by J. M. Colail
Passing his nearest neighbor, he tugged on the leash, reining Robot in. “Should we stop to say hello?” he asked her.
By the way her ears perked up, she thought it was a great idea. They headed up the driveway toward the house. “Anybody home?”
Hallie Klein, the eight-year-old he drove home from swimming lessons, dance, or gymnastics every weeknight, waved at him from her bicycle. “Hi, Mr. Jack!”
“Hello yourself, Miss Klein,” he said seriously, trying not to laugh. She had managed to get her pigtails to stick out the top of her bike helmet, and resembled a stunted alien. “How’s the world treating you?”
“You’re funny,” she said with a smile. “My bike’s all fixed now, see?”
Jack saw. A rough tumble a few weeks earlier had left deep scratches on the girl’s arms and legs and made a bit of a tangle of the chain and spokes, but Jack had managed to sort it out for her. He’d also picked up a pair of elbow pads the next time he’d been in Calgary. “I’m glad to hear that. Is your daddy around?”
“He’s making spaghetti. It’s my favorite.” Hallie hopped off her bike and laid it in the grass. “We can go say hello! Have you had dinner, Mr. Jack?”
Jack tried not to laugh as he let her lead him up the path to the house. “Yes, I have. I had pizza.”
“With green peppers?” she asked suspiciously, wrinkling her nose.
“No, no green peppers,” he promised. “Hey, Roy? You around?”
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the walking scar tissue.”
Had Hallie not been present, Jack would have been tempted to make a rude gesture. Apparently news of his little accident had gotten around. Great. “Hallie here tells me you’re setting the kitchen on fire.”
“No!” she protested, covering her mouth and giggling. “Daddy, that’s not what I said.”
“Hmph,” Roy grumbled, pretending not to have heard. “That’s gratitude for you. Kids these days. You make their favorite meal and they go around insulting your culinary prowess.” He smiled. “You eat?”
“Yeah, I just came by to say hello,” he said. Robot punctuated his remark by barking once, happily. “Needed some exercise. Don’t worry, though. I’m good to pick up the rug rat on Monday.” I might even stick around to talk to her swimming instructor. He’d need to ask her what she thought about his physio, anyway—and with any luck, convince Roz to let him start early. He was already going mad from inactivity.
“Daddy, what’s a rug rat?”
Roy shot Jack a warning look. “A very sweet, smart, cuddly little girl.”
Jack feigned innocence, but ruined it with a wink and a cheeky grin. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your dinner. See you Monday, rug rat.” He ruffled her ponytail over her helmet.
“Bye, Mr. Jack!”
He waved back at them, then half-staggered, half-limped down the path back to the road. Good grief, those drugs were doing a number on him. Jack stumbled up his driveway, eyelids heavy, and let Robot in the house. Then he sat down heavily on his front porch and took a few deep breaths.
No wonder the pill bottle said Do not operate heavy machinery. In this state, he could probably total a golf cart cornering at two miles per hour.
He was just about to get up and head inside when he heard the car door slam.
“Jackson Strange!” said a familiar voice. “What are you doing outside with no coat on? Honestly, you’ll catch your death.”
Jack looked up, astounded, and squinted into her face. “Mom?”
Helpless to do anything but stand and follow her into the house, he did so, wanting to offer to take her duffel bag but sure the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. What in God’s name was she doing here? She was always complaining about how much work there was to be done in Calgary. She hardly ever took time off. “Mom, you’re not a hallucination, are you?”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she said. (Mom had only been saying this since she’d started living in Calgary.) “What kind of drugs has Matheson got you on, anyway?” She picked up his prescription from the kitchen table and sniffed, then set it down. Evidently, whatever it was, it met with parental approval.
“Not Matheson,” he said, feeling out of place in his own house. “New kid on the block.”
“He at least seems to know what he’s doing, I’ll give him that.” It was a burden, having not one but two nurses in the family. “Well? Let’s see it.”
“Mom, I’m not going to drop trou in the kitchen. Besides, I had it looked at yesterday. It’s fine.”
Flo Strange crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and raised one eyebrow.
Jack reached for his belt buckle. For crying out loud seemed to about cover it. He let his jeans pool at his knees. “Are you happy now?”
His mother flicked the kitchen light on and grabbed the nearest chair so she could get right up close. “Well, you certainly did a number on it. At least your doctor can hold a needle.” Seemingly satisfied, she stood, patted him on the rear, and meandered over to the fridge. “But what’s with the pink?”
Jack sighed, hiking up his jeans again. “Apparently they were out of blue.”
“It suits you,” she teased, pouring him a glass of milk and pressing it into his hands. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, then ruffled his hair. “You should visit more often.”
His stomach twisted a little. He knew he should, and it wasn’t that he didn’t like to visit. It just seemed that he could never find the time. “You’re here,” he pointed out. He sniffed the milk, hoping it hadn’t gone bad. That was his mom for you; trying to keep him hydrated and strengthen his bones at the same time. Supermom. “They kick you out of the neonatal unit or what?”
“Can’t a woman take time off to see her only boy?”
That innocent act wasn’t gonna cut it—especially since the first thing she’d done when she’d arrived was to examine his battle wounds. “Aunt Bella called you, didn’t she?”
“She is just worried about you,” she said, shaking a finger. “Even if she does overreact sometimes. Don’t you have any food?”
“I ate,” he apologized. “Store’s closed. We could go to the pub for dinner, if you like.”
“Oh, Jack,” she tsked. “When are you going to find someone to look after you? What were you going to do tomorrow?”
“Live off the land,” he said dryly. “This isn’t exactly the middle of nowhere. That’s at least four miles away. I can hit up the store in the next town over, or pick up some hamburgers and buns at the corner store. If you’re feeling really crazy we could bum a meal off of Roy and Hallie. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
“Don’t make fun of your mother. You must have pasta or something, right?”
He was about to tell her that Roy down the street was making spaghetti, but decided against it. “Bottom cupboard to the left of the fridge. I think there might be some ground beef in the freezer.”
Flo rummaged around for a few moments and came up with a bag of penne, a can of pasta sauce, and a half-pound of frozen meat. “It’ll do.”
While his mom busied herself in his kitchen, Jack picked up her duffel bag and carried it into his guest bedroom, careful to keep it in his right hand to avoid brushing against the stitches. He looked blankly at the bed for a few moments, wondering if he should change the sheets, then decided that if he tried it, he’d just end up asleep in the pile of blankets.
Man. These drugs were starting to actually suck.
By the time he made his way back to the kitchen his mother had nearly finished with her dinner. “Are you sure you don’t want any?” she asked. “You’re looking a little pale.”
Jack shook his head and collapsed into a chair. “It’s just the medication. It makes me want to sleep all day. Actually, it made me really sleep all day. Now it’s trying to get me to sleep all night, too.”
“Poor lamb,” Flo teased, ruffling his hair as he slouched his head down onto his arms. “It’s a wonder you survive up here by yourself.”
&n
bsp; “Mmph,” Jack grumbled. He enjoyed his freedom, and he was fairly certain his mother would never ask him to move, but there was no sense in tempting fate. “I’m tough,” he said. “I told you. Live off the land. Commune with nature.” He paused, feeling the need to add something. “Shit in the woods.”
“Yeah, you’re a bear, all right,” she said, sitting across from him with a giant plateful of pasta. “Drink your milk; it’s good for you.”
Jack did. Nobody could boss him around like his mama. She was a formidable woman, tall and lean with a shock of bright red hair that she’d kept short since his father had died. He suspected that it was artificial color now, since she was well past seventy, but he wouldn’t have asked her about it for anything. In his much younger years, many a girlfriend had expressed her terror after having met her. Flo Strange was just that good at reading people’s actions and intentions in a handshake.
He’d never really got around to telling her he’d decided women weren’t for him. Since there wasn’t anyone special in his life anyway, and probably never would be—Jack was more than comfortable in the closet—he figured it wasn’t much of an omission.
He was in serious danger of falling asleep in his empty glass when the doorbell rang. He shot up straight, pulled something in his neck, and cursed under his breath.
“Jackson Strange! I know I taught you better than that! Swearing in front of a lady.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open to apologize—he’d forgotten for a moment that she was there—but then he noticed she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “That hurt,” he whined, massaging the muscle he’d pulled as he went to the door.
It was Hamilton and his kid, with a file folder full of schematics the company damn well should’ve e-mailed instead of sending in hard copy and a USB jump drive on a keychain. “Brought you a get-well present,” he said, holding out the bundle.
Jack took it. Work. Now that would be useful, especially if he had to come up with an excuse to get his mother to leave him alone. “Thanks, Hamilton. And Hamilton, Junior. Excited about being a big brother?”
Jason’s expression made his opinion on the matter perfectly clear. “Dad says I won’t be allowed to play with the baby for a long time.”
Kids. They were so cute when they belonged to someone else. “Don’t worry. By the time the baby gets here, you won’t want to have anything to do with her anyway.”
Hamilton shot him a warning look, but Jack just grinned at him. “See you on Thursday, buddy. Maybe Wednesday for you, Dad, if you’re lucky.”
“Tell your mom I said hi,” Hamilton smirked.
Jack waited until Jason wasn’t looking and flipped him off, then closed the door behind them.
JACK WAS lying on his back in his second-story bedroom, staring at the ceiling and picking out patterns in the ceiling tile. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been awake; it could have been five seconds or five hours. He didn’t know what time it was. It was dark and warm, and his leg itched, but he couldn’t scratch it.
Damn. Maybe that seven-hour nap had screwed up his sleep schedule, after all.
He was just about to give up on the idea of sleeping and find something else to do when the door creaked open.
Jack squinted. No, it was closed again. But he could have sworn that, just for a second, there had been a figure outlined in the light from the stairway safety light, tall and lean with a mop of unruly dark hair—
He breathed in sharply when he felt someone slide into bed beside him.
“Shhh,” Julian whispered, putting a finger over his lips. “Don’t want to wake anyone up.”
“What the fuck?” Jack hissed back, fighting the urge to lick it. “What are you doing here?”
“If you don’t want me here, I can go,” the other man crooned quietly. His whole body was pressed against Jack’s now. His apparently naked body. His apparently naked, definitely aroused body.
Well. Jack wasn’t exactly in a position to complain, since he was equally naked and soon to be equally hard. “You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, catching Julian’s hand in his. He tugged sharply, bringing the younger man’s body flush with his own. His left leg didn’t so much as twinge.
Julian wriggled. There was no other word for it. The movement brought their bare erections into direct contact, and Julian made an absolutely delicious noise in the back of his throat. “Not unless you’re coming, too,” he agreed wickedly, licking a line up Jack’s neck to his mouth.
“You are a bad influence,” Jack groaned into the sloppy kiss, reaching between them to lend a hand to Julian’s efforts. “I was perfectly happy in the closet until you came along.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Julian promised, breaking away slightly. Jack could see his eyes slide half-shut in the darkness, felt him thrust a few times counterpoint to the rhythm of his hand holding their cocks. Julian half-rolled to one side, leaning on his hand as his wet mouth traced a long path down Jack’s chest and stomach, left hand leading the way. For the barest of seconds Jack felt the ghost of warm breath, then a hint of moisture. Jack’s whole body tensed and jerked.
“God, Julian—”
Jack sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily. There was light streaming through the bedroom window. The bedroom door was open wide, and the smell of bacon was wafting up the stairs.
Jesus H. Christ, what a dream. He groaned, covering his face with his hands. Why couldn’t he have stayed sleeping for five more minutes?
At least he could chalk this one up to the drugs. Damn, he was going to have to wean himself off of the pain medication. He couldn’t keep waking up like this; he’d go completely mad.
Taking a few deep breaths, he stood and headed toward the master bathroom. It was going to be a long week.
Chapter Five
THE FIRST time Jackson Strange had walked into his examining room, Julian had managed to keep himself at a mental distance for a few reasons. For one, Jack had looked like crap. Sure, he was good-looking in general, but that day he’d been pasty-pale, looking like he’d fall over or throw up at any second. For another, he’d only known him as a patient—a patient with a large, nasty, bleeding hole in his leg that had needed to be sewn up.
So he’d flirted, sure, but that was just his own peculiar bedside manner, something inside him telling him how to put different patients at ease. In Jack’s case flirtation had been called for, not to mention that Jack had started it. It wasn’t until later, after he’d pulled out the IV, that he’d started to almost mean the things he said.
Now, several days later—after a bizarre and somewhat awkward breakfast-maybe-date—it was a lot more difficult to keep his thoughts totally professional.
Especially since Jack was more or less half-naked as soon as he walked in the door.
“You don’t waste time,” Julian quipped, willing himself not to react. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen men in their boxer shorts before. In fact, he’d even seen Jack in his boxer shorts before. Jack had just been slightly more stoned at the time.
“You’re a busy man,” Jack returned. “So? Do I get a clean bill of health?”
Rolling his eyes, Julian set down the clipboard. “I haven’t even looked at you yet.”
Jack leaned back on his palms, his legs hanging down over the edge of the examination table. “Well, by all means, Doc,” he drawled, “feast your eyes.”
Julian was way ahead of him, though he was hoping he could maintain the guise of clinical detachment. “How’s the pain?” he asked, examining the stitches. They could probably come out in a few more days, the way the wound was healing. “Any side effects from the drugs?”
“Picture of health,” his patient promised.
Julian doubted health had ever looked quite this obscene, but opted to say nothing. He pressed the backs of his fingers to the wound, checking the temperature of the surrounding skin.
Jack jumped about fifty feet in the air.
Whoops, Julian thought. Should’ve warned
him. “Sorry, did that hurt?” he asked. The area was warmer than normal, but that was to be expected since Jack’s body was working overtime to repair itself. It wasn’t anything to worry about, and it didn’t look infected.
“No, just—” Interesting; Jack’s face had an uncharacteristic flush; maybe he was feverish after all? “Your hands are cold.”
Oh, Julian thought, nodding and accepting the excuse, until out of pure reflex his eyes drifted back down to the gash. Oh. Well. That was definitely interesting, all right. “Sorry,” he said, averting his gaze in what he hoped was a totally inconspicuous manner but had a feeling was completely transparent. “Doctor thing. We bathe them in ice water before each appointment.”
“You’re forgiven,” Jack told him, voice just a little smug.
Concentrating on not blushing beet red, Julian grabbed his clipboard and scribbled a few notes. I will not stare at Jack’s erection. I will not stare at Jack’s erection. “It looks like you’re healing up just fine. Unless you come across any other complications, you can start the physio whenever you’re ready, and you can start back at work tomorrow.” He looked up to get in a little dig. “Just try not to trip over your own two feet, eh?”
Jack made a face.
Rolling his eyes, Julian put the clipboard down. His mental disciplinary tactic seemed to be working. “Come back in a few days and I’ll take out the stitches.”
“Promise you’ll be gentle?” God, he was batting his eyelashes. Either he thought Julian was totally oblivious or he was making fun of him.
Or else he just liked to watch his reactions. Julian was equally guilty of that. He was shooting back a reply before he’d even had a chance to think about it. “Please, you probably like it rough.”
That shut him up, and damn effectively, too. Julian smirked, gesturing to the door, trying not to show how shaken he was by the ease of their casual flirting. “You’re all set, Mr. Strange. Don’t forget to collect your health card from Barb at the front desk.”