Chasing Perfect (7 page)

By late Friday she was tired and oddly restless. She tried to watch television and when that didn't work, she went downstairs where the hotel kept a small library of DVDs. None of them appealed. On a whim, Charity went back to her room, grabbed a green hoodie and headed outside.

It was a little after nine, dark and cool, but warmer than it had been. Spring had finally arrived, chasing away the last of the below-freezing temperatures. Streetlights flooded the sidewalks and made her feel safe, as did the women she saw who were out and about. There weren't a lot but she knew several of them by sight, if not by name.

She walked by the bookstore but Morgan was long gone. She usually saw him sweeping his front porch and stopped to talk at least a couple of times a week. Knowing he was a part of the landscape of Fool's Gold made her feel as if she'd made the right decision to move here.

She crossed the street to walk by the park. Even in the dark she could see the shapes of the spring flowers waving slightly in the light breeze.

Tomorrow night she had a date with Robert. They were going to Margaritaville, and while she appreciated the invitation, when he'd mentioned the restaurant, all she'd been able to think about was Josh warning her about the margaritas with extra shots.

It wasn't Robert's fault, she reminded herself. Josh was practically larger than life, a force of nature. Someone normal and nice could easily get overlooked. She was determined to make sure that didn't happen.

She continued to walk by the park. Across the street was the sporting goods store. A flash of movement caught her eye and she stopped when she saw someone riding a bike up the paved driveway beside the store and circle around back. The rider looked amazingly like Josh, except he'd told her he never rode anymore.

Charity crossed the street. She had to be mistaken. Why would he tell her he didn't ride if he did? What was the big deal? So it was someone else. She just wanted to make sure.

As she rounded the back of the building, she saw a small shed tucked in the trees. The door stood open. As she watched, a man finished pulling on jeans. He drew a sweatshirt on over his head and stepped into boots.

The overhead bulb wasn't very bright but it gave off enough light for her to identify the man. Josh looked up and saw her.

“You said you didn't ride,” she told him, blurting out the first thing that came to her.

“I didn't know you were going to spy on me.” He stepped out of the shed. After closing the door, he locked it behind him, then walked toward her.

He was flushed and sweating, his breathing a little fast, as if he'd just finishing a grueling workout. Nothing about this made sense, but the far more interesting fact was that her curiosity seemed to be enough of a distraction that she could control her reaction to him. Or at least keep it more manageable. The tingles were still there, as was the awareness. But she wanted to know what was going on nearly as much as she wanted to rub against him and purr.

Progress, she thought happily. Maybe in time she would be able to have an entire conversation without hearing her hormones chanting.

“I wasn't spying,” she said, still confused by his actions. “I saw you go riding by. At least I thought it was you.” The pieces all fell together. “Is this what you do every night? Ride? Are you coming back to the
hotel tired and sweaty from exercise? You know, everyone thinks you're off having sex.”

“Including you?”

“I'm not the one who had a girl waiting in my room.”

He flashed her that killer smile and her knees went weak.

“People would talk if you did,” he said. “In a different way than how they talk about me.”

“I'm sure that's true.” She studied him in the lamplight. He looked good. Not that she thought there was a time when Josh didn't. “Everyone said there weren't any secrets in Fool's Gold.”

“Then this is the only one.”

“Why do you ride at night?”

He stared at her, as if judging…no, not judging. Gauging. But what? If she could be trusted? If she was really interested? She found herself wanting to urge him to believe in her. She wanted to say she would never let him down.

That was the hormones talking, she told herself, even as she continued to hope he would explain himself.

“I ride at night because riding during the day isn't an option.”

 

J
OSH HADN'T BEEN SURE
he would tell her, but now he'd started and there was no going back.

Maybe he wanted someone to know his guilty secret. Maybe it was how she looked in her jeans and
hoodie, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Less proper, more approachable. Not that he'd ever been intimidated by a woman. Maybe it was the way she stared at him as if she really wanted to understand.

She already didn't think very much of him. Telling her wouldn't change anything.

“How much do you know about me?” he asked.

She groaned. “Tell me this isn't about your ego, because if it is…”

“That's not what I meant. How much do you know about the riding, and why I stopped?”

“You retired. You said so. It's a young man's game.”

“Nothing else?”

“Is there more?”

“There's always more.”

He moved toward the sidewalk. She kept pace with him.

“I ride at night because I don't want anyone to know I'm still riding. If people see me, they'll ask questions. They'll want me to be in charity races or consider going back to it and I can't.”

“Why not? Are you injured?”

“A kid crashed during my last race. He was a teammate. I was supposed to look out for him. He crashed and he died.”

“Do you blame yourself for that?”

“In part.”

“Was it your fault?”

He stopped walking and shoved his hands into the
front pockets of his jeans. “You ever see a pack go down? One guy wobbles, bumps another and it's all over for everyone. The only thing you can do is save yourself. I got out and Frank didn't.”

Once again he saw his friend flying through the air. He heard the sickening sound of Frank's body hitting the road.

She stared up at him, her brown eyes dark and questioning in the night. “But you didn't have anything to do with the crash, right?”

“No.”

“And you didn't cause him to go down.”

He shook his head.

“Then it's not that you killed him.”

She made a statement rather than asking a question.

Impressive, he thought, surprised she'd already figured it out. A few of his buddies had come to talk to him, trying to get him to join them again. They told him it wasn't his fault, that no one blamed him. They all thought it was about guilt.

In a way they were right—the guilt was there. Strong. Powerful. It chased him, doing its best to suck him down. But it wasn't the real problem.

“I can't ride with anyone else,” he said quietly, staring over her head, at the black sky. “I can't be next to another rider without losing it. I panic, like a little girl. I can't breathe, I shake.”

“Isn't that just anxiety? Can't you talk to someone or take something?”

“Probably, but you can't ride professionally if you're weak or drugged.”

“This isn't about being weak.”

“Sure it is.” It was about being weak and broken and humiliated. It was about failing. “From what you see and know, this is a sport of individuals, right? But it's not really that way. There are teams. We ride in groups, in a pack. I can't do any of that. I couldn't go riding with you without falling apart. The need, the fire, is still inside of me, but I can't reach it or touch it.

Whatever was there is buried in a pile of shit so deep, I'll never be able to dig it out.”

He thought she would step back then. Turn away in disgust. That's what Angelique had done. Curled her perfect lip at him and said she wasn't interested in a coward for a husband. She wanted a real man. Then she'd walked out.

He'd bared his deepest flaw, had exposed his soul and she'd left. That's what people did. They left when you were broken. His mother had taught him that.

Charity surprised him. She continued to stare at him, then she shook her head. “I don't believe you. If that fire is there, it'll find a way.”

If only, he thought grimly. “Want to tell me when?

I have a life to get back to.”

“You mean you're not content living as a small-town god?”

“Deity status aside, I don't want to end my career like this.” A loser. Afraid.

“Not to get too metaphysical on you, but maybe there's a reason this happened.”

“If that's true, then so is that old saying. Payback's a bitch.” He shrugged. “It's okay, Charity. This isn't your problem. Go ahead and tell me that I'll figure it out and be fine.”

“That won't solve anything.”

“But you'll feel better.”

“I felt fine before.”

She started toward the hotel. He walked with her.

“You like that they think you're out having sex with fifty different women a night,” she said.

“It beats the truth.” He jerked his head toward the buildings next to them. “I grew up here. The good people of Fool's Gold have a lot invested in me. I don't want them to know the truth.”

“There's nothing bad here. You had a very natural reaction to a horrible circumstance.”

“I got spooked during a race. It's not like I faced sniper fire in a war.”

“You're too hard on yourself.”

“Not possible.”

“Oh, please. Don't be such a guy.”

“If I wasn't, my reputation would be even more interesting.”

She laughed. The sweet sound carried on the night.

She was easy to be with, he thought. Nice. Down to earth. She hadn't bolted, which he appreciated and he believed she wouldn't tell anyone what he'd told her.

When they were within sight of the hotel, he stopped. “You go on ahead.”

“Why?”

“Do you want people to think we were together?”

“We were just walking.”

“Come on, Charity. You've been in town what—three weeks? You really believe that's what they'll tell each other?”

“Probably not.”

He raised his eyebrows.

She smiled. “Definitely not. Okay. Point taken. I'll go first.”

She took a step, then turned back. “They love you. They would understand.”

“They love the guy on the poster.”

“They might surprise you.”

“Not in a good way.”

“I didn't know you were a cynic.”

“I'm a realist,” he told her. “And so are you.”

“I think you're underestimating their affection.”

“It's not a risk I'm willing to take.”

She started to say something, then shook her head and walked across the street.

He watched her go. The sway of her hips drew his gaze to her butt. She was pretty in a quiet kind of way.
Hers was a beauty that would age well. Before, when he'd really been Josh Golden, he could have had her in a heartbeat. The irony was back then he wouldn't have slowed down long enough to notice her.

Life sure had a sense of humor.

C
HARITY DID EVERYTHING
she could think of to prep for her meeting with the hospital committee. This was her first real chance to prove herself and she wanted everything to go perfectly.

She'd loaded her presentation on her new laptop and then had backed it up on Robert's, just in case. She'd researched the competing locations, checked for large, recent donations and walked the proposed site herself. She felt comfortable with the information and ready to make her case.

At exactly nine-thirty on Tuesday morning, eight people walked into the conference room. Charity was ready for them.

Mayor Marsha spoke first, welcoming them to Fool's Gold and assuring everyone how much the town wanted the new hospital campus. Marsha went over a few of the more important facts—the tax breaks, the incredibly reasonable price of the land, the grants they'd already made progress on.

Marsha and Charity had spent most of the previous day going over what each of them would say, so
Charity was prepared for each of Marsha's points. The mayor finished with a joke about the golf courses in the area, which was Charity's signal that it was her turn.

From her research she knew that of the eight members on the committee, the real powerhouse was Dr. Daniels. A trauma care doctor used to dealing with impossible situations, he liked to get to the point, make a decision and move on. He considered serving on the committee a waste of his important time, so he wanted the business settled quickly. Charity planned to use that to her advantage.

She passed out folders, then flipped on her computer.

“I know you're all very busy,” she began. “So I want to first thank you for taking the time to come to Fool's Gold. My goal is to provide you with the information you need to make the right decision for your hospital expansion.” She paused to smile. “And explain to each of you why Fool's Gold is the right place at the right time. Not only do we offer excellent housing for your staff, superior schools for your children and a warm and welcoming community filled with qualified workers, we simply want you here more. We're determined to do whatever is necessary to convince you that this is exactly where your hospital needs to be.”

She began her PowerPoint presentation, clicking through several glossy photos of the area. The real
meat of the meeting came next, with plenty of statistics on skilled labor, potential patients and quality-of-life issues. For Dr. Daniels, she threw in a mini sales pitch.

“We're in desperate need of trauma care,” she said as she clicked to display another graph. “We might not get the gunshot wounds of a gang-infested city, but we have other issues. Skiing and hiking accidents on the mountains, car accidents, especially during winter and tourist seasons. Last year three rock climbers fell. Two died before they could reach the trauma center in San Francisco. If we'd had our own trauma center, those two young men would still be alive today.”

She moved on to the number of births per year, illustrating the need for a new maternity center. By noon she'd gone through all the details she and Marsha had decided were necessary.

“If you'll come with me, we have lunch set up downstairs,” she said, motioning to the door. “At one o'clock, we'll take you on a tour of the area and have you on the road by two, as you requested.”

Everyone rose and started out of the room. Dr. Daniels, a handsome man in his mid forties, paused. “You listened. We told each of the towns we wanted to be done by two. One of the other places kept us until five, the other got us out at four-thirty.”

Charity shrugged. “A partnership has to go both ways. Of course there's more I want you to see and hear, but I respect your time. We have a lot to offer, Dr.
Daniels. I hope you'll give us the opportunity to show you that.”

“I see that. An excellent presentation. I'm impressed.”

“Then I did my job.”

 

J
OSH LEFT THE HOTEL
a little after seven in the evening. It was early for him to go riding, what with the days getting longer, but he was restless. Normally he enjoyed his quarters at the hotel, but lately they'd felt confining. He could always move into one of the houses he owned. At any given time one of the rentals was usually available. But what would he do in a house all on his own?

He walked through the center of town, then stopped across the street from Jo's Bar. The place had been there for years. There had been a dozen or so owners in the past decade. The location worked but the owners never seemed to make a go of it. Then three years ago Josephine Torrelli had shown up and bought the place. She'd hired a crew of construction guys, demolished the place down to the beams and built it up to look like a quiet, welcoming neighborhood bar that catered primarily to women. There were a couple of big TVs showing reality TV and home shopping for the largely female crowd. All the guys got were a couple of TVs over the long bar and well-priced beer.

There were a lot of rumors about Jo. Some said she was a former child star with money to burn. She'd cer
tainly had plenty to sink into the remodel. Others said she was running from an abusive husband and using an assumed name. A few believed she was a mafia princess determined to make it far away from her east-coast family.

Josh suspected the latter was the most likely story. Jo, a pretty woman in her mid-thirties, seemed to know a little too much about life to have been raised in the 'burbs. He knew she kept a loaded gun behind the bar, and when a fight had broken out last year, she'd looked more than ready to use it. Which also gave credence to the abusive husband story, he thought as he crossed the street and walked into the bar.

The place was well lit without breaking the mood. Baseball played on the small TVs. Giants on one, Oakland on the other. A few die-hard Dodger fans huddled around one of the smaller screens. The larger flat screen showed skinny models walking down a runway. There were several groups of women around round tables and balloons proclaiming it was someone's birthday. A few guys played pool at the lone table in the back.

Several of the customers greeted him. He waved and made his way to the bar.

“Beer,” he told Jo before turning to watch the Giants. A commercial filled the screen. He looked away, glancing at the women at tables, about to face the bar again, when he saw someone he knew in a corner.

Ethan Hendrix sat with one of his brothers and a third guy. Josh stiffened. This seemed his week for dealing with the past, he thought grimly.

In a perfect world he would walk over to Ethan and they would talk. The past had been over for years. It was time to get over it. He'd phoned Ethan a few times over the past couple of years, but his old friend had never returned the calls. Now he couldn't seem to move and Ethan never glanced in his direction. Then Jo was putting a beer in front of him.

He took a sip.

“Good,” he said. “Where's it from?”

“A microbrewery in Oregon. South of Portland. The guy came through with samples. You have to respect that. Apparently he travels up and down the west coast, trying to get places to take his beer.”

“Does that make you a sucker for a sad story?”

She grinned. “Maybe. What of it? You ready to take me on, Golden?”

“And get beaten by a girl? No, thanks.”

“You know it. I'm tough to the bone. Ethan's here,” she added, speaking low enough that only he could hear.

“I saw that.”

“You could talk to him.”

“I could.”

He didn't question how Jo, who had only been in town three years, knew about his past with Ethan. Jo had a way of finding out things.

“You're both idiots,” she said. “In case you were wondering. He's as bad as you, acting all pouty.”

Josh chuckled. “There's ten bucks in it for you if you say that to his face.”

“I don't need the money. You're wallowing in guilt and he's playing the martyr. It's like living in the middle of
Hamlet.
”

He frowned. “How do you figure?”

“I don't know. It's the only Shakespearean play I could think of. Well, there's always
Romeo and Juliet,
but that doesn't fit. You know what I mean. Just go talk to him.”

She was right, he told himself, as he put down his beer. He would walk over and…

He turned on the stool, but Ethan and his friends were gone, the table empty.

“Next time,” Jo said when he faced her again.

“Sure. Next time.”

She moved on to another customer. Josh sipped his beer, thinking about Ethan, wondering how things would have been different if he'd been the one injured instead of his friend. He had a feeling Ethan wouldn't have lost his nerve. He would still be racing.

The pool game finished up. One of the guys walked toward Josh and sat next to him at the bar.

“Hey, Josh.”

“Mark.”

“You still thinking of heading to France this summer? We could use another win.”

Sure. Because that's how it happened. A person woke up one morning and thought “I'm going to enter the Tour de France” and that was it.

“Not this year. I'm still retired.”

Mark, a plumber in town, punched him in the arm. “You're too young to retire, but not too rich. Am I right?”

Josh nodded and smiled, then wondered why he'd bothered to come into the bar.

He wasn't interested in winning another race. At this point, he simply wanted the ability to compete. To do what he did before. What he took for granted.

“My kid's pretty good,” Mark said when Jo handed him a beer. “Fast on his bike. He wants to race. You know, like you did. We're thinking of sending him to one of those schools. He's begging me every day.”

“There are a couple of good places. How old is he?”

“Fourteen.”

“That's kind of young.”

“That's what his mom and I say. He's too young to be on his own. But he won't leave it alone. Weren't you going to open a racing school here, in town?”

That had been the plan—back before the accident. Josh had several bids on construction, most of the money and his eye on a piece of property. But to do that, to commit himself to being a part of the school, meant riding again. Not a humiliation he was willing to take on right now.

“I've thought about it,” he admitted, then wished he hadn't.

“You should do it. Solve our problem. You're famous, man. Lots of people would come to ride with you. I bet they'd do a story about you on CNN.”

That's what he was afraid of, Josh thought grimly.

“Something to think about,” he said and drained his beer. He dropped a few bills on the counter, then stood. “See you, Mark.”

“Yeah. Think about it. The racing school. It could be great.”

It could, Josh thought as he left the bar and headed back to the hotel. It could be a damned miracle. Because that's what it would take.

 

W
EDNESDAY NIGHT
C
HARITY
followed the directions Pia had given her, walking to the west part of town where the houses were older and larger, seated majestically on huge lots with mature trees. She saw the well-lit two story on the corner and walked up to the front door.

Pia opened it before she could knock. “You came. Welcome.” Pia giggled. “Okay, I brought tequila and margarita mix and I've been sampling. What the hell. We're all walking, so let's have fun.”

Tequila? “I just brought a couple of bottles of wine,” Charity said, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. Girls' night out had sounded like fun, but she couldn't afford to get really drunk. She had meetings in the morning.

“Wine is great,” Pia said, swaying slightly, then grabbing the door frame for support. “Maybe I'll have some.”

A tall, pretty brunette appeared behind Pia and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You need to lie down, kid.”

“I'm fine,” Pia said. “Don't I look fine to you? I feel fine.”

The woman smiled at Charity. “Don't be frightened. Every now and then Pia feels the need to live up to the party image. It's not a big deal.”

“I can respect that,” Charity said.

“Me, too. I'm Jo, your hostess for this month's girls' night. Come on in.”

“I'm Charity.”

“I figured that. We're glad to have you.” Jo maneuvered Pia away from the door.

Charity followed the two of them into the house.

It was one of those great old places, with hardwood floors and plenty of built-ins. She suspected what had once been a lot of little rooms had been remodeled into several larger rooms. A fireplace large enough to hold an entire cow dominated the far wall. There were several sofas, comfy-looking chairs and a group of women looking at her curiously.

A thin blonde stood and reached for Pia. “You sit by me,” she said. “I'll take care of you.”

“Just for tonight,” Pia said, slumping down on a sofa. “Tomorrow I take care of you.”

“Tomorrow you'll be puking your guts out.” The woman smiled at Charity. “Hi. I'm Crystal.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Charity was introduced to the other women and did her best to remember their names. Renee/Michelle was there and Charity was surprised to learn her name was actually Desiree. When the introductions were finished, Jo led Charity into the kitchen.

“You can see what's open, what's in the blender and what you can create on your own.”

The kitchen had been partially updated. The counters and sink appeared new, but the stove was from the forties and the cabinets looked like they might have been original.

“Great place,” Charity said.

“I like it. I know it's big for just me, but I enjoy the space.” She pointed to the array of bottles on the counter. “Wine, both colors, margaritas in the blender, unless Pia drank them all. Mixers, vodka, Bailey's. You name it, we have it.”