“We could make the race longer,” one guy yelled.
“Not helpful.” But Pia was smiling as she spoke.
“What’s heads in beds?” Josh asked Charity.
“People spending the night in town or nearby. An overnight event. Like a weekend festival. The race is just part of a day.”
“Aah. Thanks.”
Pia went through her list. Charity found herself agreeing to work on the advertising committee, as well.
“I’m on advertising, too,” Josh told her when the meeting wrapped up. “It’s easy. Just get a few businesses to sponsor.”
“Don’t you own several businesses in town?” she asked.
“Uh huh, and I promise to be generous.”
“Lucky me.”
“I’d say so.” He walked out with her. “You started looking for your own place yet?” he asked.
“I’m going to a few open houses this weekend to get a feel for the real estate market. I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for.”
“More of a ‘I’ll know it when I find it’ shopper?”
“Something like that. I’ve never actually owned my own home before,” she admitted. “When I got out of college, I was focused on paying off my student loans and saving money. I moved to Henderson right at the peak of the real estate bubble, so I couldn’t afford anything I wanted. Then the market started to flatten and I wanted to wait until it was closer to the bottom. By then…”
Why had she started this detailed discussion of real estate?
Josh stood, waiting, looking at her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze and while she was sure he didn’t mean it to be smoldering, it felt hot to her.
“By then I was involved with someone,” she admitted, hoping she didn’t blush, despite feeling foolish.
“You wanted to wait and see if the two of you would be buying a place together,” he finished. “Makes sense. I’ll guess that you being here means it wasn’t a slam dunk?”
Despite the faint warmth on her cheeks, she laughed. “You men do love a good sports metaphor.”
“It’s in our blood.”
“No, it wasn’t a slam dunk. We broke up a few months ago. I found out about the job here and made the move. So this will be the first house I buy myself.”
“You were born to own a home.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re responsible, you want to be settled and you’d look great on a porch swing.” His gaze wandered down her body before returning to her eyes. “In shorts.”
The warmth in her cheeks deepened. “If that was a compliment, then thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Not that you don’t look great tonight. I like the red.”
He put his hand on the small of her back and led her out of the room. She tried not to notice the contact, even when it burned through to her skin.
“By the way, I know of a house coming on the market. It’s in a great part of town. Built around 1910, but fully remodeled. The electrical and plumbing have been brought up to code. It’s not huge, but I think you’d like it. I, ah, know the owner and could get the key. Want me to show it to you?”
“Sure.”
She told herself she was only interested in the house, but she knew she was lying. What she was hoping was that in the quiet of an empty house, Josh would try to have his way with her. Not that she would give in, but she was sure looking forward to the discussion.
SATURDAY MORNING CHARITY met Josh at the Starbucks on the corner. She ordered her nonfat latte, then splurged with a couple of pumps of mocha flavoring. Josh stood talking to a couple of women who were obviously trying to convince him of something. She waited until the other women walked off before joining him.
“That was intense,” she said as she followed him outside.
“They want me to open a training camp here in town. A place for kids to take their riding to the next level. There are a few of them in the country.”
She thought about what she knew about his past. “And?”
“It’s an idea.”
“Not one you want to take on?”
“Not today.”
They started down the sidewalk.
“We’re walking?” she asked.
“It’s about a mile. Want to drive?”
“No. I like to walk. Living here will cut down on tire wear and tear.”
They passed a couple of women jogging. They waved at them. Charity saw the woman on the left whisper something to her friend and point. She grimaced.
“We’re a couple, aren’t we?” she asked with a sigh. “I totally forgot about the consequences of people seeing us together.”
“Do you mind the gossip?”
“Not if no one asks for details.”
“They’ll expect you to tell them I’m a god in bed.”
Probably, she thought, grinning. “Are you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Want references?”
“So you have them?”
“I could get a couple.”
“Thanks, but I’ll wing it if anyone asks.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” she murmured, then sipped her coffee.
A god in bed. If anyone could meet that criterion, she had a feeling it would be Josh. He was a complete and total temptation, but one she planned to resist. He was practically worshipped everywhere he went and she was just a regular person. She’d studied mythology in school. She knew what happened to mere mortals who dared to stray into the realm of gods.
Of course, a couple of days ago, she was hoping he would make a pass at her. When it came to Josh, she simply couldn’t decide if it was better to be good or be bad. Although she knew which option would be more fun.
They crossed the street and walked into a residential neighborhood filled with beautiful old houses. A few had been completely updated, thereby losing their charm, but most retained elements of the original architecture. There were big trees that stretched across the street, touching branches and providing shade. Intricately carved fences surrounded lush gardens. He pointed to a white house with blue-gray trim.
“That’s it.”
She stared at the two-story structure, the wide front porch and big windows. Everything about the house welcomed her.
“I already love it,” she said.“Wait until you see the inside.”
He pulled a key out of his jeans pocket and unlocked the front door. They stepped into the stillness.
Light spilled in the windows, illuminating the polished hardwood floors. The living room was large, with a fireplace and Craftsman style built-ins. There was a dining room, also with built-in storage and a small library with bookshelves that went up to the ceiling.
Everywhere she looked she spotted amazing details. The baseboards were at least eight inches high and crown molding emphasized the plaster ceiling. In the kitchen, the appliances were refurbished fifties style and blended perfectly with sleek new cabinets and a slate floor. There was an eat-in nook and French doors that led out into the garden.
A lot like Jo’s house, she thought with a happy sigh. Only better.
“I love it,” she said wistfully. “I don’t even have to see the upstairs. It’s beautiful, but I have a feeling it’s out of my price range.”
“I know the owner and he’ll deal.”
“Is there anyone in town you don’t know?”
“There might be a couple of babies I haven’t met yet.”
“Life in a small town,” she said.
“It works.”
She turned in the center of the kitchen, admiring the light fixtures, the original doors, the feeling of home and space.
“You’re not the least bit tempted to buy something like this for yourself?” she asked.
“I like where I live.”
“But it’s a hotel.”
“Exactly. No maintenance, cleaning service is provided and I get a break on pay-per-view movies.”
Because he owned the hotel, she thought, trying to keep her attention on the house rather than the man. She was alone with Josh in a quiet, empty space. If she didn’t keep her mind focused, she was in danger of throwing herself at him and begging to find out if he really was a god in bed.
“Don’t you get tired of the room service menu?”
“They take requests.”
“From you.” She shook her head. “A rock star in a small town. I can’t imagine.”
“It has its benefits.”
“And the downsides?”
His gaze locked with hers. “There are those, too.”
Something stirred deep in her belly. Determined to stay strong, she deliberately switched the conversation. “Still riding alone at night?”
He nodded.
“Have you talked to anyone about what happened? A sports psychologist?”
He glanced away. “When it first happened. I’ve seen the pictures, the TV coverage. I know there was nothing I could have done. But knowing and believing aren’t the same thing.”
There was something in his voice, a hopelessness. As if something important had been lost.
“You want to go back,” she said quietly.
“Every damn day. I miss being who I was. Not the fame, but the competition. Winning. The training. I ride here, but it’s not the same. I miss my teammates, the anticipation of the race.”
She suspected he missed the fame, as well. Who wouldn’t?
“You’ve tried riding with other people?” she asked.
He stiffened. “More than once.” He glanced at his watch in obvious dismissal. “We should see the upstairs.”
Without thinking, she crossed to him, then lightly touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. The past, I mean. It’s not my business.”
One corner of his mouth twisted into a smile. “I’m not delicate, Charity. You can say what you want.”
She seemed unable to look away from his mouth. The shape of his upper lip, the unexpected fullness of the bottom one. She remembered the feel of his kiss, how she’d wanted to surrender. He was a man with way too much power.
“I’m seeing someone.”
The words fell out of her without warning.
Josh looked more amused than put off. “Robert?”
“Uh-huh. We’ve been out to dinner.”
“I remember hearing something about that. He’s a good guy.”
Now she felt stupid. What had she expected? That Josh would get jealous and tell her to stop seeing Robert? That he would make a move on her?
“Yes, he is,” she said primly. “A very nice man.”
“I hope the two of you will be very happy together.
The upstairs is that way.”
She moved toward the stairs, when in truth she felt like both crying and stomping her foot. She did neither. Instead she followed him to the second floor and tried to tell herself it was for the best. Wanting Josh was a one-way ticket to disasterville. A place where she’d already spent way too much time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHARITY WAS LOOKING forward to her meeting with Ethan Hendrix. He was a tall, good-looking guy. He and Josh used to be best friends and ride together. Then Ethan had gotten hurt ten or twelve years ago. The details on the whole thing were vague at best and she hadn’t been able to figure out a way to ask without appearing too interested in either man.
Ethan owned a construction company in town and a wind turbine manufacturing facility about ten miles out. As they were meeting at the latter location, it gave her a chance to actually drive her car for once. At least she wasn’t spending a lot on gas these days. Or wasting time sitting in traffic.
She followed the directions Ethan had given her, turning off at the big driveway leading to Hendrix Turbine. The site was massive, with large warehouse-like buildings and huge towers being loaded onto long trucks.
She followed arrows pointing to the office, then parked and walked inside. A small foyer led into a reception area. Beyond that were offices, desks and computers, with lots of pictures of wind turbines.
She’d done some research in anticipation of the meeting and knew that Hendrix Turbine was a fast-growing company. Wind power was popular, as were windmills. After the initial start-up costs, ongoing expenses were minimal. While wind turbine “farms” hadn’t become the norm, wind power was a great potential source of green power, especially in rural communities.
An attractive woman in her twenties looked up. She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and had short blond hair.
“Hi,” she said with a smile. “You must be Charity Jones. You’re Ethan’s eleven o’clock. He’ll be back any second. There was a delivery issue.” She wrinkled her nose as she walked toward Charity. “There’s always a delivery issue.”
When Charity shook hands with her, the woman continued, “I’m Nevada Hendrix, Ethan’s sister. I’m one of the engineers here.”
“Nice to meet you. A female engineer. The mayor will be so disappointed.”
Nevada laughed. “When I graduated from college Marsha told me to bring as many of my male classmates as I could to town. So far none of them have followed me, but I keep asking.”
“I’m sure we all appreciate the effort.”
A door slammed in the back. “That’s Ethan.” Nevada lowered her voice. “He’s single, by the way. One of the few in town, if you’re interested.”
“Ah, thank you,” she said, not sure of the correct and polite response. Fool’s Gold might not be swimming in men, but Charity had had more single guys tossed her way in the past month than in the past three years. Okay—only three, but still.