In His Good Hands (9 page)

She started doing jumping jacks, her ponytail flopping over the shoulders of her baggy T-shirt. What she hadn’t expected was how sensitive
he’d
been about his business acumen. His brothers had done well for themselves, one as a financial consultant, the other as an accountant. Maybe Brett felt like the dumb one in his family, just as she was a couch potato compared to Jack and Lexie. It was silly. Brett was a lot smarter than he gave himself credit for. He just didn’t work at it. Or at least he hadn’t in the past.

Brett jogged toward her around the bend in the road. He must have run here straight from home. In his sleeveless T-shirt and jogging shorts he looked like a freaking Greek god.

“Morning.” He came to a halt with a spurt of gravel. “Feeling peppy?”

“Oh, yeah,” Renita said, already breathless from her warm-up. “Peppy, that’s me.”

“Where’s Steve? He was supposed to come, too.”

“He’s at home, nursing Smedley.”

“Okay, here’s the plan then,” he said. “We’ll alternate one minute running with two minutes walking. To the end of Cliff Road, down the path to the beach, double back along the sand and up the cliff at the other end, finishing back in this parking lot. That’s three miles, about a third of the distance of the Fun Run.”

“I can do that. Yep, no problem.” She made fists and punched the air, trying to psych herself up.

He set off in the direction he’d come, jogging slowly. “How’s Steve? He hasn’t been back to the gym yet.”

“I’m getting really worried,” Renita admitted. “He doesn’t leave the house. Just spends his time caring for his dog and brooding about Mum.”

“I’ll drop by and have a chat with him.”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt. He’s not listening to us.”

They ran in silence for a while, the steady thud of their running shoes on the pavement forming a rhythmic counterpoint to the cries of the gulls wheeling offshore.

“Is it a minute yet?” Renita puffed.

Brett consulted his stopwatch. “Nearly…. Okay, walk.”

“Which one is your house?” Renita asked, slowing gratefully.

“That’s my place on the next corner. The two-story terra-cotta one with the tiled roof.”

Of course it was. The biggest, fanciest house in a block full of big fancy houses. “You must get a great view of the lights of Melbourne from that upper balcony.”

“I bought close to the beach so Tegan could have easy access to the sailing club.”

“I bet it’s beautiful inside. I’ll bet you have really nice chairs.” She shot him a glance. “That wasn’t a hint for you to invite me in to sit down or anything.”

“Time to run. Hut, hut, hut….”

Renita groaned and broke into a jog.

“Keep up, Thatcher,” he said, jogging backward ahead of her. “Get your ass in gear.”

She took a swipe at him but he dodged the blow. “No fair, you’re faster than I am.”

“Train harder.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “Slave driver.”

They came to the end of the road, a cul-de-sac with a lookout over the bay. Below, on the curving crescent of white sand, stood a row of colorful beach huts wedged among the bushes against the cliff, next to the sailing club. Kayaks and sailing dinghies dotted the beach above the high tide line.

Brett went first down the steep dirt path, then turned left, jogging away from the beach huts toward the rocky point where slabs of black basalt stretched into the water. Renita fell behind, bogged down in the soft sand.

She stopped at the rocks. Even alternating running and walking her lungs were burning. “Five minutes rest, that’s all I ask.”

Brett jogged back to her. “Okay, five minutes.”

A bead of sweat dripped from her temple, tracked down her neck. She caught his gaze following the path between her breasts before he looked away. Yes, they were on the small side, nothing like Amber’s.

She turned to face the bay. The water was choppy, a dark azure flecked with white. The brisk breeze cooled her face, ruffled Brett’s sweat-dampened hair. He smelled like tangy salt mingled with soap, sweat and shampoo.

“About the other night—” Brett began.

“I think five minutes is up,” she said, not wanting to revisit that conversation. “We should go.”

He didn’t move. In fact, he blocked her way when she would have gone around him. He held her arm just above the elbow, stopping her. “I lay awake last night, making up excuses for myself as a teenager.”

“Forget it. It’s in the past.” She wished he would take his hand away. She couldn’t think when he touched her.

“No, I have to say this.” His eyes reflected the sky and the sea, intensifying the blue of the irises. “There are no excuses. I was a jerk back then. I’m sorry.”

Renita couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat. She nodded, blinked. “I’m really not a pathetic loser holding a torch for a high school crush.”

“I know that. You were intimidating in your own way.”

“Who, me?” She laughed.

“You were so smart. You made me feel dumb.” He tugged her ponytail the way he used to when they were teenagers. “Would you like to come to my place when we finish? I make a mean smoothie?”

A tendril of warmth curled through her despite her defenses and she smiled. “Sure. That sounds great.”

Renita set off jogging again, slowly weaving her way through the rocks to the next sandy cove. Jogging and walking. Just her luck that they were back to jogging when the time came to climb back up the cliff. At this end of the beach the path wasn’t as steep, but it was longer, doubling back on itself, the dirt studded with rocks and roots from the windswept ti trees growing out of the nearly vertical rock face.

Renita stumbled, her breathing labored. “You’re doing great,” Brett exclaimed. “Hang in there.”

Nodding, she lurched around another bend in the path. With her jaw set, she spurted the last twenty meters to the top, staggered into the parking lot and bent forward, panting, her hands on her hips. “I did it.”

“Congratulations. You’ve earned that smoothie.”

Groaning, she straightened. Her legs felt wobbly. “We’re driving to your house.”

“Aw, come on, we can run. It’s not far.”

She fished in the inside pocket of her shorts for her car key. “It’s miles to your place.”

“One mile. You’re such an exaggerator.” Grinning, he added, “You drive, I’ll run. I bet I can beat you.”

“Shut up and get in the car.” She hid a smile as she bent to unlock the door.

She managed—just—not to let her jaw drop to her knees. Whatever Brett’s financial problems, he hadn’t trimmed his lifestyle. Renita gestured to the opulence around her. “How can you afford all this? Even if you’re mortgaged to the max you must have had to put down a hefty deposit.”

“Not that it’s any of your business—”

“Of course it’s my business. You sank all your cash into a fancy house and then came to the bank for more money. This is just like you. You want it all, and you want it now.”

He stared at her, blinking, then said, “You knew where I lived. Did you think I was eating off apple crates?”

Renita poked her head into the dining room. A crystal chandelier hung over a polished table that would seat twelve. “Why don’t you borrow against the equity in the house? You didn’t even include it as an asset in your loan application.”

“I have hardly any equity, barely more than the minimum deposit. I don’t want to take a chance on losing it. Tegan loves this place. She can walk to the beach and her sailing lessons in five minutes.”

“You could drive her to her lessons from a cheaper area. Or she could ride a bike.” Renita was back in the foyer, listening to the faint echo of her voice in the two-story atrium.

“Look, she’s been through a rough time, with all the publicity surrounding my divorce,” Brett said, following her. “Tegan had to leave the city and her school and all her friends.”

“So this house is her consolation prize?”

“I want her to have the best. All the things that
I
didn’t have growing up. Do you like mango? I bought some yesterday.” The finality in his tone told her the conversation was over.

“Mango’s great.” Renita shook her head, unable to understand how a person could live so far beyond his means. She thought of her own small house, which she’d struggled to save for and was still paying off.

“Living room’s through there,” Brett said, pointing to the opposite side of the foyer from the dining room. “Have a seat. I’ll just be a minute.”

Renita walked through an arched doorway into a spacious room lined with plush carpeting and furnished with cream leather furniture and hand-crafted wooden tables. She sat on the buttery leather couch and gazed at the treasures strewn around. A bronze Remington bronco buster, a colorful blown glass vase dripping with gold leaf. It was like a museum.

“Most of my possessions I acquired over the years,” Brett said, coming through the other doorway with tall glasses of the fruit concoction. “They mean something to me. Do you expect me to sell everything I own? Do I have to be destitute before the bank will give me a business loan?”

“I guess not.” She sipped the smoothie he handed her.

Spying a silver-framed object on the marble mantelpiece, she rose and walked over to have a look. Just as she thought. It was his Brownlow Medal, a bronze shield twined with scrollwork and inscribed with the name Charles Brownlow, the original recipient, in 1924. The iconic words typed on white card beneath the medal read
Best and Fairest.
She had to admit the description was apt. Brett had been the most popular player for a decade and was still an influential figure in the Australian Football League. He’d given his time to charities and mentored young players, as well as being a sought-after and highly paid player.

“I remember watching the awards ceremony on TV the year you got this,” she said.

Brett joined her by the fireplace. “I didn’t know you were a footy fan.”

“When you grow up with my dad, you watch a lot of sport.” She traced a finger over the glass. “It must be hard to retire from a job you love.”

“You don’t go into professional sport thinking it will last forever. I got a few more years out of it than most. But, yeah, I miss playing.” He took the medal from her, blew on the glass and polished it with the hem of his shirt. Then he put the Brownlow back on the mantelpiece, adjusting the frame so it sat a little taller.

Footsteps thudded on the stairs and Tegan appeared, wearing pink leggings under a purple skirt with a pink top. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and studded with sparkly clips. “Dad, can you take me shopping now?”

Judging from Brett’s expression, Tegan’s request had clearly come out of the blue. “Renita’s here,” he said. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Hey, Renita,” she said. “Well?”

Renita moved over to a bookcase and pretended to peruse the titles, but couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.

“I’ve got things to do this afternoon. You just went clothes shopping with your mother on the weekend.”

“She had to cut it short for some lunch for the Children’s Hospital. I thought you and I could go to Chadstone Shopping Center.”

“That’s forty-five minutes away,” Brett protested.

“Please, Dad,” Tegan begged. “I really need a dress for the school dance. You never do anything with me.”

Renita cleared her throat. “I should get going, anyway. You go, spend some time with your daughter.”

“It’s okay,” Brett said. “I’ll handle this.”

She held up her hands. “I’m just saying.”

He turned back to his daughter. “It’s not just because Renita’s here. I have to go to the gym shortly. The grand opening is coming up in a couple of weeks. I’ve got flyers to get printed, a program to develop. Plus I’ve got a class to teach this afternoon.”

Tegan clamped her mouth shut and turned away. Renita became more uncomfortable. Poor kid. She’d just been through her parents’ divorce, and now Brett was pouring all his time into his gym. If he wanted her to be happy, he should spend time with her instead of installing her in a big house.

“I could take her after I go home and shower and change,” Renita offered, before she could think about what she was saying. “I was planning to do some shopping, anyway.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Brett said. “I don’t want to impose.”

Tegan looked mutinous.

“It’s no imposition. I don’t mind going to Chadstone.” Albeit not with a sullen teenager who made no secret of the fact that she resented any minute Renita spent with Brett. She hoped she didn’t end up regretting feeling sorry for the girl.

“It’s okay with me,” Brett said. “Tegan?”

His daughter shrugged. “I guess so.”

“You mean, ‘Thank you, Renita, for being so kind.’”

“Thanks,” Tegan muttered. “I’ll go get changed.” She ran back upstairs.

“This will be fun,” Renita said brightly.