The Last Goodbye (6 page)

“Oh, good. Do you think he’ll be up for a visit again this afternoon?” She grabbed two mugs and opened the fridge, searching for the milk.

“Sure.”

She studied him over the open fridge door, noting the way he was standing so stiffly. Like a customer in a coffee shop. He’d indicated he wanted to talk, but she had the feeling that she might be waiting all day if she let him work his way around to the purpose of his visit.

She shut the fridge and regarded him frankly.

“Would it help any if I said that whatever it is, I’m happy to help?”

He looked a little taken aback for a moment. Then he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m that obvious, am I?”

“Let’s just say you should never play high-stakes poker.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Is it something to do with Bob? Please don’t tell me you want me to break it to him that his newspaper collection is gone.”

“Dad wants to come home.”

She swallowed as the implications inherent in that one small statement hit home.

“I told him I’d arrange things to make it happen, and I can sort out a nurse and someone to handle his meals and things from Melbourne. But the social worker wants to assess the house before she’ll agree to discharge him. I’ve got commitments I can’t get out of in town, so…” He pulled a key from the hip pocket of his jeans. “I wondered if you would mind letting her in so she can check the place out and give me her recommendations?”

Ally guessed from the mention of various support staff that Tyler did not plan on nursing his father himself. From what she’d seen of the distance between father and son, she wasn’t surprised. In fact, after what she’d seen in the parking lot yesterday, she was surprised Tyler was here at all.

“I can take care of that for you. Not a problem.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

She held out her hand and he dropped the key into it. The brass was warm from his body and she closed her fingers around it. “Is that all? You don’t want to borrow money or ask me to perjure myself on your behalf or bury a body in my backyard?”

It took him a moment to understand she was joking.

“No.”

“The way you were looking, I was sure you were about to ask for a vital organ.”

“I guess you could say I’m not in the habit of asking favors,” he said slowly.

“No kidding. For future reference, I like your father, I’m here during the day and I’m happy to help out in any way I can. Okay?”

He nodded.

“Does that mean you’ll ask if there’s anything else you or Bob need?”

“Sure,” he said, although his posture and the tension in his face told her otherwise.

She shook her head. “Seriously. You should never play cards for money.”

His mouth kicked up at the corner. At last. A little more schtick and she might even squeeze a full smile out of him. Why that seemed so important all of a sudden she didn’t know, but it did.

“Milk? Sugar?” The kettle was boiling and she poured water into the coffee press.

“Black, thanks.”

“Ah, a purist.”

“More a pragmatist. The guys at work go through milk like it’s going out of fashion, so I figured life would be a lot less disappointing if I got used to having my coffee black.”

“That
is
very pragmatic of you. Me, I’d throw a hissy fit until they learned to leave some milk for the boss.”

“It’s kind of hard for anyone over six foot to pull off a hissy fit. In my experience, anyway.”

“True. I hadn’t thought of that.”

She slid his coffee across the counter toward him. Their fingers brushed briefly as the mug changed hands. She looked up—and got caught in the clear, bright silver of his eyes.

“Has anyone ever told you you have wolf’s eyes?” she said before she could stop herself.

He lifted his eyebrows. “Wolf’s eyes?”

“The color, I mean,” she said, feeling incredibly trans parent. “Obviously they’re not really hairy or any thing.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “Can’t say that I’ve heard that before, no.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Yeah.”

His gaze dropped from her face to her chest, then her hips, taking in her Penelope Pitstop pajama pants and matching pink tank top.

“What happened to the cowboys and Indians?”

“Oh, they’re after-five wear only. I like to go a little more low-key during the day.”

“Ah.”

She looked at him over the rim of her mug and her eyes met his and suddenly it was last night all over again, the room crackling with tension and potential. Except this time he wasn’t here by accident, and she knew she would definitely be seeing him again.

“Cookies. We need cookies.” She crossed to the cupboard, making a big deal out of opening a package of cookies. She didn’t quite meet his eyes when she slid the container across the counter toward him.

“I’m good, thanks.”

She picked up the tea towel and wiped the counter.

It was just a look, Bishop. Get over it. Hot men have looked at you before. You’ll survive.

But none of them had been as…compelling as Tyler.

“Any idea when the hospital people might want to come by?” she asked.

They talked about the appointment and exchanged phone numbers, then Tyler checked his watch and put down his mug.

“I need to go. I’ve got a client meeting I have to make this afternoon.”

She followed him to the front door.

“I should be here again by Monday at the latest,” he said.

“Okay. Like I said, call me if you need any thing.”

He raised his hand in farewell. She told herself to go inside but she remained in the doorway, watching his broad shoulders and firm, round backside as he walked away. He glanced over his shoulder as he passed through the gate, catching her watching him.

Again, their gazes locked and held for a long, sticky beat. Then he kept walking.

Okay, that’s going to be a problem.

Last night, the attraction she’d felt for Tyler had been a slightly titillating surprise—a diversion from the mundanity of life, an unexpected blip on her radar. They’d been ships passing in the night, the frisson between them a possibility that had come to nothing. Today…

Today the attraction between them seemed more complicated than titillating.

What’s the problem? Nothing is going to happen if you don’t want it to.

She knew it was true. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t as comforting a thought as it should be.

T
YLER ARRIVED AT THE
workshop in time to make his client meeting. Afterward, he went straight to his
office and checked his schedule for the following week. His diary was full—client meetings, a marketing seminar, a catch-up with one of his major lumber suppliers. For the life of him he didn’t see how he could free up enough time to sort out his father’s situation. He had an elbow on his desk, his fingers kneading his forehead when Gabby rapped on the door and entered.

“You forgot these,” she said, holding up the rolled blueprints from their meeting.

“Thanks,” he said. “You were great in the meeting, too, by the way.”

She shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much I’ve picked up being around you guys. I think I could practically make a table myself now.”

She turned to leave. Tyler looked at the schedule he’d massacred with red pen and pencil strikes and arrows. He’d been trying to find a way to free up some time, hadn’t he?

“Gabby. Before you go.”

She gave him an inquiring look.

“How would you feel about taking on more client meetings? Stepping into sales more?”

She looked surprised. “What’s brought this on?”

“I need some time off. At least from the day-today stuff. I can take the briefs with me, keep working on the designs, but I can’t keep driving back and forth all the time.”

Gabby frowned, confused. “Sorry?”

Tyler realized he’d skipped an important beat.

“My father wants to be home to die. I told him I’d organize things so that could happen, but I need to be in Woodend to do that in the short-term—”

“Oh, Tyler. That’s so sad. I didn’t realize things were that serious. Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

“There’s no
of course
about it. He’s your father.”

Tyler made a pointless mark on the page in front of him. “In name only.”

Gabby shook her head. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

She rounded the desk and put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his. For a moment he was enveloped in her scent, still familiar despite the fact that it had been two years since they’d been lovers.

His thoughts shifted to Ally. He’d caught a trace of her scent when she’d brushed past him this morning. Vanilla and spice. Completely different from Gabby’s lemon freshness.

This wasn’t the first time his thoughts had drifted to his father’s next-door neighbor today. He’d thought about her on and off during the drive to Melbourne. The way her eyes lit when she laughed. The round fullness of her breasts. The look they’d shared when he’d glanced over his shoulder as he was leaving and caught her watching him.

“It’s not a crime to accept a little comfort, Tyler,” Gabby said as she stepped back from him.

“I don’t need comfort. I need time. Do you think you can do it or not?”

“I might have to juggle some of the admin stuff, but I don’t see why not. How many weeks do you need?”

“I only need a few days.”

Gabby looked stricken. “He’s that bad?”

“They don’t know. It could be weeks, it could be months.”

“Then maybe we should think more long-term than a week so—”

“I’m getting him a nurse. I just need some time to get things organized, that’s all.” How many times did he have to say this to people?

“You’re not staying with him yourself?” He could hear the censure in her tone.

“No.”

Gabby looked as though she wanted to say more, but after a long moment she simply nodded, her lips thin. “It’s your life, Tyler. Tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it.”

“Thanks. I’ll draw up a list of appointments for you.”

She nodded, then exited his office.

He knew what she was thinking—that he was cold because he planned on hiring people to nurse his father in his final days.

Maybe he
was
cold. Why not? He’d been taught by a master. Why should he know the first thing
about being kind when all he’d been fed as a child was intolerance, impatience and rage?

For the first time it occurred to him that there had been no judgment in Ally’s face or voice when he’d told her his plans this morning. She’d simply heard him out and offered her help.

She was an interesting woman. Generous, too—he’d been surprised when he’d learned she’d been living beside his father for only a few weeks. She’d been so fired up on his father’s behalf, he’d simply assumed their relationship was one of long standing.

He frowned as he registered what he was doing—thinking about his father’s neighbor again.

He couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Obviously he was attracted to her. But he wasn’t exactly in a position to get involved with anyone or anything right now. Thanks to his father, his cup was about to runneth over.

Which probably meant he should stop thinking about her. And that he should keep his distance when he returned to Woodend.

He returned his attention to his diary. Reality check—he didn’t have the time to be thinking about a woman. Even one as interesting and attractive as Ally Bishop.

T
HE SOCIAL WORKER CAME
the following day. Ally showed the woman around Bob’s house, took note of her recommendations, then made a couple of quick phone calls before pulling Tyler’s business card from where she’d stuck it behind a magnet on the fridge door.

She ran her fingertips over the embossed lettering on the card, thinking about his silver-gray eyes and broad shoulders, then she punched his number into her phone.

“Tyler speaking.”

His voice sounded incredibly deep and low over the phone.

“It’s me, Ally. The social worker’s just been.”

“That was quick.”

“She said she didn’t want to hold things up at her end.”

A weary sigh came down the line. “Which means Dad’s probably been throwing his weight around again.”

“He seemed okay when I saw him this morning. I think he understands he can’t go home until the doctors are happy with his recovery from the surgery, so
he’s been making an effort to eat more and he’s been paying attention to his physiotherapist.”

“Listen, thanks, Ally. I appreciate you helping out like this.”

Ally glanced down at the notes she’d taken. “I’ve got a list of her recommendations, if you want to hear them?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“She’s suggested safety rails at both the front and rear steps as well as in the shower. And she would like to see a handheld showerhead in the bathroom and a bath chair for your father to sit on if he’s feeling weak.”

“Okay.” He sounded as though he was making notes. “Anything else?”

“She said the bedroom doorways were wide enough to allow them to install a hospital bed, if one is required at a later date, but that Bob’s own bed would be fine for now.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to do the work yourself, being handy and everything, but she’s recommended a local guy and I took the liberty of making a quick call. He can take care of everything on Friday, if you want him to, or the following Monday.”

There was a short pause. “Friday, you said?”

“Yeah. He said he could fit you in in the afternoon. If it’s a problem for you to get here, I can let him into the house, since I’ve still got your spare key. It’s no big deal.”

There was another short silence. “That’s very generous of you.”

“It really isn’t. It’ll take two seconds to let him in. And you’ve got enough on your plate.”

She waited for him to tell her to butt out. Or to ask why she kept inserting herself into his and Bob’s lives. Usually she confined her do-gooding to her advice column, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to stop herself where Bob and Tyler were concerned.

“I read your column today,” Tyler said instead.

It was so not what she’d expected him to say that it took her a moment to respond. “Did you?”

“Yeah. The bit about the guy who dresses as a woman.”

“Right.”

“Turns out that all my staff read you, too.”

“That’s nice. I think. What did they say about the cross-dressing guy?” She could imagine the comments that must have been flying around. Especially in a very macho environment like a workshop.

“Turns out my senior cabinetmaker has a cousin who works as a drag queen.”

“Well, there you go.”

“You must get some pretty weird letters.”

“I get some very weird letters. But underneath the weirdness, it’s amazing how much the same we all are.”

“How so?” Tyler asked.

“Everyone wants to be accepted. Everyone wants
to belong. Everyone wants to love and be loved. To feel valued.”

“Is that what you want?”

Ally thought about the way she’d taken it upon herself to call the handyman today, and the way she’d thrust herself into Bob’s affairs. “I think everyone wants to feel connected, in some small way,” she said quietly.

“I guess.”

She heard the rustle of paper at the other end of the phone, as though he was shifting things around on his desk.

“So, do you want me to let this guy in?” she asked.

“If you don’t mind. It’d be one less thing on my list. We’re snowed under at the moment—”

“Then don’t think about it again. I’ll get the guy to bill you at your factory address, okay?”

“That’d be great.”

She told herself to hang up before the conversation strayed any further than it already had.

“You still think you’ll be here on Monday?” She winced. Could she sound more obvious and hopeful?

“I’m planning for Sunday at this point. The hospital said Dad might be able to come home Monday, so I wanted to get some food in, that kind of thing.”

“I guess I’ll see you then, then.”

“You will.”

There was something in the way he said it that
made her sit holding the phone for a good sixty seconds after she’d ended the call.

It had almost sounded like a promise.

T
YLER PULLED UP IN FRONT
of his father’s house at dusk on Sunday night. He’d spent the past few days working late at the workshop, clearing his desk as much as possible, covering things off with Gabby to ensure she had all she needed to take over his client meetings.

Ally had called him once more to let him know the safety rails and new bathroom fittings had been installed. He’d never been big on talking on the phone, but he’d caught himself attempting to stretch their conversation into more than an update on his father’s house remodeling. She’d answered his questions and teased him and asked some of her own, then she’d suddenly clammed up and the conversation had ended.

He glanced at her place as he grabbed his bags from the bed of the truck. Maybe he was misreading things. For all he knew, she could have a boyfriend. Maybe that was why she’d suddenly backed off. He knew nothing about her or her situation—all he had to go on was his gut and those few loaded moments when he’d been intensely aware of her as a woman. But maybe that was all one-sided.

And maybe he was simply looking for something—anything—to distract himself from the grim reality of his situation. Over the past few days he’d become
aware of a reluctance within himself to think beyond the nuts and bolts of arranging for his father’s respite care. Nurses and social workers he could handle, but the prospect of standing by his father’s graveside left him unsettled and uneasy. Not because he cared. He refused to care—although he couldn’t explain his reluctance to acknowledge his father’s mortality in any other way.

He dumped all but one of his burdens on the front porch of his father’s house before making his way next door. Ally still had the spare key, and he had a gift to thank her for her help with the house.

Plus he wanted to see her, distraction or not.

The hall light was on inside the house and the stained-glass panels of the door glowed with rich color as he raised his hand to knock. He saw a shadow approach, then the door opened and she was standing there, cuter and fresher and sexier than he’d remembered. His gaze automatically dropped below her waist and he didn’t try to hide the smile tugging at his mouth as he saw today’s pajama pants.

“Scooby-Doo. Nice choice,” he said.

“I thought so,” she said. “Not too dressy, not too informal. A smart-casual kind of a pajama pant.”

He held up the small ice chest in his hand. “For you.”

Her eyebrows rose as she reached out to take the chest. “For me?”

“To say thank-you.”

“For letting a couple of people in next door?” Her
expression told him she considered it the smallest of favors.

“For giving a shit when you didn’t have to. If you’ll excuse my French. You barely know my father, yet you’ve bent over backward for him. Not many people put themselves out like that anymore.”

“You make me want to find a mirror to check my halo’s on straight.”

But her cheeks were pink and he could see that she was pleased.

He gestured toward the cooler. “You might want to get that in the freezer.”

There was plenty of ice in the chest, but the sooner the contents were below zero the better.

She cracked the lid on the chest. “You bought me ice cream?”

“Dairy Bell Nuts About Chocolate. You mentioned you like it.”

“I do. I love it.” She seemed thrown. As though no one had ever bought her ice cream before. “You should come in.”

“I don’t want to get in your hair. I just wanted to pick up the key.”

“You mean, you don’t want any of this ice cream?” A smile curled the corner of her mouth.

“I do. But I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

“As long as you don’t hog the lion’s share, you’re safe.”

She gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen.

“You know, I was just wondering what to have for dinner,” she said.

“You mean, dessert.”

She gave him a cheeky look. “I mean, dinner.”

He laughed.

“Big bowl or little bowl?” she asked.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Big bowl it is, then.”

She served up two generous portions then led him out onto the side deck.

“This is my favorite ice cream eating spot.” She walked to the three stairs leading into the garden and sat on the top step, shooting a glance up at him.

The outside light cast a golden sheen over her hair and face. He looked at her for a long beat, trying to understand why he found her so appealing. She was cute, yes, but not beautiful. And her baggy pajama pants should have been an antidote to sexual desire. But all he could think about were the curves hidden beneath the bright fabric.

“You want to sit at the table?” she asked, starting to rise.

“Here is fine.”

He sat beside her, forcing himself to gaze out at the dark garden rather than watch as she licked her spoon.

“Your friend has a nice place here. Good gar den.”

“Tell me about it. I’m living in fear that I’ll kill
everything with my black thumb before she gets back.”

He swallowed a mouthful of creamy chocolate and pecans. “So where do you hang out when you’re not house-sitting?”

“I’m always house-sitting.”

He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged a shoulder.

“I do this on a semiprofessional basis. There are a bunch of house-sitting websites out there, and I look around for jobs that suit me, then apply to look after peoples’ homes for them while they’re away. I get free room and board, they get to know their pets and gardens and valuables are being looked after.”

He paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth, processing what she’d said.

“So you don’t have a place of your own, a base?”

“Nope.” She closed her eyes as she ate another mouthful. “God, I love the way they mix that chocolate fudge stuff all through it. I wonder what they put in it to keep it all gooey like that?”

Tyler was still trying to get his head around what she’d told him. “What about your stuff? You must have a storage locker somewhere.”

“Nope.”

“What about your mail?”

“The
Herald
forwards it to me with the Dear Gertrude letters.” She laughed. “You should see your face. Nesters always freak out when I tell them I live out of a suitcase.”

Tyler frowned. “I’m not a nester.”

She smiled mysteriously.

“I’m not. Guys don’t nest,” he said.

“Do you own your own home?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so. It’s an old one, too, isn’t it?”

“Early Victorian.”

“And I bet you’ve renovated it. Stripped back the floors, restored the fireplaces…?”

She had to be guessing, but it was uncanny how close to the mark she was.

She pointed her spoon at him. “You’re a nester. Nothing to be ashamed of. I, on the other hand, am not. Can’t stand to be pinned down. Hate staying in one spot for too long. Don’t see the point of owning a bunch of stuff. Well, except for pajama pants, but they pack light.”

“You must have had a place of your own at some point.”

“Sure. Before I decided to stop fighting genetics.”

“There’s a gene for nomadism?”

“Might as well be. My mother was an artist. I spent my childhood either traveling with her or living with my aunt Phyllis or my grandmother. My mom was a gypsy, and so am I, and it’s much easier to go with the flow than fight against it. Believe me.” Her gaze grew distant, as though she was remembering something hard or painful.

He studied her profile, wondering. The lifestyle she described sounded free and easy—and lonely. He
couldn’t imagine not having a place to come home to. A sanctuary that was all his. A circle of friends who knew him intimately, who understood his history and his moods and his sense of humor. As a furniture designer, he had a strong appreciation of history and place. Every time he put pen to paper or chisel to wood, he aimed to create family heirlooms, pieces that would be well-loved and well-used. One of the most satisfying aspects of his work was the idea that his furniture became an integral part of his customers’ lives and homes.

But Ally had no home. No place to call her own. No sanctuary. No treasured window seat or favorite corner of the garden or sentimental piece of crockery or glassware.

“And you’re never tempted to stop and stay?”

She chased a pecan around her bowl for a few beats before replying. “A few times. But you can’t fight nature, and it usually means I end up letting someone down. That’s why I do the house-sitting thing now. It suits me, and I suit it, and the rest takes care of itself.”

“So when your friend comes back, whenever that is, you’ll just pack up your duffel and hit the road again?”

“Absolutely. When Wendy finishes her training course in another six weeks’ time, I’ll pack up my suitcase and go to Sydney, or maybe Brisbane. I haven’t decided yet.”

She inspected her empty bowl, scraping the spoon
against the surface to capture the last traces of ice cream. “It would be wrong to have a second serving, wouldn’t it? An invitation to Type 2 diabetes,” she said wistfully.

“Sometimes it pays to live dangerously.”

“Says the man with the six-pack abs.”

She blushed as soon as she said it. He felt a smile tug at his mouth. Nice to have the reassurance that she was as aware of him as he was of her.

“I don’t have a six-pack.”