eating enough broccoli. Whatever the cause, she would figure it out and fix it. She refused to live her life all quivery and weak. She was strong. She was self-actualized. She was not going to let a little thing like a gorgeous man with a butt like a Greek god mess up her day.
“WELL?” MARSHA ASKED when Charity had left.
A single word with a thousand meanings, Josh thought grimly. What was it about women and language? They could make a man squirm without putting much effort into the task. A skill he both admired and feared.
“She’s smart and fair,” he said.
Marsha raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think she’s pretty?”
He slumped back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Here we go. Why do you feel a compulsion to pair up everyone you meet? I’ve been married, Marsha. Remember? It didn’t go well.”
“Not your fault. She was a bitch.”
He opened one eye. “I thought you liked Angelique.”
“I was concerned that if she stood in the sun, the heat would melt all the plastic she’d had put into her body.”
He laughed. “Very much a possibility.” His ex-wife had been born beautiful, but hadn’t rested until she was extraordinary.
“So you like her,” Marsha asked.
He had a feeling they weren’t talking about his ex anymore. “Why does my opinion matter?”
“Because it does.”
“Fine. I like her. Are you happy?”
“No, but it’s a start.”
He was used to the matchmaking. It went with the not very subtle invitations. He supposed if a man had to live under a curse, his was easy to live with. Too many women all offering whatever he wanted. Too bad being with them didn’t fix what was really wrong with him.
He stood. “I said I’d watch out for her and I will. I don’t know what you’re worried about. This is Fool’s Gold. Nothing bad happens here.” Which was why he’d come home. This was a great place to escape. Or it had been. Lately it felt as if his past was catching up with him.
“I want Charity to be happy,” Marsha said. “I want her to fit in.”
“The longer you don’t tell her the truth, the more pissed she’s going to be.”
Marsha’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I know. I’m waiting for the right time.”
He crossed to her, bent down and kissed her soft, wrinkled cheek. “There’s never a good time, kid. You taught me that.”
He straightened and headed to the door.
“You could take her out to dinner,” Marsha called after him.
“I could,” he agreed as he left.
He could ask out Charity, but then what? In a matter of days she would have heard enough about him to think she knew everything. After that, she would either be eager to find out if all the talk was true, or she would think he was scum on the pond of life. Judging by her sensible shoes and conservative dress, he would guess she would put him on the side of scum.
He crossed through the lobby, ignoring the glass case off to the side, the one containing the yellow jersey he’d won during his third Tour de France race. He stepped out into the sunny morning, then wished he hadn’t when he saw Ethan Hendrix getting out of his car. Ethan who had once been his best friend in the world.
Ethan moved with ease. After all this time, the limp was nearly gone. For anyone else, it wouldn’t even be worth noting. But Ethan wasn’t like everyone else. He’d once been a ranked cyclist. He and Josh were supposed to take on the Tour de France together while they were still in college. They’d spent hours training together, shouting insults back and forth, each claiming he would be the one who would win. After the accident, only Josh had entered, becoming the second youngest winner in the history of the race. Henri Cornet had been younger, by all of twenty-one days, back in 1904.
Ethan looked across the street and their eyes met. Josh wanted to go to his former friend, to tell him that enough time had passed and they both needed to get over it. But despite the phone messages Josh had left, Ethan had never once called him back. Never forgiven him. Not for the accident—Ethan had been at fault. But for what had happened after.
In a way, Josh couldn’t blame him. After all, Josh hadn’t forgiven himself.
THE NEXT DAY, Charity unpacked her small box of personal items, then dove into her morning. She had brainstormed several ideas to bring businesses to Fool’s Gold, and wanted to run them past the mayor. After printing out her preliminary reports, she familiarized herself with the city’s cranky e-mail system and was surprised to look up and see the mayor standing in her doorway.
“Is it eleven-thirty already?” Charity asked, not able to believe how quickly the time had flown by.
“You look intense,” Marsha said. “Should we delay our lunch?”
“Of course not.” Charity pulled her handbag from the bottom drawer of her desk, then stood and straightened her tailored jacket. “I’m ready.”
They walked down the wide staircase and out onto the sunny street.
City Hall was in the middle of downtown, with old-fashioned street lights lining the wide sidewalk. There were mature trees, a barber shop and a soda fountain advertising old-fashioned milkshakes. Tulips and crocuses grew in window boxes in front of the various businesses.
“The town is beautiful,” Charity said as they crossed the street and headed for the restaurant on the corner. They walked around an open manhole cover where two female city workers set up equipment.
“Quiet,” Marsha murmured. “Too quiet.”
“Part of the reason you hired me.” Charity smiled. “To bring in businesses and with them employment.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ve brainstormed some ideas,” Charity told her, not sure if this was a working lunch or a get-to-know-you lunch.
“How many of them are run by and employ mostly men?”
Charity paused in front of the restaurant, sure she’d misunderstood the mayor’s question. “Excuse me?”
Marsha’s dark blue eyes danced with amusement. “I asked about men. Oh, don’t get frightened. Not for me. For the town. You haven’t noticed?”
Charity slowly shook her head, wondering if the otherwise together mayor had hit her head or taken some questionable medication. “Noticed what?”
“Look around,” the mayor told her. “Show me where the men are.”
Charity had no idea what she was talking about. Men, as in men?
She slowly scanned the street around them. There were two female city workers, a woman in a postal service uniform delivering mail, a young woman painting
