His Golden Heart

by Marcia King-Gamble

Insecurity kicked in. Shayna had recently admitted she loved him. They’d made mad passionate love together. Why was she backpedaling now?

  “What’s wrong?” Shayna asked, interrupting his maudlin doubts. “You said you wanted to talk to me, so talk. I’m listening.”

  Beau sipped his champagne, savoring the bubbles, and then swallowed. “I met with Miles Williams today.”

  “And what did he say?” She leaned across the table of the booth giving him an eyeful of cleavage. A light citrus-like fragrance wafted his way. Now was not the time to think of holding her in his arms or of making love to her. Yet he wanted her with a ferocity that he’d never felt before. He could easily have taken her then and there. Focus, Beau.

  “And Miles said…” Shayna prompted.

  “He made me promise to keep his name out of it. I’m violating his trust even telling you this.”

  “I wouldn’t breathe a word. I swear, Brownies honor.” She held up a hand. Face flushed. Eyes shining in anticipation. “Come on, tell me what he said.”

  “He feels certain I was sabotaged. He thinks that Josh and Peter were in it together, that between them both they came up with a plan to make sure I would be disqualified. He thinks that maybe the tension on my bindings was adjusted. You know the screws on your skis—”

  “Yes, I know what you’re talking about,” Shayna said, excitedly. “I do ski. If someone adjusted those screws you’d crash and you’d never think to check because you’d just been skiing that morning.”

  Beau gulped his champagne thinking this lady of his was incredibly bright. It was still hard to believe someone would want to sabotage him. “I fell right out of my skis. I was going at really high speeds,” he said.

  Shayna stared at him over the rim of her glass, tears of outrage glistened in her eyes. “You could have been killed. I can’t believe people would be that evil. My God, what’s wrong with the world?”

  Beau shrugged. One good thing had come out of this, he’d met Shayna.

  “Bastards,” she muttered, downing her champagne.

  “I don’t know for certain someone had it in for me,” Beau reminded her, remembering his earlier conversation. “Maybe I can find out”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  Beau refilled both of their glasses before saying, “I met a man at the rehabilitation center. His name is Lenox. He was telling me all about how Hill Of Dreams had given him a second chance to moonlight as a drummer. He works for UPS during the day.”

  “That’s fortune smiling on you. Call him,” Shayna said excitedly. “Give him an approximate date of your stay in Salt Lake City; then give him your address. Maybe he can even look up the shipment date in his computer.”

  Beau clinked his glass against hers. “Good idea. Let’s make dinner room service.”

  “Why?”

  Clearly she didn’t know where he was going. “You’ll have to go home tonight on account of Reggie and your parents. The drive back to my place is going to take time. We can take a room here and have dinner sent up.”

  “Sound like there’s more than dinner you have in mind?” Shayna said giving him a wink.

  “I’m suggesting dessert, Hill style.”

  “Only if I can burn off calories,” Shayna teased.

  Beau set his champagne flute down, stood, and offered Shayna his arm. “Shall we put your considerable talents to the test, Ms. DaCosta?” he asked, escorting her out.

  On the way out they ran into, Chandra with a tall, olive-skinned man on her arm. She glared at them and then made a production of kissing the man. “You’re too good to me, Franco,” she said.

  “Franco?” Shayna whispered as they hurried out “Now he sounds familiar.”

  “He’s her Italian lover.” Beau had barely given his ex a glance. “That poor man has my condolences. The good thing is she’s no longer my problem. Hopefully you won’t make her ours.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Six stories up in the Brown Palace, Shayna lay stretched out under the covers. She watched Beau undress, enjoying the sensual way he slid off his loafers, stepped out of his jeans, and carefully folded them over a chair. He now had on only his black briefs and the brightly colored shirt, sporting the Polo logo. Shayna’s heart pounded as her eyes fastened on his strong thigh muscles and slightly rounded butt. He turned, smiled, and with his heart in his eyes, headed her way.

  Shayna sat up in bed, deliberately letting the covers slide down. Their room service entrees, he’d notified her, would be delayed. Appetizers came first.

  Beau’s glazed gray gaze settled on her bare breasts. He looked as if he might ravish her any moment. She stretched, letting the sheets slide even farther down. Let him feast.

  As she’d expected, Beau quickly hopped onto the bed next to her. He reached across to draw her closer.

  “I love you,” he said, gathering her in his arms. “I love the feel and smell of you.”

  Shayna’s palm moved across his brush cut. The wiry bristles tickled her palm. Beau buried his face between her breasts, his moist tongue sliding between her cleavage, tracing patterns. She fingered the lobe, the one with the gold earring. “I love you, Beau,” she said.

  Vocalizing feelings didn’t come easy to her. Love she’d come to associate with disillusionment and disenchantment. Love she’d associated with Michael. Time to get over him and move on. She began to unbutton Beau’s shirt and wove her fingers through his chest hairs. She found a nipple, and tweaked gently. His lips fastened on her breast and everything inside her pulsed.

  Shayna drew his head even closer, allowing him to drink more deeply of her. One of his hands slid between her thighs and his fingers worked another kind of magic. She settled more firmly on his palm and began an exploration of her own. Her hands moved downward, sliding beneath his sexy black briefs to cup his buttocks, and then moved forward to circle his sex.

  He gasped. “Easy, girl, I’m already close to exploding. Let’s take it slow.”

  She laughed. “You said you were ready for me, now you’re backing down.”

  Beau kissed her with passion, settling his tongue deep in her mouth. She took hold of the tip, teasing him mercilessly, pressing herself against him, turned on by the friction of chest hairs rubbing against her breasts. Beau pressed a thumb into her womanhood and worked the nub with a finger. That cool, wintery voice of his said, “Tell me when you’re ready, babe.”

  Oh, God, was she ready. Ready for him. She was hot, off the chain, and vibrating for him. Even the Chinese red walls of the room quivered and twanged. He settled her on top of him again. Shayna moved around finding the right position so he could enter her. Beau was all over her breasts, laving and suckling them. She clamped her thighs together, successfully trapping his hand. Taking his jaw between her hands, she initiated the kiss.

  Beau rolled on a condom and with a ferocity she didn’t expect, plunged into her. Shayna choked back a loud moan. He now had her rocking back and forth establishing a building rhythm. She nibbled his earlobes and licked at the sides of his throat. He dove deeper. Wrapping her legs around his back, she urged him to go faster and deeper.

  The gasps she heard were theirs. The sighs of satisfaction hers.

  “I can’t hold back any longer, babe,” Beau said, sounding like he was choking.

  “I’m ready,” Shayna gasped. “Gawd how you make me feel!”

  A guttural noise was his only response before the room folded like an accordion and her body found release. Sharp pinpoints of light floated before her eyes. She hurled over the top, shouting his name. Smells, sights, sounds, melding. Sensory overload, she’d heard it called.

  Somewhere in this journey they’d found each other. It was she and Beau against the rest of the world; the two of them united by a common bond. Winners who’d lost and survived. Now they’d found each other.

  * * *

  Two days later, Beau decided a surprise visit to Peter might be in order. He’d debated just showing up on Joshua Vanderhorn’s doorstep
but figured that, of the two men, Peter was more likely to break. The athlete’s address had been gotten from Miles, who’d been a guest in Peter’s home on more than one occasion. Beau had called Peter to verify he was home, hanging up when his teammate had answered. Beau parked the Saab half a block away and left his cane behind. Come hell or high water, he would make it there on his own two feet. He refused to act like a cripple.

  The door was answered by Peter himself. He gaped at Beau. “My God, Hill, you’re walking.”

  Beau planted his feet firmly, despite the fact his legs ached. He was taller than Peter by several inches and used that to his advantage. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  Peter stood aside to let him by. “Of course.”

  Beau entered a masculine living room, black and gray being the predominant colors.

  “What brings you here?” Peter asked, his unease manifesting itself in how he nibbled on his lower lip.

  Beau took a seat on the black leather couch and placed one loafer on a denim-clad thigh. “I’m here for the truth, Peter.”

  Openmouthed, Peter stared at him. “What truth?”

  “The truth about what happened to me on the day that I lost the downhill.”

  Peter went pasty white. “You were ahead, Beau; then you fell. That’s all I know.”

  “Yes, I am painfully aware of that. I’m the one who broke my back, remember? I’m now being told that there was a cover-up, a conspiracy of silence and that everyone knew that you and Josh attempted to sabotage me. Did you, Peter?”

  “I did not. I’m your friend. “

  “Then where are my skis? My boots? I’m told you and Josh volunteered to pack up my things, but you conveniently had a memory lapse. You told me you didn’t know who sent my personal items.”

  Although the room was not warm, Peter was visibly sweating. “I swear,” he said, holding up one hand, “I did not volunteer to pack your personal stuff.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Look, I told you I didn’t know.”

  “I’ll find out,” Beau said, rising, “and if I discover that you’re lying there will be hell to pay.” He jabbed a finger at Peter and headed out

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Peter called after him. “Miles Williams was the person I saw hanging around our equipment. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want to name Miles ’cause I didn’t want to cause trouble. I figured if I told the guys I saw a suspicious person by the equipment they would let you know. Miles and Josh are friends. They’ve been for quite some time.”

  Beau didn’t turn back to acknowledge the comment.

  Seated again in the Saab, Beau punched in the Hill Of Dreams number. He got Malcolm on the phone and demanded he check old records to see if Lenox Frasier had left a number behind. After an eternity on hold, Malcolm returned to tell him he’d had no success. Time to figure out what to do next. Lenox was a drummer for The Springs. The group still played at some of the popular LoDo nightspots. It was worth making a second call.

  “Meet Market,” a loud woman answered.

  Knowing that his name would produce a guaranteed reaction, Beau said, “How ya doing? This is Beau Hill. I’m planning a party and I’m friends with The Springs drummer. Would you happen to have his number?”

  “The Beau Hill!” the woman repeated, sounding like she’d died and found Nirvana. Hot diggity dog! I’m talking to the champion skier.”

  Beau could hear her loud wheezing. He just wanted a phone number not her fawning all over him. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said.

  “Hold on a moment, I can’t breathe.” Wheeze! Wheeze! Wheeze!

  Beau gritted his teeth, wondering what was taking her that long. He reminded himself that without his fans he was nothing.

  Eventually a man’s voice barked in his ear, “Hey, champ, you claiming to be Beau Hill? If you’re really him, how did he place in the World Cup and Chevy finals?”

  Beau answered him without hesitation.

  “There’s no way to really be sure you’re not jerking me around, but I’m going to have to believe you. Besides, you sound like him. I’ve heard that voice trillions of time on TV and that new commercial you were in just aired.”

  The number. Just give me the number. Beau’s patience was wearing thin.

  After more jabbering, the man finally gave Beau two numbers, a day and a night one. Beau’s next phone call was to Towanda. He waited for the housekeeper to check her files. She returned breathing heavily. “I found the UPS slip,” she announced.

  “Good, give me the tracking number hen text it to me.”

  Beau scribbled the number down.

  Next Beau punched in Lenox’s day number. When a woman answered he quickly asked for Lenox Frasier and was then transferred to voice-mail hell. Frustrated, he identified himself, and left a message and phone number.

  Careening down the road at, at least sixty miles an hour, he had no particular destination in mind. It was too early to head for Shayna’s where he’d been invited for dinner. When his cell phone rang, he reached to retrieve it and narrowly missed sideswiping a Corvette. He pulled off to the side of the road and left the engine running.

  “Yes?”

  “Lenox Frasier returning your call. What’s up, man?”

  Beau stated his purpose for calling earlier.

  “I can probably help you if you have a tracking number,” Lenox said.

  “I do.” Beau repeated the number.

  Keys click-clacked on a keyboard and several muttered comments followed. “Found it.”

  “Is the sender’s name listed?”

  “Yup. Sure is.”

  Beau held his breath in anticipation. “Read it to me.”

  “Looks like the person sent several packages that day. The driver picked up maybe seven from the address in Olympic village. Six were sent to 87 Scenic Drive. The other to an address in the Whispering Pines Country Club.”

  “Eighty-seven Scenic Drive is my address,” Beau confirmed. He didn’t know who lived in Whispering Pines but planned on finding out soon.

  “The tracking numbers are linked. The one box went out insured. The contents say skis.”

  “Who sent the damn packages?” Beau demanded, his eagerness coming over as rude.

  “Don’t stress,” Lenox said, “I’ll tell you in a moment. The name’s Miles Williams.”

  That rotten bastard. That lying piece of trash. Wait until I get my hands on him. He could have killed me.

  But Miles didn’t live in a country club, so what was that about?

  Beau remained seated, took deep breaths, and carefully parked the car. He sat for a long time with his eyes closed, and his head on the steering wheel, until he pulled himself together enough to make the next call. When he reached David on his cell phone, he quickly explained what had transpired.

  “Call your father,” his agent ordered. “If we can get hold of your skis and prove that they were tampered with, it becomes a criminal matter. We will probably need a search warrant to get into that place in Whispering Pines. It’s entirely your decision. Call me back after you talk to your dad.”

  His father was in town and it took Beau a full ten minutes to explain what he’d discovered.

  “Williams would be pretty dumb to have your skis if he did indeed tamper with them,” Ed commented. “Try to reach him. Make him aware that you know the skis were mailed to this place in Whispering Pines. Don’t the Vanderhorns have a place there?”

  Beau’s thoughts raced. The Vanderhorns were definitely the country club set. It was likely.

  “What do I do if that’s confirmed?”

  “That you’ll have to decide. It’s a pretty serious matter when someone sets out to deliberately do damage. You could have been killed. I would not allow them to get away with attempted murder.”

  Beau hung up deciding better to deal with this head on. He’d go to Miles’s house and confront him. He called David back and his agent agreed to join him.

  “You’ll need suppo
rt. Swing by my house and pick me up,” David said, his tone barely containing his outrage.

  Fifteen minutes later they were in Beau’s car and on their way. A Harley Davidson was parked in Miles’s driveway when they pulled up. Beau and David hopped out and tromped toward the house. Rap music blasted from the inside and over the music the sounds of a man huffing and puffing could be heard. Miles was apparently working out.

  Beau banged the brass knocker and was forced to bang it again when several minutes later they still faced a closed door.

  “I’ll be right there,” an annoyed voice eventually called.

  The door was thrown open, and a huffing, puffing Miles faced them. He wore a tank top and on the floor behind him were weights and dumbbells.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, eyeing David suspiciously. “Did you forget something?” The last sentence was directed at Beau.

  “We’re coming in,” Beau said, pushing past Miles, David on his heels.

  Miles trailed them in. “Is something wrong?”

  “Plenty,” Beau said, facing him. “You told me a story when I was here a few days back. It didn’t check out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Miles looked flustered and uncomfortable. Beau moved in for the kill.

  “I spoke with a UPS representative. I know where my skis and boots were mailed.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Everything. You told me that Peter and Josh were the ones who mailed my stuff. I found out that’s not true.”

  “I never said that,” Miles said, backing up. “You misunderstood me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  David circled Miles, hemming him in from the back.

  “Your name was listed on that UPS slip as the sender,” Beau accused.

  “Maybe Peter or Josh listed it,” Miles sputtered. “Maybe they figured they needed to do that to take the heat off them if it ever came out.”

  “Then why not send the skis to your address? Why send it to the Whispering Pines Country Club? The Vanderhorn place.”

  “Maybe they didn’t know my address.”

  “You know what I think,” David said, entering the conversation for the first time. “You’re lying. I think you and Joshua Vanderhorn were in this together. I’m fairly certain that when we check this out we’ll find out you and Vanderhorn were in cahoots and several skiers on the team knew it.”