The Mighty Quinns: Rogan

“Amy realizes we’ll have to be apart for long periods of time. But she says she understands that’s the way it has to be. We’ll work it out. Although I would like to cut back a bit on leading the long trips. I was hoping to talk to you and Ryan about that.”

Rogan ran his fingers through his tousled hair. So much for his own plans to leave the family business behind. Now that Mal was talking about marriage, that would leave only Ryan to guide the big expeditions and he couldn’t do it alone. The business and the family would surely suffer.

“Sure,” Rogan said. “No problem.”

“Great. It’ll only be for a while. Business is going to pick up and we’ll be able to afford to hire more guides. At some point, I’d like to take just a few trips a year.”

Rogan pushed to his feet. Max Adrenaline had always been Mal’s baby. He was the one who’d convinced Rogan and Ryan to sign on. And now, he was the one anxious to step back. “So you managed to find the one woman in the entire bleedin’ world who was willing to put up with the lifestyle. How did you manage that?”

He brushed past Mal and walked to the kitchen, his frustration slowly simmering. Why were things always so much easier for Mal? It always seemed as though he had complete control over everything—his life, his emotions, his women.

“Don’t take your pissy attitude out on me,” Mal said as he followed him through the back. “It’s not my fault Kaylee decided to run off with Fitzgerald.”

Rogan drew a deep breath before he began to make a pot of coffee. “It’s not her. I just had a bad start to my day.”

In truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good start to his day. Nothing seemed to move him anymore, not even the view from the top of a mountain or the smell of a deep, damp rain forest. There was something missing, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Had he been free to live his life as he pleased, he’d probably escape to some monastery in Tibet and try to suss it all out. But he had responsibilities he couldn’t escape, responsibilities that Mal reminded him of nearly every day.

“Well, chin up,” Mal said, repeating another familiar family phrase.

That was how the Quinns had always dealt with problems—chin up, one foot in front of the other, stiff upper lip.

“Right-o,” Rogan muttered.

“Besides, your new client can’t be as bad as you’re making out,” Mal said.

“She rang this morning with yet another list of things she wants to discuss. Is there a nit she hasn’t picked yet? I’m thinking I ought to pass her off to you. You could handle her nagging better than me.”

“She’s your client,” Mal said. “And what’s that supposed to mean? I can handle the nagging?”

Rogan chuckled. “You’re the one with a permanent woman in your life.”

“Yeah. But Amy doesn’t nag me.”

“Never?”

Mal shook his head. “No. In fact, we get on quite well. I love being with her. There isn’t anyone I’d rather spend my time with.”

“Why?” Rogan asked. “What is it about her? Why is she so special?”

Mal sat silently for a long moment as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “She makes me laugh. And I make her laugh. I reckon if we have that then there’s not much that’s going to tear us apart.”

Rogan leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes. Maybe that was what he was missing—someone who could make him laugh. Someone who would always be there to brighten up his days and nights.

“It’s a weeklong trip right here on the North Island,” Mal murmured. “You’ve taught survival skills how many times? It’s good money. Just get it done. You’ll be home and hosed before you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rogan admitted. “How are antibacterial wipes required for survival? And she seems to be unusually obsessed with the amount of toilet tissue I’ll be bringing along. You can see why I have my concerns. I get the feeling I’m going to be babysitting a lot of needy children rather than five adults.”

“Keep her happy,” Mal said. “This is a whole new market for us. Besides, she paid up front and we’ve spent the money already.”

“That’s probably why she paid in advance. Just so I couldn’t cancel.” He sighed. “I’ll get through it. Maybe not with my sanity intact, but I’ll make it work.”

“Good,” Mal said. “Now put a shirt on and I’ll take you to brekkie. And then we’ll go over Dr. Mathison’s lists and make sure everything is confirmed.”

“Do you think I ought to go after her?” Rogan asked.

“Dr. Mathison?”

“No. Kaylee. Maybe she’s the one who can make me laugh and I just haven’t sussed that out yet. I’d hate for her to marry that tosser before I was sure of how I really felt about her.”

“Believe me,” Mal said, “if you loved her, you’d know it. It would hit you like a brick to the head and a kick to the gut. Trust me on this.”

Rogan glanced over at his brother. He really had no choice but to trust him. Mal was the only one of his siblings who’d owned up to experiencing that emotion. Though Rogan would understand if Kaylee wasn’t the one for him, he couldn’t imagine there was anyone better out there. Not that he ever wanted to fall in love like Mal.

For now, he’d focus on his next trip, and making sure Dr. Claudia Mathison was pleased with the experience. He could worry about the rest of his life later.

* * *

CLAUDIA WATCHED AS the baggage carousel began to turn. She bit back a yawn as she observed her five patients, all in various states of distress. They’d finally managed to get on a plane from Sydney to Auckland after three aborted attempts to board. Then the three-hour flight had been a stress-filled nightmare, as every one of the five had had some complaint.

Emma Wilson, her germophobe, had spent the flight washing every surface around her with antibacterial wipes—while wearing a surgical mask. The claustrophobic Millie Zastrow had paced the aisle between her seat and the bathroom like a caged animal. Eddie Findlay, who was agoraphobic, spent the flight muttering to himself from beneath a blanket and scaring away the passengers sitting around him. Leticia Macullum had self-medicated with wine to the point that she fell asleep shortly after takeoff and hadn’t even been bothered by the height, usually a crippling fear for her. And Marshall Block had spent his time carefully surveying the floor for any errant pests that might have taken up residence on the plane, as he was an insectophobe.

There were moments, many more of late, that Claudia had to wonder whether she’d picked the right profession. She’d worked with this group for two years and not one of the five had conquered their fear. In fact, they’d just added more fears to the list. Surely she should have helped at least one of her patients by now.

Last year, she’d taken on a part-time teaching job at a small university in Sydney and was considering a career change. Maybe she’d be better at academia than she was at clinical work. And most of her patients would be fine with other doctors. Maybe they’d even be better off.

She glanced over at the group and felt a surge of guilt. They all seemed to enjoy coming to group therapy, and though they often argued among themselves, they’d grown to be a family of sorts—a dysfunctional family, but a family.

Some days, they seemed so close to resolving their fears, and other days, they became overwhelmed by them. She’d hoped this trip would push them out of their comfort zones. None in the group had ever traveled, chained to their day-to-day routines by their fears. They all preferred a controlled environment with their usual coping mechanisms firmly in place.

So she’d decided that maybe by throwing them into a new situation they’d learn how to exist in the real world—without her help. So far, she’d been wrong.

“All of you stay right here,” she said. “I’m just going to run to the ladies’.”

“Take these,” Emma Wilson said, holding out a packet of wipes. “You don’t know what kind of plague is growing on all those fixtures. Ebola, typhus, meningitis. I could make you a list.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Claudia said. “And I think I’ll risk it without the wipes.”

She spun on her heel and hurried down the concourse, tears pushing at the corners of her eyes. This was turning into an unmitigated disaster. Everything she’d worked so hard to achieve was now in jeopardy, and all because of this one stupid idea. It had sounded so good on paper, and she’d imagined how she’d put her successful story into a journal article or even a book. She’d even devised a name for it—adventure-based therapy.

Claudia wandered over to an empty row of chairs and sat down. The tears began to tumble down her cheeks and she allowed herself the release, hoping a good cry would restore her emotional balance.

Covering her face with her hands, she let the frustration out along with her tears, scolding herself for her hubris. If she was going to teach, she’d need to publish. But she’d been so anxious to find a new direction for her professional life that she’d risked the well-being of her clients and her reputation. If they could barely make it through a three-hour flight, how would they finish the rest of the week?

“Are you all right?”

Claudia looked up to find a man standing in front of her, his handsome face etched with concern. “Of course I am. Why would you assume I wasn’t?”