CHAPTER SIX
CHARITY DID EVERYTHING she could think of to prep for her meeting with the hospital committee. This was her first real chance to prove herself and she wanted everything to go perfectly.
She’d loaded her presentation on her new laptop and then had backed it up on Robert’s, just in case. She’d researched the competing locations, checked for large, recent donations and walked the proposed site herself. She felt comfortable with the information and ready to make her case.
At exactly nine-thirty on Tuesday morning, eight people walked into the conference room. Charity was ready for them.
Mayor Marsha spoke first, welcoming them to Fool’s Gold and assuring everyone how much the town wanted the new hospital campus. Marsha went over a few of the more important facts—the tax breaks, the incredibly reasonable price of the land, the grants they’d already made progress on.
Marsha and Charity had spent most of the previous day going over what each of them would say, so Charity was prepared for each of Marsha’s points. The mayor finished with a joke about the golf courses in the area, which was Charity’s signal that it was her turn.
From her research she knew that of the eight members on the committee, the real powerhouse was Dr. Daniels. A trauma care doctor used to dealing with impossible situations, he liked to get to the point, make a decision and move on. He considered serving on the committee a waste of his important time, so he wanted the business settled quickly. Charity planned to use that to her advantage.
She passed out folders, then flipped on her computer.
“I know you’re all very busy,” she began. “So I want to first thank you for taking the time to come to Fool’s Gold. My goal is to provide you with the information you need to make the right decision for your hospital expansion.” She paused to smile. “And explain to each of you why Fool’s Gold is the right place at the right time. Not only do we offer excellent housing for your staff, superior schools for your children and a warm and welcoming community filled with qualified workers, we simply want you here more. We’re determined to do whatever is necessary to convince you that this is exactly where your hospital needs to be.”
She began her PowerPoint presentation, clicking through several glossy photos of the area. The real meat of the meeting came next, with plenty of statistics on skilled labor, potential patients and quality-of-life issues. For Dr. Daniels, she threw in a mini sales pitch.
“We’re in desperate need of trauma care,” she said as she clicked to display another graph. “We might not get the gunshot wounds of a gang-infested city, but we have other issues. Skiing and hiking accidents on the mountains, car accidents, especially during winter and tourist seasons. Last year three rock climbers fell. Two died before they could reach the trauma center in San Francisco. If we’d had our own trauma center, those two young men would still be alive today.”
She moved on to the number of births per year, illustrating the need for a new maternity center. By noon she’d gone through all the details she and Marsha had decided were necessary.
“If you’ll come with me, we have lunch set up downstairs,” she said, motioning to the door. “At one o’clock, we’ll take you on a tour of the area and have you on the road by two, as you requested.”
Everyone rose and started out of the room. Dr. Daniels, a handsome man in his mid forties, paused. “You listened. We told each of the towns we wanted to be done by two. One of the other places kept us until five, the other got us out at four-thirty.”
Charity shrugged. “A partnership has to go both ways. Of course there’s more I want you to see and hear, but I respect your time. We have a lot to offer, Dr. Daniels. I hope you’ll give us the opportunity to show you that.”
“I see that. An excellent presentation. I’m impressed.”
“Then I did my job.”
JOSH LEFT THE HOTEL a little after seven in the evening. It was early for him to go riding, what with the days getting longer, but he was restless. Normally he enjoyed his quarters at the hotel, but lately they’d felt confining. He could always move into one of the houses he owned. At any given time one of the rentals was usually available. But what would he do in a house all on his own?
He walked through the center of town, then stopped across the street from Jo’s Bar. The place had been there for years. There had been a dozen or so owners in the past decade. The location worked but the owners never seemed to make a go of it. Then three years ago Josephine Torrelli had shown up and bought the place. She’d hired a crew of construction guys, demolished the place down to the beams and built it up to look like a quiet, welcoming neighborhood bar that catered primarily to women. There were a couple of big TVs showing reality TV and home shopping for the largely female crowd. All the guys got were a couple of TVs over the long bar and well-priced beer.
There were a lot of rumors about Jo. Some said she was a former child star with money to burn. She’d certainly had plenty to sink into the remodel. Others said she was running from an abusive husband and using an assumed name. A few believed she was a mafia princess determined to make it far away from her east-coast family.
Josh suspected the latter was the most likely story. Jo, a pretty woman in her mid-thirties, seemed to know a little too much about life to have been raised in the ’burbs. He knew she kept a loaded gun behind the bar, and when a fight had broken out last year, she’d looked more than ready to use it. Which also gave credence to the abusive husband story, he thought as he crossed the street and walked into the bar.
The place was well lit without breaking the mood. Baseball played on the small TVs. Giants on one, Oakland on the other. A few die-hard Dodger fans huddled around one of the smaller screens. The larger flat screen showed skinny models walking down a runway. There were several groups of women around round tables and balloons proclaiming it was someone’s birthday. A few guys played pool at the lone table in the back.
Several of the customers greeted him. He waved and made his way to the bar.
“Beer,” he told Jo before turning to watch the Giants. A commercial filled the screen. He looked away, glancing at the women at tables, about to face the bar again, when he saw someone he knew in a corner.
Ethan Hendrix sat with one of his brothers and a third guy. Josh stiffened. This seemed his week for dealing with the past, he thought grimly.
In a perfect world he would walk over to Ethan and they would talk. The past had been over for years. It was time to get over it. He’d phoned Ethan a few times over the past couple of years, but his old friend had never returned the calls. Now he couldn’t seem to move and Ethan never glanced in his direction. Then Jo was putting a beer in front of him.
He took a sip.
“Good,” he said. “Where’s it from?”
“A microbrewery in Oregon. South of Portland. The guy came through with samples. You have to respect that. Apparently he travels up and down the west coast, trying to get places to take his beer.”
“Does that make you a sucker for a sad story?”
She grinned. “Maybe. What of it? You ready to take me on, Golden?”
“And get beaten by a girl? No, thanks.”
“You know it. I’m tough to the bone. Ethan’s here,” she added, speaking low enough that only he could hear.
“I saw that.”
“You could talk to him.”
“I could.”
He didn’t question how Jo, who had only been in town three years, knew about his past with Ethan. Jo had a way of finding out things.
“You’re both idiots,” she said. “In case you were wondering. He’s as bad as you, acting all pouty.”
Josh chuckled. “There’s ten bucks in it for you if you say that to his face.”
“I don’t need the money. You’re wallowing in guilt and he’s playing the martyr. It’s like living in the middle of Hamlet.”
He frowned. “How do you figure?”
“I don’t know. It’s the only Shakespearean play I could think
of. Well, there’s always Romeo and Juliet, but that doesn’t fit. You know what I mean. Just go talk to him.”
She was right, he told himself, as he put down his beer. He would walk over and…
He turned on the stool, but Ethan and his friends were gone, the table empty.
“Next time,” Jo said when he faced her again.
“Sure. Next time.”
She moved on to another customer. Josh sipped his beer, thinking about Ethan, wondering how things would have been different if he’d been the one injured instead of his friend. He had a feeling Ethan wouldn’t have lost his nerve. He would still be racing.
The pool game finished up. One of the guys walked toward Josh and sat next to him at the bar.
“Hey, Josh.”
“Mark.”
“You still thinking of heading to France this summer? We could use another win.”
Sure. Because that’s how it happened. A person woke up one morning and thought “I’m going to enter the Tour de France” and that was it.
“Not this year. I’m still retired.”
Mark, a plumber in town, punched him in the arm. “You’re too young to retire, but not too rich. Am I right?”
Josh nodded and smiled, then wondered why he’d bothered to come into the bar.
He wasn’t interested in winning another race. At this point, he simply wanted the ability to compete. To do what he did before. What he took for granted.
“My kid’s pretty good,” Mark said when Jo handed him a beer. “Fast on his bike. He wants to race. You know, like you did. We’re thinking of sending him to one of those schools. He’s begging me every day.”
“There are a couple of good places. How old is he?”
“Fourteen.”
“That’s kind of young.”
“That’s what his mom and I say. He’s too young to be on his own. But he won’t leave it alone. Weren’t you going to open a racing school here, in town?”
That had been the plan—back before the accident. Josh had several bids on construction, most of the money and his eye on a piece of property. But to do that, to commit himself to being a part of the school, meant riding again. Not a humiliation he was willing to take on right now.
“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted, then wished he hadn’t.
“You should do it. Solve our problem. You’re famous, man. Lots of people would come to ride with you. I bet they’d do a story about you on CNN.”
That’s what he was afraid of, Josh thought grimly.
“Something to think about,” he said and drained his beer. He dropped a few bills on the counter, then stood. “See you, Mark.”
“Yeah. Think about it. The racing school. It could be great.”
It could, Josh thought as he left the bar and headed back to the hotel. It could be a damned miracle. Because that’s what it would take.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT CHARITY followed the directions Pia had given her, walking to the west part of town where the houses were older and larger, seated majestically on huge lots with mature trees. She saw the well-lit two story on the corner and walked up to the front door.
Pia opened it before she could knock. “You came. Welcome.” Pia giggled. “Okay, I brought tequila and margarita mix and I’ve been sampling. What the hell. We’re all walking, so let’s have fun.”
Tequila? “I just brought a couple of bottles of wine,” Charity said, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. Girls’ night out had sounded like fun, but she couldn’t afford to get really drunk. She had meetings in the morning.
“Wine is great,” Pia said, swaying slightly, then grabbing the door frame for support. “Maybe I’ll have some.”
A tall, pretty brunette appeared behind Pia and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You need to lie down, kid.”
“I’m fine,” Pia said. “Don’t I look fine to you? I feel fine.”
The woman smiled at Charity. “Don’t be frightened. Every now and then Pia feels the need to live up to the party image. It’s not a big deal.”
“I can respect that,” Charity said.
“Me, too. I’m Jo, your hostess for this month’s girls’ night. Come on in.”
“I’m Charity.”
“I figured that. We’re glad to have you.” Jo maneuvered Pia away from the door.
Charity followed the two of them into the house.
It was one of those great old places, with hardwood floors and plenty of built-ins. She suspected what had once been a lot of little rooms had been remodeled into several larger rooms. A fireplace large enough to hold an entire cow dominated the far wall. There were several sofas, comfy-looking chairs and a group of women looking at her curiously.
A thin blonde stood and reached for Pia. “You sit by me,” she said. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Just for tonight,” Pia said, slumping down on a sofa. “Tomorrow I take care of you.”
“Tomorrow you’ll be puking your guts out.” The woman smiled at Charity. “Hi. I’m Crystal.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Charity was introduced to the other women and did her best to remember their names. Renee/Michelle was there and Charity was surprised to learn her name was actually Desiree. When the introductions were finished, Jo led Charity into the kitchen.
“You can see what’s open, what’s in the blender and what you can create on your own.”
The kitchen had been partially updated. The counters and sink appeared new, but the stove was from the forties and the cabinets looked like they might have been original.
“Great place,” Charity said.
“I like it. I know it’s big for just me, but I enjoy the space.” She pointed to the array of bottles on the counter. “Wine, both colors, margaritas in the blender, unless Pia drank them all. Mixers, vodka, Bailey’s. You name it, we have it.”
“I’ll go with a glass of wine,” Charity said.
“Playing it safe on your first night. Probably wise. Pick a color.”
“White.”
Jo got a glass and poured. After she handed it to Charity, she leaned against the counter. “So you’re our new city planner. How are you liking Fool’s Gold?”
“I love it here. All my small-town fantasies are coming true.”
Jo laughed. “I moved here about three years ago. From the east coast. It was quite a change, but a good one. The people are friendly. Pia invited me to join her and her friends. They made me feel very welcome.”
Charity glanced toward the living room. “I appreciate the invitation. I want to get to know people.”
“You will.”
A pretty blonde walked into the kitchen and sighed. “I need more. Pia’s drunker than me and I was supposed to be the drunkest one at the party.” She smiled at Charity. “Hi, I’m Katie and please don’t think badly of me.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t usually drink very much.”
“Or at all,” Jo muttered. “Speaking as someone who owns a bar, you’re a real disappointment in that department.”
“I know.” Katie leaned against the counter. “But tonight’s different. My sister’s getting married.”
Charity felt confused. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“The groom and I were dating when they met. For nearly a year. He’d bought me an engagement ring. But before he gave it to me, he met my sister and they kicked me to the curb.”
“Ouch,” Charity said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was a jerk,” Katie told her.
Charity had a feeling that was the alcohol talking more than her heart.
“The worst part is that the wedding is a four-day party up at the Lodge,” Jo added.
“I need a date and I don’t have one.” Katie hiccupped softly.
“There’s always Josh,” Jo offered.
Katie rolled her eyes. “I need a date with a guy people will believe I’m actually seeing. There’s no one. And now my mother is offering to set me up with her best fri
end’s son. Howie.”
Charity tried to muffle a laugh. “Okay, it’s not a traditionally romantic name, but he could be great.”
“I met him back when we were kids. He’s a total nerd, and not in a good way. We hated each other, and I get to spend four days with him. Someone just shoot me now.”
“How about another margarita?” Jo asked.
“That works, too.” Katie looked at Charity. “Are you happily married or dating? Because I’ll warn you—in this crowd, you’d be the only one.”
“Sorry, no. I have a string of bad breakups, as well.”
“Bummer,” Katie mumbled. “What’s wrong with us?”
“Nothing,” Jo said firmly. “You don’t need a man to be happy.”
“Try telling that to my whoo-whoo. It hasn’t seen action in nearly a year.”
Now Charity did laugh. Fortunately Katie didn’t seem to notice.
“There’s Crystal,” she said. “At least she was happy before.”
Jo poured another drink. “Crystal’s husband was killed in Iraq.” She glanced toward the doorway, then lowered her voice. “She’s sick. Cancer. So she doesn’t drink. Just so you don’t offer her anything.”
Charity thought about Pia’s friend. “She looks fine.”
“Right now things are good. We’re hoping the treatment can kill the cancer without taking her, too.”
“How awful. Does she have children?” Bad enough for them to lose their father, but now to be worried about their mother.
“Not exactly.”
Charity would have blamed her confusion on the wine, only she hadn’t yet taken a sip. “What do you mean?”
“They froze some embryos before her husband went off to Iraq. Just in case. She was planning to have them implanted, but the lymphoma was discovered during the routine physical. She wants to get better so she can have her babies.” Jo poured herself a glass of red. “Sometimes, life’s a bitch.”
Charity didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”
“We all are and there’s nothing any of us can do. That’s the worst part. Well, not for Crystal, obviously.” Jo shook her head. “I think I’ve had too much to drink. I don’t usually go on like this. Come on. Let’s get back to the girls.”
Chasing Perfect Page 8
