already begun work, in fact.”
“You’re going to be real happy with what he does for you.”
She slid on a pair of black sunglasses. “I’m sure I will be.”
“You know,” he glanced back at the hospital, flanked by Poinciana trees, their brilliant red-orange blooms striking against the cream of flat stucco. “I should tell Jax about this place. He might want to donate some of his time here.”
“Would he be interested in such a thing? I mean, he seems to be a very busy man, do you really think he has the time for visits to the children’s hospital?”
“Jax runs his own schedule. In fact, he volunteers down at the boys and girls club already and who knows,” he slid brown tinted sunglasses onto his nose, “he might want to squeeze this place in to his list of benevolent endeavors.”
The thought of Jackson Montgomery sitting around with a bunch of kids, laughing and playing, seemed like the most normal thing in the world.
“Kids love him.”
“I’ll bet they do.”
“Besides, once he sells his house he’ll have plenty of time on his hands, between trips to the islands, that is. He’s set to retire soon and this may be just the thing he needs to fill his days stateside. Anyway,” Michael swiped a glance at his watch. “I’ve got to get running. Laurencia’s waiting for me.”
“Go, please,” she told him. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
He leaned over and pecked a kiss to her cheek. “See you at the hospital.”
“See you at the hospital,” she replied, her mind still picking through Michael’s remark. Retire ? Was he serious? She stood immobile, her gaze trailing Michael across the parking lot as he hurried to his Mercedes. How on earth could Jackson retire? He couldn’t be much older than her and she was nowhere near retirement.
Still sorting through the significance of Michael’s revelation, Jennifer arrived home to find Jackson hard at work. Wednesdays were her half-day, the afternoons assigned to catching up with paperwork, attending to any personal affairs, and once a month, a trip to see her kids. But for Jackson, it was just another day on the job.
She parked and walked to the edge of her drive, but stopped. She wasn’t about to soil her expensive leather heels in the black, inky dirt. Bringing a hand to her brow, she blocked the late afternoon sun and asked, “How’s it coming?”
Jackson turned. Tucked into khaki shorts with more pockets than one had a use for, his white T-shirt was soaked through, muddy brown dirt smudged the small green emblem embroidered on its pocket. His legs were crawling with black grime, the sweat acting like glue for the dirt to adhere to his skin, his socks no longer white above tan leather work boots.
Retirement? Really?
I hear bartenders make pretty good money .
Sam may be right after all.
He straightened. “Hello, Dr. Hamilton.”
“Hello.” She took a quick survey of the area and noticed that weeds were gone, dirt was raked and organized into beds. It seemed he’d been busy, but did he really expect to complete this job himself? “Wouldn’t it be quicker if you had help?”
“I did, but I have other jobs that need completing so I sent them there. I’m finishing up here today.” He wiped the back of his hand against his brow. “But don’t worry.” He smiled. “We’ll have it done on time.”
Glancing around once more, she wished she shared his optimism. “Yes,” she murmured. One can only hope .
With nothing left to say and more than a few questions swirling in her mind, she retreated into the house. Moving to a window hidden from view, she watched as he dumped a bag of dirt onto the ground, then moved it around with a metal rake. It looked grueling, and by the way his muscles were contracting and expanding, it seemed his body agreed.
His body . It was the first time she ever really looked at him, at Jackson the man, and here alone in
“You’re going to be real happy with what he does for you.”
She slid on a pair of black sunglasses. “I’m sure I will be.”
“You know,” he glanced back at the hospital, flanked by Poinciana trees, their brilliant red-orange blooms striking against the cream of flat stucco. “I should tell Jax about this place. He might want to donate some of his time here.”
“Would he be interested in such a thing? I mean, he seems to be a very busy man, do you really think he has the time for visits to the children’s hospital?”
“Jax runs his own schedule. In fact, he volunteers down at the boys and girls club already and who knows,” he slid brown tinted sunglasses onto his nose, “he might want to squeeze this place in to his list of benevolent endeavors.”
The thought of Jackson Montgomery sitting around with a bunch of kids, laughing and playing, seemed like the most normal thing in the world.
“Kids love him.”
“I’ll bet they do.”
“Besides, once he sells his house he’ll have plenty of time on his hands, between trips to the islands, that is. He’s set to retire soon and this may be just the thing he needs to fill his days stateside. Anyway,” Michael swiped a glance at his watch. “I’ve got to get running. Laurencia’s waiting for me.”
“Go, please,” she told him. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
He leaned over and pecked a kiss to her cheek. “See you at the hospital.”
“See you at the hospital,” she replied, her mind still picking through Michael’s remark. Retire ? Was he serious? She stood immobile, her gaze trailing Michael across the parking lot as he hurried to his Mercedes. How on earth could Jackson retire? He couldn’t be much older than her and she was nowhere near retirement.
Still sorting through the significance of Michael’s revelation, Jennifer arrived home to find Jackson hard at work. Wednesdays were her half-day, the afternoons assigned to catching up with paperwork, attending to any personal affairs, and once a month, a trip to see her kids. But for Jackson, it was just another day on the job.
She parked and walked to the edge of her drive, but stopped. She wasn’t about to soil her expensive leather heels in the black, inky dirt. Bringing a hand to her brow, she blocked the late afternoon sun and asked, “How’s it coming?”
Jackson turned. Tucked into khaki shorts with more pockets than one had a use for, his white T-shirt was soaked through, muddy brown dirt smudged the small green emblem embroidered on its pocket. His legs were crawling with black grime, the sweat acting like glue for the dirt to adhere to his skin, his socks no longer white above tan leather work boots.
Retirement? Really?
I hear bartenders make pretty good money .
Sam may be right after all.
He straightened. “Hello, Dr. Hamilton.”
“Hello.” She took a quick survey of the area and noticed that weeds were gone, dirt was raked and organized into beds. It seemed he’d been busy, but did he really expect to complete this job himself? “Wouldn’t it be quicker if you had help?”
“I did, but I have other jobs that need completing so I sent them there. I’m finishing up here today.” He wiped the back of his hand against his brow. “But don’t worry.” He smiled. “We’ll have it done on time.”
Glancing around once more, she wished she shared his optimism. “Yes,” she murmured. One can only hope .
With nothing left to say and more than a few questions swirling in her mind, she retreated into the house. Moving to a window hidden from view, she watched as he dumped a bag of dirt onto the ground, then moved it around with a metal rake. It looked grueling, and by the way his muscles were contracting and expanding, it seemed his body agreed.
His body . It was the first time she ever really looked at him, at Jackson the man, and here alone in
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