Brett came to a halt, trying to
figure out what was going on

Renita wasn’t the type to flirt or flaunt her body, yet that’s exactly what she was doing.

Thanks to his ex-wife, he was all too familiar with the body language of a woman on the prowl. Renita was preening, touching her hair, pushing her arms together and leaning on the table to emphasize her cleavage.

She was also drunk. When she raised her glass she nearly missed her mouth then giggled when a few drops of sparkling wine fizzed down her chin. No wonder she was acting this way. She didn’t know what she was doing.

Her admirer immediately topped up her glass from a bottle on the table. Clearly he expected the evening to end with Renita in his bed.

Brett carefully set his beer on a nearby table.

Not bloody likely, mate.

Dear Reader,

Are you a couch potato or a fitness freak? Or are you somewhere in between? I fall into the “in between” category. I go to the gym regularly and walk almost every day. Even so, I struggle to keep my weight under control. Part of the reason is that I love to cook and, naturally, to eat. I enjoy little indulgences like a piece of chocolate or a glass of wine.

To me, achieving a healthy, happy lifestyle comes down to finding a balance, where feeling fit gives as much pleasure as having a nice meal. Health versus appearance; appearance versus personality; these are some of the other issues I’ve explored in the second book of the Summerside Stories trilogy, In His Good Hands.

Renita Thatcher is a couch potato trying to change her ways with the help of gym owner Brett O’Connor, who also happens to be her unrequited high school crush.

I hope you enjoy reading Renita’s story and can identify with her journey from the couch to the gym.

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

Joan Kilby

In His Good Hands
Joan Kilby

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joan Kilby goes to her local gym several times a week for Body Balance—a combination of Tai Chi, pilates and yoga. And yes, there is a cappuccino machine where she and her friends hang out after class. Melbournians love their coffee! Like the hero in this book, Joan is mathematically challenged. Unlike the hero, she knows better than to mess around with large sums of money. Joan’s husband and three children help keep her sane while she’s writing. And her dog, Toby, takes her for a walk every day.

To my gym/coffee buddies

Madeline, Deb, Anne, Carolyn and Sandy.

Thanks for the laughs and the friendship.

Saturday wouldn’t be the same without you.

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

RENITA THATCHER TUGGED AT the jacket of her blue silk-blend suit, struggling to fasten it across her stomach. Cripes, if she got any bigger she’d have to wear a tent to work. Usually she left the jacket open, but a button had popped off her blouse.

Of all days—

Her office door burst open. Poppy, her young assistant, announced breathlessly, “Brett O’Connor’s here.”

“Already?” Renita sucked in her gut, tightened what stomach muscles she possessed, and squeezed the button through the hole. “Give me two minutes, then show him in.”

Poppy left, closing the door behind her. Renita whipped a compact out of her top drawer and checked her hair, tucking a wavy dark strand behind her ear. She tried taking her glasses off. Nope, she was blind without them. Baring her teeth in the tiny mirror, she made sure there were no lipstick smears or sesame seeds from her breakfast bagel.

She put away her compact and took several deep breaths to slow her tripping heart, coaching herself not to get anxious over this meeting. Her high school crush on Brett O’Connor was ancient history. Anyway, he’d never been interested in her that way, so his visit was nothing to get excited about.

Sure, she was curious about why he’d returned to Summerside, but her biggest concern right now was that a) her jacket button didn’t pop and b) she didn’t reveal by a single word, gesture or look that she’d ever had the slightest hint of romantic feelings toward him.

Professionalism, that was the key. She was no longer a nerdy, chubby fifteen-year-old infatuated with the school jock who’d broken her heart. She was a businesswoman and the loans manager at Community Bank, just doing her job.

Poppy knocked. Renita’s mouth felt as dry as the paper she was clutching in her damp palms as a prop. Poppy opened the door, ushering in Brett O’Connor, who was gorgeous as ever in a casual suit jacket over an open-necked shirt and designer jeans. He carried a manila envelope.

At the last second Renita remembered the jar of jelly beans and whisked it off her desk and into a drawer.

“Hello, Brett.” She rose, grateful that her voice, at least, was cool and calm. The sight of his thick, sun-streaked hair and slightly crooked nose transported her straight back to grade eleven, when a passing glance from him in the school corridor had been enough to send her into dreamy reveries.

Not now, though. No way.

She extended a hand. “How are you?”

“G’day, Renita. It’s been a while.” His clasp was firm, almost painful, as if he didn’t know his own strength, and his blue gaze so direct it was like a stab to the heart. “What is it, thirteen years?”

“Something like that.” She gestured to a chair. “Tell me, what can I do for you?”

He sat, but instead of getting down to business, he leaned back and shook his head. “I can’t get over it. You’re exactly the same.”

“Gee, thanks. And here I thought I’d improved.”

He flashed her his easy grin. “You always had a wisecrack for every occasion.”

“No, I only speak the truth,” she deadpanned. “Everyone just thinks I’m joking.”

“What I meant was you look fabulous.” When she raised her eyebrows skeptically, he insisted, “Honestly, you do.”

“Don’t flatter me, Brett.” Renita knew she was well-groomed, pretty but not beautiful. Most of the time she thought she looked just fine—well, except for the extra weight. But she didn’t believe for one second that Brett, who was used to being mobbed by half-naked football groupies, could possibly think she looked fabulous.

“You look…real,” he amended, having the grace to appear sheepish at being called on his sincerity.

“Real. Yep, that’s me.” Real meant eyeglasses, hair with a mind of its own, jackets that strained at the buttons.

She searched beneath his gorgeousness for signs that he’d aged badly from the debauched life he must have led as a professional football player. Not to mention Australian rules football was a rough sport. Brett had been hot in high school. Hotter still during televised football games, with his cheek smeared with dirt and his muscles—all sweaty and glistening—exposed by his sleeveless jersey and tight shorts. But apart from a small white scar across his right eyebrow, laughter lines around his eyes and mouth and the way his lanky frame had filled out with solid muscle, he looked pretty much the same as he had at seventeen. Sexy and athletic.

“So, Brett, are you here for a loan?”

“First I’d like to know how my favorite math tutor is doing,” he said, still with that easy smile, that confidence that used to enthrall her. Now it only grated on her nerves.

He was trying to charm her. It came to him as easily as breathing, and probably just as unconsciously. It took her back to afternoons around her parents’ farmhouse kitchen table. She had tried earnestly to teach him trigonometry; he had tried to distract her with jokes. She’d wanted to slap him.

Or kiss him.

“How could I be your favorite tutor?” She laughed nervously, although she was anything but amused. “I dropped you two weeks before the final exam, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Brett frowned. “Why did you do that, anyway?”

“Dad needed my help with chores after school,” she lied, even as hurt and anger pushed their way to the surface.

What an idiot she’d been back then, imagining that just because they’d laughed together, just because he’d tweaked her ponytail, he’d liked her. She could still see his stunned expression, hear his excruciatingly blunt, “Sorry, you’re not my type,” when she’d asked him to the grade eleven dance.

“Is it a home loan or business loan you’re after?”

“Your father used to put the fear of God into me whenever I came around,” Brett went on, seemingly oblivious to her efforts to change the subject. “But I’ll never forget the cakes and cookies your mum baked for our study sessions. How are your folks doing?”

“They sold the farm and moved into Summerside to be near Jack, Lexie and me,” Renita said, summing up the past six months in a few quick words. What she didn’t say was that her parents, Steve and Hetty Thatcher, weren’t fine at all. They were having marriage problems, and her dad was sick. But she was done chatting. She shuffled some papers on her desk. “Interest rates are set to go up next month, so I’m recommending to our borrowers that they lock in for a fixed term.”

“I ran into Jack yesterday in the grocery store,” Brett added. “He told me your father had been in the hospital.”

Renita nodded, biting her lip. The scare was recent enough that she was still shaken up over it.

“Is Steve all right?” Brett pressed. “Jack was in a hurry and didn’t have time to tell me what happened.”

She gripped her pen tightly between her fingers. “My dad’s been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes.”

Brett leaned forward, his clear blue eyes troubled. “I didn’t think that usually meant a hospital stay.”

Couldn’t he just drop it? Renita met his gaze, and that was her undoing. His expression was so sympathetic she couldn’t resist confiding in him. “Mum was away on a meditation retreat and Dad let his diet go to hell. No one knew he had diabetes or that he was eating a ton of sweets. Next thing, he was severely dehydrated and his blood sugar levels were through the roof. He was in a coma for two days.”

“I’m sorry,” Brett murmured. “Is he okay now?”

Sorry. Was he? Renita tapped the pen against her blotter. For reasons she’d never understood, Brett and her father didn’t get along.

“He’s out of the hospital. Mum’s back home and taking care of him.” Grudgingly. Hetty, and even Jack and Sienna, believed Steve had brought his illness on himself to punish her for going away.

“My gym is sponsoring the Diabetes Fun Run next month,” Brett said. “You and Steve should think about entering.”

“Me, run?” Renita laughed. “I’m built for comfort, not speed.” She was like her dad in many ways, including having a weakness for sweets.

“It’s not a race,” Brett said. “It’s to support a good cause. And an excuse to get some exercise.”

Renita shifted uncomfortably, feeling her waistband pinch. Steve’s health crisis had given her a jolt. She needed to do something about her weight or she might end up with type 2 diabetes. In fact, she was going on a diet. Starting next Monday. Or Tuesday.

Just thinking about being hungry made her cranky.

“I support the cause, but as for exercise, I’d sooner stick flaming bamboo shoots beneath my fingernails.”

“Okay, I get the picture. I’m not here to torture you.” Brett let the subject go. “What are you doing these days? Do you still see anyone from high school?”

“Most everyone has moved away.” Didn’t he get that they weren’t friends?

“I’m looking forward to catching up with Jack and his fiancée,” he said. “What’s her name?”

“Sienna. Look, could we get down to business?” Renita sat up straighter to ease the strain on her jacket. “I’m sure your time is valuable, and I have another appointment coming up. Are you here about a bank loan?”

Silence followed her brusque request.

“I want to buy the Summerside Fitness Center,” Brett finally admitted. “I’ve taken over managing the place and the owner’s keen to sell.”

“You must have just started there. I haven’t seen you around town.” Hadn’t heard any buzz that Brett’s minor celebrity status would have generated, either.

“That’s right. We moved in last week, to a house on Cliff Road.”

“We?” The word popped out before Renita could stop herself. Brett’s divorce six months ago had been splashed all over the tabloids, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already found another girlfriend. “Sorry, your personal life is none of my business.”

“You can ask. We’re old friends.” Another moment of silence passed, as if he expected her to agree. When she didn’t, his blue eyes hardened. “My daughter, Tegan, and I.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Tegan wishes there were more fashion boutiques in Summerside, but I’m glad she can’t spend all her time shopping.” Brett rolled on, regaining his good humor. “With us practically living on the beach, she’ll be able to learn to sail. Summerside is a good place to grow up, on the fringe between city and country. Well, you would know. You had a great childhood on the farm.”

There he was, inviting Renita to reminisce again. She wasn’t going to bite. “About the gym…I drive past there regularly. The building looks run-down. I hope it’s going for a good price.”

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That includes all equipment, such as it is. It’s reasonable,” Brett said. “But I’ll need to completely refurbish the place. Exercise machines, flooring, coffee area, child care, change rooms—the works.”

Finally, they were getting down to business. “Coffee?” Renita asked. “Isn’t that encouraging unhealthy habits?”

“I gather this used to be a squash club. There’s a small kitchen where players used to wait for a court.” He shrugged. “I’m into fitness, but I’m not a fanatic. If people want coffee, they can have it.”

“Is the gym currently running at a profit?”

“A very slim one. The place has been neglected since the owner moved to Sydney last year. His manager quit months ago and hasn’t been replaced. One of the instructors has been in charge, but obviously, she can’t do that justice and teach classes at the same time. Once I take over things will improve.” Brett removed a sheaf of papers from his manila envelope and handed them to Renita. “I’ve worked up a statement of operating costs, revenue and expenses.”

She scanned the detailed spreadsheets. “You’ve certainly done your homework.”

“And this time without your assistance.”

She glanced up. He was watching her with that half smile that used to turn her knees to jelly. The pages rattled faintly in her hands. “Let’s hope you’re better at math than you used to be.”

Renita ducked her head and studied the figures. She still found Brett physically attractive; a woman would have to be blind not to. But she was over him.

She was aware of him shifting in his chair. He never could sit still for long. Then he stood up. Right, there he goes. He paced around the room, looking at the art on the walls, picking up objects. She tried to concentrate on the columns of figures, but couldn’t help peeking at him out of the corner of her eye.

Those long legs, broad shoulders…

He examined the bowl of flowering succulents she kept on the credenza beneath the window. Then he lifted the framed photo of Frankie and Johnny, her pet cockatoo and her cat. Next to that was a picture of Lucy, her golden retriever. Brett glanced back at the nameplate on her desk, which bore her maiden name. She knew what he was thinking. Single woman. Her pets are her kids.

“Did you ever marry?” he asked, confirming her thought.

Hello! She was only thirty-two. Maybe she didn’t want to marry. Or maybe she’d kept her own name. She was a career woman, after all. “I’m too busy for a serious relationship.”

“You always were smarter than the rest of us.” Setting the photo down, he leaned against the credenza, arms loosely crossed. “Tegan begged me for a cockatiel, but I don’t like to keep birds in cages.”

“I have an aviary—” Renita began, then stopped before she went into a full explanation of how she’d found Frankie as a fledgling with a badly broken wing, and how the vet had said the cockatoo would never fly again. Brett still had a knack for distracting her far too easily.

Clearing her throat, she returned her attention to his business proposal. It appeared straightforward except for one unlabeled column. “Brett, take a look at this set of figures. Are they incoming or outgoing?”

His lanky stride brought him to her desk. “Which column?”

She started to turn the paper toward him, but he moved behind her and leaned over her shoulder, one hand planted on her desk. The heat from his body, the faint scent of aftershave, the long fingers—more distractions. “Uh, that one.” She pointed with a manicured nail.

“Right. Okay. That’s, um…” He sucked in a breath, clicked his tongue. “Incoming.”

“You’re sure?” She glanced at him, pushing her glasses farther up her nose. “Because if it’s outgoing you may not have even a slim profit.”

“I’m sure.” He rapped his knuckles on the paper before drawing back. “Incoming. Definitely.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously, watching him pace back across the room, flexing the fingers of his right hand. She knew that body language; he used to do that when he was nervous before a test at school, when he wasn’t certain of his command of the material.

Hmm.

“Okay, this is outgoing. Three hundred thousand dollars for refurbishment?” she queried. “That kind of money would buy a lot of paint and carpeting.”

“It’s for replacing the exercise equipment. Stationary bicycles, treadmills, weight machines—all of it has to go.”

“What is that figure based on? I didn’t see any costings.”

“I didn’t have time. It’s more like a guesstimate.”

“A guesstimate?” she repeated, one eyebrow raised.

“Hey.” Smiling, he spread his hands. “Math never was my strong suit.”

“You can do better than this.”

Even in high school he’d been a big spender, she recalled, financing his nice clothes and fancy car with two part-time jobs. His days in pro football would have made him even more accustomed to having the finest of everything the instant he wanted it. Which was odd, considering he’d come from nothing. His father had been a laborer, his mother an invalid, unable to work. The family had lived in an old cottage on the poorer side of town. His parents still lived there, as far as Renita knew. She was pretty sure his two brothers lived in the area, too.

A few minutes later, she sat back, tapping her pen on the blotter. “You’re asking to borrow a total of over a million dollars. That would mean large monthly repayments. It doesn’t look to me as if the gym’s earnings can cover a mortgage plus the interest on a loan for refurbishment.”

“Membership will increase once I spruce up the place.”

“Nothing is taken for granted these days. The Community Bank is careful not to let clients get in too deep. Can you put any of your own money into the pot?”

“If I had any, I wouldn’t be asking for a loan,” Brett said with disarming honesty.

“You don’t have savings after thirteen years playing professional football?” Australian Rules footballers didn’t make millions, but he’d probably earned a couple grand a year.

“My savings are tied up in a dispute over the divorce settlement,” he said. “Once that’s resolved I can sink my own money into the business to cut costs. What I’m asking for is more in the nature of a bridging loan.”

There was a dispute over the divorce? That hadn’t made the papers. Was his ex-wife asking for too much or was he offering too little? This could drag out for years.

“Until your divorce is settled, the amount of money you can contribute is uncertain. It can’t have any bearing on my decision.” Renita tapped her pen on the folder. “You say you’re managing the gym. Do you have any other business experience?”

“None whatsoever,” he admitted. “My name will be a draw card. But I won’t be resting on my laurels. I plan to offer state-of-the-art equipment, personal training and fitness classes to cater to everyone. My gym will be small and friendly, with a focus on personal attention. The kind of place where the fitness instructors know the name of every member. Open to whole families, from kids in primary school right up to their grannies.”

It sounded good, but at the moment it was still just a pipe dream. “Your name won’t be a draw unless you’re a visible presence. Will you be hands-on in the running of the business?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there every day, managing the place and giving personal training sessions.”

“That’s a big time commitment. If you’re not used to—”

“I want to do this, Renita.” He jumped up and started pacing again. “I can do it.” He slapped a fist in his palm. “Goddamn it, I will do it.”

Renita glanced down at the pen between her fingers so as not to be dazzled by his blue eyes. His grit and determination had taken him to glory on the football field. And there was no doubting his sincerity about the gym. Her decisions were based strictly on bank guidelines. She had to be tough. Otherwise, in a small community like Summerside, where she knew almost everyone, she’d be giving away the bank’s money right and left.

On the other hand, while Brett’s figures were sketchy, it was the only gym in town. And while he lacked management experience, if anyone could turn the business around through sheer willpower, that person was Brett O’Connor.

She glanced up. “Okay, you’re in. Barely.”

Relief washed over his face. “So you’ll approve the loan?”

“I’ll authorize the release of funds for you to buy the gym.” She punched a few figures into her calculator. “Eight hundred and sixty thousand will cover purchase price plus taxes.”

“Excellent. And the new equipment, the refurbishment?”

“I’m sorry. The mortgage is the limit of what the bank will lend you. You haven’t provided solid justification for the finances necessary for refurbishment.”

“The justification is that members are quitting because the facilities are old and run-down.” Frowning, he sat again. “What if I were to cost it all out, itemize every piece of new equipment?”

“I’d be willing to look at it,” Renita conceded reluctantly. “But no guarantees, you understand.”

His mouth flattened and his nostrils flared as he exhaled forcefully. “You’re the boss.”

Yes, she was. Renita rose and extended a hand, remembering to suck in her stomach. “I hope your gym will be a huge success.”

Brett rose, too, squeezing her hand briefly. He couldn’t hide his disappointment. “You’ll be hearing from me again soon.”

The instant the door closed behind him Renita undid the buttons of her suit jacket. With a sigh of relief she let her stomach relax. She’d survived their meeting without making a fool of herself. Sure, Brett was dissatisfied with the outcome, but he could hardly expect her to hand him everything he wanted on a plate.

She reached into her drawer for the jar of jelly beans. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel bad.

CHAPTER TWO

FRICKIN’ BANKS and their frickin’ restrictions. Brett pushed through the double glass doors to the gym. What the hell was he going to do with this shabby old place if he couldn’t refurbish it? And what was up with Renita? She never used to be so prickly and standoffish.

“Did you get the loan?” Janet called as he strode through the foyer past the reception desk.

She and Mark, the other fitness instructor, were between classes. They’d already been working here when he’d come on board, and he’d established a rapport with them almost instantly. As he’d explained to Renita, Janet had been juggling managerial duties with her fitness classes. Once Brett had been hired, she’d been more than happy to hand over the reins.

“Talk in a minute.” He tossed the manila envelope over the counter toward the desk, but it skidded off and landed on the floor. He kept going, stripping off his jacket without breaking stride.

“Hey, Dad.” Tegan brushed back her long, honey-blond hair to wave at him. Her homework was spread over a table in the refreshment area. “Can you help me with geography?”

“Be right back.” He took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.

Thank God the men’s changing room was empty. The stale odor of sweaty bodies and cleaning products hit Brett’s nostrils as the door squeaked open. He flung himself onto a bench and dropped his head in his hands.

Half a loan.

How could he have screwed up on those columns of figures? More to the point, how could he have thought he’d get away with a guesstimate? The answer was simple. Working out the equipment costs had seemed too onerous after everything else he’d done. And if he was honest, he’d thought he could be less rigorous with Renita.

Numbers—they did his head in. He should have asked his brother Tom, a financial analyst with a big firm in the city, for help. Or even gone to an accountant who would have worked up a proper business plan. But Brett had figured that if he was going to run a successful business he ought to know all the ins and outs of the gym’s finances. He’d wanted to prove, to himself if no one else, that he wasn’t just a dumb jock.

Instead, today he’d confirmed he was no smarter than he’d been in high school.

Renita had always believed in him back then. He felt as if he’d let her down today. Was that why she’d been so reserved, deflecting his attempts to reconnect? What had happened to his funny little buddy? True, they’d lost touch, but at one time they’d been friends. Well, not friends exactly, but they’d known each other. He’d liked her, even if they didn’t travel in the same circles.

Okay, his comment that she looked fabulous was an exaggeration—she was still overweight. But most women lapped up compliments, especially ones like Renita who probably didn’t get many. Why the hell had she taken offense when he’d told her she looked real? That, at least, was true.

“Brett?” Janet banged on the change room door. “Get your butt out here and tell us what’s going on, or I’ll come in there and haul you out.”

“I’m putting on my jockstrap. Want to help?” he called.

“Ooh, yes, please!” Happily married, middle-aged Janet chuckled. A moment later he heard her descending the stairs.

Time to man up. He kicked off his leather loafers and stripped off his shirt and jeans, hanging them up in a locker. He pulled on a navy polo shirt and shorts and went back downstairs.

Stopping at Tegan’s table, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. She was wearing too much makeup and her nail polish was a baffling black. Was she really thirteen already? “How’s the homework going?”

“Algebra sucks. And I’ve got this geography assignment.” She looked up at him with big eyes. “Can you help me?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m busy with gym stuff right now,” he said, pushing aside a stab of guilt. “I’ve got paperwork to sort out and phone calls to make. Then a personal training session at six.”

Tegan sighed heavily and slumped in her chair. “You’re always too busy with this stupid gym.”

“You need to pack up your books, anyway,” he added, squeezing her shoulder. “I’ll have a quick word with Janet and Mark. Then I’ll take you to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

Janet was waiting as he approached the reception desk. Though barely five feet tall, she had a muscular build. In her late forties, she could outlast and outpump most of her younger colleagues.

Under her scrutiny, he forced a smile.

Janet gave Mark a high five. “He got the loan.”

“Awesome.” Mark, an easygoing twenty-five-year-old who towered over Janet, slapped her hand. “That means we’ve still got a job.”

“Unless Brett’s going upmarket with the help, too.” Janet raised an eyebrow at Brett. “Are you going to hire flash new instructors for your fancy gym?”

“I need you guys more than ever,” he replied. “Just don’t ask me for a raise right away.”

“We’ll wait at least a week. Did you get everything you asked for?”

“Pretty much.” Brett accepted their congratulations and pats on the back. He wasn’t going to talk about what he didn’t get. Losers were weak. And he wasn’t a loser. “Give me a second while I call the real estate agent and tell him to go ahead with the paperwork.”

He excused himself and went into the cramped inner office to make his call. His offer had already been accepted subject to approval on the financing. The owner, Grant Springer, was just as keen as Brett for the hand over of ownership to take place, and they’d agreed on a thirty-day settlement. It was all happening.

By the time Brett finished the call, Mark had left to teach a pump class and Janet was laminating photocopies of floor exercises for group fitness.

“Almost as good as winning the footy grand final, huh?” she asked over the quiet hum of the machine. Beaming, she nudged him with her elbow.

“Almost,” he replied uncomfortably, with a half smile.

She removed a freshly laminated copy. “Was the loans officer impressed with your business plan?”

“She was in awe.” Brett was careful to temper his sarcasm.

Janet grabbed the catalog of exercise equipment Brett had been poring over earlier like a kid with a Christmas toy flyer. “Let’s start picking out your new goodies.”

“Uh, I’ll get to that later.”

She regarded him with a frown. “Is everything okay? Yesterday we couldn’t tear you away from this brochure.”

“Everything’s fine. I just have to drop Tegan off at my parents’ house for dinner.” He reached for his keys and called over his shoulder, “Are you ready, Tegan?”

“Coming.” She ambled toward him, the straps of her unbuckled shoes flapping, her school bag slung over her shoulder.

Brett turned back to Janet. “If my six o’clock arrives before I get back, have her warm up on the treadmill. I won’t be long.”

In his silver E320 Mercedes, Brett cruised down the leafy main street of the village. Tegan chatted about school. Now and then he murmured “yes” or “uh-huh.”

“Cool!” Tegan said after one such response. “Thanks, Dad!”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he replied automatically, then sent her a swift glance. “What did I just say yes to?”

Her eyes widened, all innocence. “Me getting a new dress for the dance.”

“You’ve got dozens of dresses in your closet. Why don’t you wear one of those? It’s not like anyone in Summerside will have seen them before.”

“I only have two party dresses and I’ve grown out of both of them. Besides, I’m older now.”

He swiveled to look at her, noticing her developing figure and the way, sitting side by side, her head now reached his shoulder. “I guess you’re right.”

The older the girl, the more expensive the dress. He’d learned that during his marriage.

Slowing to a halt for the single stoplight in town, he spied the Community Bank on the corner and frowned. Charm had always been his biggest asset, but it hadn’t worked with Renita. His efforts to renew their friendship had fallen flat. If that’s the way she wanted it, he would stick to business in the future. But he needed his loans manager to be onside to make the gym a success.

His eye fell on a poster erected on the grass verge, advertising the Diabetes Week Fun Run. Renita had been touchy about her father’s condition. She was likely worried and feeling helpless, wishing she could do something to fix the problem.

“That’s it,” Brett muttered. “Two birds with one stone.”

He got out his phone and punched in her number at the bank. Her office was the last one on the end, he realized.

“Renita Thatcher.” She sounded preoccupied.

“I just wanted to let you know about a special deal the gym is offering,” he said, making it up on the spot.

“Brett? Is that you?”

“Two-for-one memberships. I’ll throw in five free personal training sessions if you sign up before the end of the week,” he added recklessly. She’d said she wasn’t into exercise, but when people caught the bug they usually came to love the feel-good high of being fit.

“And you think I’m interested because…?”

“Your father is diabetic. I’ll bet his doctor has told him to exercise. Does he already belong to a gym in Mornington or Frankston?”

“No,” she said. “But he walks his dog, Smedley.”

“You and Steve can get fit together. You’ve got six weeks before the Fun Run—”

“No, no, no,” Renita protested. “I told you, I’m not entering the run.”

Undeterred, Brett pushed on. “Your dad would be more likely to work out if he had a partner to encourage him, wouldn’t he?”

“Brett—” She broke off.

In the silence that followed he could feel her frustration. He thought he understood her reluctance. “Having a personal trainer, you won’t have to keep up with all the gym bunnies in a class,” he said. “You work at your own pace, with a program tailored to your needs.”

“Pushing a little hard, aren’t you, Dad?” Tegan murmured from the passenger seat.

Brett motioned to his daughter to be quiet. There was another long pause. Had he pushed too hard? Embarrassed Renita? He didn’t want to do that.

“It would be good for Dad,” she conceded finally. “I’ll think about it.”

Satisfied, Brett put down his phone and moved through the green light. “She said she’d think about it,” he said to Tegan. But she was really saying yes.

“I’M MISSING THE cricket match on TV,” Steve grumbled as Renita dragged him through the doors of the fitness center.

“This won’t take long.” She hoped not, at least. Gyms were alien territory, bristling with strange machines and hard bodies. And spandex. Oh, God, she could just imagine what she would look like with every blubbery bulge outlined by spandex.

But she had to admit Brett was right—her father needed a concrete goal in his quest to improve his health. “If the place looks good you can become a member and sign up for the Fun Run.”

Steve balked on the black mat just inside the foyer, blinking at the bright lights and loud music. “I’m no runner.”

“You don’t want another hospital episode.”

“I don’t want a stroke, either.” His slacks sagged at the back and his shirt buttons strained over his barrel-shaped belly. Behind his steel-framed glasses, his brown eyes revealed his reluctance.

“That’s why you’re going to get fit before the event,” Renita coaxed. “When I was a kid, who told me I could do anything I set my mind to? Now I’m telling you you can do it. I know you can.”

“There’s no one here,” Steve said, glancing at the reception desk, with its scuffed lime-green paint. “Let’s go.”

“Shh, listen.” Renita could hear Brett talking on the phone in an office behind the desk. “Let’s wait a minute.”

The faint odors of perspiration and rubber floor mats conjured up the discomfort and small humiliations of high school gym class. Chafing thighs, sweaty clothes, being picked last for every team…

Renita moved farther into the building, taking in the gym’s poor state of repair. Paint was chipped on the corners of the pillars, the linoleum flooring was worn, and Out of Order signs hung from several of the exercise machines. Brett would have his work cut out for him, turning the facility into the fitness center of his dreams.

“This is a dive,” Steve muttered, echoing her thoughts. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“Because my bank is lending money to the new owner.” Knowing her dad kept a keen eye out for a bargain, she added cannily, “Plus there’s a sale on memberships.”

“I get enough exercise walking Smedley.” Steve removed his glasses and polished them on the hem of his shirt, drawing Renita’s attention to his round stomach.

“You’ve been walking for weeks now and haven’t lost an inch off that gut of yours,” Renita said. “That trip to the hospital was a wake-up call. You need to change your habits.”

In the multipurpose exercise room to their left a female fitness instructor was barking out encouragement to a perspiring middle-aged man doing sumo squats. “See, Dad, that could be you.”

“In that case, let me outta here. If we leave now I can still catch the last of the cricket.” He spun and headed for the exit, surprisingly nimble despite his bulk.

Renita grabbed his arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“Can I help you?” Brett, wearing a navy polo shirt sporting the gym’s logo, emerged from the office. “Hey, Renita. G’day, Mr. Thatcher. Steve, isn’t it? Nice to see you again.”

“Brett O’Connor?” Steve turned to Renita with a frown. “You didn’t tell me this was Brett’s gym.”

“Didn’t I?” She deliberately hadn’t mentioned Brett by name, worried that it would deter Steve, even though he was a rabid footy fan and a supporter of Brett’s old team, the Collingwood Magpies.

“Welcome to the gym.” Brett extended a hand to Steve, nodding to Renita. “I’m pleased you’re taking me up on the two-for-one gym membership.”

“Dad’s interested, not me.” She stepped back and nudged her father forward.

He threw her a startled glance. “But you said—”

“I said I might.” Okay, so she’d fibbed a little to get him to come. It was for his own good. While she was happy to persuade her dad to sign up, it didn’t mean she was going to join. Sure, she needed to lose weight, but she had no desire to sweat and puff, especially around Brett.

“I’m not joining unless you do,” he protested.

“Do you follow football, Steve?” Brett said casually, leaning against the counter.

“Of course.” Almost grudgingly, he asked, “How do you like Collingwood’s chances for the cup this year?”

Brett rattled off a bunch of football statistics and tossed around names, drawing Steve deeper into conversation. Renita’s dad bought it hook, line and sinker, even reciting Brett’s own stats to him. As if the conceited ass didn’t recall every goal he’d kicked. If her father still harbored a grudge for the sporting hero, he wasn’t showing it.

“Which was your high point?” Steve asked. “The year your team won the Grand Final or when you were awarded the Brownlow Medal?”

“I ought to say the Grand Final, but if I’m honest, it was winning the Brownlow.”

“I don’t blame you. Top honor,” Steve said gruffly. “How’s that knee of yours?”

“I had surgery on it last year. It’s fine unless I work it too hard.” Brett took a clipboard from the counter and passed it to him, along with a pen. “If you’d like to write down your name and contact details we can send you more information. No obligation, of course. What type of membership would suit you best—yearly, monthly or a ten-visit pass?”

Steve scribbled his name and phone number. “What’s the best deal?”

“Yearly,” Brett said. “But if you take out a trial three-month membership, and later want to convert to annual, we’ll do a pro rata.”

“The three-month trial sounds good.” Steve handed back the clipboard.

Brett tried to pass it on to Renita. “We have a two-for-one special, remember?”

“I told you, working out isn’t my thing.”

“Come on, Renita,” Steve urged. “We could split the cost.”

“Yeah, come on, Renita,” Brett echoed, a twinkle in his eyes.

How dare he tease her? Those days are over, pal.

“How about a tour of the facilities?” she replied. “I’d like to see what the bank is investing its money in.”

He gazed at her for a beat. “All right.”

He led them across to the cardio room, where stepping and rowing machines, elliptical trainers, reclining bicycles and treadmills stood empty. Brett flicked one of the Out of Order signs. “I plan on replacing all these machines as soon as I can get the financing.”

“That sounds good, doesn’t it, Renita?” Steve said.

“Sounds expensive.”

Next to cardio were glass-fronted squash courts, also not in use. Across the way was the multipurpose room. “That’s Janet, one of our fitness instructors, giving a personal training session.”

Brett moved into the weight-training room. Two men were working with free weights while a woman sweated it out on a machine. “All these will be replaced, too. Tea and coffee over there,” he went on, indicating three small tables with seating for about twelve. “I plan to put in a cappuccino machine.”

“It does appeal,” Renita murmured.

“Plus fresh carrot juice for a healthy alternative,” Brett added. He started up the central flight of stairs, toward the source of loud music and thumping feet. “Here on the second floor we have the aerobics room. We’ll add to the range of classes as demand grows, so there’ll be something to suit everyone.”

Renita followed, leaving Steve breathing hard, to bring up the rear. The door to the aerobics room was shut, so she looked over a half wall into the far squash court, which had been turned into a spin class room.

“I’ll be replacing all those bikes, too. And putting a new office in over here,” he added, drawing her attention to an unused space beneath a window at the front of the building.

He had confidence to burn, she’d give him that.

Steve made it to the top of the stairs and slumped onto a padded exercise bench.

“You okay, Dad?” Renita asked. He nodded, blotting his forehead with the back of his hand. She turned to Brett. “He would have to take it easy to start.”

“We tailor training to the individual. There’s also a low impact seniors class.” Brett glanced back at her. “There’s plenty for the younger crowd, too. Sure you don’t want to join?”

“She’ll join.” Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“No, Dad, I…” Renita stopped, not wanting to argue with her father in public.

“I’ll be downstairs if you two want a moment.” Brett ran down the steps, leaving them alone.

She sat beside her father on the bench.

“Renita, honey, you were right. I’ve been fooling myself that walking is enough. Climbing up those stairs just now…” Steve wiped more beads of perspiration from his forehead. “I need more exercise. But I don’t want to do it alone.”

“The last time I worked out was in high school, and that was under duress,” she argued. “A gym is my worst nightmare. Maybe I could do the Fun Run with you. We could walk if we had to.”

“Ten miles is a long way for us couch potatoes, even walking.” He peered at her from behind his half-fogged glasses.

Renita dropped her gaze. Her mum was busy with her yoga classes and meditation. Jack—her brother—had his hands full running the local Men’s Shed volunteer group and manufacturing the GPS he’d invented for small aircraft. Her sister—well, Lexie was an artist, so absorbed in her portrait painting that she could barely manage her own life. It would have to be up to Renita to help their father.

And what about her own health? If she didn’t start moving, she’d just get fatter and fatter, to the point where she’d have real problems like her dad. Was that the future this brainiac was creating for herself?

“Okay, we’ll do it together.” She gave him a hug, and his arms tightened around her, his jaw raspy against her cheek. “Let’s go tell Mr. Superstar.”

Downstairs, they found Brett putting away free weights in the exercise room.

“We’d both like to join,” Renita said. “And have the two-for-one deal with a personal trainer.”

“Excellent.” Brett hefted a pair of twenty-five-pound dumbbells as if they were feathers, and placed them in the rack. “I’ll take you both on myself, if you’re game.”

Lifting her chin, Renita said, “Bring it on.”

BRETT LOADED FATHER AND daughter up with timetables, newsletters and receipts. He made arrangements for Renita to bring Steve to his first training session the next morning.

“I’ll see you for yours Friday afternoon,” he told her, holding the door open for them as they went out.

“Way to go, boss.” Janet congratulated him when she returned to the reception desk after her session was over. “Two new members.”

“It was touch and go there for a while.” Brett pulled up a window on the computer screen and started to enter their details.

“I saw you work your magic. Never a moment of doubt.” Janet slanted him a quizzical glance. “Who’s the woman?”

“Renita Thatcher. She’s the loans manager at the bank. I knew her in high school.”

“I thought I caught an undercurrent,” Janet said. “Were you two an item?”

“God, no,” Brett said, saving the page. “She tutored me in math.”

Half a dozen women from the aerobics class drifted down the stairs, chatting and laughing. On the way out, the single ones all sent flirtatious glances at Brett. He was friendly, but ignored the unspoken invitations. The small number of people in the class was a worry. There should have been twenty, at least.

“You could have your pick of that bunch,” Janet observed when the door shut behind the last one.

“I don’t date clients.” He began to shut down the computer.

“Probably wise.” Janet pulled out the equipment brochure again. “These machines are really expensive,” she said, flipping through the pages. “You could get better deals buying used ones through the internet.”

Now was the time to mention that his loan wouldn’t even cover cheap used equipment. But Brett found he just…couldn’t.

“I wouldn’t waste my time. These babies are top of the line,” he said, reaching for the brochure. “It’s time I started making a list and checking it twice.”

He wanted the best equipment money could buy. He’d find that money, somehow. He’d never gotten anywhere in life by being cautious.

CHAPTER THREE

“FUN RUN. Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?” Renita said to Lexie as they wandered through the mall, shopping for exercise clothing. “I mean, what’s fun about sweating?”

“Ask Jack—he’s the athletic one in the family. It’s to do with endorphins.” Lexie pushed back her long, unruly blond hair with paint-stained fingers. Her naturally slender build, coupled with the fact that she regularly forgot to eat when she was working on a portrait, meant she never had to worry about her weight. “You should take up yoga.”

“My body doesn’t bend properly. My stomach gets in the way.” Renita stepped sideways to allow a young mum pushing a stroller to get by. She scanned ahead, past clusters of teenagers and middle-aged couples, for the athletic store her assistant, Poppy, had recommended.

“I can’t believe you actually got Dad to agree to run,” Lexie said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in shorts, let alone moving faster than a walk.”

“He only signed up because the great Brett O’Connor talked him into it.” Renita rolled her eyes.

“Brett O’Connor?” Lexie repeated. “Wasn’t he the footy player you were madly in love with in high school?”

“Mild infatuation,” Renita corrected, hoping her sister wouldn’t recall how she’d doodled Brett’s name in every notebook. Ah, here was the shop. She stopped in front of the display window. “I love the color of that sports bra.”

“Cobalt-blue. Perfect with your dark hair,” Lexie declared. “Try it on.”

“And expose my midriff?” She made a face. “No thanks.”

“All you’ve bought so far are three oversize T-shirts and a pair of baggy shorts,” Lexie complained. “Do it.”

“I’m so fat. It’ll look horrible on me.”

“You’re pleasingly plump.”

“Who am I pleasing? Not me.” She eyed her reflection in the window critically. She didn’t hate her body; she just didn’t love it. “I need to lose twenty pounds.”

“You’re going to. As soon as you start exercising. First you need the proper gear.”

“I guess there’s no harm in trying it on. It doesn’t mean I have to buy it.” Renita went into the shop. Flicking through the clothes rack, she found her size in the sports bra. “Hold these,” she said, and handed Lexie her shopping bags before finding an empty fitting room.

“What did you see in him, anyway?” her sister asked, taking a seat outside the cubicle, bags rustling. “Jocks aren’t your type.”

“Tell me about it.” Renita’s voice was muffled as she pulled her scoop-necked ivory top over her head.

“Was it because he was unattainable?”

“Who wants a guy who’s unattainable?” Renita was much more pragmatic than that. And yet the reason she’d liked him didn’t have anything to do with practicality. “He made me laugh.” She sighed. “And he was hot.”

“He was gorgeous,” Lexie agreed. “Still is, I’ll bet.”

Oh, he is. “It’s funny, though,” Renita said. “Beneath all that cockiness, I don’t believe he’s as sure of himself as he pretends.”

She stared at herself in the mirror, eyeing the bulge of flesh below her bra strap, the roll above the waistband of her slacks, then turned away.

“Was it fun catching up on old high school stuff with Brett?” Lexie asked.

“Not much to catch up on,” Renita replied, taking the sports bra off the hanger. “After I stopped tutoring him I hardly ever saw him again.”

“Didn’t you ask him to a dance and he turned you down? I seem to remember you sobbing to me over the phone about it. When I was living in Melbourne, going to art school.”

“I did ask him out. He said no. No great loss. As for me sobbing over Brett O’Connor? No way.” That last bit was a lie but Renita didn’t want to revisit the past. She’d moved on since then, had her share of boyfriends…her share of disappointments in love. Brett had no power to hurt her anymore.

She tugged on the sports bra, sucking in her gut as she turned sideways to check the fit in the mirror. The cobalt-blue did look great, but oh, that midriff. And her breasts were too small. If she had a bigger bust maybe her stomach wouldn’t look so huge.

She tried to imagine a slimmer version of herself. Was it possible? Could she work that hard, lose that much weight? For years she’d been in denial, telling herself she wasn’t that heavy, concealing her girth with flattering garments. What would it feel like to wear a revealing top and look trim and toned?

Suddenly, she wanted to find out.

“Are you done?” Lexie called. “I’m dying for a coffee.”

“Just a minute.” Renita dragged the bra over her head and changed back into her clothes. She opened the door to the cubicle. “As soon as I pay for this.”

“Awesome!” Lexie said. “I’m so proud of you for having the guts to wear something revealing.”

“Oh, I’m not going to wear it,” Renita said. “It’s going to hang on the back of my bedroom door. Every time I look at it, it’ll be incentive for me to keep exercising.”

“You go, girl.”

“Then when I’m buff, Brett will want me just as badly as I once wanted him. I’m going to look so hot he’ll slip on his own drool.”

“No great loss, you say?” Lexie commented drily.

Renita ignored that and moved to the checkout. “He won’t be able to have me. I’ll be unattainable.”

“Renita, don’t be a tease,” her sister said, following behind. “Okay, he hurt your feelings in high school, but you can’t hold that against him now. He seems like a nice guy. Even the gossip magazines could never find any sleaze on him.”

“Brett’s a big boy.” Renita tossed her ponytail. “He can take care of himself.”

“It’s not just him I’m worried about,” Lexie said. “You’re not as tough as you pretend.”

“I am tough.” Renita’s fists tightened around the plastic hanger. If she was going to be around Brett she would have to develop a hide like a rhino.

“HEY, GRANT.” Brett shifted the phone to his other ear while he gave change to a gym member for the coffee machine. “The financing is all approved, the sale is going ahead. I just wanted to confirm that my salary as manager continues up until the date of the transfer of property. Then I’ll be on my own.” He chuckled as Grant offered commiserations. “I’m looking forward to taking over. Can’t wait, in fact. If you happen to be in town for the grand opening, be sure to come by. I’ll let you know when it is.”

Brett hung up and made calls to a few painting companies and flooring installers. He didn’t have a loan for refurbishment—yet—but there was no harm in getting a few quotes so he’d be ready to roll when he did get the money.

He glanced at his watch. Nearly 6:00 p.m. He needed to get Tegan from his parents’ house, where she was helping babysit his brother Ryan’s little girl.

He left the reception desk to poke his head into the weight room, where Mark was wiping down the seats and handles of the machines. “I’m taking off now,” he told him. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’ll close tonight.”

“Sure thing, Brett.” Mark lifted the bottle of spray cleaner. “Catch you later.”

On his way to his parents’ he stopped off at home to pick up a glass coffee table he had no use for. When he’d split from Amber she’d kept the mansion on the Yarra River and bought all new furniture, giving him the old pieces. He knew his mum and dad would be thrilled to get a nearly new coffee table in perfect condition.

A half hour later he pulled into the gravel driveway of the seventies timber cottage where he had grown up. The ramshackle building, added onto in hodgepodge fashion as the family grew, was tucked in an old subdivision of Summerside. The backyard was big enough for a chicken coop, a veggie garden and, when Brett was a kid, for him and his brothers, Ryan and Tom, to chuck around a football. In his big earning years Brett had tried to buy his parents a newer house, but they’d wanted to stay where they had space for the grandkids to play. From the sounds of laughter over the fence, Tegan and little Charlotte were bouncing on the trampoline.

His dad opened the front door, big and bluff as ever. Hal’s graying hair still held traces of blond and his shoulders were as wide as his son’s. “Hey, Brett.” He feinted a karate chop.

Brett parried, only to find himself gripped in a headlock. He hooked a leg around his father’s ankle and got him off balance long enough to break away. Hal immediately twisted his arm up his back with an evil chuckle.

“Uncle!” Brett cried, knowing that otherwise this could go on for twenty minutes or more. Hal released him and he shook his shoulders to relax them. “Geez, Dad, when are you going to take up golf?”

“Golf is for sissies. Mary!” Hal bellowed down the hall. “Brett’s here.”

His mum, short and slight, limped forward slowly, hampered by her prosthetic leg. Brett went to meet her, picking her up and enveloping her in a bear hug.

“Let me go,” she cried, flustered and laughing, pushing back her curly auburn hair. After she was safely set back down, she said, “Are you and Tegan staying for dinner?”

“I have to get back to the gym in an hour. I’m just dropping off that coffee table we talked about. Dad, want to give me a hand?”

Hal followed him out to the car and helped him unhook the bungee cord holding down the trunk of the Mercedes. “How’s it going at the gym?”

“I got the loan. In thirty days the business will be mine.” Brett slid one end of the thick glass out of the trunk over the padding, steadying it so his father could grab hold. When Hal had removed the glass, Brett bent his knees and hefted the marble base, grunting under its weight.

“And the bad news?” Hal asked, somehow hearing it in the tone of Brett’s voice. He balanced the heavy piece of glass on his hip and crunched over the gravel to the front door.

“It’s all good.” Brett shifted the marble to get a stronger grip, then went sideways into the house. “Where do you want this?”

“Over here.” Mary waved him to a spot in the cozy living room in front of the his-and-hers recliners in worn brown Naugahyde.

“Brett’s got himself a fitness center,” Hal told his wife.

“That’s wonderful.” She motioned them a little farther to the right. “Not too close to the fireplace.”

Brett lowered the base, then helped position the glass top. Merlin, the fluffy gray cat, came to inspect the new addition to his home. Mary hunted up a cloth and a bottle of window cleaner.

“I’ll go find Tegan,” Hal said, leaving his wife to do the final touches.

“Thank you, Brett. This table is lovely.” Mary began to polish the glass top. “Doesn’t that girl who tutored you in math in high school work in the loans department? I’ll bet it helped that you knew her.”

Brett picked up Merlin and stroked him until he purred. “Oddly enough, needing math tutorials was no recommendation for a business loan in Renita’s eyes.”

“Renita, that’s her name.” His mum straightened, pressing a hand to the small of her back. “But what do you mean, no recommendation. Didn’t you get what you wanted?”

Somehow his mother always managed to coax information from him that he couldn’t tell his father. “Not the full loan,” he said flatly. “I can buy the gym but not refurbish it.”

Hal came through the door from the kitchen. “The girls are coming in now.”

“Tell your father,” Mary said to Brett. She took a potted African violet off the windowsill and placed it in the center of the table.

Hal glanced from her to Brett. “What is it?”

Brett groaned. “Don’t, Mum….”

“Brett’s got a problem with the bank. They won’t give him enough money. Can we help?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Brett said firmly. His parents’ meager savings would see them through retirement as long as nothing unexpected came up. He didn’t like asking for help from anyone, and he definitely wouldn’t take it from his folks, who had so little to spare.

“Have you talked to Ryan or Tom?” Mary asked.

“No, and I’m not going to. They both have families and expenses of their own.”

“What about taking in a silent partner?” Hal suggested. “One of your old footy mates.”

Brett rubbed his jaw. It wasn’t a bad idea. Some of the guys could afford to throw a couple hundred grand his way as an investment. But to ask would mean revealing his ongoing problems with Amber and his financial embarrassment. “Nah, I’ll think of something.”

Hal clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Course you will.”

“If you change your mind, you come to us,” Mary said.

“Thanks,” Brett said, knowing he never would.

“Bring Renita around for dinner sometime,” she added.

“We don’t see each other socially.”

“Not even as friends?” Mary asked. “I always thought you had a soft spot for her.”

“I don’t know why you’d think that.” He kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’ll get Tegan on my way out.”

“Stay for dinner,” Mary said. “I was expecting you to. Ryan and Emma are coming soon to pick up Charlotte.”

Tegan appeared in the doorway, cheeks flushed, her ponytail coming loose. “Please, Dad?”

Four-year-old Charlotte, her light brown curls bouncing, ran up and pressed her hands together. “Pweeze, Unca Brett?”

Brett laughed. “Okay. But I’ll have to eat and run. Renita and her father joined the gym. She’s coming in tonight for her first training session.”

RENITA WARILY EYED THE racks of variously sized dumbbells lining the walls of the exercise room like instruments of torture. Loud music pumped from speakers in the corners of the ceiling. All by herself, she stood awkwardly, waiting for Brett. She felt like the first person to arrive at a party.

Through the glass wall she could see a girl in the local high school uniform of green gingham dress and white kneesocks doing her homework in the refreshment area. In the adjoining room, a faux blonde gym bunny with a spray-on tan pulled the handles of an exercise machine, flaunting her taut abs and sculpted body.

Renita hated her.

She wanted to be her.

Mirrored walls on three sides reflected Renita’s lumpy body, mostly hidden beneath an oversize T-shirt and baggy gym shorts. She hadn’t even lifted a dumbbell and already she was perspiring, just thinking about the embarrassment of working out in front of Brett. Her vow to Lexie seemed ludicrous now. What had she been thinking?

She was going through this for her father’s sake, Renita reminded herself. Steve was counting on her. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and slowly, trying for some of the inner peace her mother found through meditation.

It didn’t matter how weak Renita was on the inside, as long as she appeared to be strong on the outside. Brett could be as sexy and charming as he liked. It would be like water off a duck’s back.

Renita breathed deeply one more time. Ready, she opened her eyes. Brett was nowhere in sight.

She might as well do something while she waited, so she rolled an exercise ball off its stand, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. No one was paying attention. She sat on it, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back to do a crunch the way she’d seen on TV. Back, back…

“Hey, Renita.” Brett came through the door, clipboard in hand.

She lost her balance, sliding sideways as the ball rolled out from under her. Arms and legs flailing, she hit the floor.

“You okay?” Brett asked, offering her a helping hand.

Cheeks burning, Renita ignored it and scrambled to her feet. She promptly tripped over the wide soles of her new running shoes. “I’m f-fine.”

“We’ll get to the Swiss balls later,” he said. “First, we’ll test your fitness level—cardiovascular, strength and flexibility.”

Renita brushed off her shorts, pushed up her glasses and tightened her ponytail. “Right.”

She happened to glance in the mirror. And barely stifled a groan. Brett was a Greek god—blond hair, strong jaw, broad shoulders, tanned muscular arms and legs. Confronted by their reflections side by side, she found the facts inescapable.

He was hot. She was not.

Brett O’Connor ever begging her for a date? Not likely. She couldn’t believe she’d thought for a second she could make him want her.

“Can you give me ten push-ups?”

“Knees or toes?” she asked, as she lowered herself to the mat. Toes—ha! As if.

“Knees will be fine.”

She positioned her hands, took a breath and started to lower her torso to the floor.

“Keep your butt down, back straight,” Brett ordered.

A strand of hair fell in front of her glasses. Her arms wobbled. She got within a few inches of the floor and began to push herself back up, shoulder muscles straining.

One down, nine to go.

Five—her biceps started to burn. Six—her arms were shaking. Seven—her butt was high in the air—to hell with proper form. Eight—as she lowered herself, her arms gave out.

“Oof.” She fell flat on her chest and face, glasses knocked awry.

She glanced around, mortified in case anyone had seen her collapse. The only person watching was the teenage girl doing her homework in the coffee area—probably waiting for her mother or father to finish working out.

“I’ll have to work up to ten,” Renita muttered, dragging herself to her knees. Brett offered her a hand again, and she once more ignored it, using a bench to pull herself to her feet. “How am I doing? Be honest.”

“You’re not the most out-of-shape person I’ve trained—”

“Thank God for that.”

“But close.” There was a twinkle in his eye.

“What’s next?” she growled, hating him.

“Sit-ups. Do as many as you can in sixty seconds.”

Back down she went, clumsily dropping onto her butt, then stretching out on her back. Ah, this was nice. Restful.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Brett said.

“Oh. Right.” She linked her fingers behind her head and used her stomach muscles to pull herself up. Again and again. As the seconds ticked by she got slower and slower. Never had a minute seemed so long.

Finally Brett said, “Stop.”

She collapsed on her back and shut her eyes. “Enough.” Maybe if she played dead he would go away.

Brett crouched in front of her. “Renita? Time for the treadmill.”

She opened one eye and peered at him through fogged glasses. “It’s no use. I can’t do this. Dad’ll just have to train for the Fun Run on his own.”

“I never figured you for the type that gives up,” he said. “But if you’re that much of a wuss you’d probably stop running after a couple of blocks. That wouldn’t be much help to your father. Just as well you pack it in now, before you get Steve’s hopes up.”

She struggled to a seated position and took off her glasses, furiously polishing away the fog with her shirt hem. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me angry so it’ll stiffen my resolve. Well, even if the spirit is willing, the flesh—” she grabbed a double handful of her belly through her T-shirt “—is too damn weak.”

“Okay, I admit I was trying to use reverse psychology to motivate you,” he said. “But I learned that from you.”

“Me?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

“Trigonometry. Calculus. I wanted to throw in the towel more than once during our tutorials. You told me, sure, I could give up studying. It wouldn’t make any difference if I failed the exam, because everyone knew you didn’t need brains to play football.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember.” Amazing that she’d had the nerve to be tough with someone she worshipped.

“I want you to know that your technique worked. I could tell that you believed in me.” He laughed. “Probably the only one who did.”

“But…” She cast her mind back. “I thought you failed math.”

“I did. But I had an offer from the Collingwood football team at the end of grade eleven. My parents were going to let me sign up. I decided to finish high school instead.”

She hadn’t thought he could surprise her. He wasn’t just a footy-obsessed jock. Apparently he possessed an ounce or two of academic discipline. “I wasn’t aware of the football offer. That was gutsy of you to turn it down.”

“I may have failed math, but you did teach me something.” His gaze lifted to hers, his eyes unshuttered. “To go after what I wanted and stick to it until I got it.”

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