Gold Medal Hero

by Jena Petrie

  "You must be Bailey," the girl stated, not moving.

  After being virtually ignored by most of the rowers as she'd hung round Connor's crew, Bailey felt her spirits lift at being spoken to by a stranger. "That's right, but I'm sorry, I can't place you."

  "Jasmine Hooper." The slight smile on the girl's bronzed face didn't include a welcome. Instead, it looked kind of superior, as if she believed short cox'ns should be ground into the mud like cockroaches and she'd chosen this higher position on purpose to put Bailey at a disadvantage.

  "Ah yes. From the Women's Four."

  The other girl nodded. "Connor must think you quite a catch. He's been suffering from a rare affliction during training and it's only since he met you. Talked about it, has he?"

  "Can't be important because no, he hasn't."

  "Oh, it's important all right, when the coach has to yell at him: Concentrate, Freeman! Concentrate!" Jasmine's smile was as good as saying, 'Told you so', and Bailey nearly stepped back, away from the menacing tone.

  Except the edge of the lake was only a foot behind her.

  "The thing is," Jasmine went on. "It upsets the rest of the crew, the balance of the boat, and the coach, as well as making the training session a waste of time. All of which you should know, being a cox." The last phrase was emphasized in a sneer.

  "Of course I know!" This girl sure knew how to wind her up.

  "And apart from all those details..." Jasmine paused, no doubt for emphasis. "Anyone in the national squad should have left that problem behind before they finished school. So you see, it makes Connor vulnerable to de-selection. Being kicked out, in other words, and it's all because of you. You're no good for him, Bailey Stoddart, so if you want to help him, you need to leave."

  What? This was nonsense, surely. The girl must be talking through a hole in her head, spouting off hot steam like the Pohutu Geyser in Rotorua. If jealousy ruled her actions because she wanted Connor for herself, she was stiff out of luck.

  Bailey rubbed her bottom lip along her teeth. On the other hand, after yesterday's disaster, her relationship with Connor might still be on shaky ground in spite of this morning's camaraderie. Perhaps the reason he'd taken her to the caves had been his way of making up but what could she do for him? Other than make love, which apparently wasn't possible yet. "Is that just your opinion, or has his coach mentioned it?"

  "Oh, it's not our opinion. We know."

  "Really? Then why has no-one from his crew told me?" Keeping her head still, Bailey used her peripheral vision to check for a fast escape route. Might need it, with her suspicions rising like a temperature gauge plunged in a sauna. "Surely it's a matter between Connor and Jeff. If there really is a problem, of course."

  "You'd better believe it. I'm only telling you for Connor's sake because he'd never mention it, but your relationship isn't working for him and everyone knows his rowing's suffering. Ask Jeff if you don't believe me."

  "A lack of concentration must be natural after such a long break. Must take a while to adjust."

  "Don't kid yourself." Jasmine's laugh came out as a grating, scoffing sound, proof of her enjoyment at winding Bailey up. "It's still happening, proving that you're the cause."

  "What makes you think Jeff's worried?"

  "Worried isn't a strong enough word when he's continually calling Connor out. Spoils the whole training session."

  "Don't give me that. They're still rowing, aren't they? Still increasing their fitness. So why don't you stop being overdramatic, leave the problem to the coach and forget about it, huh?" With that, Bailey dodged past the girl, up the slope and back to the car.

  Time to prove to herself and everyone else that she intended to stay. And in order to stay, she needed a job.

  ***

  God, he was buggered. Connor bent forward, hands on knees as he tried to catch his breath. Fitness level; average. High time to up the personal training.

  "Looks like you should do that more often," Bailey called from the porch.

  "You try it. See how you feel after a two-hour rowing session followed by a run home from the lake."

  "No thanks. But I've got an alternative suggestion. What say I run with you to the lake in the mornings? The exercise will be good for me and it might help you, too."

  "Doubt it. It'll only help me if my body's fit, not yours." Anyway, she'd never keep up.

  She must have known he'd be starving because by the time he came out of the shower, a plate sat on the table piled high with stir-fry. "Looks great." Flavours exploded inside his mouth; a wonderful mix that blended together as well as the music of a live band. "Tastes it, too. Started that article on the caves yet?"

  "Heavens, you're more impatient than me. No, but I did look through my notes. Photos too, once I'd downloaded them, but choosing the best proved impossible."

  "Thought you'd start with the writing."

  "No. The photos I choose determine the angle I take and the article's length."

  "What did you decide?"

  "That I need pictures from inside the caves."

  "Which we weren't allowed," he grinned. "That'll be a challenge then, won't it?"

  "Sure will. Probably not on a par with running to the lake though." Her hand slid through her curls, making them bounce around before finally settling on her shoulders again. "Mind if I work up to that? It's a long time since I did any serious running. We used to, before training. All nine of us together."

  Emphasizing how much she missed rowing? He touched her arm. "You gave up a lot for me, I know."

  Her hand covered his, keeping it in place for a moment longer and man, did it feel good.

  "Lauren phoned today."

  "Your flatmate, from Mosgiel?

  "One of them, yes. Did I tell you she's from Hamilton?"

  "No."

  "Well, she is, but her parents live out of the city now, on a lifestyle block closer to Sherdon. Anyway, the reason she rang was to say her father's sick. So sick, she wants to move up to be near him. So she's applied for a few jobs around the district. Wouldn’t it be great if she got one?"

  If it encouraged Bailey to stay. "Yeah. Be good for you."

  "Mm." Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip; the standard indication of a problem. "Someone spoke about you today. About a certain command issued during training. 'Concentrate, Freeman! Concentrate!' What was that about, huh?"

  His back bounced against the chair as his cutlery clanged onto the old table. Bloody hell, she sounded just like Jeff. "Who's been telling tales? Come on, fess up! You're supposed to be on my side so which of my esteemed colleagues has reported my faults?"

  "Fear of reprisals prevents me from revealing my source."

  Damn. Just when he didn't need her in reporter mode. Only his crew mates and coach knew about those incidences and loyalty would stop them passing on such information. Besides, none would want to cause trouble between him and Bailey after being so thrilled he'd found a girl at last. So, who the hell could it be?

  Not Jeff, that was for sure. Jeff's attitude had always been, what happened in training stayed within the group.

  "Why did Jeff have to remind you to concentrate during a rowing session? I would have thought it would come as second nature."

  "First day back and I developed blisters after the rain came down in buckets." Turning his palms over, he showed her the ugly scars, apparent even now.

  "I don't have to see them. I feel it every time you touch me."

  Shit. Never should have let the bloody sores develop. And there was another thing; was it his rough hands that made her shy away from his touch last night? And him?

  Looked like the issue was more serious than he'd realized if he'd been a contributor to the problem all along.

  "And the other times Jeff had to call you out? Because there were others, weren't there, Connor?"

  "Not any more. There won't be any, ever again, if I know you're on my side. You can prove it by coming to this weekend's regatta." He studied her face for signs of denial
or doubt. "You'll be there, won't you?"

  "Of course."

  But she'd clenched her fists, and her smile hadn't reached her eyes.

  CHAPTER 14

  Bailey hopped off the second-hand bike she'd bought on the internet yesterday. Running from home to the lake had been a stupid idea after such a long time without proper training so she'd settled for biking as a build-up.

  Some crews had come off the water already and now loaded their boats onto the racks in the shed. No sign of the Men's F our though, so they must still be on the lake.

  By the time their boat finally showed up, all the other crews were in and most of the rowers had disappeared to shower and change. As Connor's skiff neared the pontoon Bailey left her position on the bank and wandered down to meet the guys.

  "Hey, Bailey!" Pete called from the stroke seat as he guided the boat in.

  They were still in the same positions as on Sunday and again, Connor's greeting wasn't as enthusiastic as his mate's.

  "Good row?" she asked him.

  "Not bad."

  Why hadn't she taken more notice of his responses before? With nothing to compare, she had no way of knowing if this was normal or an indication of a crappy session.

  As each guy unscrewed the gates on his riggers and released the oars, she gathered them into a pile on the pontoon. With drink bottles tucked into their row suit shorts the guys looked like they'd suddenly grown grotesque lumps from already massive thighs. On the count of three they lifted the boat, tipped it upside down and carried it away.

  With her arms full of oars Bailey trailed behind, hung them on the rack in the shed and went looking for the coach. His boat slid into position as she arrived. "Jeff."

  He looked up, a polite smile on his face as if he hadn't wanted to see her at all.

  Tough. She needed answers, and she'd get them; now. "I see the crew's positions still haven't reverted to the original so Connor's still not stroke. Is he—?"

  "No harm in that." Jeff's brown eyes darkened in a challenge.

  "You're still swopping them around?"

  "Obviously."

  "Is this arrangement better than—?"

  "Not really." He hooked his lifejacket over a peg beside the door. "Just different. I'll probably change them again sometime. Keeps them on their toes, as it were. Keeps their interest up. Concentration too, and provides variety. That's often hard to come by when the training period is so long."

  Like the strong, harsh sounds of a music score playing during a movie battle scene, Bailey's heart pounded in her chest, urging her to fight for Connor and his dream of four more Olympic golds. "You don't need to treat me like some ignorant girlfriend with no knowledge of the sport, Jeff. I've coxed a women's eight in Mosgiel for the last three years."

  "I know. He told me."

  "So you'll put Connor back in stroke seat before the World Champs? Before you leave for Europe?"

  "If he's up to it."

  Hands banged onto her hips. "What do you mean? Are you suggesting he might not be? That he isn't now?"

  "There have been times when his concentration's been less than ideal, as I suggested last time we spoke." Jeff's voice sounded so calm it was like talking about next month's weather.

  "Connor? I had no idea that's what you meant, or that he was the only one with a problem. And are you suggesting there've been several times his concentration's been lacking?" Good grief. Blasted Jasmine had told the truth.

  "Exactly."

  "When?" she demanded, swinging round to follow his movements as he rummaged in the boat and retrieved his drink bottle.

  "First row back this season."

  "But he'd been travelling for nearly three months on speaking engagements! Hardly had time for any R & R since arriving home from Europe. Forgot to treat his hands to prevent blisters and got several that first day in the teeming rain. Why weren't you surprised that things were a bit off? I'm not, especially knowing there's no chance for those sores to heal now. I'd have thought you'd understand. He'll settle soon enough."

  Jeff straightened, drank half the bottled water and clipped the lid back on. "I've waited a month already, Bailey, and he's still not always focused." Forced patience came through in his tone. "A distraction at home, perhaps?"

  "Me?" Bailey swallowed a walnut-sized lump. "Why would my being here affect him that way? It doesn't make sense. He's more likely to have settled now I've moved up."

  Jeff grabbed a small bag from a hook, dropped his bottle in, and looked across at her, his face a little more relaxed than a minute ago. "Tell you what. Come out in the coach boat with me some time. See if that changes anything."

  "Won't it make him worse if I'm in his sight?"

  "If it does, I'll know you're the problem."

  Uh-oh. Why would the coach point the finger at her? She wasn't Connor's problem. "When will I come?" And prove him wrong.

  "Tomorrow if you like. Might pay to warn him first, but don't give the reason. Think up any old excuse."

  "Okay. Tomorrow morning it is."

  ***

  Bailey placed a plate of sandwiches on the table when Connor walked in a little later and he eyed them speculatively. That had been quick, so what was up? In a hurry to go out, was she? Or buttering him up for some bad news, passed on from Jeff? "Well?" he demanded as he seized the bottle of water from the fridge and drank. "What did Jeff say?"

  "That I might like to go out with him in the coach boat." When Connor frowned she added, "It could help compensate me for missing my position as cox."

  Did that mean they hadn't discussed his performance? "Do we get a say in this?"

  "Of course. I'll only go if none of you mind."

  The empty bottle slipped into the sink. "When?"

  "Tomorrow morning, if it's okay—"

  "S'pose. Ring the others. Any doubts, any pauses when they reply; you take as a negative. Got that?" His aggressive tone must have been over the top because she backed away.

  "Yeah, sure. Got it. I do understand, Connor. Not everyone would be happy with someone else watching, although it must happen often enough. At regattas, for instance, when photographers and commentators watch from the barge beside your boat, or when Go-pros are attached—"

  "Yeah, yeah, okay. Just get on the bloody phone and ring them. I'll put up with it if they can."

  ***

  Connor and his crew were well into their warm-up routine when Bailey arrived at the lake next morning. Leaning her bike against the building she rushed to help Jeff pull the coach boat towards the water.

  "None of Connor's crew mind my coming out with you," she told him, nodding towards the rowers. "Guess they're used to it." And thank God, none had even queried her reason after she'd repeated the story she'd already told Connor.

  Once the coach boat had been launched she climbed in and sat where Jeff pointed. Overhead, cloud covered most of the sky but at least that would take the glare off the smooth water. The stillness emphasized the loud chirping of birds as they flew in and out of nearby trees, apparently undisturbed by the activity and sounds of rowers and coaches as they prepared for their training sessions.

  The motor started up, shattering the atmosphere, but although the engine's noise took precedence over all the others, it soon settled into a steady throb as the coach boat left the pontoon and headed out to the far side of the lake.

  Watching from alongside the Men's Four gave an entirely different perspective from sitting in the coxswain's seat. Jeff used the megaphone whenever he had a comment to make, but none were directed at Connor, thank God.

  In fact, this crew looked so good, tingles of excitement zipped up Bailey's spine. Nothing about their rowing appeared faulty. From body posture to blade work and through every part of the stroke, the harmony of these guys appeared perfect. Even the exercises Jeff commanded were executed flawlessly and without question.

  The differences between this crew and her own back in Mosgiel were enormous, starting with the straight course of this lake to t
he twisting river her crew practiced on, and from the comparative ineptitude of her crew of near novices to these elite rowers. Once she became used to the motor, its intrusion faded into insignificance. As the oars dipped and rose, pushing the skiff through the water, the perfect symmetry and soft sounds could easily have lulled her into a peaceful world of dreams.

  Hadn't Connor said he didn't notice the peace? 'Common as' were his words when she'd asked at Mt Cook. Such a shame he didn't appreciate this. Still, it must mean his actions took his whole concentration, giving a lie to Jeff's and Jasmine's criticisms. What had the girl really been after? Jealousy remained the only reasonable explanation, although she can't have been Connor's girlfriend anytime recently.

  Again Bailey watched the rowers. If only she had her camera, and permission to take photos. In these near still conditions and with the rowers keeping such a perfect rhythm, any photo would be awesome, even without Connor as stroke.

  Everything changed when they arrived at the race Start. On Jeff's instructions the crew pulled into a lane, sat perfectly still and waited for his next order. Man, did they need practice to get going! Over and over they repeated the performance while Bailey's stomach churned. Their starts had been far better during the Olympics, with Connor as stroke.

  Did the coach see what she saw? His face showed no expression as he pointed out the problems through the megaphone, encouraging them before every new attempt. He must remember how good they'd been before the crew change. Surely after this, Connor would be back in his usual seat. It was the only way he'd achieve his goal.

  The only way they'd win.

  "Well?" she demanded of Jeff, the moment the crew had left to carry their boat to the shed. "What's your verdict?"

  "They were on their best behaviour today," he admitted as they slid the coach boat onto the trailer. "All of them. No talking, no unnecessary looking around and apart from their starts; no mistakes."

  In the shed she waited till Jeff had settled the boat into position. "Why were they mucking up the starts? They didn't do that at the Olympics. Shot out of there like they meant to blitz the field the whole way, in the final."