Chapter Two
Just Blush was the ideal colour. Dark enough to provide definition but light enough to go with any of her work clothes.
And it complemented her pale pink pantsuit perfectly.
Lipstick applied, foundation covering the grey circles rimming her bloodshot eyes, Hannah angled her head in the mirror and ruffled the ends of her wavy bob.
Her Scandinavian genes didn’t exactly suit the Australian climate but her sun safety precautions seemed to be working.
She tugged on the lapels of her jacket, the text she’d been mentally drafting to Lenore since first waking replaying itself in her head like a Buddhist mantra.
Would love to have you and Nancy here for Christmas. Let me know your arrival date. Can’t wait to see you.
That’s where it would remain until she could bring herself to convert thought into action.
Her breakfast did a well-timed flip inside her stomach. The peanut butter toast plus a banana protein smoothie may have been overkill. It would be fine. She would definitely send the text, just not right now.
Time to get to work, the perfect distraction.
Based on the case notes she’d read about her next client, this session could prove challenging. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Dealing with wayward teens had become an integral part of her practice.
She stepped across the threshold into her waiting room. Having a separate office space made for a good division of work and home. This house had been such a great find.
‘Good morning.’
A chirpy greeting startled Hannah to a stop. She stared at the woman sitting behind the reception desk, her mop of red curls alarmingly bouffant.
‘Crystal?’ Was that her name? ‘What are you doing here?’
For a split second the beaming smile faded, only to be followed by a barking laugh. ‘Oh, you’re good. You almost got me there.’
‘Got you?’
‘Yeah, you know, like tricked me into thinking you weren’t expecting me. I wouldn’t have taken you for a leg-puller.’
Leg-puller? What was this woman talking about?
‘So …’ Crystal pointed to the computer screen, running her finger down an imaginary line in the air. ‘Pretty full schedule today. Owen Morgan is in first, then—’
‘Sorry …’ Either Hannah had entered another dimension where her office had been taken over by an alien impersonating a woman she’d spoken to briefly about possibly taking on a part-time receptionist role, or one of the two of them had the wrong end of a very sharp stick.
‘Did we actually agree on a starting date? As in today?’
Crystal checked the enormous watch strapped to her wrist, possibly doubling as a resistance weight. ‘Monday, November twenty-eight. That’s today. A day for fresh starts, according to my astrology app.’
The conversation they’d had only a couple of weeks ago—the last time Hannah had eaten her lunch in at Something’s Brewing, started to coalesce in her brain.
Clive had introduced them and said Crystal had great admin skills if she ever needed a receptionist. Crystal had rattled off a verbal resume and said she’d be happy to do a trial and yes, maybe they had agreed on a start date, but why wasn’t it in her diary?
‘Okay, maybe we need to—’
‘I told you, I’m not going in there by myself.’
This time the conversation was coming from outside the front door. What was it today with strange voices and out-of-body experiences?
‘And I told you , you don’t have a choice,’ a deeper voice replied. ‘Get back here.’
What the hell was going on?
Three short, sharp strides and Hannah was at the door.
She flung it open and looked straight into the eyes of a six-foot-something man who bore a striking resemblance to the hero of the small-town romance novel that had kept her awake into the small hours of the morning.
Milk chocolate eyes, a halo of dark waves and a closely cropped beard covering a very chiselled jawline.
His lips parted in a hesitant smile. ‘Hi.’
Hannah swallowed, giving herself an internal shake, and raised a well-trained brow. ‘Can I help you with something?’
The second person, shorter, still in his teens, had his hands stuck into the front pocket of a grey hoodie and his gaze fixed on his sneakers where he stood, halfway down the front steps, seemingly frozen in place.
The taller man pointed a finger in the direction of his companion, then dropped his hands to his hips.
The folded-back sleeves of his navy-blue work shirt revealed a fine set of forearms.
God, Hannah, get a grip . She really needed to change genres if this was the effect of her current reading habits.
‘He’s here for an appointment.’ The tall man’s voice was part growl, part rumble. The timbre of rolling thunder. ‘Are you Dr Rasmussen?’
She sucked up the air trapped in her diaphragm. Blinked. What the hell was she doing? ‘Ah, yes.’ She cleared her throat and adjusted her stance. ‘I am.’ She shifted her attention to the youth stranded on the stairs like a beached whale. ‘And you are …?’
The older man stepped closer and rested a hand on the younger man’s arm. ‘This is Owen Morgan. I’m his brother, Cole Harrison.’
Cole. Straight out of the pages of an Elsie Silver romance.
‘Owen, would you like to come in?’ The sooner she got this client into her office, the better.
Even though it meant dealing with her least preferred type of case: court-ordered counselling; a client that hadn’t come of his own volition and was most likely to be harbouring more than a smidgeon of resentment.
But refusing the referral wouldn’t have been a good decision.
She needed to build her profile, not to mention pay the mortgage.
Owen shuffled from one foot to the other but made no attempt to join them on the verandah.
Cole shook his head, one corner of his mouth twisting into a knot. ‘What are you waiting for?’ He peered down at Owen, whose head seemed to disappear into his body, turtle-like.
‘I’m not going in there alone.’ There was a gruff obstinance to the teenager’s voice underscored by a healthy dose of belligerence, if the jut of his chin and the depth of his scowl were anything to go by. This one was definitely not going to be a pushover.
Cole’s arms dropped and he slapped a hand against the side of his jeans—possibly in lieu of dragging his brother through the door.
‘So, you’re old enough to go joyriding and smoke dope but you can’t face up to talking to a health professional on your own?
What do you think she’s going to do? Bite your head off? Submit you to water torture?’
‘Well, that’s certainly not part of the therapy.’ The whole idea was so ludicrous she couldn’t help but grin.
‘Sorry.’ Cole threw his hands in the air. ‘I’m just about at my wit’s end.’
‘That’s okay.’ She gave him a nod but addressed her words to Owen.
‘Today is all about getting to know each other. Nothing onerous. No hard questions or interrogations. But it is preferable to run the session one-on-one. I promise I won’t put you on a rack.
’ There would be no torturing, mental or otherwise.
‘Okay.’ Begrudging and reluctant but an agreement nevertheless.
She waved a hand towards the open door and directed a halfsmile in Cole’s direction. ‘You can wait here if you like. We’ll be done in forty minutes.’
‘I have some errands to run.’ Hands shoved into the front pockets of his faded jeans, Cole moved down the stairs in his scuffed boots like a tap-dancing cowboy.
Thank God that distraction was gone. Never once in her career had Hannah ogled a client or any member of their family. It was highly unprofessional. And would not be happening again.
Back inside, Crystal was at the door of the consultation room. ‘Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll handle all the calls so you can get your job done.’ She nodded towards Owen, who was already seated, and mouthed two exaggerated syllables: Good luck.
Luck? Counselling wasn’t about luck. It was about listening.
Creating an environment that would allow the client to be receptive and open.
Relaxed. Nothing about Owen’s body language, from the stiff set of his jaw to the hunch of his shoulders, seemed relaxed.
In fact, everything about him screamed ‘get me out of here’ as he slumped lower.
Settling into her chair, Hannah clasped her hands loosely in her lap, adopting her usual open posture.
Opting not to sit behind a desk for consultations meant there was no barrier between therapist and client, at least not in the physical sense.
But it could be intimidating for some. Exposing.
Owen’s left leg jiggled up and down, as if he was tapping out the rhythm to a silent song.
‘So, Owen, what brings you here today?’
He looked up, nose wrinkled. ‘What do you mean?’
She waved a hand, indicating the office space. ‘Why are you here?’
A grunt. ‘Because I have to be.’
‘Says who?’
This time he rolled his eyes. ‘Says the judge who told me I had to come.’
‘But you could have chosen not to.’
‘Yeah,’ he scoffed, ‘if I want to go to jail.’
‘Juvenile detention.’
‘Whatever.’
‘But you elected to come here instead.’
A one-shouldered shrug. ‘Wasn’t much of a choice.’
Okay, he was talking. Now to zero in. ‘Granted. But here we are. Tell me about yourself.’
‘Like what?’
‘Whatever you’d like to share … maybe about your hobbies, your family, friends.’
Owen turned his head and stared out the window.
‘Let’s start with your brother, Cole. Tell me a little about him. You’re living with him, aren’t you?’ She most certainly did not have an ulterior motive. It was a reasonable icebreaker, considering their introduction.
‘He’s my half-brother. My mum had him when she was a teenager. Before she married my dad.’
Ah, so that accounted for the age gap. And maybe the physical differences too. While Cole was tall and broad-shouldered and dark-haired, Owen was fine-boned, mousey and no more than average height.
‘Do you have any other siblings?’
‘Nope.’