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"Bailey?" The sight of her slumped in the chair, shoulders hunched and her body shaking, made Connor's heart hammer such a loud drumbeat she could probably hear it too.
She jerked, looked up, her eyes huge in a pasty-pale face instead of its previous healthy colouring.
Christ! Something had happened in the last ten minutes to change her into this frightened animal. Something serious. Why'd he been such a dick-head as to leave her alone in the dark? For some reason, his big-time screw-up had put her through hell. So much for impressing her; instead, he'd been too intent on giving her a surprise to even think straight.
She stood, so quickly the chair almost fell and he grabbed it, pushed her back. "You're cold. I'll get the heater." While it warmed, he made a cup of sweet tea, put it in front of her and sat opposite, waiting till she'd finished drinking before he spoke. "Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?"
Slowly, her fingers opened, revealing a scrunched-up piece of paper and he spread it out on the table and read.
Shit. "Where was this?"
"Th-the door. Stuck to the door. Outside." Again, she covered her face, rocking from side to side. "Oh, why didn't I insist on separate motel units? Whoever he is won't know this one has two bedrooms."
"So, someone wants to scare you off. Is that what you make of it?"
"But... Why?"
"And who. Like a rival at your paper? Or the reporter Jerry turned away?"
"More likely my boss, finding a new reason to dismiss me. Or if he knew about this s-story I want to write, angry that I went behind his back and planned to do it for a magazine, instead of offering it to his paper."
"You think your boss is responsible?" Good God.
"Just saying it's p-possible."
He dropped into a crouch to watch her face. "An ex, with an axe to grind?"
Thumb and forefinger slid down a strand of hair beside her face. Reaching the end, she twisted the curl around her finger. "No."
"The guy you kept watching at dinner?"
"No, no. He was just amusing himself by pulling funny faces."
"What about past reporter colleagues?"
Another head shake. "None who'd suddenly pop up out of nowhere like this." She leaned forward and pushed the Off button on the heater, then stood. At least, she tried. Apparently not enough strength in those legs yet because he had to grip her arm to stop the collapse.
"I'm being paranoid, Connor. Being silly." But she allowed him to ease her back into the chair without complaint. "I wrote an article on a sports guy once and even after we started a relationship, I wrote more on him."
"Why'd you break up?"
The question in her eyes made him raise his hands in surrender. "Sorry. Not my business, but do you think it was him?"
Her head shook. "No. There's no reason he'd do this. He's moved on and doing well without me and my stories."
"It could even have been someone at the hotel who recognised your name when we checked in," he suggested, but the scenario of anyone having a grudge against this gorgeous babe seemed impossible. "No-one's followed us, have they?"
"No-oo. Not that I've no-ticed." Worry slowed her speech.
"Want to call off the weekend?" Way to go, Freeman. Top marks for easing the woman's fear.
"No!"
Thank God. "Listen." Crouching again, he grabbed her hand, enclosing it in the warmth of his own. "From now on, we have to make sure our behaviour looks normal. So we'll pretend the note never existed and carry on as we intended, with you as my girlfriend—"
"Exactly what he's implying in this note." She slapped at the offending item lying on the table. "Whatever we do, however we behave, we're screwed.
"So we'll treat the message as a practical joke," he instructed, because one of them had to demonstrate some sense. Then to reassure her, he wrapped her in a brief hug and kissed her forehead.
"You expect me to go outside and show my face to the world, even though I've been reminded that someone could be waiting to cause more mischief?" Her head shook. "You've got to be joking. We're going to stay right here while I ask questions and you answer them. By Sunday when we leave I'll have more than enough for a really in-depth article that—"
"Will be so long, no editor will want it." Grinning, he stood, arms folded and feet astride. "Won't work, Bailey. I came here to enjoy a relaxing weekend before training starts again, so why do you think I'd like your plan?" Palms flat on the table, he leaned forward. "I wouldn't, and neither would you. So instead, we'll start with tonight and go to the star-gazing show—"
"How? Bookings will have closed–"
"Already booked, honey. It's one of the things I did at reception earlier, after you pointed out how perfect today's conditions were. So, are you coming?"
Didn't look like it, with her head down, and when at last she raised it, no enthusiasm showed on her face. Damn. If she allowed that jerk to get the better of her—
Oh, well. Nothing for it but to cancel the booking.
Suddenly her eyes changed—sparkled. "Yes! That's a great idea and just what I need—a distraction. Something else to think about to take my mind off..." With a wave she indicated the note. "That."
***
They'd walked only a little way the following afternoon when Bailey stopped to peel off her shirt. Just as well she'd dressed in layers. Who would have thought, this time yesterday, that in less than twenty-four hours she'd be at Mt Cook, interviewing another sportsman?
Since the horror of last night Connor had done a great job creating distractions for her, from the awesome stargazing through this morning's boat ride to the Tasman Glacier. Now she lifted her face to the sun's warmth. "Isn't this heavenly?"
But instead of looking around, Connor watched her, his expression serious as if there was nothing wonderful about the day, or the scene, or the atmosphere, at all, and all he wanted to do was move on.
"Can't you sense the magic of this place? See it? Hear it? Come on, Connor. It's awesome."
"Mountains are what I see, a sign saying 'Hooker Valley Walk', and you, enjoying yourself. That's enough for me."
"I meant the beauty of this place, and the peace. Mountains all around and Mt Cook up ahead. Its majestic peak invites us closer, and the only sound is the rumbling of the river."
"And an aeroplane flying overhead," he added, watching it disappear up the valley.
Trust a guy not to appreciate beauty. "Don't you feel the peace when you're out in the boat, rowing early in the morning? The perfect stillness around you and the only sound being the rhythmic movement of the oars in the water? I love that about rowing. Thought you would, too."
A shrug from beside her. "Too busy concentrating when we're training. But you're right about this scenery. It is awesome. Now, are you coming? We need to keep going."
"Of course." Shoving her camera behind her, she marched ahead, but not for long as Connor joined her, his steps matched to her shorter ones. Thoughtful guy.
A touch on her arm brought her head around. "This morning on the boat you seemed to spend most of the time with the camera in front of your face. Can't have seen much of the glacier."
"Did too. It was an awesome tour." She might have noticed more if it hadn't been for Connor squashed tight against her, his arm pulling her snug into his side.
The idea of acting as his girlfriend still sent warm fuzzies through her. So far, the only suggestion of playboy behaviour had been a few funny sexual references; nothing improper at all.
"Tell me; was all that camera clicking a warning of numerous photo stops this afternoon?"
"You misinterpreted. The boat rocked so much, I didn't take many pictures. This afternoon? Well, sure I'd like photos. I don't understand why you don't."
"The best memories are quirky little things that happen too quickly to catch on camera." He strode ahead, dismissing her.
Or using the walk for fitness training? With only two days before the start of rowing he must require some build up.
"Slowcoach, you need a hand already." He'd waited till she caught up and now pushed her from behind, so hard it almost made her run.
"Stop. Stop! Too fast!"
At least he obeyed. "Really. But you were dawdling. Needed help."
"Did not."
His voice whispered in her ear. "Should I throw you over my shoulder and carry you? I will, if you loiter again."
"Don't you dare."
But he only laughed as he retrieved her bottle from the hired backpack and held it up. "Water?"
Thank God. She snatched it and drank, not stopping till half the contents had gone.
"You're going to want more before we get back, at that rate."
He looked so worried she laughed, pointing in the direction of a gurgling sound. "No problem."
"The river?" A frown as he stepped back, suggesting a whole herd of cattle had drunk from it up stream. "Assuming the water's safe to drink, how would you access it? Want me to hold your ankles over the side of the bridge and lower you down?"
"Yeah, right." She screwed up her nose. "I think you should wade in from the bank."
"Amongst blocks of ice? No thanks." He shivered, although probably only for show. "Let's hope we don't run out." His growly tone made her smile as he grabbed the bag, shoved the bottle inside and marched away, hoisting it onto his back as he went.
"And if we do?" she queried after catching up. "Imagine me wading into a swift-flowing river. Not being as muscular as you, I could be swept away. You'd have to go in and rescue me. Might be better to do the job yourself in the first place."
"Compromise?"
"What? We swap bottles?"
The hint of a smile flashed. Disappeared. "Not what I was going to suggest, no. But we could look for a place beside the bank with a deep hole so you could bend over—or lie down—and scoop water into your bottle."
"And if I accidently let it go, you'll confirm your hero status and chase after it?"
"And risk hypothermia? Not likely. If you lose your bottle, you might have to give up on this walk and head back while I carry on."
"Such a cop-out," she scoffed, head in the air. "As if you'd enjoy this long walk on your own."
"Wouldn't walk. I'd run."
"And spoil the chance of viewing the scenery on the way?"
"Oh, I'm noticing the scenery, don't worry about that." But his lop-sided smile suggested it wasn't the scenery he meant.
God, how did this guy manage to affect her so strongly? Every smile, every tease, every contact of skin, warmed her a little more. She'd be in danger of falling in love with him if she hung around too long, but that would only create disaster and pain. Everyone knew he only did flings. For him, one night stands were second nature.
And she knew how sportsmen could use her as a rung on their ladder. "But if I went back and you carried on—alone—you'd be more noticeable," she pointed out. "The exact thing you want to avoid."
"Then stay with me."
"I'd still require a water top-up. So if I let go of my bottle in this fast-flowing, stony, icy river, I'd have to use yours."
His dramatic sigh was worthy of an Oscar. "Another compromise. We'll both use your bottle until it's empty, then mine, and when both are finished, we'll start on my spare. Deal?"
"You brought a spare?" she laughed. "Crafty." Still smiling, she slapped her hand against his in a high five. "Deal."
Until now she'd never met such a fun guy. With just a few choice words and a little teasing, Connor had eliminated her fear from last night's threat. What made a guy such a funny, heart-warming tease? "You know, I've heard very little of your background, apart from growing up in Invercargill. What about your folks?"
"Not much to tell. My mother brought me up alone. She got me sampling every sport available until I tried rowing and was hooked. After that I spent most of my spare time around other rowers."
"What about your father?
"Died before I was born."
"Oh. That must have been tough. Thought he must have been your role model. So what created your interest in rowing?"
"Firstly, the welcome from the rowers, then their devotion to the sport and their obvious love of it, their general camaraderie and the way they shared their knowledge so willingly."
"How old were you when you started?"
"Eleven."
"Young, for sure, even for a cox."
"That experience gave me a head start into the sport but I never intended to stay in that role."
"How did you manage to make the change?"
"Always did the same warm-up and cool-down routines as my crew." He steered her to the side of the path to allow another couple to pass. "Those guys were much bigger than me so it helped build my strength for later. By fourteen I'd grown tall enough and strong enough to switch from coxing to rowing."
"Did they talk to you about technique?"
"Sure, and not just the rowing stuff, but setting up a boat, too."
"Good skills," she agreed.
"You bet." He chewed the inside of his cheek. "I'd have gone off the rails if it weren't for rowing. That's the only reason I stayed at school till my last year but I left after the national school championships."
"No uni for you?"
"No way. My focus was two-fold: leave home, and improve my rowing. Moved to Sherdon, worked part-time in a sports shop and trained hard."
"Both goals accomplished, then."
"Yep." A sideways glance at her, then, "Your turn. Why do you like coxing?"
"It's not the role so much as the sport in general, but I do love being outside in all that fresh air, especially on smooth water. Love my current crew? Not so much."
"Novices?"
"Yup."
"All at different fitness levels, with varying abilities?"
"Right on the button."
And with that, his chuckle grew until it developed into a laugh; full, deep, and genuine.
Such an infectious sound! It penetrated her soul, dived into her heart and stayed, warming her from the inside out. Only the sight of the first bridge eliminated her happy mood.
Connor paused. "You okay with this?"
"Only if you go first, check it out, and get off before I cross."
"Quicker if you run."
"And risk losing my lunch? No thanks."
Minutes later he watched from the other side, feet apart and hands on hips as if to say, 'Repeat that if you dare.'
Could she? His crossing had been so confident, so smooth, and without using any support from the wire rope that stretched the length of the bridge. Carefully, she stepped onto the wooden deck and tested the movement. None. With fingers gripping the side supports, she slid forward, one foot at a time, all the way to the end where she laughed up at him. The bridge had hardly moved.
"Finally," he teased, slipping his arm around her back as they walked on. "Didn't have to make it look so difficult though, babe."
Second time he'd used that title. This time, to soften the blow of criticism? "Why do you keep calling me that? I'm not even your girlfriend."
"Practicing for when we're amongst other people," but the slight sideways smile that stretched his lips indicated it was just an excuse. "Anyway, what made you so nervous? A big bully from your childhood, upsetting your balance on a bouncy castle?"
Her stepbrother more like, terrifying her every day of that two week holiday. Mum's patronizing voice replayed in Bailey's mind. 'So much quicker for you kids to take the shortcut than for me to get in the car and drive the long way round.' The usual gutful of broken glass jabbed Bailey's insides. "A very bouncy bridge."
Connor had started to walk on but stopped abruptly. "Not here?"
"No. Year before."
"God, Bailey. Remind me when we come to the next bridge to carry you across."
"There's no need to act the big protective brother, you know."
"Fine." But saying it through clenched teeth was a total giveaway.
Just the memory dried her throat so she unzipped the pack, pulled out the bottle and drained the contents.
"Empty already?" Connor shook his head as he slipped the pack from his shoulder and shoved the bottle in. "Christ, why didn't I bring a gallon of refills?"
"Because it would have been too heavy?"
"Because I forgot you're a soak, you mean."
"Me?" Her head on one side, she feigned wide-eyed innocence. "When I had no more than two glasses of wine at dinner last night? Come on, give me a break."
"Can't count either, apparently." But his gorgeous lop-sided grin said he didn't mind, moments before he swung the pack into position again.
If only Connor wasn't a bad boy. Or a sportsman. With his protective instincts and constant teasing, he'd be an awesome friend.
***
"Oh, look at that, will you?"
Another photo stop. Connor chose a boulder and sat on its warm surface. From here, the slight breeze blew Bailey's flowery perfume towards him. Below the club rowing cap her hair fell loose over her shoulders. Probably good protection against the sun's heat on her neck but it acted like a curtain, hiding her face. Occasionally a wind puff did him a favour and lifted a lock before giving up, as if the burden was too heavy.
If only his hand could take over. Need made his fingers curl. Why the blazes had he agreed to a business-only weekend with this gorgeous babe?
Bailey's camera lowered onto the rock beside him, inviting his gaze up her arm as she stripped off her long-sleeved shirt, revealing a more fitting, bright pink t-shirt that emphasised her sexy curves.
Far out! His mouth dried like bread in the sun. Thank God for water.
The second his bottle dropped inside the bag she snatched the strap and slipped it over an arm.
"Thought I was carrying," he protested.
"My turn." The answer came over her shoulder, accompanied by a put-on smile. "You don't get to be macho man the whole time."
Macho man? Was that how he came across?
"I need to keep in training, too."
Reinforcing their common ground. Man, if she felt half the interest for him as he felt for her, his crazy dreams might eventuate after all. If the boss dismissed her, it could work in his favour...
She looked up at him, her head on one side like she sometimes did.
Cute, that action. Real cute.
"Perhaps I should persuade the coach to let me row." Spoken with the hint of a question in her voice. "That would do it."
"A rowing machine would achieve the same result."
"But not as much fun as being on the water in the fresh air, in a crew and all pulling together to achieve the same goal. I love that about rowing."
"Thought you were frustrated?"
"Oh, that's just another challenge. A bigger one than usual. They'll be a lot better by nationals under my guidance."
Meaning she wouldn't want to move any time soon. Bugger.
"You must love rowing too, doing it for a job."
A job. Yeah, that's all it had been since his euphoria died following that momentous Olympic win. Thank God people didn't know he'd lost his enthusiasm for what had been his only ambition. "Got a recorder in your pocket?" But his tone came out growly; not at all what he intended.
"I've a good memory, Connor, plus I've read a lot about you." That put-on smile again.
"Don't believe everything you read," he warned. "That's one reason I offered to check your article before you submit it. Best to have all your facts correct rather than offend someone," and he yanked the peak of her cap lower.
"Okay, okay. I get the message." Too slow to swat his hand away, she tugged the hat back into place.
"To answer your question, I guess the win has a lot to do with it but I... enjoy the challenge of rowing, staying fit, keeping healthy and pushing my body till it screams." At least, he used to. "That's when I... know I'm giving at least a hundred per cent. Striving to do better is always my aim. To be the best." God, what an effort it'd been, putting his old feelings back into that reply. Except telling her had been easier.
"I don't suppose this walk is a patch on what you normally do for training so you won't have hunger pains, but I do. Got those snacks handy?"
He passed over the sealed bag he'd bought at the hotel. "Why did your parents leave early when you were here before?" When her nose screwed up he coaxed, "Talking about it might help eliminate the bad memories."
One by one, nuts disappeared into her mouth. "It was never discussed, but lumpy beds, probably."
Yeah, and he could fly to the moon. Sounded like parent problems and he could sure identify with them. "Yours?" he asked as a joke but it brought only a stern glare in response. "Or maybe your parents couldn't cope with the quiet." His fingers wrapped around the packet she'd flung.
"My brothers were there, too." And with that little tease of information, she picked up a stone and hurled it towards the river. That done, she grabbed the backpack and marched away.
Sibling rivalry? Jealousy? Or parental favouritism? Something bothered her, for sure.
As other couples approached, heading towards the village, Bailey exchanged greetings with each individual like a guide welcoming them into her tour group. Using them to repel the negative feelings from minutes earlier? Such a quick adjustment must indicate a willingness to get on with strangers so she'd cope fine with his mates' girlfriends in Sherdon.
Maybe he should learn her tactics of putting the past behind her and moving on. Sure needed to do something about this depression before Monday.
On a higher area of track she stopped to lean on the railing, pointing at the view.
"Another bridge. Cool." Beside her, he watched her features. "Should I carry you over my shoulder so you can't see? Or carry you in both arms like a sling? Or stand you on my shoes, facing me as we walk across together? Whichever way you pick, Macho Man here will keep you safe."
"Safe is not a synonym for blind, so I'll walk across by myself as I did last time, thank you very much."
"Why go alone when you could have company? No fun in that."
"You forget; I'm not looking for fun."
"Going first or last?"
"Last, so I can watch you."
So he started off, walking normally until he reached the middle. There, he stopped, looked down at the river and gave an almighty shiver. When he checked that Bailey watched, the cheeky woman lowered her camera.
"Disobeying orders, huh?" he shouted, advancing on her in a mock-threatening manner. "Come on! I'll teach you to behave!" He grabbed her hand and hauled her towards the middle of the bridge where he stopped, released his support, and turned her to face upstream, at the ice floes. How would she cope now?
Cope? Oh, yes. No petrified scaredy-cat this babe. No sound like a yelp or scream came from her, no terrified action like a grab of the side wire, and no plea for help. Not even a shiver.
Instead, the crazy woman planted her feet astride, raised her camera, and snapped. Only after taking several photos did she look up at him, laughing.
So the joke was on him. Well, good on her.
Still chuckling, she sank to the ground on the other side. Wisps of hair stuck to her damp forehead and her cap sat askew.
Intuitively, he reached out and gently straightened the hat. Like a magic genii, she'd answered his first wish and woken his dormant interest in rowing. If only he could keep her, but persuading her to move to Sherdon and continue giving him good vibes could be a bigger challenge than winning that Olympic gold medal.