The Mighty Quinns: Rogan

At eight years old, he wasn’t sure of all the details of what went on between a man and a woman, but he’d heard stories. The whispered speculation of his friends sprinkled with a bit of firsthand knowledge. He’d even glimpsed a few photos on the internet, though they’d only created more questions than answers.

But Rogan sensed that when he got older, he’d understand his mother’s grief. He just never wanted it to happen to him.

Rogan rapped on the bedroom door. “Mum? Can I bring you some tea?”

He waited, hoping that this time she’d reply, but there was only silence. He spun around and strode to the window again, cursing beneath his breath at the media vultures that seemed to hover over them. If they’d just go away, maybe she’d come back, maybe she’d be the mother they’d always known—the mother who laughed with them and loved them.

“I’m going out there,” Rogan muttered.

“No, don’t,” Ryan said, grabbing his arm. “Grandmum said we just have to pretend that they’re not there. She’ll be home soon. She’ll run them off.”

“I’m not going to wait for her,” Rogan said. “We can do this. Are you coming?”

There was very little that the twins didn’t do together, Rogan usually leading and Ryan backing him up. This time, Ryan thought about the request for a long moment, then nodded solemnly. “All right.”

Rogan reached for the door and pulled it open. The instant the reporters saw them, they rushed the fence, shouting out questions. Cameras flashed and Rogan held up his hand to ward off the assault. But as he watched them warily, his anger began to build.

With a silent curse, Rogan ran down the front steps and grabbed a clod of dirt from his grandmother’s flower bed. With all his strength, he heaved it at the group. “Leave us alone,” he cried. “Just go away. We don’t want to talk to you.”

The shower of dirt was enough to send them all running. Ryan joined him, heaving clumps of soil over the fence until everyone had retreated to their cars. Rogan found a small rock and hit the windscreen of the closest car. As it drove off, he picked up another and heaved it.

One by one, the reporters and photographers scurried away, and when the street in front of their grandparents’ home was finally empty, Rogan looked at his brother and smiled. “Cowards,” he muttered.

Ryan chuckled. “We really showed them, didn’t we.”

“You ain’t wrong,” Rogan replied.

When they returned to the house, Rogan was surprised to find their mother standing at the window, her fingers clutching at the curtains. She gazed at him and Ryan and gave them a weak smile. “Good work,” she murmured before moving away.

“Mum? Can I make you a cup of tea?” Rogan asked again.

She stopped and drew a deep breath, and Rogan watched her narrow shoulders rise and fall. “That would be lovely,” she said, nodding her head. “I could use a cup of tea.”

Rogan and Ryan hurried over to her, each of them taking a hand and leading her to the sofa. They sat down on either side of her and she wrapped her arms around their shoulders and pulled them close, kissing the tops of their heads.

“You’re my brave, strong boys,” she whispered. “Promise you’ll never leave me.”

“I promise, Mum,” Rogan said.

“Me, too.”

Rogan silently made another promise to himself. If this was what love did to his mother, then he wanted no part of it. It only brought despair and loneliness. No girl would ever be worth all that.

1 (#ulink_fb72c395-cb26-5439-8d34-e5338bb00f26)

THE SOUND OF his mobile woke Rogan out of a deep sleep. He moaned as he rolled over and searched for the phone on the bedside table.

Delicate feminine fingers smoothed over his belly and he smiled as her warm naked body curled closer.

“Are you going to answer that?” Kaylee murmured.

He squinted his eyes to read the display. If it wasn’t his mum or one of his siblings, he could let the call go to voice mail. But when he saw the name of his next expedition client, Dr. Claudia Mathison, Rogan changed his mind. “This will just take a second,” he said.

Kaylee sighed. “Make it quick. I have to leave soon.”

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then held the phone up to his ear. “Dr. Mathison,” he said in a sleep-tinged voice.

“Good morning, Mr. Quinn. I hope I’ve caught you at a convenient time?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I just have a few more things that I’d like to discuss. Details that are important to make this trip go as smoothly as possible.”

Psychologist Claudia Mathison had been calling him at least twice a day over the past few weeks with her little “details,” and frankly she was beginning to drive him mad with all her requests. Yes, he understood that this trip would be a big challenge for her five phobic clients. But these were people who lived in the real world, not some invalids who could barely care for themselves.

When Rogan had booked the expedition, he’d bragged to his brothers, Malcolm and Ryan, how this could provide a whole new market for Max Adrenaline, the family’s adventure-guiding business. Over the past couple of years, they’d been hit hard by a rival Kiwi—their father’s former business partner, in fact—who ran his own outfit off South Island. But Rogan argued that by opening themselves up to new and different clientele, they may just be able to expand on their core business of climbing and trekking expeditions and gain an edge on their competition.

But Rogan also had an ulterior motive for bringing in new business. Though at first, he’d been happy to work with his brothers and carry on the memory of his father, he’d never intended it to be his lifelong profession. Once the business was squarely on its feet, he’d always planned to go his own way. But the business never seemed to operate in the black, and lately he’d begun to wonder if there wasn’t more to life than climbing mountains and crossing glaciers.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he was sure it would make him happy again. He’d grown weary of the constant stress and his current rootless existence. He wanted to see new places, discover new adventures, but he’d been stuck guiding the same itineraries for the past four years.

Adding new routes was always a risk for the company and a huge investment in time and equipment. But if he and his brothers could find an easy source of income, one that didn’t involve gambling their capital, then maybe he could finally walk away from Max Adrenaline and live his own life. Which meant he had to keep Claudia Mathison happy.

“What can I do for you this morning, Dr. Mathison?”

“I’ve been going over the tent pairings and I think we’re going to need two extra tents,” she said. “In fact, it might just be better if they all had their own tents, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble. I’m dealing with very mercurial personalities here, and I want everything to go as smoothly as possible.”

“No, it wouldn’t be too much trouble to double the number of tents from three to six,” he said. “As long as your patients don’t mind carrying their own. Just keep in mind our two-person tents for this type of expedition are eight pounds. So everyone will have to carry that extra weight on their packs.”

“Eight pounds? That’s not much,” she said.

“It is when you’re climbing a steep trail,” he countered. “Which we will be doing on this trip.”

“Perhaps you could send someone ahead with the tents?” she suggested.

“Dr. Mathison, I thought you wanted to challenge your clients. Take them out of their comfort zone. I’ve planned a week of survival training and wilderness camping. If you want Max Adrenaline to do all the work, then we should just make reservations at the nearest spa and settle in with massages and mineral baths.”

A long silence fell between them and Rogan bit his lower lip. He knew better than to sound off like that, especially with a new client. But if this was how she meant to go on, the trip was going to be a rough ride for them both. In addition to her ever-growing list of necessities to calm her phobic patients’ fears, now she was taking away the basic challenge of the trek. This woman seriously needed to loosen up.

Still, they were desperate for her business. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe I should ring you back after I’ve had my coffee.”

“Perhaps that would be best,” she said. “I’ll speak with you later. Ring me at twelve forty-five my time. That would be three forty-five for you. I have a twenty-minute opening in my schedule and we can work out the final details.”

Rogan rubbed his forehead. If it was nine in the morning where he was in Auckland, then it was seven in the morning in Sydney, where she lived. “Do you always get to work this early?” he asked.

“I don’t need much sleep,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“All right. Catch you later.”

Rogan flopped back down on the bed and threw his arm over his eyes. A few seconds later, Kaylee pressed a kiss to his chest. He looked down to see her smiling at him, her blond hair tumbled around her face. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning,” he replied. “Sorry about that.”