Gold Medal Hero

by Jena Petrie

  Connor shrugged. "Pete's job, when he lived here."

  Aaron slapped him on the back. With his hand on Connor's shoulder, he stood up close like they were having a private conversation. "So what; you forgot a few things, or couldn't cope and walked out?"

  "Forgot the muesli," Connor admitted, and waited for the laughter.

  Thank God, none came.

  "Is that all? Even I can forget one thing." Pete stepped forward, helping himself to some crisps.

  "Reckon you'll have time for a fry-up before the morning's training? Have to be up specially early for that," Aaron warned.

  "Yeah, and who were you texting anyway?" Pete wanted to know. "You never text except to us."

  They thought he'd been doing that when he'd only been looking at the phone, wishing to God he had Bailey's number? "Do so. Just not often. And anyway, what were you doing, spying on me through the window?"

  "Wondering what you do with yourself when I'm not there to relieve the boredom." Pete advanced, joined by the other guys who all ogled Connor.

  "Contact friends."

  "You've got others besides us? Well, why not just ring as usual?" Pete's typical teasing tone came through, in contrast to the others' more aggressive attitude.

  "What's it to you?" Connor eyeballed each in turn.

  "Everything, when you're our crewmate and you stuff up in the first training session we're back," growled Aaron.

  "Hey, get off it. I've already apologized. And don't forget, I only flew in last night. Complete change of lifestyle, this. Complete change of focus."

  "With a whole weekend behind you to adjust," Ken growled.

  "Yeah, and what were you doing over that weekend?" Pete demanded with a glare. "Went to Dunedin Thursday for two talks Friday, didn't return till Sunday. Late, Sunday," he added for emphasis.

  "Two days unaccounted for," Aaron chimed in. "Should have been back Friday night, so where were you?"

  "And who with?" Ken again, like they were taking turns.

  "Fire at the high school where I had my second speaking engagement so the plan switched to another school. Afterwards, delayed by crazy fans so I changed my flights and took a break. You would've too, under the same circumstances."

  "Never told us," Pete growled.

  Connor gulped his beer. "None of your damn business. Anyway." He grabbed a handful of crisps but paused before shoving them in his mouth. "Thought this was a party."

  "Didn't think you had a life apart from rowing." Ken turned and grabbed a beer from the table behind him. "How long have you known her?"

  "Not long." Connor swallowed the last of his nibbles. Why didn't the guys go, light up the barbeque or whatever?

  "Ah-ha! So it is a woman. Well, well, well." Pete turned to grin at the others, lifting his bottle and clinking it against theirs in a toast. "Tell us more, mate."

  Damn! Should have known one of them would weasel it out of him before long. "That's enough."

  Aaron emptied his bottle and dumped it on the table, stuck both thumbs in his front pockets and addressed Pete and Ken. "Whadaya reckon, fellas? Girlfriend?"

  Pete acted out his agreement with a few hip thrusts. All right for him!

  "When are we gonna meet her, huh?" Aaron again, nosy as usual.

  No point denying the truth with this crowd clawing at him for information so Connor sucked in a huge breath, letting it out slowly, dramatically, as he looked at the ceiling. "You guys are worse than women demanding the latest gossip. Okay, so I met her Friday, spent a bit of time with her over the weekend while she interviewed me for a magazine article, and at the airport we parted. End of story, okay?"

  Like wiping a whiteboard clean, grins vanished.

  "You mean she wasn't single, young, sexily gorgeous and dying to fall into bed with you?" Disappointment dripped off every word Pete spoke.

  "And you're not gonna see her again?" Ken sounded incredulous.

  "Genuine, then." Aaron nodded. "Like, not just pretending to be a reporter."

  "No. Pete's right. She wasn't dying to fall into bed with me. We agreed to a weekend of strictly business."

  "But she is single, young and sexy, right?" Pete folded his arms across his chest and waited, as if the country's security depended on the answer.

  Tell him, when Bailey had agreed on coming only provided he reciprocate to be speaker at her club's dinner? No way.

  Pete dumped his bottle on the table. "I'll take that as a yes. So what happened, mate? Were your powers of seduction a bit too rusty?"

  "Give me some credit." Connor punched him in the chest, pushing him backwards and away from the table so he could grab another beer from the carton. "I'm aware of what 'no' means.

  "You're kidding." Pete dodged away. "What was wrong with her?" He shook his head as he left the group, heading outside to the barbeque.

  "Something wrong with you, more like," Aaron threw over his shoulder as he turned to follow Pete.

  Leaving only Ken. "You liked her." Combined with the truth, Ken's quiet tone punched Connor in the gut. "Liked her too much to push. And now you miss her. Have you rung? Texted? Contacted her in some way?"

  "Exactly what I was trying to do when you meddling lot arrived," Connor growled. Seemed like a common tone tonight.

  "We all know what it's like to live alone, mate. None of us want that for you, so persuade her to come for a visit. Pay the airfares yourself if necessary, but get her to come. Don't make the same mistake I did with Nat when I first met her."

  "What mistake?" Cold fingers of dread stretched through Connor.

  "Thought I was nuts, being interested in a qualified lawyer when I didn't even have a degree. Believed she wouldn't want to move to a small town or fit her lifestyle around mine. Turned out I was wrong on all three." Ken slapped Connor on the shoulder. "You need a flatmate, bro."

  Flatmate! Girlfriend, more like, but chances of that happening were as remote as this crew staying together and winning four more Olympic golds. No, he'd never convince Bailey unless she changed her mindset when she came north.

  In the back yard Connor's mates set up the barbeque. Some ideas he hadn't thought of himself would have been more help than their smart-arse comments.

  The three women continued working in the kitchen, finding plates, cutlery and dishes. Lucky for Ken he went after super-efficient Nat and persuaded her to move. Of course the other guys were lucky with their choices, too. Suzy and Aaron had met at university in Auckland and she'd moved down to live with him after finishing her degree. Pete though, had met Michelle only last year, right here in Sherdon, after she moved towns to be near her sister.

  Connor's gaze zeroed in on an unfamiliar sight. Flowers. In a vase. On his stereo.

  There'd been flowers in tiny vases on the dining tables at the hotel and Bailey had leaned forward to smell them. So she liked flowers. Well, the perfumed varieties, anyway.

  He could send her some!

  Damn. He would send her some, if he had the address. Or got it from the school. They'd have it, or at least Lauren's, her flatmate.

  Bingo! At last he had a way to contact Bailey.

  ***

  Connor squinted through the haze in front of him, trying to see Ken's oar. Another morning of problem weather for training. Rain yesterday and thick fog today, reducing clear visibility to only a couple of feet. Great welcome back.

  On top of everything else he needed this like he needed a sore head, which seemed like his crewmates' problem this morning. Aaron had only just missed the pontoon when he lowered his end of the boat into the water, Ken forgot his drink bottle and had to go back to the shed for it, and Pete dropped one of his socks in the lake as he stepped into the boat. Although he managed to retrieve it and pull it on, he made sure the others all knew of his resulting discomfort.

  "Sore heads, guys?" Connor asked, too quietly for the coach to hear, then chuckled at the chorus of denials.

  "That your problem too?" Pete asked from behind.

  Connor had only bent d
own and rubbed his forehead along his hand, the only way to scratch without dropping his oar. "No. Since you were apparently blind, I didn't drink much last night. My problem is that I couldn't sleep afterwards. Too hyped up about the next gold medal, which we won't get if you lot carry on drinking like you did last night."

  "Aw, it was a special occasion," Ken protested from in front. "For you, remember?"

  "Yeah, yeah. Good excuse. Now, let's get going or Coach'll give up on us and go home."

  No doubt to punish them for talking, Jeff pushed them more than yesterday, yelling louder at their slight misdemeanours like quiet grumblings and looking around.

  Not until an hour later did the fog finally lift. It'd be a blinder soon with the sun reflecting off the water and Connor cursed. Hadn't brought his damn sunglasses.

  And after the row? Another day of missing Bailey and dreaming of her when he rested. With luck, the flowers would remind her of the fun they had together.

  Or turn her off, if he hadn't done that already with the argument at the Red Tarns, stupid bugger. Without knowing her true feelings about him, sending flowers probably made him look a real nutter.

  ***

  "What's the card say?" Lauren leaned against the kitchen bench, watching Bailey's face as she stared at the gorgeous bunch of flowers that had just been delivered. The burgundy lilies, deep pink roses and pale pink baby's breath were wrapped in pink paper with a burgundy- coloured ribbon.

  "Card?" Bailey peeked into the bunch. "There isn't one. But they can't be for me."

  "Of course they're for you." Lauren opened a top cupboard and retrieved a jar. "Didn't the delivery guy mention your name?"

  "Yeah." Bailey put the arrangement down carefully to remove the wrapping. "I don't know who would have sent them. There's nothing I've done lately to deserve flowers."

  "Connor, perhaps?" Lauren lifted the bunch and sniffed.

  "Not likely. Not after our parting argument."

  "Maybe he's missing you." Lauren cut the ribbon and slipped the paper from the bunch. "Maybe he's trying to keep in touch." She began separating the flowers. "Maybe... Ah, here it is," and she handed the small note to her flatmate.

  Bailey opened the card and read aloud. "Thank you for a wonderful weekend." She looked up at Lauren. "Satisfied?"

  "Keeping in contact, see. Missing you." Lauren pointed to the card. "Have you got his email address, phone number or anything so you can send a thank you?"

  "No. Nothing, so I don't know how I can. They're lovely." Bailey flicked the card onto the bench where it landed face down, revealing more writing on the back; a physical address, email address, Skype name and cell phone number. Looked like a message in itself, but really?

  Lauren stopped arranging the flowers and laughed. "What did I say? He wants you to contact him so go and do it now. Go on." She shoulder-nudged Bailey towards the living-room.

  Four different addresses. Too many choices. Which one to use? A phone call would be a waste of time if training was still underway, and a text easily missed. Best to email. That way she'd know he'd get the message.

  But her fingers stumbled so often over the computer keys she stopped typing, stretched her fingers and tried again.

  Minutes later she hit the send button and leaned back in the chair, although relaxing was out of the question while she waited for a reply. Blast, why hadn't she phoned? She needed to hear his voice. And needed him to hear the genuine appreciation in hers and even the longing to see him again.

  Why hadn't she realized she'd miss him so much?

  In her room she slammed the door and leaned against the wood, her fingers wrapping enticingly around the phone in her pocket like a kid accepting an ice-cream cone. Blasted thing nearly slipped from her sweaty fingers as she drew it out.

  The drumbeat in her chest only added to her nervousness as she rubbed each hand down her jeans. That done, she finally dialled Connor's number, and waited.

  Even if he didn't answer, at least this way she could leave a message for a return call. Was that the reason she'd emailed; so he'd have her address? God, why didn't he answer?

  "Hello?"

  Phew. Unconsciously, Bailey collapsed onto the bed, her body tingling with nervousness, and desire. That deep, rich voice could make any woman want his arms around her. "Hi Connor. Ba–"

  "Bailey. Great to hear from you."

  "I've emailed but it seemed so formal and not immediate enough but I've just got your flowers and they're beautiful. Roses are some of my favourites, especially the perfumed ones and these are a gorgeous colour as well. At least, I think so." Rambling like a lonely old woman with her first visitor in a week, damnit. "Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for them. It was a lovely gesture and quite unnecessary."

  Or was it? If Lauren was right and the flowers were a way of keeping in contact, he might have considered them essential. "I enjoyed the weekend too."

  "Good. As for the flowers, I chose a perfumed variety. You seemed to like the ones on our table at dinner."

  "Yeah, I did. How-How's training been?"

  "Ha! Okay, apart from getting blisters the first time. Thanks for asking. Did your boss publish your article?"

  "Yes. Would you believe, word for word? No editing at all."

  "Well done you. Had any more exciting assignments?"

  "One of the students at the high school won an art competition. I got to take photos of him with the painting and write an account."

  Connor's soft laugh indicated he'd noticed the sarcasm. "That would hardly have stretched your writing skills."

  "Basic," she agreed. "But that's my job."

  "I'll check it out on the web when I get home."

  "Tomorrow," she corrected. "It only happened today."

  "Tomorrow, then. Anyway, I'm glad you phoned, and emailed. I want to book your flights for this weekend and I'll need to email you the tickets."

  "Oh!"

  "You are still coming, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, yeah, but I'll make the booking myself. You've done so much for me already."

  "Ah, but I want you to visit and this way, I'll know for sure. If you like, I can send some alternative flights and you can choose your favourite.

  "Good. Thanks. Well, I'll see you Friday." After finishing the call she slipped the phone back in her pocket. So far, there can't have been any fallout from the sleazy reporter or Connor would have said, surely. At least she could check during the weekend. A journalist like him wouldn't rest if he had the opportunity of a scoop.

  CHAPTER 8

  So much for Connor's promise. Bailey let go of her small case and swung in another full circle, searching for his tall head above the crowd.

  Not here. Definitely not here.

  Letting out a frustrated sigh she gripped the bag's handle. Just another thing to go wrong on top of the lack of available accommodation in town this weekend. And that was apart from Big Bad John's brief note dropped onto her desk moments before she left work: My office. 9am Monday.

  Everyone who worked for John knew within minutes of starting that a message like that indicated bad news.

  Shoving the subject to the back of her mind, Bailey checked the crowd once more.

  No familiar faces, but no press photographers hanging around either. It'd be a miracle if the writer of that note didn't follow up on his initial insinuation. Possibly even the basis of John's command.

  Bailey flicked hair back over her shoulder. With no sign of Connor, what should she do? Wait, phone, or wander outside to watch for him? All around her, people scurried from the terminal building as if a bomb threat had just been announced.

  Taxi-stand, here I come. Wheeling her case, she headed for the exit but stopped just inside the door at a placard announcing her name, held by a strange man.

  A dark-haired man, dressed in civvies. Not even a uniform.

  "That's me," she said, nodding at the sign as tension threatened to turn her stomach topsy- turvy. "Bailey Stoddart."

  "Great." He shoo
k hands. "Good to meet you, Bailey."

  "Who—?" she asked at the same time but he can't have heard.

  "Is that your only bag?" As he frowned, she hurried to explain.

  "I'm only here for the weekend."

  "Of course. Right. Let's go," and he turned to walk away.

  "Where's your ID?" Bailey demanded, not moving. "How do I know you're a genuine airport shuttle driver and not some crook kidnapper?"

  "Sorry, didn't I say?" The guy had turned back, chuckling. "Not an official shuttle driver, no. Just the man behind the scenes who seldom gets his photo in the paper or on TV. I'm Jeff Nicholls, Connor's coach."

  "Oh! Well, that's great, but why isn't Connor—?"

  "Doing some last-minute improvements, so I took the opportunity and offered to collect you. Don't know when I'd meet you otherwise."

  As if he considered her important.

  In the ten minute parking area Jeff opened the back of an old SUV and again, warning bells went off in Bailey's head. But what could she do?

  With her case stowed away, Jeff held the passenger door open.

  Faded but familiar rowing stickers clung tenuously to the windscreen. At least Jeff must be involved with rowing somehow. Peering in, she checked out the back seat—where a black jacket lay, the word 'Coach' printed in big bold white letters. Finally her nerves settled.

  Beside her, Jeff started the car. "Connor's very excited about having you here. So are his mates. Crewmates, that is. We still need the usual training sessions this weekend, though. I hope Connor warned you about that?" A frown spread across his forehead.

  "Of course." Bailey turned to watch the scenery, so different from at home. More cows and definitely more horses here. Even the fences were different; all wood railings instead of wire. Masses of trees, too, as if the owners needed to hide their prized equestrian possessions. "You're worried I'll distract Connor."

  "Just hoping you're aware of the possibility and potential impact. The rowers are still easing in to full training and no-one needs injuries this early in the season. Still, we not only want them fit and healthy, we want them happy too, so we have to strike the right balance. Only then will I get the best out of this crew when they row."