
“I have a productive life.” He glared at her.
Her eyes locked with his. “I was talking about
Oliver.”
Jack picked up the flat tire and stowed it in the trunk. To hell with her feminist sensibilities. The sooner he got out of here, the better. When she would have put the wrench away, too, he took it and gave the nuts another few turns to tighten them properly.
Sienna put away the jack and slammed the trunk. “Unless you’re a parent, you can’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to have a teenage son.”
Jack flinched as though she’d slapped him. “No, I don’t,” he said, his voice tight. “You’ve got that on me.”
“So do I have your word you won’t try to influence him?”
He got into his truck, started the engine and lowered the window. “Since he can’t visit me, and I’m not allowed to talk about our mutual interest in robotics even if I run into him on the street, I’m not likely to have much influence, am I?”
SIENNA SNEEZED AND PRESSED a tissue to her runny nose. She had a cold, and standing in Lexie’s drafty studio with nothing but a blue bedsheet draped around her naked body wasn’t helping. “Can I turn the heater up?”
“Don’t move.” Lexie, a clutch of brushes in her left hand, dabbed at the portrait with quick short strokes. “I’ll get it in a minute.” Belatedly she added, “Bless you.”
Sienna let her gaze drift to the window again, half hoping, half afraid Jack would show up. Hoping? Had she really thought that? She didn’t care if she never saw him again.
“He’s not coming over today,” Lexie said. “I mentioned you’d be here. He said he’d be sure to stay away.”
Ouch. Lexie thought her brother was being thoughtful; she didn’t know the reason behind Jack’s absence. But it was Sienna who had a right to be angry, not him.
Lexie twirled a brush in the jar of turpentine then absentmindedly wiped it clean using the hem of her loose paint-smeared shirt. “I heard you two had a great time at Trivia Night.”
“It was okay,” Sienna conceded reluctantly. Jack had been at his most charming that evening until she’d brought up the crash. She could see how some women could fall for him.
“I also heard you were a hero and fixed his dislocated shoulder.” Putting down her brushes, Lexie walked over to turn up the space heater on the floor next to Sienna.
“That was nothing.” She waved it away and then brightened. “The other day I changed a tire.” A blast of warmth curled around her ankles and she stretched her cramped toes. “Well, with a little help.”
“And you two went out to the airfield together,” Lexie continued. “That’s the first time he’s been around planes since the crash.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. I could see it wasn’t easy for him.” Which made it rather special that he’d gone for her sake.
Lexie wagged a finger. “See, I know all about you and Jack. I’m thrilled you two are dating.”
“We’re not dating,” Sienna corrected her. “Far from it.”
“But I thought—” Lexie began.
Sienna’s phone made a distinctive chirp, saving her from explaining. “Excuse me, that’s Oliver.” Reaching into her purse at her feet, she retrieved the phone and read the text message. “Typical. He wants to know what’s for dinner.” She messaged back Leftovers.
“You’re so lucky,” Lexie said. “I’d love to have a kid.”
Sienna studied Lexie’s averted face with the smudge of red paint on one cheek. “You still have time. You’ll meet someone.”
“Maybe. I’m nearly thirty-eight and the clock’s ticking.”
“Hey, ladies.” Renita, wearing a flowing tunic over loose-cut pants, knocked on the open door and came into the studio.
“Renita, I’m always happy to see you,” Lexie said, then threw her a pointed glance. “Except when I’m painting.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just came from Jack’s house.” Renita ran a hand over a splattered wooden chair testing for wet paint, decided there was no risk, then sat. She turned to Sienna. “He said you two had a fight.”
“What?” Lexie said to Sienna. “You never mentioned that. What happened? Is that why you’re not dating anymore?”
“We were never dating,” Sienna said. “Why does everyone think we were?”
“Because you do things together,” Renita said.
“Look, he’s very handsome and charming and fun to be with, but—”
“I can see how that would put a person off, don’t you?” Lexie said to Renita.
Sienna threw up her hands. “Are you two that desperate to hook your brother up with someone? He doesn’t seem to have trouble attracting women.”
“Oh, they hover around him like wasps on plums,” Renita said. “The problem is finding someone who’ll challenge him, someone he won’t get bored with.” She beamed. “We think you have potential.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen.”
“What did you fight about?” Lexie asked.
“I had a go at him for encouraging Oliver to do an apprenticeship when I want my son to go to med school,” Sienna said. “Jack took our conversation personally. He was offended by my remarks about his lack of higher education. I know university isn’t the be-all and end-all,” she added, adjusting her toga. “But Jack and I have completely different goals and ambitions.” As in she had goals and ambitions and he had none.
“Jack built a successful air charter business,” Renita said. “What difference does it make what route he took to get there?”
“He’s not in business now. He let it go. He’s not even doing the Men’s Shed. It was all set up and running and he just dropped it.” Sienna got steamed up just thinking of the waste. “Anyway, it wasn’t all one-sided. He insulted me, too.”
Lexie stopped painting, brush held aloft. “What did he say?”
“Oh, well, just that I can’t cook.” It was true, of course, but he didn’t know that. The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she became. He was making assumptions about her when he had no idea. No idea.
“You can’t let him get away with that,” Renita said, laughing. “Invite him to dinner. Show him what you can do.”
“Ooh, yes!” Lexie chimed in. “We’ll come, too.”
“Lexie!” Renita said. “You can’t invite yourself.”
Renita and Lexie were trying to matchmake; Sienna knew that and dismissed it. But giving dinner parties was high on the list of what Sienna hoped to achieve in
Summerside. She should learn to cook. Her culinary skills were deficient and she wasn’t satisfied with being less than stellar at anything she attempted. Inviting Jack, having to prove herself, would provide incentive. She wouldn’t become a gourmet cook overnight, but she was willing to try. When a person tried, success often followed. It sure didn’t happen by sitting on your duff.
“I’ll do it,” Sienna announced, her mind already working out the details. “You can both come and bring dates. I’ll invite my friends Glyneth and Rex.” Sienna glanced from Renita to Lexie. “Okay?”
“Okay!” Renita and Lexie agreed in unison.
“Excellent.” Sienna stood up. “Lexie, would you mind if we took a rain check on this sitting? I need to get organized if I’m going to throw a dinner party. It’ll take me a few days.”
“Sure, no problem,” Lexie said. “Good luck with Jack.”
She didn’t need luck, Sienna thought as she drove home. She needed a plan of attack.
JACK CHECKED HIS WATCH for the umpteenth time since he’d dragged himself out of bed at 11:00 a.m. It was only three o’clock. Too soon to call anyone to meet him at the pub for a drink. Anyway, all his friends would be working.
He’d taken Bogie for a run, stocked his pantry, tidied his house, updated his Facebook page, checked on his stocks and read the newspaper from front to back. Plenty of excitement for one day.
He prowled the house, looking for something to do. Anything.
The Men’s Shed had ruined him for a life of leisure, he realized. He missed the guys. Missed having something productive to show for his day.
Damn that Sienna Maxwell.
Thinking of her made him chuckle. She wanted to be so perfect. He couldn’t wait to see her come up against something she couldn’t handle. Couldn’t wait for her to fall flat on her face. He couldn’t wait to see her admit she wasn’t perfect at everything she attempted. He couldn’t wait to—
He couldn’t wait to see her.
Hell.
It was this house. Apart from his run, he’d been cooped up all day. He needed to get out, to do something, talk to someone.
Jack grabbed his car keys and wallet and fled. He got into his ute and started driving, not knowing where he was going. As he passed his father’s house, he slowed. With Mum away he really should check on Dad more frequently. The old man wasn’t himself these days. He used to be busy around the farm literally from sunup to sundown. Now he had nothing to do and no idea how to fill his day.
Jack parked in the driveway and walked up the path to the door. He knocked and went in. “Hey, Dad. It’s me.”
“In the living room,” Steve called.
The house was dim, the curtains drawn. Jack followed the blue glow from the TV to find his father burrowed in his recliner, watching an old John Wayne movie. An empty cookie packet sat on the table next to his chair. Smedley lay across Steve’s legs. Even for a small pooch, he was too big to be a lapdog and his sheepish expression showed that he knew it. Not that he was going to budge.
“What are you doing?” Jack asked. “Want to go for a walk or something?”
“Nah, I don’t feel so good,” Steve said. “I’ll just stay here.”
Jack sat on the couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I heard our toys raised over two thousand dollars for the school athletic center.”
Interest flickered over Steve’s face. “That right? Is there going to be another fundraiser, do you know?”
“Not that I’ve heard.” Jack watched the cowboys tear through the canyon while a lone Apache watched from atop the cliff. “We don’t need a fundraiser. We could make something in my workshop.”
“What?” Steve asked.
“I don’t know. Didn’t our cousin in Sydney just have a baby? We could make him a rocking horse. Or was the baby a she?”
“Your mother would know.” Steve fondled Smedley’s ears. “It wouldn’t be the same without all the guys.”
Jack nodded, twisting his hands together. “So what are you doing this afternoon?”
“Sittin’.” Steve shrugged. “Nothing else to do.”
“You could go visit Ralph.”
“Maybe.” A commercial came on. Steve flicked through the channels.
“Jeez, Dad. You can’t just sit around all day, doing nothing!”
Steve turned his face toward him. At that angle Jack saw not his eyes but the reflection of the TV screen in his glasses. “What are you doing that’s so all-fired important?”
Jack stared at him, at a loss for words.
JACK ADJUSTED the gooseneck lamp so that it shone directly onto the computer motherboard. Tucking his tongue between his teeth, he carefully lowered a micro-chip into place with a pair of jeweler’s tweezers. After he’d left his father’s house, Steve’s words had alternated with Sienna’s over and over in his brain. What are you doing that’s so important? Would you call yourself a success?
He wasn’t going to apologize for talking to Oliver. She was wrong about her son; Jack had no doubt on that score. She was wrong about him, too, and her assessment of him still stung. He wasn’t going to change on her say-so.
He was only in his workshop because he’d glanced through an aviation engineering journal and had an idea of what might have gone wrong with his GPS program. If it didn’t work, no big deal. His father, though, now there was a real problem that needed to be fixed.
The radio was on low in the background and Bogie was snoozing beneath his feet when he heard the crunch of gravel beneath tires and headlights hit him full in the face through the workshop window. Jack glanced at the clock, saw it was nearly 10:00 p.m. and wondered who would come calling at this hour on a weeknight.
The headlights went out, a car door slammed and footsteps approached. Bogie was at the door first. His warning bark gave way to a wagging tail and wriggling body as he greeted the new arrival. Sienna.
Thanks a lot, Bogie, you traitor.
“Hey, Boogie-woogie.” Sienna’s voice was a low croon. “How’s my boy?”
She straightened away from the dog and Jack noticed she was all dolled up. Her long burnished ringlets were held loosely back and she was wearing a clingy wraparound dress and high-heeled sandals. An unexpected jolt of jealousy stabbed his gut. The late hour, the hair, the makeup. Had she been out with another guy? Not that he cared.
He jammed his hands into his back pockets, conscious he was wearing his oldest work pants, the pair with the hole in the knee, and a sweatshirt with frayed cuffs. “What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. I was just passing. Thought I’d stop in.” Her voice was breathless and her gaze darted about, from him to the workbench to the kitchen, as if she was nervous. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, come in.” Deeply ingrained manners overrode his wounded pride. “Want some coffee?”
“No herbal tea?”
“The Shed is man country. We don’t drink herbal tea. It’s plain black or nothing.”
“I won’t have anything, thanks.” She twisted the strap on her shoulder bag with manicured fingers. “I came by to apologize. I said things I shouldn’t have.”
His shoulders stiffened, but he waited to hear what she had to say.
“You did a really good job with Men’s Shed,” she went on. “You’re not a—”
Don’t say it. He clenched his hands inside his pockets.
“—failure.”
“I don’t need a pep talk.”
“Sorry. I just… Sorry.”
Silence fell. The jazz station played an old Charles Mingus tune in the background.
“What are you working on?” She glanced along the bench, checking out what he was doing. Despite what she’d said, he knew that in her eyes he was a failure no matter that he had money, hobbies and friends. To her, success was narrowly defined as career achievement.
“Upgrading Renita’s home computer,” he said, banking on her not knowing the difference between a personal computer motherboard and the inner workings of
the GPS. Bogie nudged at his leg and Jack reached down to pat him. “How’s Olly?”
“He’s fine.” Mention of Oliver brought a moment’s awkward silence. Then she went on in a rush, “I came by to invite you to dinner. Lexie and Renita are going to be there and my friends from Melbourne. Next Saturday. Can you make it?”
She was handing him an olive branch. The question was, did he want to take it? They’d quarreled over fundamental issues. The Men’s Shed was finished and he would have no further contact with her son. Was there any point in continuing to see each other?
Curiosity alone made him ask, “Thai chicken curry?”
“It’ll be a surprise, but whatever it is, it’ll be great.” She lifted her chin, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m going to show you that I can cook.”
Reluctantly he smiled. “This I’ve got to see.”
“So you’ll be there?”
Still he hesitated. An anxious frown knit her brow. A look like that was hard to resist.
“I’ll be there.”
His eyes strayed to her lips. It had been days since he’d kissed her. And the way that soft dress clung to her breasts…
“I’d better go.” It was as if she’d read his thoughts. “See you Saturday.” Turning, she swayed back to her car, one arm flung out to balance herself on her high heels in the gravel.
Jack scratched his head, not quite sure what to make of this new twist in their unrelationship.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“MUM, ARE YOU COOKING AGAIN?” Sniffing the smoky air, Oliver came into the kitchen, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
Sienna put down the spent fire extinguisher and flapped a dish towel at the black clouds billowing from the top of the stove. “I need to get rid of the smell before my guests arrive.”
Oliver cranked open the long narrow windows of the family room, letting in a rush of cool air that made the smoke swirl. “What is that thing anyway?”
Sienna fought back tears as she gazed at the blackened lump rising from the sea of foam that blanketed the stove and kitchen counter. “Chinese smoked duck.”
