In His Good Hands (3 page)

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.”

“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.

“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.