скачать книгу бесплатно
But Sienna could tell she had his attention. “Have you told him yet whether you’ll go with him on the ski trip to New Zealand?”
“Why do you want me to go? I’d have to miss a week of school. And the qualifying exam to see if I can go into the advanced math class next year.”
“I’ll speak to your teacher. We’ll work something out.”
The robot hit the table leg and stopped. Oliver picked it up and watched the legs give one last flicker. “I don’t want to go if she’s going.”
Sienna’s jaw tightened, but she strove for an even tone. “Erica’s seven months pregnant and not having an easy time. From what Anthony said, I doubt she’s going.”
Still Oliver hesitated. Sienna didn’t want to lecture him again tonight, but neither did she want him to miss this opportunity. “If you want to maintain a good relationship with your dad you need to spend time with him. Every second weekend isn’t enough. We agreed that you would have a holiday with him every year.”
Oliver glanced up, his eyes searching her face. “Doesn’t it bother you? Her, I mean.”
Yes, it did. She’d gotten past her initial raw anger and grief, but the hurt lingered. However, she wanted to do what was best for Oliver. “This isn’t about me. You don’t have to choose sides. You can love us both. You can even—” she swallowed hard “—love Erica.”
“That’s never going to happen.” Oliver was silent for a moment, thoughtful. “You really don’t mind?”
“No, I don’t. I want you to go.”
He glanced at her as if to make absolutely certain, then his expression gradually brightened as the reality of the trip started to sink in. “Okay. I’ll call him now.” He hesitated, then hugged her quickly. “Thanks.”
As she watched her son scramble to his feet and head for the phone, heat pricked Sienna’s eyes. She’d known he was ambivalent about going, but not that his reluctance was out of concern for her feelings. She hated to think of him not going after what he wanted, only to have regrets. That applied to his schoolwork, too, even if he couldn’t see it right now.
She got to her feet, glancing once again at her watch. Oh, God. It was six-thirty. Her guests would be here soon and she’d better get busy.
“I COULD HAVE SWORN she was enjoying our conversation, then out of the blue her smile turned sour,” Jack said to Bogie as he unloaded groceries onto the kitchen counter. “Do you think it was something I said?”
Bogie’s heavy fringed tail wagged in sympathy, but the golden retriever was too busy trawling the tiled floor for spilled crumbs to actually reply.
“It’s not like I’m in the habit of stalking women in the vegetable aisles,” Jack continued in his one-sided conversation. “But if you’d seen that mess of red curls you’d have crossed the room to talk to her, too.”
She looked to be about his age, maybe a little younger, say early to mid-thirties. Designer jeans, good-quality flat leather shoes, crisp white blouse beneath a tailored dark jacket. She could be an upmarket housewife—plentiful in Summerside. Then again, those slender fingers with their just-scrubbed look and short clean nails could belong to a pianist. Or a brain surgeon. All in all, he guessed pianist, but maybe that was simply because he had a thing for Oscar Peterson.
Oscar was on the CD player now, jazzy piano notes bouncing around the kitchen like the dust motes in the last rays of the sun spilling through the large windows overlooking the back garden. Outside, rainbow lorikeets were flitting home to roost in the gum trees, their raucous chatter nearly drowning out the music. Inside the sprawling single-story house, terra cotta tiles and walls of ocher and almond gave off a cozy warm glow. Jack poured himself a glass of red wine and began to cook.
An hour later the aroma of chili, garlic and ginger permeated the kitchen. The first of his guests, his sister Renita, banged open the front door and called through the house. “Hey, Jack. Come and give me a hand. This box weighs a ton.”
He strode out of the kitchen and into a short hallway bordering the lounge room to see his sister, her dark head and curvy round figure almost hidden behind a large cardboard box. He took it out of her arms. “This isn’t so heavy. Maybe you need to start lifting weights.”
“Ugh, I can’t think of anything I’d like less.” Renita went ahead of him to the kitchen, her ponytail swinging and her flip-flops slapping on the tiles. She’d changed out of the suit she wore as the loans manager at the local bank and into a sleeveless top and cargo pants.
“I thought you were bringing a date,” Jack said.
“He had to go away on business.” Over her shoulder she asked, “How was your trip?”
“Let me see… Three months sailing and diving on the Great Barrier Reef? Life doesn’t get much better than that.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t rub it in,” Renita grumbled good-naturedly. “Some of us have to work for a living.”
Jack set the box on the counter. “Is there any point in me learning your new guy’s name?”
“Probably not. At least I’m dating.” Renita went to the cupboard for a wineglass and opened the bottle of sauvignon blanc she’d brought. “Hey, have you seen Mum since you’ve been back? She’s cut all her hair off.”
“I kind of like it. I’m worried about Dad, though,” Jack said. “Ever since he retired he’s been so morose. It’s been six months and now that Mum’s got all these new interests I think he’s feeling left behind.”
“Did you invite him tonight?” she asked, pouring.
“He’d rather watch the footy.” Jack lifted the box flaps to look inside. “What have you got?”
“Ingredients for a Thai seafood appetizer. It’s best cooked at the last minute.” Renita stirred the wok on the stove and sniffed appreciatively. “Smells good. I saw Sharon at the liquor store. She and Glenn are going to be a bit late. Who else is coming?”
“Lexie, Ron and Diane.” Jack stirred the fragrant curry, then dipped a spoon into the coconut-milk broth and tasted. It needed something… Ah, how could he forget? Kaffir lime leaves. He stacked six of the deep green leaves on the chopping block and sliced them into slivers. An image rushed back to him of crouching to retrieve the fallen packet and gazing into a pair of huge gray-green eyes, clear as water. A faint pink blush had stained her pale cream cheeks as he’d shoved the packet into her hands.
Glancing over at his sister, he asked, “Do I come on too strong?”
Renita’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at him over her glass of sauvignon blanc. “Okay, spill. Who is she?”
CHAPTER TWO
“WHY DO YOU ASSUME there’s a woman?” Jack turned away to sprinkle the chopped leaves into the bubbling curry.
“Because with a man, you wouldn’t even think of asking that question. Plus I’m always hoping you’ll meet someone.” Renita crunched on a prawn cracker from the bowl on the counter. Gently she added, “It’s been three years since the accident, Jack. We all loved Leanne, but don’t you think it’s time to move on? You deserve someone wonderful.”
Jack stirred the curry. He and Renita were close, but there were things he hadn’t told his sister about the crash. Didn’t she get that he’d tried to move on? “I asked a woman out today.”
Renita lowered her prawn cracker. “Jack, that’s wonderful! Are we going to meet her tonight?”
“Don’t get excited. She said no.” He measured rice and water into the rice cooker and sprinkled in salt. “They always discover my hidden personality defects and scram.”
“What’s her name?” Renita said, getting back to the point.
“I didn’t ask.” He was still kicking himself for that oversight. “She’s just a woman I met over Kaffir lime leaves in the grocery shop. She must be new around here. I’ve never seen her before.” Or she could have been passing through. An unwelcome thought.
“Did you invite her to dinner?”
“I all but issued a standing invitation for every Saturday night from now till eternity.”
“And she declined,” Renita deduced. “Any sensible woman would. You should have asked her out for coffee first.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I was getting good vibes. Then I mentioned a dinner party and her smile wilted like week-old lettuce.”
“Could be she doesn’t eat.” Renita started taking items out of the box she’d brought. “Was she superskinny?”
“No, she seemed just right,” Jack said, thinking back to her soft curves, partly hidden beneath her jacket. Then he shrugged. “Never mind. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. You know me—I’d invite the postman for breakfast.”
Six months after the crash and fresh out of the hospital, he actually had asked the postie in for coffee. Begged, in fact, offering to drive Irwin around on his route to make up for the lost time. It had been one of those days when the walls vibrated with silence and empty rooms echoed with the voices of the dead. Jack had gone a little crazy. He’d probably be in the loony bin right now if Irwin hadn’t obligingly drunk three cups of coffee and listened to Jack ramble on. Not that Jack had said anything of significance. He’d yakked about local politics, the weather, anything but his grief and guilt.
The crash had been a turning point for Jack. Before, he’d run a successful light-aircraft charter, rebuilt airplane engines and worked on his own invention, an improved global positioning system for small planes. After the crash he’d walked away from the business, the flying and his broken GPS, now shrouded in plastic in his work shed. He’d had no paid employment for three years. Investments and insurance payouts kept him in groceries, paid the mortgage and financed cheap extended holidays. His family sometimes got after him to go back to work, but mostly they supported whatever he chose to do. Personally, he didn’t see a single thing wrong with his lifestyle. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream to have enough money and leisure to travel and pursue hobbies while they were young enough to enjoy it?
Now Jack made a career out of making sure he was always surrounded by family and friends.
Life was too short to spend it working. As subtext to that motto was another. “Never alone, never lonely.” The one thing his mother and sisters would say he lacked was intimacy, but they were women—and women were never content until a man was hooked up for life.
The doorbell rang. Before Jack could react, it rang again. And again. He caught Renita’s eye. They burst out laughing and said in unison, “Lexie.” Jack didn’t bother going down the hall. Lexie would be inside before he got there. The bell was less a request for entry than an announcement of her impending whirlwind arrival.
Sure enough, a moment later their older sister hurried into the kitchen clutching a wine bottle, her shoulder-length curly blond hair swinging behind her as if trying to catch up. Lexie was thirty-eight going on eighteen, and about as responsible as an eight-year-old, but her smile lit a room. “When do we eat? I’m starving.”
“Jack’s met someone,” Renita announced.
“I haven’t.” Jack shot her a warning frown.
“Who is she?” Lexie squealed, ignoring Jack’s denial. She reached for a wineglass, her fingers clean but permanently stained with oil paints. Tonight she’d changed out of the equally stained, loose shirt she wore while working on portraits and into a long Indian cotton skirt and a V-necked T-shirt. A fractured stripe of cobalt-blue curved around her forearm like a tattooed bracelet.
“No one,” Jack said firmly.
“A mystery woman who likes to cook,” Renita said.
“I’m not sure about that,” Jack protested.
“She was after Kaffir lime leaves,” Renita pointed out. “Not exactly a staple ingredient in most households.”
“She sounds perfect,” Lexie said. “When do we meet her?”
Thankfully Jack was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Ron and Diane. Glenn and Sharon got there a few minutes later. Soon Jack’s kitchen-cum-family-room was filled with talk and laughter. They poured wine into glasses and set dishes on the long jarrah-wood table surrounded by mismatched wooden chairs all painted a warm deep red. Work clothes had been shed for jeans; everyone had come ready to relax.
Renita’s appetizer took longer to prepare than she’d anticipated, but no one minded. They ate her garlicky skewered prawns standing around the kitchen counter, jostling good-naturedly for space, three different conversations going at once.
Jack teased his sisters and joked with his friends, but his thoughts returned over and over to a certain pair of fine gray-green eyes. He was all stocked up, but he found himself thinking about his next trip to the greengrocer. What were the chances he’d run into her again? And could he wait a whole week?
GARLIC AND CHOPPED ONIONS were sizzling in the frying pan. The chicken was on a plate to one side, waiting to be sliced into strips. A bottle of curry paste sat defiantly next to the chicken. Glancing at the clock, Sienna frowned. It was nearly seven-thirty. Glyneth and Rex were late.
“See you later, Mum.” Oliver strode through the kitchen, pulling on his jacket. “I’m going to Jason’s now.”
Sienna tossed the onion and garlic skins into the garbage. “Aren’t you staying for dinner?”
“We’re going to get a pizza.”
Sienna sighed gustily, blowing back the same wayward lock of hair that always came loose and fell over her forehead. Pizza sounded good about now. “Be home by eleven.”
“One o’clock.” Oliver sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”
With a cry, Sienna whirled to see acrid smoke wafting up from the pan. She flipped the gas off and turned on the fan to carry away the odor of scorched garlic.
“Midnight,” she said firmly to Oliver. “Call me if you need a ride.”
“I’ll walk. It’s only a few blocks.”
“Don’t forget your key.”
“I won’t. See you later.”
Sienna grabbed the frying pan and took it to the sink. As she scraped out the burned onion and garlic she heard Oliver’s footsteps in the tiled hall, then a moment later the front door shut with a snick.
The phone rang and she left the pan in the sink to reach for the cordless handset on the counter. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Glyneth said, sounding harried as she spoke above the sound of traffic. “The car’s broken down on the freeway. Rex thinks it’s the fuel pump. We’ve called the auto association, but it’s going to be a couple of hours before they get here. I wanted to take a taxi, but Rex won’t leave his stupid Jag and I don’t have the heart to abandon him. We’re not going to make it, Sienna. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, hell. I was so looking forward to seeing you guys,” Sienna said. “When is Rex going to admit his vintage Jaguar is more trouble than it’s worth?”
“God, don’t I wish! I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”
Sienna gazed at the haze hanging over the ruin of a kitchen. It wasn’t the work and the mess she minded. It was another evening on her own. Glyneth couldn’t help that. She straightened her shoulders. “Oh, you know me—I open a packet and heat. I’m just sorry you’re stuck out there with car trouble. How about next weekend?”
“We can’t. It’s Rex’s niece’s wedding.” Glyneth’s phone started to crackle with static. “I’m dropping out. I’d better go. I’ll call you and we’ll catch up soon.”
Sienna hung up and rubbed her right temple where a headache was starting. She rummaged in her purse for a bottle of painkillers. Jack Thatcher’s card fell out.
She stared at the bold black letters of his name on the white card. Now that her plans had fallen through did she have the guts to take him up on his invitation? Bev had personally vouched for Jack Thatcher, so Sienna wasn’t worried that he was some random wacko. And she’d been looking for an opportunity to get out and meet people.
Sienna wasn’t interested in pursuing a romantic relationship. She just wanted a distraction and a few friendly faces to fill an otherwise solitary evening. And for all Jack Thatcher’s banter she didn’t think he was interested, either. He seemed the type to have invited the whole grocery store to dinner.
She’d always been cautious, too controlled to do things on the spur of the moment. Plan ahead had been her motto. That was how she’d gotten through med school and how she’d coped with a demanding workload while being a wife and mother. That hadn’t worked so well, she thought wryly. So maybe this was something else in her life she should change. Maybe it was time she trusted her instinct and gave in to impulse.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she wrapped up the food she’d been cooking and put it back in the fridge. A quick shower and a change into her favorite little black dress perked up her spirits. She put her hair up, applied fresh makeup and slipped into her best pair of shoes.
Then she wrote a note for Oliver and left it on the kitchen counter where he’d see it when he came in. Leaving a light burning over the stove, she slipped out the front door into a fragrant spring evening that suddenly seemed alive with possibility.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DOORBELL RANG just as Jack was sprinkling a generous handful of fresh coriander over the bubbling curry, sending up a pungent, mouthwatering aroma. Maybe Dad decided to come after all. He carried the brimming wok to the table, where fat brown candles glowed on either side of a bowl of floating gardenias. Andrea Bocelli’s deep tones provided a mellow backdrop to the hum of conversation and laughter.
“Dinner’s ready,” he announced to his guests. “Go ahead and start. I’ll be right back.”
As everyone found a place, Renita started dishing out bowls of rice and curry, passing them around the table.
Jack strode down the hall. It would be good if Steve came. He probably wasn’t cooking for himself, with Hetty away on her retreat. He swung open the door. “Hi, D—” he began. Then was lost for words.
The woman from the grocery store stood on his doorstep.
Only, it wasn’t her.
Her gloriously wild hair was tamed into a tightly pinned knot at her nape. She wore a black cocktail dress, high heels and pearls. God forbid he of all people should judge by appearances, but this woman was not the same one he’d invited to dinner.
“My plans fell through…” She trailed off. The nervous smile on her carefully made-up face froze. Uneasiness radiating from her in waves, she presented him with a bottle of red wine. “This isn’t very suitable for curry. I didn’t stop to get another bottle, since I’m already late—”
“It’s okay. I mean, thanks. Come in,” he said finally, recovering his manners just this side of rudeness. “It’s great you could make it.” He stepped back to let her inside. “Er, I never did catch your name.”
SIENNA TOOK ONE LOOK at Jack’s white T-shirt and faded jeans and cringed. She hadn’t missed the bitten-off greeting or his surprise. Whoever he’d been expecting to open the door to, it wasn’t her. Dressing up, automatic in her old crowd, had been a huge mistake. How embarrassing. This was what she got for trying to be spontaneous.
