Kitabı oku: «Her Great Expectations», sayfa 3

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.

CHAPTER FOUR

SIENNA APPLIED a sizzling drop of liquid nitrogen to the plantar wart on the sole of her forty-three-year-old female patient’s right foot. “This shouldn’t hurt…”

Penelope Brown reclined on the examining table with her pant leg rolled up over her calf. Her long dark bangs fell over eyes scrunched tightly shut. “Will this get rid of it? I’m on my feet for long hours in the classroom.”

“The wart will turn black and die within a few days. If it doesn’t, or if it gets hot and swollen, come back and see me.” Sienna returned the applicator to the stainless steel container and closed the lid on the clouds of vapor. “Keep your feet clean and dry,” she added, taping a bandage over the wart. “Don’t go barefoot in public swimming pools or showers.”

“Okay.” Penelope pushed herself to a sitting position and put her stocking back on. She slid off the examining table and reached for her purse.

When Sienna handed her an information sheet on foot hygiene, Penelope passed her a notice in return. “If you feel like a fun evening for a good cause, come to our Trivia Night.”

“Is this to raise funds for the high school?” Sienna asked, scanning the notice. “My son, Oliver, hasn’t brought home any information about this.”

“It’s in the school newsletter going out today. The sporting facilities need upgrading, but the budget has blown out for this year,” Penelope said. “We’re trying to encourage the kids to get active instead of sitting in front of the computer all day.”

“That is a good cause. I’ll be there.”

“Oh, and we’re looking for items to raffle off if you’ve got anything to donate.”

“A free flu vaccination or tonsillectomy?” Sienna joked. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“I’d better scoot,” Penelope said, chuckling. “Thanks a lot.” She slipped on her shoes and went out the door, closing it behind her.

Sienna tacked the Trivia Night notice to the cork-board beside her desk and went out to greet her next patient, Steve Thatcher. Jack hadn’t said anything overt the other evening, but Sienna sensed he was worried about his dad.

In the waiting room, a teenage girl in a school uniform thumbed through a fashion magazine. A harried mother tried to stop her toddler from pulling all the magazines off the coffee table. The portly older man with gray hair and glasses had to be Steve.

In a calm, cheerful voice, Sienna said, “Mr. Thatcher? Come with me, please.”

Sienna led the way to her office and waited outside the door while Steve slowly followed. She used the time to make a preliminary medical assessment. His file stated he was sixty-three, although he moved more slowly than some men a decade older. Steve’s arms and legs were thin, but his bloated barrel-shaped torso set alarm bells ringing. She already had a suspicion what might be wrong with him.

Sienna gestured for him to take a seat. Balancing on the Swiss exercise ball that served as her desk chair, she brought up his details on the computer.

“I met your son,” she said as she typed in the date. To her discomfort her cheeks grew warm. It was a reasonable comment under the circumstances, but she was starting to feel like a schoolgirl who wanted to repeat the name of the guy she had a crush on to everyone she met.

“Whole damn town knows Jack,” Steve said gruffly but with a hint of pride.

“Oh, and I met Renita and Lexie, too,” she added belatedly. Sienna swiveled to face him, taking in his pale skin and pouchy brown eyes behind the old-fashioned steel-framed glasses. “What can I do for you, Mr. Thatcher?”

“I’m here for a checkup. The missus made me come.”

“How are you feeling?” Sienna asked, taking his wrist to check his pulse. A bit fast.

“Well, not that good. I’m tired all the time even though I don’t do what you’d call exercise.” Steve rubbed a sausage-fingered hand over his stubbly gray jaw. “Sometimes my feet go all tingly. Hurts to walk, like.”

“Hop up on the exam table. Undo the top buttons of your shirt so I can check your heart.” Sienna got up and nudged her exercise ball under the desk. Plugging her stethoscope into her ears, she slipped the chest piece inside Steve’s shirt and pressed it against his chest. His heartbeat was also erratic, but that could be due to any one of several things. “Are you hungry a lot? Excessively thirsty?”

“Yes.” He seemed surprised she’d know. “I’m guzzling water day and night. Must be why I’m always going to the toilet. Do you think it could be my prostate?”

“It’s possible, but there could be other reasons.” Sienna moved the stethoscope to the center of his chest. “Cough for me.” Steve forced air out in a bark, repeating it as she moved the stethoscope around. “Your lungs are fine. Do you have a sweet tooth, Mr. Thatcher?”

“Afraid so.” Steve grinned, somewhat shamefaced. “My wife loves to bake—cookies, cakes, pies. She gives me heck, but her cakes are that good.” His smile faded and a troubled frown deepened the creases on his forehead. “She used to bake, that is, when we were living on the farm. Now that we’re retired she’s into yoga or Eastern mysticism or some such rubbish. She’s never home.”

“So you’re not eating sweets now?” Sienna asked, letting the stethoscope dangle around her neck.

“Oh, yeah, I still do. She made brownies the other day. First time in ages.” He rubbed a hand through his sparse gray hair. “But usually I make do with store-bought cakes. They aren’t as good, but I eat them anyway.”

Sienna sensed that despite Steve Thatcher’s gruff demeanor he was feeling lost and lonely. If so, he wouldn’t be the first person to turn to food for comfort. Especially if he had too much time on his hands. “Do you have hobbies?”

“I’ve never had time for hobbies. Wouldn’t know where to start now.”

Sienna strapped the blood pressure cuff to his upper arm. “Have you thought about joining a seniors’ activity group?”

“I’m not gonna knit lace doilies,” Steve grumbled.

“Gardening?” she asked, pumping up the cuff.

“Too much work,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I spent my whole life running a dairy farm. I’ve earned a rest.”

“Some people find it therapeutic to grow their own flowers and vegetables,” Sienna suggested. “You can meet people through gardening clubs—”

“Hell, no! Pardon my language,” Steve replied. “Hetty used to belong to a gardening club. You wouldn’t believe the backbiting that went on. Whose roses smell the sweetest, whose compost don’t stink.”

“Okay, no gardening,” Sienna said, chuckling as she slowly allowed the pressure to bleed off. “At least you’ve got family. Do you have grandchildren? I know Jack doesn’t, but Renita and Lexie didn’t mention if they had children.”

“None of them are married or have children,” Steve replied. “I see the kids a fair bit, but they all have busy lives. Smedley’s ’bout the only one who’s got time for me.”

“Smedley?”

“My Jack Russell terrier.” Steve’s face brightened. “He’s just a pup, but he’s a little ripper.”

“Dogs are wonderful companions.” Sienna checked the digital readout. “Your blood pressure’s high. When did you last have your sugar levels tested?”

Steve shrugged, his expression blank. “Can’t say as I’ve ever had that done.”

Sienna stripped the cuff off his arm and stepped back. “You can do up your shirt and get down now.” Dropping back onto her ball, she tapped at the computer keys. “I’m ordering some blood tests. It’s possible you have type 2 diabetes. We won’t know for certain until I see the results.”

“Diabetes? That can’t be.” Agitated, he rubbed his hands on his thighs, pushing his brown pants back and forth. “Our neighbor’s kid has diabetes. Poor mite is real sickly. Gets jabbed with needles day and night.”

“He most likely has type 1 diabetes. There’s no need for you to be alarmed,” Sienna assured him. “Untreated, type 2 can have serious consequences but it’s a manageable condition. A person doesn’t necessarily need to take insulin. There are other medications, and diet and exercise can help a lot. First we need to find out if you have it.”

“I can’t have diabetes,” Steve repeated stubbornly. “I’ve always been as healthy as a horse. It’s probably just a touch of flu.”

“We’ll see.” The lab request printed out and she ripped it from the machine. “Take this to the pathology lab next door first thing Monday morning. The full instructions are on this sheet. Don’t eat or drink anything for at least twelve hours beforehand. I recommend you cut back on the sweets until we find out the results.”

Sienna studied Steve’s downcast face as he scanned the instruction sheet. He wasn’t her only patient who had trouble adjusting to retirement. Men especially, it seemed, often had no idea what to do with themselves once they stopped working. In Steve’s case, add a move to a new community and a wife whose interests differed from his. She wouldn’t be surprised if Steve was suffering from mild depression as well as diabetes.

“Would you be interested in joining a Men’s Shed?” she asked, suddenly recalling a recent magazine article extolling the virtues of the not-for-profit organization. Men’s Sheds tackled men’s physical and emotional health issues by providing them with a place to go to socialize and engage in productive activities.

“I’ve heard of them.” Steve looked up with a faint gleam of interest. “Is there a Men’s Shed in Summerside?”

“I’ll find out. Hang on just a tick.” Sienna reached for the phone and dialed her local fount of knowledge. “Bev, do you know where the closest Men’s Shed is? Okay, thanks.” She hung up and turned to Steve. “Rosebud. That’s only what, half an hour down the highway?”

“We sold the second car when we moved to Summerside and the missus is always off somewhere in the one we’ve got left. Anyway, my eyesight isn’t the greatest lately.”

“Diabetes can affect your vision. You should get your eyes checked, too.”

He blinked at her, unwavering and stolid. “I don’t have diabetes.”

“Well, hopefully not. But we need to find out.”

“You go by that doctor-patient confidentiality thing don’t you, Doc?” Steve asked. “You won’t tell Jack about this.”

“I don’t know your son that well. But why don’t you want him to know? Your family could be a support.”

“No,” he said firmly as he rose and went to the door. “I don’t want anyone fussing over me.”

Or was it that he didn’t want anyone bugging him to eat right and exercise? Jack could run a Men’s Shed. The thought leaped into Sienna’s mind as she was seeing Steve out. He has the space, the time, the personality

and the practical skills.

The idea grew on her over the course of the afternoon. She found a few minutes to look up Men’s Sheds on the Internet and make a phone call to the national association. The more she found out, the more excited she became about the possibilities, not just for Steve, but all the men in the community with too much time on their hands.

Including Jack. Running a Men’s Shed might be just what he needed to give him renewed purpose. Despite his happy-go-lucky attitude, she sensed an undercurrent of restlessness, even dissatisfaction. To her, it seemed a perfect fit.

She started to reach for the phone book, then changed her mind. She would go over to his place after work. That way he wouldn’t find it as easy to say no. True, he’d made it clear he had no ambition. But surely he would consider taking on the Men’s Shed if it meant helping his father.

“OLIVER!” SHE CALLED, coming through her front door later that afternoon. “Are you home?”

“In the kitchen.” He shambled into view with a sandwich in hand. Taking a big bite, he mumbled around the food, “What’s up?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Sienna dropped her purse and folder of papers on the counter to get herself a drink of water. “I have to go see Jack Thatcher about something. I won’t be long.”

“Okay,” Oliver said without much interest. Then he glanced up, eyes widening. “Hang on. I think Jack Thatcher is the guy who gave the robotics presentation to my class.”

“That’s right. I need to speak to him about starting a Men’s Shed in Summerside.”

“Can I come? I want him to show me how to install a gear in my robot so it’ll go in reverse.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “He might not want to be bothered at home with school stuff.”

“He won’t mind, honest,” Oliver said. “He told the class we could come around to his place anytime and he’d answer any questions or help us with projects.”

“Speaking of projects, how was school today?”

“Crappy, as usual.”

“Define crappy.”

“Mum, we’re wasting time!”

“Okay, let’s go. But this conversation isn’t over.”

JACK LAY IN BED, arms outstretched, staring at the ceiling, trying to think of a reason he should get up. Most days he could cope, even enjoy life. But today was Leanne’s birthday. She would have been thirty-three. Jack would have baked her a cake. There might have been a little boy or girl to help her blow the candles out on her birthday cake.

He had no tears left. That at least would have meant he felt something. Instead, an all-pervading numbness spread from his heart outward, paralyzing him. He wasn’t sure he could move if he tried. It felt like work to turn his head to glance at the clock. Ten-thirty.

He thought about the week ahead and wondered how he would fill it. When he described his life to others, he made it sound jam-packed, but it wasn’t, not really. Evenings, when his friends were available to hang out, he could handle, but too often the days stretched without incident, empty squares on the calendar.

A warm tongue lapped at his fingers dangling over the side of the bed. Bogie.

Jack roused himself. “Hey, buddy. Do you want to go out?”

He let the dog out, forced himself to eat breakfast even though he had no appetite. An hour later he was walking up the gravel driveway breathing in the warm spring air scented by the towering pines. His big plan for the day was to come up with a prototype of a more advanced robot high-school students might enjoy building.

He hoped the activity would drive Sienna out of his thoughts. She’d deflated his ego. Without any false modesty it had been a while since a woman hadn’t succumbed to the Jack Thatcher charm. Well, so what? He didn’t need a judgmental female in his life.

He unlocked the shed and pulled back the creaking corrugated iron door. His hand found the light switch and he illuminated the cavernous shed. To the immediate left was a long workbench, tools neatly hung from a board on the wall. The far left wall was covered in open shelving crammed with spare parts for just about anything electronic or mechanical.

To the right were a kitchenette and a sitting area with a battered couch, an area rug and a wood-burning heater. At the back of the shed was a half-finished ultralight aircraft, a reminder of everything he’d abandoned. The three-wheeled chassis and cockpit were intact, but the struts and the wings were stacked behind it on the floor. After the crash he hadn’t been able to complete the machine, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to get rid of it, either. Sort of like the GPS he’d invented.