Chasing Perfect. Сьюзен Мэллери

to self, she thought. She would look Josh up on the Internet when she got back to her room that night. Any kind of crush should be destroyed by the reality of his personal life.

      “I plan to be in Fool’s Gold for a long time,” she said. “I’ll see it all eventually.”

      He turned two blocks before the sign for the interstate, then headed west. “There are three different wineries growing grapes in the valley,” he said, pointing to the acres of vineyards sprawling to the horizon. “Mostly cabernet sauvignon, merlot and cab franc. Some other grapes for blending.”

      He flashed her a smile. “Which takes us to the limit of my wine knowledge. If you want to know more, they do tours every weekend, starting in a couple of weeks.”

      As they sped down the highway, Charity could see tiny buds on the bare branches—the promise of grapes to come.

      “Most of the wineries were started years ago,” he continued. “This whole valley used to grow everything from corn to apples. Gradually the vineyards are taking over. Something about the soil and the weather.”

      “And money,” she said. “For a lot of farmers, there’s more profit in grapes. Wine is very big these days.”

      He glanced at her. “Impressive.”

      She did her best not to blush. “I did my homework before I moved here.” She cleared her throat. “The wineries are closer to town than I realized,” she said, turning back to see the mountains rising against the blue sky. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small notepad.

      “What a great resource. Any company thinking of relocating here needs to be taken on a tour of the area,” she said more to herself than him. “This is a great selling point.”

      There had to be some kind of brochure the town used to promote itself. She made another note to review it when she got back and make sure the wineries and vineyards were prominently mentioned. Maybe look over Pia’s schedule. There had to be a wine or grape festival.

      “The wineries are just part of it,” Josh told her. “There’s also hiking and camping in the summer and skiing in the winter. The resort has a five-star restaurant and a cooking school. We get plenty of tourists coming through.”

      “You know a lot about the area. How long have you been here?” she asked.

      “I grew up here. Moved to the area when I was ten.”

      “That must have been nice,” she said enviously. “When I was a kid I dreamed of staying in one place, but my mom liked to travel.”

      Josh glanced at her. Something questioning flashed through his eyes, then was gone. “Did she say why?”

      “She had a lot of reasons. She liked the thrill of a new place. The possibilities. She used to say she was born wanting to move on.” Part of the motive to move had always been to escape from anything bad that had happened before, Charity thought. Which was mostly a man, and the end of a relationship.

      Charity had loved her mother, but the constant moving around hadn’t been easy. Especially because Sandra moved whenever the mood struck her. She didn’t care if Charity was only a few weeks from finishing a semester or a school year. “I grew up being the new girl.”

      “Was that a problem?”

      “I wasn’t outgoing. By the time I’d made a few friends and settled in, we were moving again. I felt like I was always scrambling to learn the rules.”

      “You’ll like Fool’s Gold.”

      “I already do. Everyone is so friendly and open.”

      He made a couple of turns, then they were heading back toward the mountains.

      Charity found herself relaxing a little. Being close to Josh wasn’t so scary—not if she remembered to keep breathing and ignore the steady hum of awareness that connected them. At least from her side.

      A bright red import came toward them. The car was filled with college-aged girls who rolled down the windows and hooted and waved at Josh. He nodded back.

      “Fans?” she asked, watching the car zip past.

      “Probably.”

      She risked turning toward him. “It’s the bike thing, right?”

      His mouth twitched as if he were trying not to smile. “Yeah. The bike thing.”

      “Because you’re a famous bike rider?”

      “Me and Lance Armstrong.”

      “So you’ve ridden in the Tour de France?”

      He glanced at her, his humor obvious. “Do you even know what that is?”

      “It’s, ah, a famous bike race. In France. It’s done in parts or stages or legs or something. And there’s a yellow jersey.”

      “Good start.” His voice was teasing. “It’s stages, by the way.”

      “I’m not really that into sports. But from what I’ve heard, you’re very impressive.”

      He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

      “Do you make a good living at that? The bike riding?”

      “You can. Prize money can be substantial. A top rider can pull in over a million.”

      “Dollars?”

      “Tour de France pays in Euros.”

      “Right.” She was feeling a little sick to her stomach.

      “Endorsements bring in the big money. Multimillion dollar deals.” He glanced at her. “They pay in dollars. Or yen.”

      A million here, a million there. Did currency really matter? “So you were successful?”

      “A case could be made.”

      “And worth millions?”

      “On a good day.”

      Because the sexual appeal, incredible body and handsome face weren’t enough.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked.

      “In the SUV or in Fool’s Gold?”

      “Either. Both.”

      “I’m showing you the area because Marsha asked me and I’m in Fool’s Gold because I live here. I’ve retired from racing.”

      She shifted to face him. “Retired? You’re barely in your thirties.”

      “It’s a young man’s sport.”

      How young? Retired? That didn’t seem possible. She wondered if he’d been injured. Not that she would ask. It seemed too personal.

      “What do you do now?”

      “This and that. I keep busy. I have a few things going on in the area.”

      They were back in town. Josh drove around the lake. There were small hotels, a couple of B&Bs, restaurants and vacation homes. Across the street were the boutiques, a bakery and an open, grassy park.

      “Angelo’s has great Italian food,” he said, pointing to the entrance to a large restaurant. “Margaritaville has the best Mexican food.”

      “Named after the Jimmy Buffet song?”

      “Unfortunately, yes. Avoid the extra shot with the margaritas unless you’re a professional. It’ll knock you on your butt.”

      “Thanks for the tip. I’m more a single glass of wine kind of girl.”

      He mentioned several other restaurants, a couple of bars and the drive-in with the best fries and shakes anywhere. All of which made her happy she’d taken the job in Fool’s Gold. If only she’d been able to grow up in a place like this, she thought wistfully. But her mother