Jack refused to let Anya see him as a lazy slug who whisked off for a leisurely meal while others, especially her, labored. “With a few more hands, you’ll finish faster.”
Lucky rolled his shoulders, producing loud cracks. “Suit yourself.”
The women reappeared, arms full of mismatched towels and sheets wrapped in clear plastic bags. “Amazing. The ladies copied our color scheme,” Rod said.
Zora peered dubiously at the linens in hues ranging from pink to purple to olive-green. “This is a color scheme?”
“Dr. Vintner has a dry sense of humor.” Anya lugged her towels to the open van.
On the upper level, Lucky took them from her arms. “Didn’t I mention we should bring out the chairs and table before the small stuff?”
The women exchanged glances. “Huh,” said Anya. “Did he?”
“Maybe, but these were on top of them,” Zora responded.
“And you couldn’t put them on the floor?” Lucky asked.
The guy was blowing his opportunity to appear heroic, Jack thought. And although the man’s peevishness appeared to be aimed at the redhead, Anya was the one who spoke up. “Don’t make a federal case out of it. Pile them on the couch.”
With an annoyed click of the tongue, Lucky obeyed.
Rod, still planted on the sidewalk, smiled pleasantly and said to him, “It’s nice when roommates get along so well.”
“I’m sure they’ll work it out,” Jack told him. “Once they’ve moved in and all.”
“They might end up with blood on the sofa,” his uncle answered. “Which would be an improvement.”
Another tenant, backing out of the opposite carport, glared at them while maneuvering around the van. Lucky waved in a friendly manner, and the man tilted his head in grudging acknowledgment.
“Out of curiosity, how many bathrooms does this house have?” Rod inquired, eyeing the towels.
“Three and a half,” said Zora.
“For how many people?”
“Five.” Lucky jumped down from the van.
“That’s not bad, but you’ll have a traffic jam if you work the same hours.” Rod adjusted his fedora to block the sunlight.
Anya sighed. “I’d have killed for that many bathrooms when I was growing up. We had two for nine people.”
“One of our bathrooms is in my suite downstairs,” Lucky said. “You’re welcome to use it whenever you want.”
“Thanks.” She gave the nurse a vague smile.
Jack tried not to scowl. “Why don’t we bring down the rest of the furniture?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Anya gave Jack a vague smile, too.
Half an hour later his muscles were throbbing, but he would have rather worked to the point of collapse than admit defeat.
Fortunately, he was in the right place when Anya, approaching the parking lot with a box marked Dishes, halted abruptly, the color draining from her face.
“Are you okay?” Jack rushed to relieve her of the box but had to dodge a near-collision with Lucky.
“I’ve got it.” The male nurse snatched the container from Anya’s shaky grasp.
Zora approached, struggling antlike with a crate much too large for her. “Anya? Are you sick?”
“Go on,” her roommate told her. “I’m fine.”
“Well, okay.” Zora staggered toward the truck. Lucky ignored her.
“Sit down.” Jack took Anya’s elbow. “I’m speaking as a doctor.”
“Yes, a nurse couldn’t possibly figure out what she should do.” Lucky sent him a poisonous glare and carted off the dishes.
“I can manage.” All the same, Anya leaned on Jack as he escorted her to a wrought-iron bench bordered by flowering bushes.
From around the corner, Rod appeared, carrying a toilet plunger and a pack of bath tissue. “Doing my bit,” he announced, waving the lightweight items in the air and strolling on his way.
Jack gladly refocused his attention on Anya. How vulnerable she looked, sitting there twisting the hem of that huge T-shirt. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, thanks. I just drank half a glass.” She sucked in a breath, as if gathering strength from the fragrance of the flowers. Despite the cool air, she must have overheated from her exertion.
To distract her, Jack said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how terrific you were with Tiffany.” They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately since Thursday.
“How’d things work out for her?”
His niece’s freckled face popped into his head. He’d been thinking about Tiff a lot these past few days. “When her parents learned she was safe, they were relieved for about thirty seconds before they became furious.”
“Understandable, I suppose,” Anya said. “They must have been worried sick.”
“Helen said they blistered the phone. She refused to let them talk to Tiffany until they calmed down.”
“Good for her.” Anya tucked a wedge of dark hair behind her ear. She’d lost her clip, he noticed. “Did they drive up?”
“They flew into Orange County in their private jet.” John Wayne Airport, the closest to Safe Harbor, accommodated both commercial and private aircraft.
“That’s a short hop.” Anya swallowed, still struggling with whatever was bothering her.
“Twenty minutes in the air, I gather.” Judging by how tense she’d become when he’d just sat beside her, touching her wouldn’t be welcomed, so Jack folded his arms and went on talking. “However, with all the arrangements, it took them about two hours, roughly the same as if they drove. But that wouldn’t have satisfied Vince’s sense of importance. That gave us time to order pizza and play a round of Monopoly.”
“Who won?” Anya asked.
“Rod.” Jack smiled at the memory of his uncle battling for turf with Tiffany, both of them relishing each small victory and flourishing every Get Out of Jail Free card. “He’s a tough customer.”
“He didn’t cut a twelve-year-old any slack?”
“Kids can’t deal with life if parents pave every step of their path,” the anesthesiologist responded, sauntering back from the truck.
“I don’t imagine her parents are making her life easy,” Anya said.
“A reasonable point.” He stepped aside for Lucky and Zora to file by. “However, there’s a difference between berating a child, as they do, and teaching her that concentration and strategy pay off.”
Hoping his uncle would move on so he could have Anya to himself again, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Monopoly is an excellent metaphor for life.”
“Also, I like to win.” With a grin, Rod departed.
“You didn’t run into the parents, did you?” Anya’s cheeks had regained some of their healthy pink color. “Considering the legal issues, that would have been awkward.”
“We aren’t suicidal,” Jack assured her. “Helen asked Portia to phone when she landed, so we knew when to clear out.”
“Then how do you know what happened when they got there?”
“Helen called.” Rod had said