“You really don’t work at anything?”

Sienna’s gaze flicked from his clearly expensive house and back to him.

“Life’s short,” Jack said flippantly. “I live for pleasure.”

Suspicion clouded her expression. “Then how do you get money?”

“I’m not a drug dealer. Nothing illegal is going on.”

“But you must have worked at some point.” She leaned on the porch railing, studying him. “Are you really content with just hobbies?”

He sensed she wanted to like him. He wasn’t being egotistical to think that. And he was attracted to her. Yet it was clear she couldn’t help judging him. Self-indulgent. Lazy. Hedonistic. He could almost hear the pronouncements flowing through her mind. Those qualities weren’t what she, a doctor, stood for.

“I’m not a bad person,” he said, attempting to make a joke of it. “In fact, you and I operate by the same code—first, do no harm.”

“You don’t do harm by having a job.”

“I had a job once.” He shrugged. “I got tired of it.”

It had been a great job, too. One he loved. But he’d screwed up. And Leanne had paid the price.

Dear Reader,

My life, knock on wood, has so far been free of major misfortune. When I hear or read about people whose lives have been taken from joy to tragedy after a fatal accident, it tears at my heart. They will be living with the physical and emotional consequences of their trauma for years to come.

How do they cope? What do they endure? Family and friends play a major role in helping people heal. But sometimes that’s not enough. I wish I could give everyone out there a happy ending, but as a writer all I can do is give my characters a happy-ever-after and hope that their stories will touch hearts and give hope.

Jack Thatcher, hero of Her Great Expectations, is beloved by his family, friends and community. Three years after the death of his wife in a plane crash, Jack appears to be coping but inside, guilt and grief have him in their grip. It takes an outsider, Dr. Sienna Maxwell, to see that Jack is still broken. She challenges rather than coddles him, forcing him to confront his darkest fears and, finally, to heal.

Her Great Expectations is the first book in the Summerside Stories series. These stories are about siblings Jack, Renita and Lexie, and their lives and loves in a small Australian town by the sea. They’re about family, friendship and community, all the things that make the world go around.

I love to hear from readers. You can email me at www.joankilby.com or write to me c/o Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, ON, M3B 3K9 Canada.

Joan Kilby

Her Great Expectations
Joan Kilby

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joan Kilby lives in a small seaside village in Australia very much like the town of Summerside in Her Great Expectations. Many of the geographical features in the story are real and an inspiration to Joan. She loves walking along the creek with her Jack Russell terrier, Toby. And she, her husband and their three grown children enjoy warm summer evenings on the deck with a glass of wine and a barbecue. Watching the rainbow lorikeets flit home among the gum trees as the sun sets over the bay is just about as idyllic as it gets.

To Victoria Curran, my wonderful editor,

whose insight, talent and hard work

help make my books the best they can be.

She hauls me back when I go over the top,

“roughs” me up when I get too soft and

gives me a much-needed pat on the back

when I dig deep and make it “real.”

Thank you, Victoria!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

DR. SIENNA MAXWELL WAS trying hard to ignore the ridiculously good-looking man on the other side of the greengrocer. Then a burst of rich male laughter mingled with an elderly lady’s girlish giggle made her glance up again. Casually elegant in a thin black V-necked sweater and tan pants, he could have been George Clooney’s younger brother with his thick rumpled dark hair, warm brown eyes and engaging smile. As she watched, he made a kiwifruit appear from behind the ear of the pink-cheeked, white-haired granny who was, unbelievably, flirting with him.

Tucking back a long corkscrew of red hair, Sienna focused on the fat white bulbs and feathery green fronds of fresh fennel. Even though she had no idea how to cook them, she placed two in her shopping cart while still taking note of the man’s every movement.

He placed the kiwifruit in the woman’s basket, gently squeezed her shoulder and moved on, only to be stopped by a hearty greeting from a man with a beefy red face. Relaxed and cheerful, the Clooney look-alike cocked a hip and leaned on his cart to settle in for a chat as if he had all the time in the world.

A warning vibration burred in Sienna’s jacket pocket—her phone alarm giving her a ten-minute reminder to get back to the clinic for her first patient of the afternoon. She’d rushed out during her lunch break to pick up a few specialty items she needed for a Thai curry because Glyneth and Rex were coming out from the city. Sienna had rashly promised her friends a special dinner, boasting she was going to cook it herself.

Distracted by snatches of the man’s smooth deep voice, she found her gaze drifting across the store again. Now a woman in her thirties towing two young children had stopped to say a few words to him. While they chatted a retired couple waved and called out a greeting. He seemed to know everyone in town.

In stark contrast to her own situation. When she’d moved to the village she’d had a romantic notion of hosting casual dinner parties. Two months in, she still didn’t know anyone she could invite over for coffee, much less spend Saturday evening with. She was simply too busy working to find the time to make friends. Oh, she had Oliver, but he was spending more and more time with his mates from school.

Sienna remembered she had a grocery list and checked it. Kaffir lime leaves, whatever those were. As she turned her cart toward the Asian food section, she cast a last covert glance at the dark-haired man. She didn’t know if she wanted to be him, or do him. Not that she was in the habit of “doing” anyone. At least not in a long time. But there was something about this guy that was stirring her dormant hormones to life. How was it she’d been in Summerside for three months and never run into him before?

Dark eyes set in a tanned masculine face met her gaze across the central display of cut flowers. A small smile played around the corners of a mouth with just the right combination of angles and curves to be ultrasexy.

Heat rose in her cheeks at being caught staring. Sienna blindly pushed her cart forward, noting with clinical detachment her rush of adrenaline and increased heart rate. Get a grip. She was an adult, not a teenager. A doctor, with loftier thoughts than rampant sex among the squashes.

Abandoning her quest for lime leaves, she grabbed a plastic bag and filled it with whatever was in front of her. Just when her pulse was back to normal and she’d regained her composure, that deep low voice sounded not three feet away. He’d crossed the shop and was exchanging pleasantries with the woman standing next to her. Sienna forced herself not to glance over, but her nerve endings prickled with awareness. Then the female shopper moved along and nothing but two feet of air separated her and George Clooney’s brother.

That was when she spied the Kaffir lime leaves on the shelf. Grateful for the distraction, she stretched her fingers out. Clooney reached for the same packet at the same time. Their fingertips touched. She yanked her hand back and the plastic container tumbled to the floor. She crouched to pick it up.

So did he, getting there first. Holding out the lime leaves, he said, “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Meeting his gaze made the warmth rise in her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet before he could offer assistance, and, flustered, scanned the shelf. “There are more.”

“Plenty,” he said, dropping another packet into his cart. “Are you making curry?”

Sienna tucked back more wayward curls bent on escaping her loose ponytail. Recalling the complicated recipe she’d cut out of a magazine, she nodded. “Thai green curry. With chicken.”

“You’ll also need galangal, green chilies…” As he spoke he took the items from the shelf, piling them up in one broad hand. “Fresh coriander, ginger…”

Eyeing the unfamiliar ingredients, she was starting to wish she’d picked an easier dish to learn on. “No, please, I won’t take those. I wanted to be adventurous, but I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I’ve got a jar of curry paste I bought at the supermarket as backup.”

“The bottled stuff is never as good.” He hesitated, but only for a second. “Would you like to come to my house for dinner tonight? I’m having a few people over. You can be adventurous without all the chopping.”

Sienna chewed on her lip. Say yes, you idiot. Are you kidding? I don’t even know him. Just in time she remembered Glyneth and Rex. “Thank you, but I’m busy.”

“I don’t blame you for being cautious,” he conceded. “But you can ask anybody—I’m a good guy.”

“I don’t doubt it after seeing you work this shop.” The phone in her pocket vibrated again. Five minutes. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“Drinks are at seven o’clock. We don’t usually sit down to eat until nine. So, will you come?”

“Seriously, I’ve already got plans.”

“Next Saturday, then. Mark it down in your diary.”

Sienna couldn’t help laughing. “Do you have a dinner party every weekend?”

“I’m not sure if it’s worthy of that title,” he said with a shrug. “I make a big meal and whoever shows up scrambles for a place. If there are too many people I haul out the card table.”

What a contrast to the dinner parties she and Anthony used to give in Melbourne. Formal events, planned weeks in advance with elaborate place settings straight out of Gourmet magazine. Catered mostly, because she never had time to cook and because among their circle of friends the competition to provide the fanciest food was so steep it was completely beyond her. Name cards, floral decorations, three different wineglasses and twice as many forks. She had never been relaxed enough to enjoy them. And she’d ended up positively hating them after she’d found out what Anthony and her so-called friend Erica had got up to in the pantry between courses.

Her smile faded. She still couldn’t get her head around the fact that her marriage had broken up. That sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in her perfect world. “I have to go.”

“I’m Jack.” He pulled out his wallet and withdrew a card, which he pressed into her hand. “Here’s my address in case you change your mind.”

She glanced at the card. Jack Thatcher, Linden Avenue. Before she could reply or tell him her name, an elderly man—obviously hard of hearing, and holding a cane—spoke in a loud voice, one gnarled hand cupped behind his ear. “How ya going, Jack? The missus wants to know why you haven’t been around for a slice of her lemon cake lately.”

Sienna backed away, sliding his card into the side pocket of her purse. She hurried through the checkout and out of the shop. After crossing at the pedestrian walkway, she continued up the street, past the pet store and the chain grocery toward the clinic on Main Street at the end of the two-block commercial area.

Although the sun was still above the treetops, a light spring breeze made her glad of her jacket; here on the peninsula it was always a few degrees cooler than the city. But the tiny coastal town felt right for her at this point in her life. Professionally she’d made a significant career advance in becoming head doctor at the busy Summerside Clinic. And now her encounter with Jack Thatcher had left a pleasurable buzz in her veins, as though good times were just around the corner.

Bev, the well-groomed fiftysomething receptionist, was clacking away at the computer when Sienna entered.

Sienna greeted her and went through into the area behind the reception desk. There she paused and eyed Bev speculatively. Summerside was a small town, only around five thousand people. The gregarious receptionist could likely give her some background on the man she’d just met.

“Oh, Bev,” she said casually. “Do you by any chance know Jack Thatcher?”

Bev stopped typing and swiveled her chair to face Sienna, unconsciously lifting her bejeweled fingers to groom her sleek blond bob. “Everyone knows Jack,” she said with a little sigh. “He’s famous for his dinner parties.”

“Is he married?”

“Widower.” Bev glanced around to see if anyone was close enough to hear, then lowered her voice a notch. “His wife died in a light plane crash a few years ago. Terrible tragedy.” She tilted her head to regard Sienna. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I met him in the shop just now.” She never would have guessed there was heartbreak hiding behind that affable smile.

“A word of warning.” Bev cast a knowing eye at Sienna. “Plenty of women have made a play for him, but he never dates. Ever. They say he’s still in love with his wife.”

“I’m not interested in him,” Sienna replied quickly. “He seemed very friendly, that’s all.”

“He is friendly! With everyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re old, young, rich or poor, Jack would give you the shirt off his back. He’s a great guy. He’s just not a good prospect, if you know what I mean.”

“He invited me to dinner tonight.”

“Really?” Bev said, looking interested.

Bev would have gossiped all day long, but Sienna gave her a gotta-go smile and carried her shopping into the staff room. She hung her jacket in the closet and put the groceries in a corner of the kitchen counter where they’d be all right for a couple of hours. Peeking into the bag, she shook her head. She’d left the shop without everything she’d gone for. And ended up with a whole lot of items she didn’t even recall putting in her basket.

All because a charming man with a smile like George Clooney’s had locked eyes with her across a busy shop.

JACK WIPED THE SWEAT from his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt as he jogged up to his parents’ single-story brick house. Knocking twice, he opened the door. “Anybody home?”

“Hello, darling.” Hetty bustled out to greet him.

“Mother?” He did a double take. Her habitual attire was slacks and cardigans, her dyed blond hair styled in a neat chin-length pageboy. Today was the first time he’d seen her since returning from three months in Queensland. Now she wore flowing silky pants and a loose muslin tunic. Her hair, now gray, was chopped short.

She went to hug him but pulled back. “You’re all sweaty.”

“What did you do to your hair?” Jack propped his hands on his hips and walked around her in a circle.

Hetty brushed her fingers through the spiky cut. “Do you like it?”

“It’s…different.”

“I’ve decided to own my gray hair.” She smiled, her clear blue eyes shining. “To be my age, my authentic self.”

“Really? Who have you been pretending to be till now?”

“Oh, Jack!”

“I’m kidding.” Jack laid an arm loosely over her shoulders. “I think it’s cool.”

“How was your trip?” she asked, smiling up at him. “You’ve been gone forever, it seems.”

“Excellent. I highly recommend the tropics as a place to spend the winter.” He let her go and followed her through the arched doorway into the lounge room. Steve was sitting in his recliner with a beer, staring out the window at the horse paddocks opposite. Smedley, his Jack Russell terrier, lay curled at his feet. “Hey, Dad.”

“Jack,” Steve grunted, but didn’t get up.

Hetty huffed out a sigh. “He just sits there hour after hour, doing nothing. Sometimes I think we never should have sold the farm.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. More than fine. Come into the kitchen. I just made brownies.” Leading the way, she glanced over her shoulder. “How did Bogie take to living on a sailboat?”

“As if he was born to it,” Jack said. “I came in to port every night and made sure he had a walk.”

“So…did you meet anyone while you were away?”

“No.” Not while he’d been away. Even as he spoke his mind flashed to the woman in the grocery shop.

“That’s funny.” She frowned. “I had this hunch.”

“Sorry, your mother’s intuition is faulty this time.”

Jack followed her into the small sunny kitchen permeated with the smell of fresh baking. A basket of wet laundry sat by the back door waiting to be hung on the clothesline.

“Steve keeps complaining I never bake anymore, so I gave in for once,” Hetty said, slicing a row of brownies.

“He likes his sweets.” Jack pinched a bar and took a bite. “With good reason. This is delicious.”

“It’s time for his annual checkup, but he keeps putting it off,” Hetty went on. “His old doctor retired and he doesn’t want to ‘break in’ a new one. I think he’s scared the doctor will tell him to lose weight and get healthy.”

“Do you and Dad want to come for dinner on Saturday?” Jack asked. “Renita and Lexie will be there.”

“I’m going on a two-week retreat at the meditation center,” Hetty said. “But your father can. It would be a relief to know he’s not just sitting here brooding.”

“Meditation, huh? This really is a new you.”

Hetty’s eyes shut. A beatific smile transformed her face, and when she opened her eyes again she radiated calm. “I feel so peaceful, I can’t tell you. I wish Steve would try it.” Her smile faded and her expression turned wistful. “He’s not supportive. I think he feels threatened.”

“He’ll get used to it.” Jack brushed the crumbs off his hands over the sink. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Jack put another piece of brownie on a plate and took it to his father in the lounge room. He noticed a plate with chocolate crumbs on the side table next to the recliner. And Steve’s stomach bulging over his waistband. Hetty was right—he’d put on a few pounds since Jack had seen him last. “Here you go, Dad. What’s up?”

Steve took the brownie and had a bite. “Your mother’s turned lesbian.”

Jack fought back a laugh. “It’s just a haircut.” He lowered himself onto the dark green brocade couch opposite and reached out to pat Smedley, who’d trotted over.

“It’s more than a haircut,” Steve growled. “She’s joined a cult. According to the pamphlets she brings home, they’re celibate up there at the retreat center.”

“Celibate is hardly the same as lesbian,” Jack said, shaking his head.

“Who knows what she gets up to with those people in white robes,” Steve said. “I just know she’s not here with me.”

“You should develop some interests of your own,” Jack suggested.

Ignoring that, Steve polished off the brownie. “And she’s hardly ever around to cook dinner.”

“Come on, Dad. You can look after yourself.” This grumpiness was out of character for Steve. He’s afraid, Jack thought. Afraid of getting old, of becoming redundant.

Of losing Hetty.

Steve dabbed at the crumbs on the plate. “I expected the girls to take her side, but not you.”

“I came to invite you to dinner on Saturday,” Jack said, sidestepping the issue. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in his parents’ marriage problems.

“Football’s on that night. Will you be watching?”

“Probably not.”

“Then forget it.” Steve took off his steel-framed glasses and peered at the lenses. “Damn things are always blurry.”

“Are you feeling okay? I hear you’re going to see the doctor soon.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Steve said, polishing his glasses on the hem of his shirt. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

Jack waited, expecting a qualifier, but none came. “That’s fine, but you should get that checkup. Why don’t you come jogging with me sometime?”

“No, thanks. Too energetic for me.” Steve lifted his beer to drink, but it was empty. “Hetty! Can you bring me another cold one?”

There was no answer.

With difficulty he pushed himself out of his chair and unbent, one hand supporting his lower back. “Where is that woman? She’s never around when I need her.”

“She’s probably outside hanging up the washing. I’ll get you a beer.” But Steve was already shuffling to the kitchen. Sighing, Jack glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go. I’ll catch you later, Dad.”

“OLIVER, I’M HOME.” Sienna glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. She was running late. She dropped her bag of groceries on the dark green granite counter in her small, efficient kitchen. Leafing through the envelopes she’d collected from the mailbox on her way in, she listened for her son’s reply. Electricity bill, junk mail, letter from the high school… “Oliver, are you here?”

“I’m in my room.” His voice cracked on every second syllable. “On the computer.”

Leaving the groceries and the mail for the moment, Sienna went to the low bookshelf in the breakfast nook and took out the local map. She didn’t have time for this, but she was curious to find out exactly where Jack Thatcher lived.

Linden Avenue, she discovered, was on the southern outskirts of town about two miles from the village center. There the houses bordered paddocks where cattle and horses grazed. Her house was a couple of miles north of the town, in an older part of Summerside. She wasn’t likely to bump into him while out jogging. Damn.

Sienna closed the map book and went back to the kitchen to start dinner, embarrassed by her foolish preoccupation. If she kept this up, the next thing she knew she’d be driving past his house. She shook her head. That was so not going to happen.

She put away the groceries and got the chicken out of the freezer to defrost in the microwave. But like a terrier with a bone, her mind kept going back to Jack and his Thai green curry. If Glyneth and Rex hadn’t been coming she could have accepted his invitation. She wouldn’t have to even think about cruising slowly past like some creepy stalker—she’d be pulling into his driveway, a welcome guest.

While the chicken thawed, Sienna opened the letter from the school, thinking it was probably a notice of some event. But as she scanned the single page her heart sank. It was from the middle-school coordinator, informing her tersely that Oliver had failed to hand in assignments in three subjects—English, math and biology. Sienna breathed out hard, nostrils flaring. Olly was a smart kid; she shouldn’t be getting letters like this about him.

“Oliver!” she yelled loud enough for him to hear her in his room.

“I’m right here.” He appeared abruptly in the doorway. He’d changed out of his olive-green-and-gray school uniform into a Billabong T-shirt and blue jeans, and put fresh gel on his thick curly blond hair. He made his way into the kitchen, brushing past her on his way to the cupboard that held the water glasses. At six foot, he was already taller than her by six inches. “What’s the matter?”

She shook the letter, rustling the paper. “Mr. Kitzinger says you haven’t been turning in assignments.”

“Oh.” Glass in hand, he edged past her to help himself to water from the tap.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

He drank a few gulps, then dashed the rest of the water into the sink. “I hate English, my math teacher is crap and I want to drop biology next year.”

Alarmed, Sienna rubbed her bare arms, crumpling the letter. She knew Oliver was at an age where interest in school waned, but this was the first time he’d talked about dropping science subjects. “Regardless of how you feel about your teachers or the subjects, the fact is, you have to do the work. If you don’t improve your marks, you’re never going to be accepted into university.”

He slumped against the counter, his eyebrows lowering over his deep-set gray-blue eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to go to uni.”

Sienna felt her blood go cold. “You don’t know what you want. You’re only fourteen.”

“Exactly. I’m only fourteen. So quit planning my life for me.” Pushing off the counter, Oliver went into the family room, threw himself onto the couch and switched on the TV.

“Turn if off, please.” Sienna waited, silently counting to ten. She got to eight before he did as she asked. “If you want to be a doctor you need to learn good study habits—”

“I don’t want to be a doctor. You’re the one who wants it. We’ve got enough doctors in this family already—Dad, you, Nanna and Pop.”

“When I was your age I didn’t think I wanted to be a doctor, either. I changed my mind,” Sienna told him. “You’ll change your mind, too, when you get older.”

“You don’t know that,” Oliver protested. “You think you know me, but you don’t.”

She took a breath, planning to say that of course she knew him—he was her son, her baby she’d taken care of since he was born. She knew the birthmark on his back and the way his big toe curved inward, just like hers. She knew he worried about global warming and that he liked comedy shows better than crime dramas.

Then she looked at the great big boy sitting on the couch, staring at her with a mixture of sullenness and anxiety, and her words stopped in her throat. Did she know him anymore, really? Oh, he was still her son and all those things about him were still true, but he was changing. Growing up, growing away from her. He was developing muscles and peach fuzz on his chin and a mind of his own. She no longer knew his every thought and feeling, because he no longer blurted them out as soon as he came through the door. All too soon he would be a man. Blink and he’d be gone, leaving home.

She crossed her arms over her tightened stomach. “What…what do you want to do?”

Oliver hunched his broad bony shoulders. “I don’t know. Dig ditches, maybe.”

Oh, God. Sienna felt the breath stick in her chest. He didn’t mean that—he was just trying to push her buttons. And doing a darn good job of it, too. Oliver had been in the gifted class right through primary school. He had so much potential. She had such high hopes for him. The important thing for her right now was not to overreact.

Letting her breath go, she said calmly, “Whatever you end up doing, it’s important that you finish high school. Keep your grades up, take a variety of courses and keep your options open.”

“I guess,” he said grudgingly, not looking at her.

Now that he was acquiescing, she couldn’t resist one more salvo. “Oliver, you know how strongly I feel about education. It’s a crime to have the gift of intelligence and talent and not use it to the best of your ability.”

“A crime is something that’s against the law,” said Oliver, ever the nitpicker.

Hands on her hips, Sienna shot back, “In my world, not living up to your potential is against the law.”

Oliver groaned theatrically and pushed his hands through his blond curls.

“I want you to get right in there after dinner and get busy on your homework,” Sienna added. “No MSN, no texting your friends—”

“It’s Saturday night,” Oliver complained. “I’m going to Jason’s. I’ll do the assignments this weekend.”

“Oliver—”

“I promise!”

The microwave was beeping. Sienna went back to the kitchen and removed the thawed chicken. She took out her brand-new wok and got out the chopping board, biting her tongue not to keep haranguing him. “All right. You can go to Jason’s, but you will spend the rest of the weekend catching up on your schoolwork.” Seconds ticked by. She glanced at him. “Well?”

Finally Oliver said, “Okay.” He shuffled his large feet, ruffling the area rug that overlaid the polished hardwood floor. A few more seconds passed. “Do you want to see my solar-powered robot?”

Sienna took another deep breath and released it. “Sure.”

Oliver went to his bedroom and came back with a flashlight and a weird-looking contraption made out of a computer disk with half a Ping-Pong ball and two rubber-tipped motors attached to the bottom surface. Wires ran from the motor “legs” through the central hole to an array of light sensors, he explained. The sensors were wired to a small switch and a backup battery pack. Oliver placed the robot on the floor and knelt beside it. He flicked on the switch and shone the flashlight onto the sensors.

Nothing happened.

Oliver’s fair skin flushed, the scattered pimples on his chin turning deeper red. He thrust the light closer. “Come on.”

“Give it a minute,” Sienna said.

Slowly the legs began to move up and down, the rubber tips squeaking backward over the floor. It was the oddest thing Sienna had ever seen. “That’s amazing! Did you do that in science?”

“Yeah, we had a special presentation this morning,” he said eagerly. “A guy came in and showed us how to make electronic stuff. It was way cool.” The robot crashed into the side of the couch and marched frenetically in place until Oliver pulled it away and sent it in another direction. “I need better legs for it, though. And something to make it go in reverse. Jack said the next time he’d bring more controls.”

Jack. Could it be the same man? She dismissed the thought. No, it was too much of a coincidence.

She reached out and squeezed Oliver’s shoulder. “You’re a smart kid. You’ve got a scientific mind. You could do anything.”

Oliver glanced up at her, his mouth curving uncertainly. She returned his smile with love and pride. Briefly his eyes met hers in naked affection that embarrassed him so much he colored and glanced away.

“Oh, Olly.” Flooded with warmth, Sienna reached over and hugged him. He hugged her back briefly, then began to squirm. With a sigh she scrubbed her hand through his hair and reluctantly let him go.

They watched the robot squeak and scrape across the tiles. Meesha, the black cat, dropped from the chair arm where she’d been curled up sleeping and watched the jerking mechanical computer disk with alert interest.

Sienna asked, “Have you talked to your father lately?”

Oliver tensed, then shook his head, pretending all his concentration was on the erratic progress of the robot.

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.

“Sienna Maxwell.” She licked her lips, tried to take a breath and felt her dress constrict around her rib cage. Hairpins stretched her hair painfully across her skull. She wished she could rip off the pearls and stash them in her purse. Voices, laughter and music came from the other room. There were a lot of people here. “I should have called first.”

“No, it’s fine.” He ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

It wasn’t fine. She could tell by the tense set of his shoulders as he led the way through the living room and down a short hallway lined with photos. She caught fleeting glimpses of windswept airfields and small airplanes taking off before she was ushered into the dining room.

The candlelit table surrounded by glowing faces was reflected in the darkened floor-to-ceiling windows. Exotic spicy smells filled the air, reminding Sienna she hadn’t eaten since lunch, seven hours earlier. Luckily no one would have heard her rumbling stomach over the velvety background music.

Leaning on their elbows, waving wineglasses, Jack’s guests were garrulous and jovial. This was exactly the atmosphere she’d wished to find herself in when she’d made the move to Summerside. Except that in the reality of it, she was out of place. An uptight city girl. All eyes turned to regard her curiously. In her designer dress and Manolo Blahnik shoes Sienna couldn’t have felt more conspicuous if she’d been wearing her white coat and a stethoscope.

Jack introduced her, then went around the table, firing off the names of his other guests. Standing stiffly, Sienna nodded and smiled, trying to remember who was who. There were more women than men—a major no-no at her friends’ dinner parties. She was adding to the uneven gender mix.

Sienna turned to Jack so that her back was to the others and spoke in a low voice. “I’m intruding. I should go.”

“No, please.” His dark eyes were serious as he touched her elbow. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

She searched his face. He seemed sincere. “Well…okay.”

A plump woman with a dark ponytail—Renita?—jumped up to grab an empty chair and pushed it to the table next to hers. “Sit here,” she said, smiling warmly. “I’ll get you a plate.”

Amid jostling and good-natured squabbles, everyone pulled in their chairs as Sienna edged around the table, brushing against the ferns that framed the windows. Smiling fixedly, she could feel every eye follow her. Finally she sank gratefully into her chair, only to find Jack seated at the end kitty-corner to her, so close their knees touched. Did this not constitute a need for that card table?

“Sorry,” she murmured, trying to edge away, but her chair was hard up against the one belonging to the woman with the ponytail…Renita. Sienna breathed and forced her shoulders to relax, fighting her urge to run.

Give these people a chance. Give yourself a chance.

You’ve been out of circulation for too long.

Jack set her bottle of wine in the middle of the table. “Did you want the red or would you like sauvignon blanc? It goes well with curry.”

“No wine for me, thanks,” Sienna said, putting a hand over her glass. “I’m driving.”

It was an excuse. She could easily have one glass of wine without worrying about being impaired. Truth be told, she was nervous. When she was nervous she sometimes drank too much. Doctors weren’t supposed to do that. She certainly wasn’t about to admit she was afraid of getting tipsy and making a bad impression.

“You won’t be driving for hours yet.” Jack lifted her wrist away from her glass and poured.

Sienna should have been annoyed at his presumption, but at the touch of his fingertips on her pulse all she could feel was a melting warmth. God, she was an idiot. One of these women had to be Jack’s girlfriend.

When she still didn’t drink, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Of course you don’t have to have wine, but it might help you loosen up.”

With Jack’s friends openly and unabashedly watching the exchange, she really had no choice. Frankly, she could use a little false courage right about now. Glancing around the table, Sienna lifted her glass. “Cheers.”

With her first sip the other guests seemed to relax and conversation resumed. Everyone talked at once, reminding Sienna of those movies she loved about big happy gatherings of family and friends at Christmas or Thanksgiving. A bowl of rice and fragrant chicken curry was passed down the table to her. Condiments and water, cutlery, a linen napkin all came her way in a haphazard fashion.

With the attention moved away from her and Jack, Sienna was able to study her fellow dinner guests. There was Sharon, short, blonde and vivacious, and her husband, Glenn, easygoing and athletic-looking with close-cropped red hair. Ron was stocky with a shaved head that effectively disguised a balding pate. Diane had spiky hennaed hair and a husky voice. That left Jack, Lexie and Renita. Lexie looked to be older and was very pretty. Renita had a warmth about her that was instantly engaging. Both seemed to have an intimate claim on Jack, frequently sending him glances and exchanging teasing comments with him.

Which was his girlfriend?

Not that it mattered one iota to her. She was just curious.

She spooned some of the light coconut broth swimming with chicken. She looked at Jack in amazement. “This is delicious. Better than any meal I’ve had in a Thai restaurant.”

“As good as yours would have been?” he inquired.

“I don’t know about that,” she demurred, then decided to slip in a mention of Oliver just to get it out of the way. “My son will be forever grateful he didn’t have to eat something ‘weird.’”

“Your son?”

“Oliver. He’s fourteen.” She saw the unspoken question in Jack’s eyes and steeled herself. “I’m divorced.” She glanced away. Every time she spoke those words it felt like an admission of failure.

“I’m a widower.”

His low voice touched something inside her and her gaze found his again. “I’m sorry.” A flash of something—empathy over life’s disappointments, the cruelty of tragedy—connected them for a moment.

Then Jack shrugged, a tiny gesture that carried him from the unalterable past back to the present. He looked around at his guests enjoying themselves and took a sip of wine. “Life goes on.”

Sienna breathed out. He was right. She was in a new place, starting afresh. “Yes, it does. Life goes on.”

He smiled. She smiled back. Comrades.

Finally she broke the silence with the first thing that came to mind. “So, Jack, what do you do for a living?”

“Nothing much.”

Sienna laughed, as no doubt she was supposed to. “No, really, what do you do?”

Before he could answer, Renita interrupted, swiveling on her chair to attract Sienna’s attention. “I love your pearls. They’re real, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they belonged to my grandmother.” Sienna ran her fingertips over the long strand self-consciously. “I can see I’m overdressed for the occasion.”

“You look amazing,” Renita insisted. “Doesn’t she, Jack?”

“Please…” Sienna began, feeling heat climb her cheeks.

Jack’s eyes rested on her. “You should see her with her hair down.”

“Ooh, yes! I’d like to see that,” Lexie said from across the table. Her chin rested in one palm as she imperiously waved a wineglass with her other hand. “Pull out those pins.”

Sienna laughed uncertainly and focused on her curry. “The Kaffir lime leaves really make a difference.” She had no idea what she was talking about, of course. She could still feel Jack’s gaze on her.

“Stop it, you guys, you’re making her uncomfortable.” Sharon came to her rescue. “Sienna, don’t mind these three. They tend to pounce on people and gobble them up. It means they like you.”

“These three?” For one wild moment she wondered if they were a ménage à trois. Had she stumbled into a hotbed of swinging in the suburbs? Then it dawned on her. The family resemblance. It was in the shape of their eyes and the fullness of the bottom lip. “You’re related?”

“Brother and sisters,” Ron told her. “They’re the evil threesome.”

Of course. Sienna glanced from Jack to Lexie to Renita. All three returned her smile. Brother and sisters.

To an only child the bond they shared represented the family love that had always been out of her reach. Her mother was a leader in cancer research and her father was a distinguished heart surgeon, both now working in America at the Mayo Clinic. When she was a child they’d rarely had time for her, while still expecting her to be an overachiever. Sienna had always wanted a sister or a brother. Or both.

She felt something loosen inside her that she didn’t understand but also didn’t want to examine too closely. Instead, she laughed. Beneath the table she kicked off her shoes.

“WHAT DO YOU DO, SIENNA?” Diane asked.

They’d gone around the table, filling Sienna in on themselves. She’d learned that Glenn and Sharon were both primary schoolteachers, Ron was a computer analyst, Diane was a planner for the municipality, Renita worked at the bank and Lexie was a portrait painter.

Lexie chimed in before Sienna could answer. “She could be an artist’s model. Look at that oval face and ivory skin. If she let her hair down she’d be Botticelli’s Venus. Pure pre-Raphaelite.”

“Botticelli’s Venus was blonde.” Sienna saw Renita topping up her wineglass and started to protest. Then she shrugged. She could always get a taxi.

“Sienna’s a pianist,” Jack asserted.

She jerked back with a surprised laugh. “I’m not! I can’t even play a kazoo.”

“A brain surgeon?” Jack’s alternative had the whole table in an uproar.

“Warmer,” Sienna said coyly. They all stopped laughing. Curious eyes were again trained on her, but now she was comfortable with it. “I’m a doctor. A GP.”

“Ahh.” Jack’s eyes lit with interest.

“I’ve got a pain in my stomach,” Ron called from across the table. “What would cause that, do you think?”

“Overeating, you oaf!” Diane nudged him with her elbow. “What about a pain in the butt? Oh, wait a minute, that’s my husband.”

Jack cleared his throat and swallowed experimentally, “I think I’m coming down with something. Could it be strep throat?”

Sienna eyed Jack’s healthy skin and clear, twinkling eyes skeptically. “I don’t do on-the-spot diagnoses. Come into the clinic and I’ll give you a thorough examination.”

A chorus of oohs from around the table greeted that remark. Sienna felt her blush rise from her neck all the way to the roots of her hair. “You know what I mean!”

“Seriously, are you taking new patients?” Jack asked. “My father’s doctor at the clinic retired and Steve needs a checkup.”

“Your father must have been seeing my predecessor. I’m taking on most of Dr. Klein’s patients. Tell your dad to call the clinic and make an appointment.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass that on.”

Ron got up to clear the empty dishes. Diane rose to help him, waving Sienna down when she started to get up, too. “Relax. We’ve got it.”

Sienna stacked her bowl into Jack’s and passed them both to Diane with a smile of thanks. Then she turned to Jack. “You never did say what you do for a living.”

Jack picked up the wine bottle. “Top you up?”

“I’m good, thanks.” This time she put her hand over her glass and kept it there.

“Jack manages his portfolio,” Lexie said, giving her brother an affectionate smirk. “Dirty capitalist pig that he is.”

Jack shot an answering grin across the table. “Who bails you out when you’re behind on your rent?”

“I’m having a show next week at the Manyung Gallery.” Lexie sniffed. “Then we’ll see who’ll be bailing who out.”

Sienna smiled at the banter, but she’d noticed that Jack had again avoided answering her question. Both times she’d asked, one of his sisters had jumped in quickly to send the conversation in another direction. “So you’re between jobs?”

Jack smiled blandly at her, but a barrier came down over his eyes. “Not quite. I don’t work.”

For some reason an image of Oliver refusing to go to university flashed into her mind. Sienna shook her head, focusing on the man in front of her. “You must do something.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, one arm flung over the neighboring chair back, the image of relaxed good humor. Yet tension ran down his shoulder and into his fingers, which were pressed against the red painted wood so hard that the pale pink of his nail bed had turned white.

“He’s pretty busy cooking gourmet meals for us all,” Renita said.

“And he does a lot of outdoor sports,” Lexie added, getting up to finish clearing the table. “Kayaking, cycling, rock climbing, golf.”

“He also gives science presentations in schools,” Renita said. “Electronics mostly.”

So it was him. “Did you recently teach the grade nines at the high school how to build robots out of computer disks?” Sienna asked.

“That’s right.” Jack looked surprised for a second, then he grinned. “Don’t tell me your son is in that class.”

“Yes, and he’s your biggest fan.” She took a sip of water. “What else do you do?”

“I potter around in my shed next door.”

“Next door? Do you mean that huge corrugated iron building on the other side of the hedge?”

“This property is a double lot,” he explained. “The shed used to house farm machinery before the area became residential. I put in a concrete floor and a small kitchen for making coffee.”

“What do you do in there?” Sienna asked. “Do you have a small business?”

“Nothing like that. I was using it to build an ultralight aircraft. Now I mainly fix things,” Jack said. “Small stuff. Nothing interesting or important.”

“By the way, Jack,” Renita interrupted, “you said you’d help me improve my handicap. When are we heading to the links?”

Jack and Renita started talking golf. Renita asked if Sienna played, but she shook her head. Glenn and Sharon joined in, making a date for the four of them to have a round on Sunday afternoon.

Sienna rose to carry a serving bowl over to the kitchen where Lexie had taken over from Diane in loading the dishwasher. Jack had hobbies, but why was his profession—or lack of it—such a mystery? Digging for more information after that last evasion would be rude, so she said nothing, just rinsed the platters and handed them to Lexie to stack.

“Is there an apron?” Sienna asked. “I’ll wash the pots.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Lexie said. “We never do them the same night.” She tugged Sienna closer to the light over the stove. “Your hair is a lovely jumble of ocher, umber and burnt sienna. Rather appropriate, that last one.” Her small paint-stained hands hovered over Sienna’s head. “I’ve just got to see you with your hair down. Do you mind?” Without waiting for permission, she started pulling out the hairpins that held Sienna’s up-do in place.

Sienna jerked back. Some of her long fiery hair sprang free and fell in a heavy coil down her neck.

“Lexie!” Jack exclaimed as he came into the kitchen to put on the kettle for coffee. “What have I told you about manhandling people?” He added a warning to Sienna. “Next she’ll be feeling the shape of your skull.”

“She doesn’t mind. Do you, Sienna?” A pin fell from Lexie’s fingers and clattered onto the floor. “I’m looking for a sitter for the Archibald Prize portrait contest,” she explained. “You’d be perfect.”

“I…” Sienna glanced around. No one else was paying any attention, intent on the cake Diane had brought. Apparently among this group of friends, such familiar behavior, even to a newcomer, wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Lexie took out the last of the pins and Sienna’s hair sprang loose in a cascade of long curls around her face and down her back. “Wow.”

“To tell you the truth, this is a relief.” Sienna pushed her hands through her hair to massage her scalp.

Jack, attempting to plug the kettle in, jabbed at the outlet blindly as he stared at her. He might well be surprised, she thought. When he’d seen her earlier her hair had been tied back in a ponytail.

Lexie enthusiastically plunged her fingers straight into the springy mass. “It’s so thick and silky. Jack, feel it.”

“No,” Sienna started to protest, embarrassed, but Jack already had his fingers in her hair.

“Nice.” His eyes were on hers, and his thumb made contact with the tender skin behind her ear. He stroked just once, lightly. “Very nice.”

Her breath jammed in her lungs. She couldn’t look away from his gaze. If Lexie hadn’t been standing right there, she would have half expected him to kiss her.

“How’s that coffee coming?” Glenn called. “Sharon’s mum is minding the kids and she swears she turns into a pumpkin at midnight.”

“Coming right up.” Jack removed his hand, squeezed her shoulder and went to the cupboard for cups.

Sienna let her breath out. Now she was aware of her heart pounding. She went back to the table to find that everyone had shifted places and broken into smaller groups to chat. At Diane’s encouraging smile she dropped into an empty chair between her and Sharon and the pair included her in their conversation about gardening. Discussing new varieties of drought-tolerant plants was a relief after the charged atmosphere in the kitchen.

Gradually Sienna relaxed again. But every time she glanced up she caught Jack’s eye. He was sitting across from her now. She could swear he was keeping one ear open to her conversation, just as she was with his talk with Ron and Glenn about the marine life he’d seen while diving on the Great Barrier Reef.

His recent travels explained why she’d never run into him in the village until today. He certainly seemed to have a lot of time on his hands. She told herself it shouldn’t bother her that he didn’t work, but it did. Coming from a long line of high achievers, she had a strong work ethic deeply ingrained in her. Jack was only in his mid to late thirties, healthy, intelligent, not handicapped in any way. There must be more to the story than met the eye. At least, she hoped so.

SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT Jack walked Renita to where she’d parked her BMW a couple of doors down. The night was balmy with the scent of jasmine drifting on the light breeze. A half-moon, very bright in the clear sky, hung above the treetops. Everyone but Sienna had already left. She was in the house, calling a taxi. He hoped to have a few minutes with her before the cab came.

“I’ll pick you up for golf tomorrow at one-thirty,” he said to Renita as she unlocked her door. “Maybe you can look over the prospectus for that investment company I’m interested in and tell me what you think.”

“Sure thing. Great dinner tonight, as usual.” Renita hugged him and slid into the driver’s seat. She rolled down the window and Jack leaned down. “She’s nice.”

“She is,” Jack agreed. There was no doubt who they were talking about. “I’m not sure she approves of me.”

“You’re too sensitive, Jack.”

“She’s a doctor. You know what they’re like. Life revolves around work.”

“Yes, she’s a doctor. That’s a good thing.” Renita turned the key in the ignition and the motor purred to life. She put the car in gear. “Maybe she’ll heal you.”

Jack stepped back from the curb as Renita drove off. He watched the red taillights disappear around the corner, then he turned and walked back to the house. He was sure Sienna was highly competent with diseases of the body; possibly she even had knowledge of illnesses of the mind. But his sickness was in his soul.

While he craved company, he shunned true intimacy. He knew that about himself and accepted it with a clear-eyed fatalism. Sure, the love of the right woman might heal him. But what if it didn’t? He was capable of inflicting damage without wanting to, without even being aware he was doing so. His one disastrous attempt at a relationship after Leanne had shown him that.

Anyway, he had an idea Sienna had a wound or two of her own. If they could be friends, maybe they could heal each other.

He stepped onto the path to his door and stopped. She was standing beneath the porch light, her hair a burnished mantle flowing over her shoulders. Her feet were bare. Her shoes and purse dangled from her fingers. In the space of a few hours she’d come all undone. It was a sexy look.

Friendship was a beautiful thing, but he felt a stab of regret for the possibilities he was denying himself.

“The taxi’s on its way,” she said as he climbed the steps to her. She shifted her shoes to her other hand. Glanced up and down the street. She was back to being nervous. “It’s still warm.”

Jack leaned against the pillar supporting the veranda roof. “I’m glad you were able to come tonight after all.”

She glanced at her watch. “I wonder where that taxi is.”

“It’s only a little after twelve.”

“Oliver didn’t know I was going out. I left a note, but I’ve never been gone when he’s come home before.” As if realizing what this told him about her social life, she shrugged and gave him a sheepish grin. “I don’t get out much since my divorce.”

“Was it messy?” he asked, sympathetic.

“No more than most, I suppose.” Her mouth tightened as she glanced away. “Anthony and I talk. Oliver keeps us amicable.”

Why did he get the impression that despite her casual manner, she was hurting inside? “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to join us for golf tomorrow?”

“I’d only slow you down. I’m guessing you’re pretty good, with all the free time you have to spend on sports.” She blushed and tugged on a strand of hair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that as a dig.”

Maybe not consciously, Jack thought, but he decided not to take offense. Instead, he said mildly, “We don’t play competitively. Renita’s not much more than a novice.”

“Thanks, but it’s the one day of the week I can spend time with Oliver. And I need to make sure he does his homework.”

“Is he a good student?”

“He could be a whole lot better,” she admitted. “He’s smart, but he doesn’t apply himself.”

“Fourteen is a tough age for school. I hated it.”

Sienna’s gaze flicked to his clearly expensive house and back to him. “You really don’t work at anything?”

“Life’s short,” he said flippantly. “I live for pleasure.”

Suspicion clouded her eyes. “Then how do you get money?”

“I’m not a drug dealer. Nothing illegal is going on.”

“But you must have worked at some time in the past.”

“The past is a foreign country. I lost my passport.”

“Mr. Mysterious, eh?” She leaned on the porch railing, studying him. “Are you really content with just hobbies?”

He sensed she wanted to like him. He wasn’t being egotistical to think that. And he was attracted to her. Yet it was clear she couldn’t help judging him. Self-indulgent. Lazy. Hedonistic. He could almost hear the pronouncements flowing through her mind. Those qualities weren’t what she, a doctor, stood for.

“I’m not a bad person,” he said, attempting to make a joke of it. “In fact, you and I operate by the same code—‘First, do no harm.’”

“You don’t do harm by having a job.”

“I had a job once. I ran a light-aircraft charter. I was a pilot. I also built and repaired engines and navigational systems.” He gave her a twisted smile. “A ‘Jack’ of all trades, you could say.”

“That sounds amazing,” she said. “Why did you stop?”

He shrugged. “I got tired of it.”

“Really?” she said, dubious. “Will you ever go back to it?”

“No. Never.” It had been a great job, one he loved. But he’d screwed up big-time. Leanne had paid the price. “Look, it’s best not to have expectations of me. I don’t like to disappoint.”

“Are you warning me off?” Sienna asked.

“No, that’s not it. Not exactly.” But he suspected she had a fairly rigid definition of success and he didn’t meet the criteria.

“It’s okay.” Her glance went past his shoulder. “There’s the taxi.” She bent to slip her shoes back on. From somewhere she found a hair tie and tamed the mass of auburn curls into a ponytail.

“Thanks so much for a wonderful evening, Jack. The food was marvelous. Your friends are lovely.” She was smiling as she circled around him, one foot on the next step down. “I really enjoyed myself.”

“Come again, anytime.”

“Love to.” Her tone was light.

The taxi’s headlights were behind her, so he couldn’t see her expression. Did she mean it, or were her cool gray-green eyes sending another message entirely?

In a way he supposed he had been warning her off. He’d built a comfortable life, one he could live with. His friends understood him—well, as much as anyone could understand someone who didn’t spill his guts at the drop of a hat—and enjoyed him for who he was.

The problem with women was they always thought they could change you. He was quite happy being himself, thank you very much. He didn’t want anyone, not even a redheaded Venus, rocking his carefully balanced boat.

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