All They Need

chapter SIX



FLYNN PUSHED THE SPEED LIMIT all the way to the city. Every few minutes he checked his phone to make sure it was still working. It was, which meant that the reason it hadn’t rung was because his father was still missing.

According to the short conversation he’d had with his mother, his father could have been gone from anywhere between five minutes to over an hour. She’d been in the garden, and it wasn’t until she’d gone inside to use the bathroom that she’d realized he was gone.

Flynn’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He reminded himself that his parents lived in a leafy, highly affluent neighborhood, so the risk of his father walking into harm’s way was minimal. The odds were good that he hadn’t gone far. It would simply be a matter of combing the nearby streets.

They would find him. Of course they would.

Then they would have to deal with the implications of this incident and what it meant for the future.

His parents had downsized from the family home to their current, more modest house twelve months ago after his father’s initial diagnosis, and his mother had reduced some of her social and charitable activities, but essentially they were still living a normal life together. Obviously, that would have to change if his father could no longer be trusted with an unlocked door.

Flynn sighed. It was inevitable that at some point in the progression of his father’s illness tough decisions would have to be made, but he’d hoped that they’d have a few more years before they had to start curtailing his father’s freedoms.

He was only minutes from his parents’ place when his phone rang. He snatched it up, driving one-handed even though he was probably breaking half a dozen laws.

“We found him,” his mother said. “He went to buy milk, but he thought we were still at the old house and he got confused. I’ve already called the police and told them.” His mother’s voice was thin and worried.

“I’m five minutes away, Mom.”

“Okay. All right.”

He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and sent up a small prayer to the universe that his father was safe and sound. He pulled into the driveway not long after. His mother opened the door as he walked up the path. She looked pale but calm and he lay a hand on her shoulder.

“You okay?”

“I am now. If anything had happened to him…”

“I know.”

He hugged her, then she led him to the conservatory, where his father was ensconced on the window seat, one elbow resting on the sill. He was gazing out into the garden, his face slack, his gaze utterly vacant.

Something hard and painful twisted in Flynn’s chest. His father looked so empty. So absent.

Then his father registered their presence and suddenly his eyes were alive with awareness and intelligence again as he turned toward them.

“Flynn. Your mother told me she called you. I wish she hadn’t.”



“She was worried.”

“I know. But I would have found my way home eventually.”

Flynn didn’t bother arguing with him. He sat next to him on the window seat and his mother drew up a chair at the table.

“When was the last time you saw the specialist?” Flynn asked.

His father made a vague gesture, looking to his mother to answer the question.

“Three months ago.”

“Maybe we should make another appointment,” Flynn suggested.

His father shifted beside him restlessly.

“What’s wrong, Dad? You don’t think so?”

“Whatever you think is best.”

Flynn exchanged glances with his mother. “You get a say, too, Dad.”

His father met his gaze, his own eyes bleak. “He’s not going to tell us anything we don’t already know.” He stood. “I’ve got a headache. I’m going to lie down.”

He left the room without a backward glance. The conservatory was profoundly silent after his exit.

“We need to talk. All of us,” Flynn finally said. “We need to sit down and hammer out what he wants while he can still tell us.”

“I know, but surely it’s not necessary to subject him to that yet?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

“He’s going to deteriorate, Mom. There’s no get-out-of-jail-free card on this—it’s going to happen. And if we don’t take the opportunity to talk now, while he’s still able to rationalize and make decisions, then we’re doing him the biggest disservice of all.”



A single tear slid down her cheek. Flynn stood to go to her but she held up a hand.

“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath, then let it out. “I know you’re right. Of course you’re right. The sooner we hash this out, the better it will be. We’ll all know how things are going to be and we can get on with living.”

She forced a smile. “Would you like a hot drink? Something to eat? You must have missed your lunch, rushing to us like this.”

“Something to eat would be good.” He stared at the floor after she’d left the room. He felt bone-tired. Utterly exhausted.

After a long moment he pushed himself to his feet and went to the kitchen to help his mother.



MEL WAS IN THE kitchen cleaning up after making lasagna for dinner when she heard the sound of a car engine in her driveway. She crossed to the sink and looked out the window as Flynn drove her car beneath the carport at the back of the house.

She glanced at the clock—it was a little after six o’clock—then dried her hands before crossing to the door and walking onto the rear porch.

Flynn was getting out of her car. She called to him, “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again today.”

“I wanted to get your car to you.”

“Hang on, I’ll grab my shoes and come down,” she said, searching for her gardening clogs in the dim shadows beside the door.

“How about I come to you? It’s the least I can do.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs and started to climb.



“I hope you didn’t rush back. Like I said, I didn’t need the car for anything.”

When he arrived at the top of the stairs she saw that he was holding a bottle of wine. He offered it to her, along with her car keys.

“I really appreciate the loan,” he said.

She reached for the car keys but didn’t take the bottle from his hand.

“Mel…”

“If I’d wanted to rent my car to you for a bottle of wine, I would have said so at the outset. But I didn’t.”

“Fine. I’ll drink it, then. Have you got a bottle opener and a straw?” There was a dark undercurrent to his light words.

She searched his face and saw that he was tired and worried. “Come in,” she said, stepping to one side.

He shook his head. “I’ve already imposed on you enough for one day. But I appreciate the offer.”

She reached out and pulled the wine bottle from his grip. “Come in.”

He was silent for long enough she thought he was going to decline. Then he stepped past her, entering her house. She shut the door behind him and waved him toward the kitchen table.

“Grab a seat.”

She collected two wineglasses and the bottle opener while he pulled up a chair. She crossed to the table and slid the glasses and the bottle onto the table in front of him.

“Have you eaten?”

“You don’t need to feed me, Mel.”

“Have you eaten?” she repeated.

“Not for a while.” She grabbed a bag of corn chips from the cupboard, then she sat opposite him and reached for the bottle opener.

“Knock yourself out,” she said, indicating the bag.

He smiled faintly and reached for the bag, tearing it open and taking a handful of chips. She poured the wine and slid a glass his way.

He lifted his glass to his mouth, but after a second he set it down again without drinking.

“My father has early-stage Alzheimer’s disease.”

It was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say and it took her a moment to process his words. “I’m so sorry. How long…?”

“He’s been diagnosed for about a year now. But he’s probably been deteriorating much longer.” He sighed. “He went missing this morning. Just wandered off without telling anyone. That’s why I had to rush to the city.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly.

“But you found him, right?”

“Yeah. He’s okay.”

“How old is he?”

“Fifty-nine.”

“That’s young.”

Flynn nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

“It must be tough on your mom. On all of you.”

He nodded again. He looked so defeated. If he were anyone else—a friend, a family member—she wouldn’t hesitate to pull him into her arms. Instead, she nudged his glass toward him.

“Drink your wine. You look like you need it.”

He swallowed a big mouthful. Then he looked at her, his eyes dark with unexpressed grief. “I don’t want to be the one who takes away his freedom. I don’t want to be his jailer.”

“To keep him safe, you mean?”



“I know someone has to do it. I know it has to happen. But I don’t want to be the one who says no to him.”

She thought about it for a beat, trying to understand, trying to find a way through this for him.

“I guess it’s a bit like parents with children,” she said slowly. “It’s always a balancing act between what they want and what’s good for them.”

Flynn blinked rapidly and brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Sorry. Usually I’m good with all this. I guess I’m just tired—”

“I’d be a basket case if this was happening to my family.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“I don’t know. Your high level of competence and compassion, maybe?”

He smiled slightly. “Got you fooled, haven’t I?”

She eyed him seriously. He had had her fooled. She’d thought he was living a blessed life. But he was as human and frail as the next person.

“Would you like some lasagna?” she asked.

It took him a second to switch gears. “That depends on whether I’m stealing your dinner or not.”

“Absolutely not—you’re stealing tomorrow night’s dinner. I always cook for two. Saves cleaning up. Plus it means I only have to come up with three meal ideas a week.”

He smiled. “In that case, lasagna sounds great.”

She crossed to the counter to collect cutlery and place mats.

“I’ll do that,” he said when she returned to set the table.

“Thanks. Push all that junky stuff to the other end.” She’d been doodling with some ideas for the orchard earlier and there was a stack of scrap paper and a fistful of pens and pencils cluttering the table.

She busied herself at the oven, using a knife to check that the pasta layers were tender before sliding the dish from the rack.

“You’ve been working on your orchard design.”

She saw that Flynn was studying one of the rough sketches she’d made that afternoon. “Butchering it, more like. Design is definitely not my forte.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Apart from the fact that I really suck at thinking in three dimensions, you mean?”

“Apart from that.”

She cut the lasagna into two portions and slid one onto each plate.

“I want to include a vegetable garden into the design, but I can’t work out how to integrate it with the orchard.”

“Right. That’s what these boxy things are. Garden beds.”

She shot him a look. “Are you making fun of my stick drawings?”

“Only a complete boor would dis a woman’s stick drawings when she was about to feed him lasagna.”

“Exactly.”

She ferried the dishes to the table. “You might want to give it a moment to cool.”

“So, do you want to use the whole clearing for the garden?” he asked.

She saw that he’d grabbed one of the scraps of paper and taken up a pencil.

“I don’t see why not. It seems stupid not to use all the available space.”

“The thing with incorporating different design elements into the one space is about making sure they either complement or contrast with each other…?.”

He quickly blocked in the cottages and the surrounding pathways and trees, creating a site plan.

“Is that all from memory?” she asked, impressed.

“Sure. Obviously it’s not to scale, but it’s an idea.”

“It’s bloody close to scale. It’s amazing.”

She studied him and his sketch intently as he added the orange tree and shaded in a few other details. Bits and pieces of information came together in her mind. His gardening expertise, the way he’d spoken about “incorporating design elements,” the way he’d rendered her garden plot in a few easy pencil strokes…

“I thought gardening was a hobby for you. But you’ve had training, haven’t you?”

He glanced at her and smiled briefly before returning his focus to the page. “Three years of horticulture and landscape design. I even had my own design firm for a while.”

“What happened to it?”

“I folded it.” He shifted in his chair, angling the piece of paper toward her a little more as he added ideas onto the page. “I think the key to making this work might be materials, and making a virtue of the demarcation between orchard and garden. How do you feel about using railway ties to create a series of interlinked garden beds? Keeping things really rough and rustic?”

He was playing it very cool, but there had been something in his eyes when he’d talked about his business.

“Why did you fold it?” she asked.

“Dad got sick. So, railway ties, yes or no? Thumbs up or thumbs down?”



She sat back in her chair. “You gave up your business for him?”

He shrugged. “It was always going to happen. Randall Developments is a third-generation business. You don’t walk away from that kind of legacy. When Dad retired I would have stepped into his shoes. In that respect, Verdant Design was always a pipe dream.”

He said it so calmly, so rationally. As though he’d simply swapped one make of car for another instead of abandoning something he obviously loved and changing the whole course of his life.

“You still haven’t answered my question about railway ties.”

She wanted to ask more questions about the business, about him. She wanted to understand, because suddenly he was a lot more than a handsome face and a hard body to her. Suddenly he was a person with depth and flaws and unimagined character.

But he was clearly uncomfortable with her probing, so she dropped her gaze to the paper between them.

“I have absolutely nothing against railway ties. In fact, I’m rather fond of them.”

“Good. How about we think about something like this…?.”

He filled in detail, describing his ideas so she could see it the way he obviously did in his mind. She asked questions, made suggestions, and at some point realized their lasagna was stone cold. She heated both portions in the microwave while Flynn finessed his design and they both studied his finished sketch while they ate.

“You’re really good at this,” she said after he’d explained the simplest way to construct the raised beds.

He shrugged modestly.



“I mean it. This is actually going to be beautiful, and not just some utilitarian jumble.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“You’re a dark horse, Flynn Randall.”

“Thank you. I think.”

She studied him. He studied her in return and slowly it dawned on her that neither of them had spoken for a while. The nervousness that always seemed to dog her when he was around returned, all guns blazing, and she pushed her chair back with a screech of metal legs on linoleum.

“Dessert,” she said. “Would you like dessert?”

He checked his watch. “Actually, I need to think about heading to Melbourne. What’s the best taxi service to use down here?”

“I’ll get you a number.”

She kept a card from a local driver in the business-card holder beside her phone and she started rifling through it. She could feel him watching her and self-consciousness turned her fingers to thumbs. She almost jumped out of her skin when the phone rang on the wall beside her.

She reached for the receiver while continuing to search. “Mel speaking.”

“It’s me,” her sister said. “I need a favor. Rex just dropped the phone charger down the toilet and Jacob’s got a big job tomorrow and his phone is practically dead. Can we borrow your charger?”

“Sure. Want me to drop it by?” Mel’s sister’s husband, Jacob, was a plumber, and she knew he needed his phone when he was out and about during the day.

“I’m already in the car. I’ll come grab it,” Justine said.

“Okay. See you soon.”



Mel put down the receiver and glanced at Flynn. “Sorry. That was my sister, Justine. She’s got a toilet-bowl-meets-phone-charger emergency.”

“I hate it when that happens.” He sat with one elbow on the table, his big body relaxed, his blue eyes watching her. She dropped her gaze to the holder and gave a silent sigh of relief when she spotted what she was looking for.

“Bingo.”

Now he could call his taxi and she could stop feeling like an idiot.

“Thanks.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as she passed the card over.

She cleared away their dishes while he spoke to the cab company, giving herself a stern talking-to all the while. Yes, he was an attractive man. A surprisingly good man. Yes, they’d had a nice hour or so together and there seemed to be a buzz of mutual attraction between them. But that didn’t mean anything was going to happen. It was stupid to let herself get so jumpy over something so small and everyday.

“Ten minutes,” Flynn said when he ended the call.

She wiped her hands dry and folded the tea towel over the oven handle. “Good. Great. I’ll go put the porch light on so they know which house it is.”

“I should probably wait outside, anyway,” he said.

“Sure.”

She led him to the front door, flicking on the outside light before opening the door and stepping outside.

It was chilly and she automatically crossed her arms over her chest.

“You don’t have to wait with me, it’s too cold,” Flynn said with a frown.



“I’m fine.” For some reason she was having trouble maintaining eye contact with him.

“Thanks for tonight, Mel. For everything. I really appreciate it.”

“Thanks for my new garden design.”

Two sets of headlights cut through the night as the taxi and her sister arrived from opposite directions. Her sister turned into the drive while the taxi parked out front.

“That was fast,” Flynn said.

“A new record,” she agreed. Her shoulders relaxed a notch. Sixty more seconds and he would be gone.

“Before I forget, don’t buy any plants for your garden without talking to me first, okay?” Flynn said. “I know a few guys who can help you out with wholesale plant stock.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. That’d be great.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, sliding a business card from one of the slots. “Email me with a list of anything you’re thinking of and I’ll run it by my contacts.”

“I will.” She looked at his card, running her thumb over the raised lettering of his name. When she glanced again Flynn was watching her, a warm, intent look in his eyes.

“I’ll see you later, Mel.” He leaned close, aiming a kiss at her cheek.

She was so startled by the unexpected gesture she flinched and his mouth dragged across her cheek an inch or so before winding up somewhere near her ear.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting…” She laughed, the sound high and horribly nervous.

For God’s sake, Porter, it’s just a kiss on the cheek.

“Then I’ll give you fair warning this time.”



She went very still as his hands landed on her shoulders and he leaned forward again. This time his kiss landed square in the middle of her left cheek.

“Look after yourself, Mel.”

She watched as he stepped away. Justine was coming up the walkway and they crossed paths, Flynn giving her a small smile as he passed her by.

“My God. Who was that?” Justine asked the moment she hit the porch. Her sister shared the same slim, slight build and straight dark hair as their mother and her grin was wide and curious as she waited for Mel to answer.

“His name is Flynn Randall. He’s the guy who bought Summerlea.”

The interested, speculative look dropped from her sister’s face like a rock. “The rich guy?” She said rich as though it was a dirty word. “What was he doing over here?”

“Something came up for him today and I helped him out.”

Justine’s mouth thinned. “Don’t do it, Mel. Don’t get sucked in by another one of those I-own-the-world a*sholes.”

Mel frowned at her sister’s motherly tone. “I’m not getting sucked in by anyone. He’s moved into the area, I was helping him out. He’s interested in gardening, I’m interested in gardening. That’s all it is.”

“Gardening.”

“Yes. Gardening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just, if you’d seen me scuttle away from his house the other night when he told me he’d broken up with his girlfriend, you would know exactly how ridiculous this conversation is.”



“What were you doing at his house?”

“My God, you’re nosy. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I’m protective. There’s a difference.”

“You don’t need to protect me. That’s my job.”

“Okay. Just make sure you do it this time.”

Mel flinched. Justine’s face creased with instant contrition.

“Jesus. Sorry. I’m not sure where that came from.”

Mel did. Her sister had urged her to walk away from her marriage half a dozen times before Mel had finally bitten the bullet and done it. But it was always easier to make big, brave calls from the sidelines. Especially when you hadn’t been demoralized by years of put-downs and criticisms.

“I need to dig that charger out for you,” Mel said, pivoting on her heel and heading into the house.

Her sister followed her, watching from the study doorway as Mel stuck her hand down the back of the desk to try to pull the charger from the outlet. She could just reach it with her fingertips.

“I’m sorry,” Justine said after a moment.

The plug was wedged in too tightly and Mel couldn’t get a good grip on it. She dropped to her knees and crawled under her desk, yanking the damned thing free. When she emerged, she looked at her sister.

“I know I made mistakes, Just. If I had it to do over, there are about a million things I would change. But I don’t need you judging me as well. I’ve got enough of that going on in my own head, without you joining in.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just get so angry on your behalf sometimes.”

Mel stood and handed the charger over. “I know. And I appreciate your concern. But you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve learned my lesson. Believe me. No one will ever do that to me again.”

Mel had made a vow to herself in the early weeks of her separation. It had been a painful time as she’d struggled to come to terms with how much of herself she’d given away during her marriage. Sitting with her new self-awareness, looking back over the past six years with wiser, sadder eyes, she’d made a promise—never again would she put herself in another person’s power the way she had during her marriage.

Never.

Justine nodded. “I believe you.”

They walked to the door. Justine put her arms around Mel and gave her a hug. “I really am sorry.”

“Forget about it. It’s okay,” Mel said.

And it was okay. Her sister had been a rock in the aftermath of her marriage; she could hardly blame Justine for wanting to protect her from future hurts, even if the only person who could ever really do that was Mel herself.

“Thanks for the charger. I’ll pick up a new one tomorrow and get this back to you ASAP,” Justine said as she started down the steps toward her car.

“No worries.” Mel stood on the porch in the cold for a while after her sister had driven away. It was strange, but out of all the things that her sister had said, the two things that lingered were Justine’s comment about Mel not protecting herself and the disparaging reference her sister had made to Flynn, calling him an “I-own-the-world a*shole.” Standing in the cool darkness, Mel felt…not guilty, but close to it for not correcting her sister’s assumptions. Flynn had shared a meal with her as well as offering her a window into matters that were clearly deeply important to him. He might be wealthy, but he wasn’t an imperious a*shole. He was open and interested and friendly and talented and creative and incredibly generous, given what he’d sacrificed for his father, and she felt as though she’d betrayed him by letting her sister’s disparaging comment slip by.

I like him.

It was a fairly obvious realization, but it hit her like a slap. It was one thing to be attracted to him—she figured that was simply about being female and having eyes in her head—but to like the man behind the gorgeous face…that was a different matter entirely. It felt much more dangerous and threatening, especially after the conversation she’d had with her sister.

Unsettled, she reentered her house, heading for the kitchen to check the possibilities for dessert. Instantly, she spotted Flynn’s keys, sitting on the counter. She’d forgotten to give them back to him.

Oh, well done, Porter. Well done.