Isle of Hope

by Julie Lessman

  Embarrassed by her praise, Jack spun around to whisk Tyler off the table in an airplane whirl, eliciting a chuckle from his mother’s lips. “Goodness, I hope you plan to have a slew of kids of your own someday, Dr. O’Bryen,” she said with a look of approval, “because you’re a natural.”

  Heat singed Jack’s collar as he led them to the door. “Well, that’s my plan someday, Mrs. Foster, but till then, I get a kick out of taking care of great kids like yours.” He tweaked Tyler’s neck, causing the little guy to giggle and squirm. “Do what your mom says, Ty, and you’ll be good as new in no time, okay? And remember—lots of popsicles, Jell-O, yogurt and ice cream till you’re all better, got it?”

  “Got it,” Tyler said with a nod, following his mom and sister out the door.

  Jack returned the little boy’s wave as they traipsed down the hall, grinning when little Sophie gave him a tiny wiggle of fingers over her mother’s shoulder. Contentment swelled in his chest as he strolled back to his office, rolling his shoulders to dislodge a kink. Pausing at his door, his euphoria popped faster than an overblown balloon animal at the mountain of paperwork piled high on his desk.

  He scrubbed his face with his hands, then dropped into the leather chair of his cherry-wood desk in front of the window, grateful for this office that would become a second home. Overlooking a parking lot with a lush park beyond, the ample-sized room was cozy and comfortable, thanks to Shannon, the creative twin with an eye for decorating. Framed watercolors of Isle of Hope—painted by Shannon herself in high school—graced warm, buff-colored walls, the muted blues and greens offsetting the sterile look of framed university and post-graduate degrees. His smile tipped as he eyed a picture of his family on his desk, prominently overshadowed by a separate photo of Cat vamping it up for the camera—her sole contribution to his decor. “Keep this here for any cute single doctors who come in,” she’d instructed, never really intending for him to comply. But he did, nonetheless, because it always made him smile.

  “Okay, that settles it—I guess you’re going to have to teach me how to make those stupid balloon animals.” Jack’s friend and rival from residency, Samuel Cunningham, strolled into his office and plopped into one of two chairs in front of Jack’s desk. His white doctor’s jacket hung wide open to reveal a navy polo rather than the crisp tie and button-down shirt that Jack and most of the other doctors wore. He promptly flopped his feet on Jack’s desk with a lengthy groan, head resting on the back of the chair while he peered through shuttered eyes. “I’m working way too hard to get these little rug rats to like me, while all ‘Dr. Jack’ has to do,” he said, infusing a bit of attitude into Jack’s name, “is twist a little latex and he’s a superhero.”

  Jack grinned, not even bothering to look up from the notes he was jotting. “Come on, Ham,” he said invoking the nickname that fit Sam Cunningham to a T, “we both know it’s my good looks and dazzling personality that wins them over.”

  Sam grunted. “Wins the moms over, you mean.” He sifted a hand through dark curly hair. There was more than a little jest in brown eyes the nursing staff had once labeled as ‘deadlier than melted chocolate laced with liqueur.’ He sighed a dramatic sigh, a totally unwarranted reaction given that Sam Cunningham had been the heartthrob of Memorial the first two years of residency. Until their schedules eased up in third year, that is, when Jack decided to focus more on women than books, a pursuit that solidified their friendship. One edge of Sam’s full lips quirked up. “Actually heard the mom of your last patient bragging to old man Augustine about your ‘gift’ with children.”

  Signing his name to the last patient’s record with a flourish, Jack finally glanced up, his grin easing towards a false bravado that had been the mainstay of their three-year friendship and rivalry. “I know—crazy, isn’t it?” He plucked a miniature Tootsie Roll Pop from a crystal candy dish on his desk—his mother’s contribution based on his obsession with Tootsie Rolls—and sat back in his chair to peel the wrapper. “You’d think it’d be the immature one in the group, the one who acts most like a kid that they’d relate to, you know?” He popped the sucker in his mouth and crumpled the paper into a ball, thumb-shooting it at Sam in a bull’s-eye that hit dead on. It bounced off Sam’s “classic” nose just as Jack nudged the candy bowl his way. “Sucker?”

  “Apparently,” his friend said with snatch of a pop. “I volunteer to assist Augustine on some of his worst cases ever, getting spit and sneezed at and thrown up on in the process, while you’re chalking up points dazzling pretty moms with animal balloons and candy.” He slapped the sucker in his mouth and rolled the wrapper into a perfect spiral before tossing it on Jack’s desk. “And you call me the kid.” The stick rolled around in his mouth as he sank back in his chair. “I think I may need to revisit my bedside manner.”

  “Nothing wrong with your bedside manner, Sam,” Jack said, slashing notes and signatures across patient records with the same speed with which he devoured the sucker rotating in his mouth, gone in a matter of crunches. “At least according to Jasmine. She says you’ve got one of the best at Memorial.” He tossed several files into an outbox on the corner of his desk and pitched the stick into his wastebasket with a smile, pumping his brows in jest. “Of course a paycheck doesn’t come with those types of house calls, Doctor Love.”

  “Sure it does,” Sam said with lazy smile, his brown eyes twinkling with humor. “You should know that better than anyone, O’Bryen.” He paused, head tipping to the side in an obvious goad. “Or is the luscious Jasmine Augustine cutting into your house calls?”

  Jack’s gaze darted to the door and back, his voice lowering considerably. “Keep your voice down, Sam, will you? Old man Augustine doesn’t even know we’re dating, and that’s the way I want to keep it.”

  “I don’t know why. If Jasmine ever gave me a second chance, I’d shout it from the rooftops.” He stood, sailing his stick into the waste can with absolute precision before sitting back down, palms flat on the arms of the chair. “But it appears the lady’s got it bad for you, Dr. Jack, although I’ll be hamstrung if I know why.” He grinned. “Must be the balloon animals.”

  Jack’s smile took a slant. “Or the fact you blew it with her in second year by dating other women behind her back.” He punched his schedule up on his laptop.

  “Now, see?” Sam sat up. “Explain to me how that’s any different from what you’re doing right now, O’Bryen, because I don’t get it.”

  Focusing on his screen, Jack made several entries on his calendar, then saved it and shut his computer. He absently cleared his desk before he finally gave Sam his full attention, lounging back in his chair with hands braced to the back of his neck. “Honesty, man, pure and simple. Which separates the players like you from the straight-shooters like me. I make sure every woman I ask out understands from the start exactly where I stand. After burying myself in books and studies for the last decade, I’m just looking to enjoy life for a while without anything serious, and they all know that. The decision is theirs if they want to go out with me or not. The bottom line? Women appreciate knowing the bottom line.” Jack’s smile tipped off-center. “You should try it sometime, Ham—honesty’s good for the soul.”

  Sam cut loose with a grunt. “And bad for the social life. No, thanks, Doc, the last time I opened up and got honest with a woman, I got my heart ripped out and stomped on by a two-timing coed in college, so I think I’ll pass.”

  Jack shrugged, thoughts of Lacey suddenly dimming his good mood as he wandered into a cold stare. “Sorry to hear that, Sam, but sometimes that’s the chance we take, and the same for the women we choose to see. But so far, this casual arrangement seems to suit me and everyone I’ve dated just fine.”

  “Except for Kathy Watkins.” Sam pierced him with a knowing look, reminding Jack of the sweet pedes nurse Jack had broken it off with after she got too serious.

  Rising to his feet, Jack expelled a heavy sigh. “Yeah, except for Kathy, which probably ate at me way more than it did her.�
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  “I doubt that.” Sam followed suit, stretching with arms high over his head. “Well, one thing’s for sure, Jasmine doesn’t seem too worried about the risk. She stopped in to see her dad during your last appointment, but we both know he wasn’t the reason she came by.”

  “Jasmine was here?” Jack felt a twinge in his chest over the way he’d been avoiding her.

  “Yeah. Told me to tell you she missed you.”

  A low groan scraped past Jack’s lips as he gouged the bridge of his nose, wishing he’d taken it slower with her like he had with the others. But the truth was, Jasmine was his favorite. The one whose company he enjoyed the most. The one who, like Lacey, had a knack for making him laugh and have fun. He put a hand to his eyes. And the one who teased and tempted him the most.

  Until Lacey.

  “You know, Jack, something tells me Jasmine’s in way over her head here, so if you don’t plan to take it anywhere, maybe you should just cut her loose, you know?”

  Jack peered up beneath his hand, knowing full well that Sam was right. And yet for some reason, he stalled, not exactly sure that’s what he wanted to do. He cared about Jasmine, he knew that, but since Lacey …

  “Chase … lured me with Oreo overloads for the troops, and we both know I can’t say no to temptation like that.”

  Yeah, temptation like that. A nerve pulsed in his cheek as jealousy tightened his gut.

  A good-looking pastor whose faith matched her own.

  Glancing at his watch, Jack rose too quickly. Sam was a good friend, but not close enough that Jack had ever mentioned Lacey. Up until a few weeks ago, she’d been nothing more than a part of his distant past, and that’s how he intended to keep it, at least as far as his workplace was concerned. “Sorry, bro—gotta run. Got a Big Brother fundraiser tonight.”

  Sam followed suit, but curiosity sharpened his features as he slowly slipped off his jacket. “So … about Jasmine …”

  “Look, Sam, I know you and Jasmine are still good friends and that you care about her a lot, but the truth is, I do too, and I’ve been thinking lately that maybe …” He scrubbed the back of his neck, knowing he needed to fish or cut bait.

  “Maybe what?”

  Jack expelled a heavy sigh, glancing up at Sam beneath hooded eyes. “Well, that maybe it’s time Jasmine and I are exclusive, you know? Just to see where it goes.”

  Sam nodded, his smile tinged with the slightest bit of regret. “Good. I’d like to see Jasmine happy, and right now as much as I hate to admit it, you’re the one she wants.” His gaze zeroed in on the frames at the edge of Jack’s desk, and he absently picked one up, letting loose with a low whistle while interest sparked in his eyes. “Wow, does Jasmine know about this little dish?”

  Jack’s mouth swagged to the right. “That ‘little dish’ is my little sister Cat, so I suggest you back off because she’s off limits.”

  “Now there’s something to make a grown man weep.” He cocked his head. “How old—twenty-one, twenty-two?”

  Jack snatched the frame from Sam’s hand. “Twenty-five and off your radar, Cunningham, so keep the drool in your mouth.” He carefully set it back down next to the picture of his family. “Trust me, you’ll see a grown man weep if you ever mess with my sister, and it won’t be me shedding the tears.”

  “Too bad,” he muttered while he picked up the next one, his eyes suddenly flaring wide. “Wait a minute—there’s two of them that look like that?” He slammed a palm to the right side of his chest, his forlorn expression downright comical and true to his name. “Be still my heart.”

  Jack chuckled and hung his jacket on a hanger in the closet, delivering a warning grin over his shoulder. “That can be arranged, Ham—along with your pulse and your breathing—if you ever even flirt with my sisters.”

  Chuckling, Sam followed Jack out the door. “A little bit of a double standard, Jack, don’t you think?” Hands in his pockets, he trailed him down the hall. “Taking your pick of the pool while you lock your sisters away in an ivory tower?”

  “Yep.” Jack nodded at several techs as he gripped the exit knob at the back of suite, cuffing Sam’s shoulder while he led him out the door. “And that, Dr. Love, is how it’s gonna stay.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Heat from the oven rippled the sunlight shafting into Tess’s cozy old-fashioned kitchen, her freshly laundered white eyelet curtains rustling with the hint of a marshy breeze. Dishtowel draped over her shoulder, she hummed while she peeked into the oven, the aroma of garlic, basil, and oregano making her mouth water. With Papa John’s less than a mile away, it had been too long since she’d made her family’s favorite—her famous homemade pizza from scratch—but today she would surprise them all. Both Jack and Davey had been begging for it for weeks, and even sweet, undemanding Shannon had hinted at a craving for those rare personalized pizzas that took hours of kneading, rolling, and chopping every ingredient known to man.

  Jack and Matt always shared a meat-lover’s special, pure heartburn heaven with jalapenos galore while her girls preferred pineapple and bacon—Cat with onions and green pepper and Shan without, opting for black olives and mushrooms instead. Davey was the easy one with plain cheese, although Tess had no earthly idea how anyone could settle for something so flat and tasteless when one could have mountains of chopped veggies smothered in provolone.

  With a quick glance at the clock, she removed Davey’s pizza and her own mile-high version from the oven, hers loaded with every vegetable she could find and more than her fair share of bacon and pepperoni. She popped Jack and Matt’s meat-lover’s pizza in next, figuring the girls wouldn’t be home from work until well after the guys had their showers following a sweaty hour of basketball. Closing her eyes, she paused to savor the sweet promise of a homemade dinner with all of her family, as rare as it may be with adult children who buzzed in and out as quickly as the honeybees that hovered over her garden.

  “Okay, we’re off.” Jack barreled into the kitchen and skidded to a stop, Matt and Davey colliding behind him like stacked-up rail cars. All three stared, eyes gaping as wide as their mouths. “You made your homemade pizza?” Jack said, the pout in his tone sounding younger than Davey. “You didn’t tell us you were making pizza.”

  Glancing up, she grinned at the look of shock on their faces. “It’s a surprise, silly, although I don’t know why with all the badgering you and Davey have been doing to bully me into it.” She retrieved a stack of plates from the cabinet and slid them on the kitchen table with a smile. “Here—make yourself useful, boys, and set the table.”

  “But … but …” Matt wandered over to stare at her pizza, both a groan and Davey trailing after him. “I can’t believe you fixed our favorite, Aunt Tess, and now we have to leave.”

  “What?” Rifling through the utensil drawer, Tess dropped a fork as she spun around, eyes bugging while she scrambled to pick it up. “What do you mean you have to leave?” she said, clunking the utensils on the table with a little too much force.

  Jack ambled over to her pizza and filched a pepperoni. “We told you we have the Big Brother basketball fundraiser tonight at Matt’s school, Mom, which is why we just spent the last hour practicing.”

  “You most certainly did not,” Tess said with a stern heft of her chin, her Irish heating up more than the kitchen from the pizzas, which she’d just labored hours over for a special family dinner. Key word, “family.” She dashed to the pantry to study the calendar, then slapped today’s date box with the back of her hand, completely void of any red-ink entry. “And there’s nothing written here either unless it’s written in that invisible ink Davey is so fond of using for his homework.”

  Jack glanced at Matt. “Didn’t you tell her about tonight?”

  “No, I thought you did,” Matt said with a crinkle of brows. He plucked an olive from Tess’s pizza and tossed it in his mouth, frowning as if it were the olive’s fault.

  “It’s your fundraiser, Coach.” Jack pilfered another pepperoni
while Davey picked at the cheese on his pizza.

  “Yeah, but she’s your mother, bro.” Matt absconded with a jalapeno.

  “Whoa, these are hot!” Davey exclaimed after snitching a jalapeno that left a hole in Tess’s pizza.

  Tess grit her teeth. “Ohhhhh, you haven’t seen ‘hot’ till you try walking out that door without eating dinner.” She slapped Jack’s hand as he went for another pepperoni, her gaze burning hotter than the 400-degree oven. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to waltz in here and ruin my family dinner, and then you pick my pepperonis off my pizza?” She prodded and pushed him toward the table, pummeling him once or twice for good measure. “I suggest you park your butt in that chair, mister, or I’ll park it with my foot.”

  “Ouch,” Jack said with a grin, disarming his mother with a wraparound hug from behind while he chuckle-kissed her cheek. “I haven’t seen you this riled since I tossed my red jersey into your load of white underwear.”

  Squirming out of his hold, she refused to give in to the smile that tickled her lips, unwilling to let them off the hook so easily. She seared all three with a maternal glare, underscoring it with a stiff fold of arms. “Yes, well a rare home-cooked meal with my entire family, whom I love and slaved over pizza for, is far more important than any pink underwear, young man.” Brow arched, she tapped the back of the chair. “Sit, eat, and then you can desert your mother.”

  “Dessert?” Davey said with a squeak in his voice, pizza sauce ringing his mouth.

  Jack chuckled and swooped his brother onto his shoulders, groaning when Davey got sauce on his neck. “Wrong desert, champ. This one will only make you guilty. Here, clean your hands,” he said after wiping sauce from his neck, “then give our angel mother a smooch.” Sidling up to Tess, he hooked an arm to her waist to deposit a noisy kiss to her cheek that Davey duplicated perfectly. “Sorry, Mom, can’t—we’re late as it is, but I promise to make it up to you soon.” He waggled his brows. “Maybe next week with my famous ribs?”