In His Good Hands (17 page)

“I know. I just went past the gym and saw his car in the lot. I want to talk to you.” Ungrateful little wretch. Had she forgotten already that Renita had introduced her to Oliver?

Then she noticed the bottle of spray cleaner on the hall table and the rag in Tegan’s hand. A bucketful of cleaning products and sponges stood at the foot of the stairs. “Are you doing housework?”

“Who did you
think
does it?”

Renita had imagined Brett employed a cleaning lady. “This is a big house to take care of.”

“No kidding.” With a show of reluctance Tegan stepped back and let Renita enter.

“I won’t stay long.” Renita walked through the foyer into the living room. “Did you enjoy the dance last week?”

“It was okay.” Tegan crossed to the coffee table and took a hair clip from a pewter dish. She held it out, her other hand planted on her cocked hip. “You left this here that night.”

Renita met her resentful gaze with a mixture of exasperation and pity. She made no move to accept the clip. “Tegan, you went to an after party. I didn’t take your father’s attention away from you that night, did I?”

The teen hunched one shoulder. “No, but—”

“I’m not your enemy,” Renita went on. “In fact, I need your help.”

Tegan dropped the clip back on the coffee table. “To do what?” she asked warily.

“To get his Brownlow Medal back.”

“I still can’t believe he sold the medal!” Tegan collapsed into a chair opposite Renita. “He
loved
that thing.”

“When people are desperate they’re forced into making difficult choices. If I can find out who’s handling the sale I might be able to fix it so that your dad gets the money
and
the chance to buy back the medal in the future.”

Tegan sat up straighter. “What do you want me to do?”

Renita breathed a small sigh of relief that the girl was willing to set aside her animosity for her father’s sake. “It’ll be either an auction house or a private dealer. He might have left a business card lying around or a phone number scribbled on a paper.”

“You want me to snoop? I don’t go into his room when he’s not here, much less look around.”

“I know it’s wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you.” Renita twisted her fingers together in her lap. She’d taken too big a risk coming here. If Tegan told her father…

“It’s for his benefit, right?” Tegan said slowly.

“Yes,” Renita said. “But you can never tell him. It’s a big secret to keep. If you don’t want to be part of this, now is the time to say so.”
Just don’t rat me out….

Tegan got up and paced the room, stopped in front of the empty spot on the mantelpiece where the Brownlow Medal had sat. Absently, she dusted the gold-speckled marble with the heel of her hand.

Then she picked up a framed photo of her father in his football uniform, streaked with mud after a match. “He was happy when he was playing football,” she said wistfully. “Ever since he bought the gym he’s been up and down like a roller coaster, working all the time. The only way I see him is if I hang out in that cold, smelly place.”

“If you want his gym to succeed then this is what it’s going to take,” Renita said.

Tegan dropped the photo on the marble ledge with a clatter. “Don’t you get it? I don’t
want
the gym to succeed. I want him to sell it and do something else. He could be a coach or a phys ed teacher or something.
Anything
else would take less time.”

Renita blinked. She hadn’t expected such vehemence from the girl. “Aren’t you being a little selfish?”

“I’m not just thinking about me. He’s totally stressed out. All he does is work. Work and worry.”

Renita fell silent. There was an element of truth in that. Was she doing the right thing in trying to help Brett? Or would it be in his long-term interests to let his fitness center fail? Either way, did she have any right to affect his life so significantly? Especially when he’d turned down her offer to help?

She pressed her fingers to her temples. She didn’t have answers. She only knew…

“He wants it,” she said simply. “Whether you like it or not, the gym is important to him. I don’t know why, but he needs to prove something to himself. I would like to give him the chance to do that.”

Tegan stared at her. “Maybe that’s what I don’t get. You’re basically giving him the money. How much is it costing?”

“One hundred and ninety thousand dollars. The price may go up if another buyer is interested. That’s why I have to act quickly.”

That in itself made her nervous. In fact, she was dizzy at the thought of spending this much money in one fell swoop. Usually when she made a major purchase like a car or her house, she researched the market, drew up a list of pros and cons, shopped around for weeks. Here, she’d made the decision to mortgage her life away in less than twenty-four hours.

Tegan threw herself back in her chair. “Why are you doing this?”

“He won’t accept a loan.” Renita began again with elaborate patience. She’d explained it already, in detail.

“No, I mean why are you
giving
him so much? Most women want to
get
money and presents from him. What are
you
getting out of it?”

Renita rose from the buttery leather couch, her arms folded as she crossed the room. She hadn’t even asked herself that question.

Did she feel guilty that she hadn’t given him the bank loan? Maybe a little. But not so guilty that she would go into debt for him. No, that wasn’t why.

Did she hope that Brett would be so grateful he would love her, perhaps marry her? No. She could hope all she wanted for a lasting relationship with him. Giving him his medal back wouldn’t guarantee that would happen. It could all blow up in her face if he found out.

Picking up the photo Tegan had been looking at, she saw it had been taken when Brett was in high school. As a teenager, he’d struggled to understand calculus and trigonometry. He’d worked so hard. With her help he’d been getting somewhere. He would have passed his final exam if she hadn’t dropped his tutorials. In her own way, she’d hurt him every bit as much as he’d hurt her when he’d rejected her in front of his mates.

He was working hard at the gym, too. Busting his butt to make it happen, because he was too stubborn to figure out when to call it quits. Maybe this time he
would
succeed.

Renita glanced at Tegan. “Let’s just say I owe him.”

Tegan seemed surprised. Then, in her maddening teenage obstinacy, she asked, “Why?”

“You don’t have to know everything,” Renita said. “Do you want to help your father or not?”

She took a moment to think about that.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” she said finally and ran upstairs, her sock feet thudding on the carpeted steps.

Renita picked up her hair clip and put it in her purse. She wandered out of the living room and through the foyer. The dining room faced the drive way, and from here she could keep a lookout. It would be just their luck if Brett returned now.

In less than ten minutes Tegan was thundering down the stairs again. “Is this it?” she said excitedly, handing Renita a business card. “I found it in his jacket pocket. Simon J. Toltz, Dealer in Antiquities, Fine Jewelry and Memorabilia.”

“That’s got to be it!” Renita copied down the phone number and address and tucked her notepad in her purse. “Put that back where you found it. I’ll go home and call this man.” Impulsively, she gave Tegan a hug. “Thank you. You did great.”

Tegan’s smile was hesitant, but her cheeks were pink. “Promise you’ll tell me what happens?”

Renita nodded. “I promise.”

He picked up the pen and tapped it on his cheek. What else did he have worth selling?

The house.

His heart sank at the thought of telling Tegan they had to move. She loved this place, the nearby beach, the sailing club. It had been the consolation prize for taking her away from her mother, her old school and her friends.

On the other hand, how could he ever face Renita again if he didn’t get himself out of this mess?

The phone rang. Slowly, he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Brett? Simon Toltz here. We have a new bidder….”

The doorbell rang.

Startled, Renita peered through the sheers and saw Brett’s car in the driveway. He was
here.
And she was wearing her blue sports bra, the one she never wore in public, and a pair of black running shorts. She’d expected him to phone first.

The doorbell rang again.

Oh, God.
She didn’t want him to see her in this top.

She grabbed a trench coat from the hall closet, then opened the door. Brett’s grin stretched wide above a huge bouquet of red roses.

“Hey, Brett.” Seeing him so happy was worth every penny she’d spent on the medal. She stepped back to let him in.

“These are for you,” he said, offering her the flowers.

“Thank you.” She buried her nose in the fragrant blooms. “It’s a little early for Valentine’s Day.”

“I’ve got good news.” He glanced from the furniture pushed against the walls to the exercise mat and the set of hand weights. “It’s great that you’re keeping up your training program.” He took in her coat and bare legs. “But in a trench coat?”

“I know I look ridiculous.” Not to mention she was boiling. “It’s this top I’m wearing.”

“Let me see.” He reached for her.

She edged away. “I’ll put these in water.” She headed for the kitchen.
Red
roses. Keeping her voice carefully casual, she said over her shoulder, “What’s your good news?”

“I sold my Brownlow Medal. This time it’s a done deal. The money was transferred to my account last night via online banking.”

Renita put the sheaf of flowers on the kitchen counter. Hearing his joy, she didn’t have to fake her excitement. “Oh, Brett, that’s wonderful! What a relief.”

“I wasn’t worried.
Much.
” Grinning, he enveloped her in a bear hug and lifted her off the ground. With his face buried in her damp ponytail, he said in a muffled voice, “Sorry I was such a pig the last time you saw me.”

“You
were
a pig.” Kissing him, she slid back to the floor. When she eased back, all warm and disheveled, her coat flopped open.

Before she could pull it closed, Brett was tugging it off her shoulders. “Don’t be silly. You’re going to overheat.”

Her arms snaked protectively around her bare midriff.

“Surely you’re not still self-conscious about your body. I’ve seen you naked.”

“That’s different. In this sports bra and shorts my gut billows out like the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

Gently but firmly he pulled her arms away to see for himself. “You exaggerate—you know that, don’t you? You’re beautiful and sexy.”

Renita ducked away. She wanted to believe him. He’d convinced her the night they’d made love. Why hadn’t that stuck? She reached into the cabinet under the sink for a tall crystal vase. Keeping her body angled away from him, she filled it with water, then unwrapped the tissue from the flowers and started clipping the ends off the stems with kitchen scissors. “Let me have a shower, then we can celebrate.”

“Or I could shower with you.” With a fingertip he stroked away tiny beads of perspiration in the hollow of her spine.

She shivered at his delicious touch as she tucked the last rose in the vase. “Do you think you can snap at me and then charm your way back into my arms?”

“I don’t know. Can I?” He brushed his lips over her shoulder. Then he turned her and bent his head to kiss her again, overriding her reluctance with a gentle assault on her mouth, teasing her lips open as he lifted her arms around his neck.

For a moment Renita surrendered to his kiss. Then she eased back.

Brett groaned. “Now what?”

“Who bought your Brownlow?” She had to be sure that Simon Toltz hadn’t spilled the beans.

Brett’s hands stilled on her arms. “I don’t know. The buyer wanted to be anonymous. I’m happy, but I can’t believe it’s really gone this time.”

Relieved, Renita stroked the muscles at the base of his neck. “You’ll get your Brownlow Medal back someday.”

“You don’t know these collectors. Once they get hold of a coveted object, they never sell it. It might turn up in a deceased estate years from now. Or not.”

“No, you will. I feel sure of it.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. And I appreciate your offer of a personal loan, even if I couldn’t accept it.”

“I—” Renita broke off, not sure what she could say.

“Look at the strife we’ve already had over your bank holding my business loan. Can you imagine the problems if I owed you that much money, personally?”

Her throat dried up. A shaky laugh rasped out. “I guess it’s lucky you didn’t accept.”

“Oh, baby, you’d better believe it.” Kissing her, he pulled her sports bra over her head, then cupped her small breasts in his palms.

“They’re not very big,” she whispered.

“They’re just right. Perfect.” He bent his head and sucked one hard bud into his mouth, eliciting a soft moan from deep in her throat.

Though she’d never made love in a kitchen full of warm afternoon sun, Renita gave in to the spirit of the moment. Her shorts and underpants slipped down her hips, tangled at her feet before she kicked them away. She refused to look at the red lines where the shorts elastic had cut into her flesh. Brett didn’t seem to care or notice as he lifted her onto the counter. He nudged apart her legs and pressed his fingers into her dark curls.

Suddenly he took her hard, holding her gaze as he moved inside her.

Renita clung to his sweat-drenched shoulders, riding a wave that peaked and crashed and built again until she was mindless and boneless, saturated with pleasure.