Susan Mallery Fool's Gold Series Volume One: Chasing Perfect\Almost Perfect\Sister of the Bride\Finding Perfect (9 page)

“Good,” Robert said, looking pleased. “Are you ready to order?”

“Um, sure.” She glanced at her menu, wondering how she was going to be able to eat. Acting something close to normal was going to take all her energy and attention. Honestly, when she got back to the hotel, she was going to have to figure out a way to get over this Josh thing.

She randomly picked a chicken and pasta dish, then closed the menu and reached for her wine. Inadvertently, her gaze slipped a little to the right. Josh was looking at her, his eyes bright with humor. She found herself wanting to laugh.

Reluctantly she turned her attention back to Robert, who was a very nice man. A far better bet than Josh. Apparently she was going to have to keep reminding herself of that over and over again. Eventually it would sink in. It had to.

* * *

J
OSH LEANED BACK IN
his chair. “You did this on purpose.”

Marsha didn't look up from her menu. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Sure you do. You're one of the smartest people I know.”

She set down the menu. “And let me say how much I appreciate you saying
people
and not
women.
”

“You're welcome, but not the point. You knew Robert and Charity were coming here for dinner.”

“Did I?” Marsha managed to look both innocent and smug at the same time. “Are they here? I didn't notice.”

Josh knew better. “You asked for this table. You wanted me facing her.”

Marsha smoothed her white hair. “I am a very busy woman, Josh. I don't have time to worry about your latest conquest, however interesting she might be.”

“Don't play matchmaker.”

“Afraid it might work?”

The real problem was he didn't want to hurt his friend. Marsha had been good to him and he owed her. “Setting up people never goes well. Don't you watch reality television?”

“No,” she said. “And neither do you. Why don't you like Charity?”

He studied the woman in question. Despite the fact that she was on a date, she was still dressed like a conservative schoolteacher. A plain dress, buttoned all the way to the collar. The loose fit and boxy jacket revealed nothing. Did she lack confidence or feel she had something to hide?

He found himself wanting to know which, nearly as much as he wanted to slowly unfasten each and every button and reveal the smooth, warm skin under
neath. Just as troubling, he found himself wanting to talk to her. Just talk.

Not gonna happen, he reminded himself. At least sex was safe. But getting involved? No way.

“I like her fine,” he said.

“But?”

“She's not my type.”

“You don't have a type. That would require being picky.”

He raised his eyebrows.

Marsha sighed. “I didn't mean that the way it came out. It's just you haven't gotten serious about anyone since Angelique. The divorce was over two years ago. It's time to move on.”

His lack of dating or interest in dating had nothing to do with Angelique, but he wasn't going to tell Marsha that.

“I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine.”

“No, you're not. You're lonely. And don't pretend otherwise. I'm old and you have to respect me.”

“Even when you're wrong?”

She stared at him, her blue eyes unyielding. “Then tell me I'm wrong. Lie to me, if you can.”

He couldn't and she knew it. “Charity's looking for something I can't give her.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “She's not the one.”

“You can't know that until you've spent some time with her.”

“Can you be bought off?”

“How much are you offering?” She shook her head. “I'll stop pushing. At least for now. You know I care about you, right?”

“I do.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You've always supported me.”

“I just want you to be happy. Men don't do well alone. You need someone in your life. I think Charity needs someone, too. She hasn't said anything, but if I had to guess, I would say she's coming off a bad breakup. So she would understand.”

“About the divorce?”

Marsha nodded.

What his friend didn't get was that the problem wasn't his divorce. That was just a symptom of everything that had gone wrong.

The truth was, he'd enjoyed a lot about the theory of being married. He was basically a homebody. Angelique had wanted to go out more nights than not, but his best times with her had been spent with just the two of them. He wanted that again—a connection, the familiarity of knowing everything about someone. He'd always thought he would be just like everyone else, with a wife and a couple of kids.

But until he fixed what was wrong inside of him, until he was whole again, he couldn't be with anyone. He wasn't asking to rule the world, just be the man he'd been before.

“I'll be quiet now,” Marsha told him.

“If only that were true.”

She laughed.

Josh felt his gaze slipping over Marsha's shoulder, where he could see Charity speaking intently with Robert.

They looked like they belonged together, like they could be a couple. Charity would be better off with someone like Robert. A regular guy without a lot of baggage. Without the ghosts that kept him always searching for an answer he could never find.

* * *

T
HE REST OF
C
HARITY'S
week flew by in a blur of meetings and planning. She'd managed to set up an initial conversation with a large hospital that was thinking of expanding. She was determined to convince them that Fool's Gold was the best possible location for them.

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.”