Chasing Perfect

“You like that they think you’re out ha**g s*x 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 h*ps 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.

CHAPTER SIX

CHARITY 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.”

JOSH 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 certainly 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.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT CHARITY 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.”