Gold Medal Hero

by Jena Petrie

  "Cottoned on already," Michelle laughed, holding another dish while Bailey cleared a space.

  "Do you ever get sick of making big meals?" she asked as she arranged salad servers in the bowl.

  "It's not that so much but I never know what's in the fridge or pantry." Thank God Nat's previous hostile tone had disappeared. "Usually nothing, because Ken always snacks between meals while I'm at work."

  Bailey's new paua pendant swung on its chain, reducing her vision as she bent and tossed the salad. "Do any of them cook?"

  A chorus of "yes," and, "sometimes," followed.

  Michelle carried in a pot of steaming potatoes. "They're always so exhausted after a training session, they need a snack first."

  "Cooking their meals and having them ready when our guy arrives home is the best way we can show them our support," Suzy added.

  "But you all work, so you're away from home most of the day, so—"

  "I always leave a snack in the fridge for Aaron to microwave," Suzy explained.

  "I'm lucky." Michelle grinned. "Pete's a good cook. Connor's not so fortunate, which is one reason he needs someone who can do it for him." She must have caught Bailey's worried expression because she chuckled. "Don't worry about us. We all like him." She handed Bailey a glass of white wine. "All want what's best for him and you, it seems, are what he thinks is best."

  "He's never said that," Bailey hedged, backing away.

  "Not surprising. It would probably seem like he's coming on too strong and he's too much of a gentleman—"

  "How would any of you know what he's like with a girl?" Bailey demanded. "Have any of you attracted his interest?"

  Suzy spoke slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. "No, but we can tell by the way he treats women, and his fans."

  "What has he said?" Michelle asked as she slipped a hand through her long hair.

  "That I should become a sports writer and Sherdon would be a good base." Except that wasn't likely to happen after today's experience. It seemed no-one involved with the organisation of the cycling race had any knowledge of the sport's promotion.

  "Hey! That's a fantastic idea!" Michelle clapped her hands.

  "There's a guy in our office who plays cricket for the district. I could ask him for a contact," Suzy offered.

  Michelle's face showed intense excitement. "And my brother's a swimmer. I could ask him."

  "My boss plays golf. I'll sound him out about it on Monday. Let you know," Nat added.

  Bailey bit the inside of her cheek. With mates like these all helping her out, she might not be able to find enough excuses to hold her ground.

  ***

  Cooking smells woke Connor next morning and he sighed, stretched and released his clutch on the spare pillow. Food should replace the energy after exhausting himself in that dream of being in stroke seat, rowing his hardest while Bailey, the cox, called encouragement. Tumbling out of bed he rummaged through his drawers for a clean T-shirt and shorts so he could go and check she was really here.

  Yup. Bailey in his kitchen. Bailey cooking bacon and eggs. Bailey, looking fresh and alive, like a flower with dew still attached, glistening in the sun.

  If he didn't know better, he'd think she was trying to impress him. Best way to do that would be to move up. And in. He'd felt so much better this weekend with his happy genii around.

  The pile of food grew on the plates and when she dropped fried tomato on top, his stomach sent out a desperate gurgle of need.

  Turning, she handed him a plate. "Hungry?"

  "You bet, with that smell travelling all the way to my room." He led the way to the table.

  "Good. I was counting on it. Just don't expect it again tomorrow."

  With a shake of the condiments he started eating and was half-way through before he stopped. "If all your cooking's this good, you should apply for the job."

  "Sorry. I'm a writer, not a chef."

  "Then how about a reciprocal arrangement? Because, baby, you're using me to promote your career, aren't you?"

  Oh, God. Was he no different to Sam? Using her to promote himself? "Guilty." She slid food around her plate. "Talking of my career, you hadn't forgotten your appointment this morning, had you? Rowing the single?"

  "Shit." He looked down at his plate. "I never have a cooked breakfast before training. How do you expect me to do a good job after eating all this?"

  "Why? Worried you'll sink" She took another bite. "Come on. I'll be finished before you at this rate and I didn't think that would ever happen."

  "Huh! Guess it won't matter too much this morning. I'm only getting used to the single, aren't I?"

  "And looking your best for the camera lady."

  "My best? Thought you'd want me looking exhausted."

  "Not quite. Just show you're working hard, that'll do. Later you can fill me in on any other aspects of your life or character I should know about."

  "Reckon you know it all—I'm gorgeous, funny, one of the best rowers in the world and an inspiration to many–"

  She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."

  "Just quoting someone I heard recently."

  "I did not say you were gorgeous!"

  "Thought it though, didn't you?" and when she bit her lip, he laughed. "Come on." He finished his meal and tapped her hand with his knife. "Wait till I change and then we'll go. The sooner we get this ordeal over, the better."

  CHAPTER 10

  By the time Connor slipped into the car beside Bailey the sun had changed the colours on the water from brilliant red through orange, gold, yellow and finally blue. "Get any good pics?"

  "Depends what you mean by good." She scrolled through the photos on her camera.

  "Ones suitable for your article."

  "Oh, that." The camera dropped onto her lap. "Thought you meant the photos in general, like the beautiful sunrise shots I got. Pity about the rower in the foreground."

  "Na. That'll enhance the value, add depth and reality—"

  "Provided he gives me permission to use the photo."

  "Is he recognisable?"

  "In that light? Not a chance."

  "Then I guess there's no problem, is there?"

  "Not with that, no." Inside the house she downloaded the photos onto her iPad. "Want to help me choose?"

  "Need a snack first."

  So she helped, and they selected the photos together while Connor ate.

  "What will you use the others for?" He nodded at the screen.

  "Don't know at this stage. Something might come up."

  "Like an article on sunrises," he grinned, and she whacked his arm.

  Did he ever let up from the teasing?

  "Whichever article is published first, we'll have a party to celebrate." He flicked through his phone. "Why don't we make a date; give us something to aim for and plan."

  But she shook her head. "There's no point, not when publication isn't even guaranteed.

  "We all need goals though, honey."

  "Sure we do, and mine is to be published by a magazine, but I can't put a date on it. Can't—"

  "But you could put a date on finishing the article. And you could put a date on when you move up." His gaze met hers and she flinched at the serious tone and the reflection of it in his dark eyes.

  Why couldn't he leave the subject alone? Let her decide in her own good time?

  Oh. His hatred of being alone. If she was the only one who could help with that, why hadn't she committed yet? He'd done so much for her...

  The note. It thwarted her move like a twenty-foot high sheer cliff. What was behind the message? Who was behind it? Had the sleaze worked on his own or did he have backers, mutual collaborators, or a multi-dimensional plan of revenge?

  Slowly, Bailey pushed up from the table. "I can't give you dates. Not for anything. I'm simply not ready."

  "No? In numerous different ways you imply you're interested in me but you won't make the commitment to move. I need to know, Bailey. Are you attracted to me or not?" Connor
clutched the pepper like he wanted to throw it at something. Or someone.

  In the background a siren wailed, became louder, louder, more insistent and she gripped the edge of the table. "You don't understand. I'm not the sort of person who can just drop everything and move. I need to plan, to have things in place first. Like a job. And tying up loose ends."

  The pepper dropped onto the table with a thud. "I've already said I can look out for a job for you; ask around, spread the word. Someone must know of something you could do."

  "Journalism is the only thing I could do. The only thing I want to do." Condiments and his plate in hand, she marched into the kitchen. "And I'll do the looking myself, thanks all the same," she called over her shoulder.

  "Then you need to be here." He'd followed her in.

  "Not yet!" she protested. "Not when I'm still considering." Didn't get it, did he? She swung round to face him. "You must understand how important it is to have a schedule in place beforehand. After all, our weekend away was testimony to your skill there."

  "Glad you noticed." Yanking open the pantry door he lifted the condiments from her fingers and placed them inside. "Don't forget, you've got at least two articles to go on with. You could work on them while you look around. And I'll support you, as you should already know. The rent won't go up with you here, the food bill not much, and the same with the electricity. So, no problem. Anyway, won't Big Bad John give you a reference?"

  Thought he had it figured, didn't he? Plates slipped into position in the dishwasher as if they knew their own way home and just as well; left to her, they'd probably have smashed into tiny fragments on the floor by now. "Who knows? Nobody, where he's concerned. In fact he's known for doing what we least expect." Like dismiss her on a whim. "Please give me until you come for the dinner. I can't decide before then."

  "And if I don't get the required permission? Remember, now I'm back into training, Jeff could easily refuse me leave. He has the right."

  "Let's put the worrying aside until we hear."

  Silently, he turned the tap on full and prepared to wash the pan. "What can I do to convince you? I want you here, woman! Sometimes we have to move out of our comfort zone and take a chance. Aren't you prepared to do that for us?"

  "Take a chance on you? Huh!" A flick of the tea towel and it was off the rail and clutched between her fingers, but when she picked up the soapy wet pan, it slipped from her grasp onto the floor. "Last time I took a chance with a guy he used me, big time."

  Oh, God. Why had she told him? Never in a zillion years should she have revealed that horror. Her hands shook and she flung the towel down and ran.

  But in the dining room her foot knocked over a chair, upsetting her balance, throwing her towards the table.

  Her palm landed flat on the top, stopping the fall. Huffing, she waited for the panic to subside.

  Strong hands gripped her bent elbows and lifted her feet off the floor, carried her to the sofa and eased her down. But instead of leaving her there, Connor slid in beside her, his arms around her, holding her in place with a firm but gentle grip. "Used you? Oh, sweetheart, I am sorry. If I'd even suspected a bad experience existed in your past I'd never have made those sexual references at Mt Cook. Never insinuated anything to do with beds, or sleeping together, or anything else at all suggestive." His stubble grazed her cheek as he kissed her. "Oh, babe."

  Even if she'd wanted, she couldn't break away. Not when his grip, his warmth, his understanding, soothed her inner panic like this. "I-I'm glad you made those comments, Connor. They showed the fun side of your character. The side that makes you who you are." Easing around, she managed a smile. "Don't change on my account, but I do mean it when I say I'm not ready to make a decision yet. I've been so busy this last week and the next one won't be any easier." I've hardly had time to think."

  "And now I've dragged up a past hurt. I am sorry."

  "You couldn't have known. But it's made me wary of getting close to a guy. Which means, I'd rather remain just friends, if you can cope with that."

  "Depends. On your answer to my question."

  "Your question? Sorry, but I don’t remember—"

  "I asked if you were attracted to me at all."

  "Well, duh." She shook her head as she stood. "Don't you understand? There's no need to doubt your original assumptions." And before she changed her mind, she dropped a quick kiss on his forehead.

  ***

  The following day, Connor leaned on the rowing secretary's desk. "What's this about, Maggie? Your text sounded urgent."

  When her usual smile failed to surface he straightened. Only one logical reason for this summons; to give him the details of Bailey's dinner. Nothing sinister in that.

  And Jeez, one week apart and she'd surely come round. Would if she missed him half as much as he missed her and man, was he going to love bringing her home! At last, confirming his status as equal with his crew-mates in having a girlfriend.

  "The boss will explain." Normally cheerful Maggie looked far too serious and a knot formed in Connor's gut as he followed her to the CEO's office, waited while she knocked, opened the door and indicated he go in.

  At least Dougal looked normal enough. "You wanted to see me." Connor sat in the chair the CEO indicated on the other side of the wooden desk.

  A glossy magazine slid across the shiny surface between them. "Seen this?"

  Ignoring it, Connor laughed. "A woman's mag? Get real, mate. Why would I read them?"

  For reply, Dougal leaned forward and pointed to one of the photos on the cover; a picture of him and Bailey, with Mt Cook in the distance. And a hook suggesting a secret tryst.

  "What the...?" Cold sweat broke out on the back of Connor's neck as he stared at the picture.

  Retrieving the mag, Dougal flicked some pages over and pushed the magazine back across the desk. "So you haven't read this article? Did you know about it?"

  Connor leaned forward, shoulders hunched. Bailey's article? Couldn't be. There'd been no time.

  Unless pre-arranging for a photographer to be present had been part of a big, fat lie.

  No. She wouldn't do that, not after being so desperate for the story. Not the type of magazine she'd select anyway, with this trashy look. Not the sort that would promote her career.

  Unless going for the most exposure had become paramount.

  He glanced at the writer's name. Not his favourite girl, thank God. Immediately, he began scanning the story. Stopped.

  Bloody hell. His hands fisted, opened, rubbed the back of his neck, his forehead; both cold with sweat.

  Far out.

  The article, ostensibly about his weekend with secret lover Bailey Stoddart at Mt Cook, contained mostly half-truths, insinuations and assumptions. Not even written in anything like Bailey's style, if the samples he'd seen had really been hers.

  And if she'd collaborated with a photographer over getting photos, she'd have had to manoeuvre him into position at just the right time.

  What if she'd collaborated with both—photographer and reporter—leaked the news, sold the details, and invented the accusations?

  His fist punched the magazine. No! Not his Bailey. She was straight-up, honest and hard-working with a goal that required her best efforts. She'd turn her nose up at this crap.

  Which begged the question; where the hell had this guy come from? Again, Connor swiped a hand across his forehead. And another thing; how had these paparazzi guys managed to hide so well and so quietly that neither he nor Bailey had realized they were being stalked?

  Jeez! Connor stood, his head spinning like a kid's top about to keel over. Bailey might not have partnered up with these scumbags but the article could have lasting and deep repercussions.

  In the shit, he was. A mile-deep pile of do-dos.

  "Your idea?" Dougal's voice sounded so calm Connor looked at him more carefully.

  Yup. Pissed off, and no wonder. This sure wasn't the way a respectable Olympian should behave. "Jesus, no. Why would I advertise
my whereabouts to the press during a private weekend? And why advertise a personal relationship? No-one in the squad does that. We value our privacy too much."

  "But you did take time out while still on rowing business. Without permission." Stated as a fact, not a question.

  Hell. "Yeah. Realized I couldn't give my all to training without a complete break first. Hadn't had one for a year, you see."

  Dougal's lips thinned.

  Christ, couldn't the guy understand? "Look, training didn't start till the Monday after that weekend and there was no extra cost to anyone except me. If I broke some rules by not reporting in first I'm sorry, but a top priority was to keep the weekend private. Apparently I didn't succeed. My mistake. Sorry."

  Dougal flicked the magazine's page as he took it back. "How did this young woman come into the picture?"

  "Interviewed me for a story in the local rag and asked permission to do a longer one for a magazine." Connor pointed to the offending paper. "A better quality mag than that, believe me," and God help him but he'd better be right.

  "Yet you didn't tell us an article was being published. We should have had warning of that, too, Connor."

  "Freelance, mate. She was writing freelance. No guarantee she'd sell the thing and so far, hasn't even finished it as far as I know. Oh, and Jeff knew it was in the pipeline. He raised no objections. Even thought it'd be good publicity for rowing and co-operated regarding Bailey's need for photos this last weekend."

  "She's been here as well as to Mt Cook with you?"

  "Course. She wanted an interview, so I invited her to share my weekend of R & R, pretending to be my girlfriend. That way we'd look less conspicuous while she asked questions and got to know a bit of my background. But she needed current photos of me training, so she came up on Friday."

  The eyes opposite blinked. "Are you saying you'd only just met her when these photos were taken?"

  "Well, yes. Day before, when she came asking to do the interview." Connor huffed out a breath and leaned forward. "Look, those photos might give the impression we were an item but we weren't." God, this was proving more difficult than persuading Bailey to move and the possibility of that happening had just got as far away as the bloody North Pole.