Gold Medal Hero

by Jena Petrie

  "Yeah," Suzy agreed. "It's a pretty rigid training programme, lasts most of the year and takes a lot out of them. And that's besides being away three of the twelve months."

  "It's who they are," Nat pointed out.

  "And what I admire most about Pete." Michelle smiled.

  "Without that drive, that determination, that devotion, Aaron wouldn't have appealed to me the same," Suzy added with a toss of her blond head.

  Bailey nodded. Same with Connor. But move in with him? Tempting, but not yet. Definitely not until this article was safely published and all flack from the note's writer had gone.

  If ever.

  "Time to go." Nat placed her empty cup on the table as Ken approached. "Can't be too late when there's training tomorrow morning, can we, hon?"

  His arm slid around her waist. "Time to leave these two lovebirds alone, I reckon. Night, everyone. See you tomorrow at the barbie, ladies."

  As if in a trance, Bailey's farewells were automatic as the guests left. Alone again with Connor, she turned to him. "I couldn't persuade them—"

  "Course not. They're on my side, and you've passed the test."

  CHAPTER 9

  Waiting in the car for Connor and his mates to return from their warm-up run next morning, Bailey read through her article on him. The story just needed a few tweaks, an update regarding his current training and some associated photos, and it'd be ready to send out.

  A pity in a way, because by 9.30 am Monday she'd probably be out the office door and down the road with nothing to do except write her own articles.

  After putting her iPad away she grabbed her camera and wandered down the slope towards the rowing complex. The pale blue sky of early morning reflected in the calm water and she used it for background in several photos of Connor puffing after his run. When he slipped the top of his row suit down, her mouth dried. All that bare male flesh and those massive pecs would bring out the reaction in any girl.

  This early, Connor's crew was the only one here, giving an almost eerie atmosphere to the surroundings and breaking the previous quiet. What had he said? That he didn't notice? How could he not?

  "Hi, Bailey!" Ken called, followed by Connor's other crewmates but the man she'd come to photograph ignored her completely. Too busy concentrating on lifting the boat off the rack. At least her presence didn’t disturb him, even as she took more snaps.

  Prominent muscles flexed and straightened as the crew carried the upside-down boat towards the lake, turned it over and lowered it gently into the water. Bailey altered the setting of her lens, ready to zoom in on Connor as he climbed—

  What?

  The camera dropped from weak hands, the strap jerking against the back of her neck but she couldn't have held on if she'd tried. This crew had all changed seats and Connor wasn't stroke!

  Instead, Ken sat in the stern with Connor behind him in three seat, Pete in two and Aaron in the bow. What the hell was going on?

  Ever since this crew started rowing together three years ago it had been winning races and always with Connor in stroke seat. Leading the crew. Setting the pace. Calling the changes. With such an impeccable history of success in international competitions, plus his determination to add four more Olympic golds to his tally, surely Connor was the obvious choice to be stroke.

  So why in heaven's name had Jeff swopped them around?

  And why hadn't Connor mentioned this change?

  Unless it had only happened today.

  Finally the guys finished organizing themselves and picked up the oars. Blasted nuisance that she felt obliged to continue snapping pictures in case any of the crew felt they'd been left out. The photos would be totally irrelevant for her article though, with Connor largely obscured by Ken's bulk. And a side-on view would show nothing of essential facial expressions.

  Clearly, Connor hated the change if his silence and sullen mouth were any indication. In fact, his only verbal reaction was a barely audible grunt when she grabbed his blade and pushed to help the boat glide away from the pontoon.

  As they rowed towards the other side of the lake Bailey's mouth fell open. If crews rowed up that side, they wouldn't come near her until they were almost back.

  So much for taking action pictures—even using her longest setting, her camera wouldn't capture enough detail to make this visit worthwhile.

  Had Connor persuaded her with a lie?

  ***

  Bailey. On the pontoon, waiting for them. Obliterating the memories of another crappy row. Tension eased from Connor's aching shoulders and when she grabbed his oar to help pull the boat in, he felt a grin spread over his face. Sure would fit in here, if she moved.

  Following them, she carried a pile of oars into the shed and waited while the guys returned the boat to its rack.

  "I'll take a shower before we head home," he warned, but she put a hand on his arm, stopping him from leaving.

  "Are you always in three seat now?"

  Oh, that. Trust her to pick up on it—the biggest dispute he'd ever had with Jeff. "Seem to be." He'd kept his voice even and his expression blank as her gaze searched his face.

  "Do you mind?"

  Connor forced a casual shrug. "No big deal."

  "Even to you?"

  Why couldn't she drop the damn subject? "Na. Whole crew's been changed."

  Her head cocked onto one side. "Why?"

  Hands fisted, he counted to five. Curious, she was, like a typical reporter. Nothing more than curious. "Just for a change, apparently. Don't worry, it won't last. You'll see. At least you will if you move here."

  One by one she hung up the oars she'd placed on the floor. "Have you asked to change back?"

  "Course." He slipped his drink bottle out from under his row suit to indicate his impatience to leave. Still, may as well tell her now or the reporter in her would pester until he gave in and revealed every tiny detail.

  So he put the bottle on the floor and started his warm-down stretches instead. "I was told, in no uncertain terms, that the decision was not mine and a bit of variety would be good for us."

  Bailey hung up another oar. "The thing is, there's no point taking photos if I can't get a clear view of you. Which means this visit's been a waste of time."

  Eyes clashed and he jumped up, grabbing his bottle. "You're supposed to be using it to check out other sports as well. The triathlon for instance. Talk to some of the officials, find out if they've got a reporter attached to the race. Find out what other sports events'll be on in the area over the course of a year." And with that, he marched away.

  Stupid behaviour. Why couldn’t he remember his own bloody goal? He'd never persuade her to move if he treated her like shit.

  "Connor!" She'd run after him and he stopped but didn't turn. Dead giveaway with his breathing coming this fast.

  "Look. I'm sorry." Her hand rested lightly on his arm. "I don't know why I said that. It wasn't what I meant at all."

  Did she mean the idea of moving had become more appealing? He turned to watch her face.

  "It's just that I was disappointed, being denied the chance of getting suitable photos. Is there..." A pause as she moved a leaf with her foot. "Is there any other way I could get some good, clear shots of you rowing? In a single, for instance?"

  "God, no. Not that. I hate rowing singles!" He yanked his arm away, so suddenly her hand dropped and she stumbled. With a lunge he gripped her shoulder, preventing a fall. "Sorry honey, but you have to understand."

  "What's wrong with rowing singles? You're on your own—no chance of being let down—"

  "Except I need crewmates. For company. A problem from my childhood no doubt, when Mum dragged me to events and sports open days, then left me there. Alone. To survive the ordeal I had to learn to talk to strangers, even big guys much older than me. Had to trust them, obey them, and cope with trying a variety of skills, most of which I had no talent for at all. It wasn't till I found rowing and a bunch of guys who accepted me, that the experiments stopped." For a moment h
e glared at her.

  "Why was getting you in a sport so important?"

  "I have no idea. She never said, and I never asked. Guess I didn't really want to know but I always presumed she had an important social life and getting me involved in a sport where I'd be busy on Saturdays and after school meant she could go out, meet friends, whatever."

  "She never explained?" Bailey's frown did nothing for her appearance but her concern pierced his heart, right through his chest. The place where he stored all the hurt and anger from his youth.

  "Never," he reiterated.

  "Where is she now?"

  He frowned. "Hardly relevant, is it?"

  "Probably not. Just curious, I guess."

  "Still in Invercargill, as far as I know."

  "What? You don't keep in touch?"

  "Why would I, when she never even contacted me after the Olympics? Or before." Tipping up his water bottle, he drained the last of the contents. "Better forget the action photos if you want me as stroke or in a single. Focus on my jogging or biking instead." And with that, he marched off to the men's changing room while his gut churned. Probably completely screwed up his chances of persuading her to move now.

  ***

  "Problem?"

  Bailey whirled around.

  Jeff. "Perhaps you can help. You know I'm writing a magazine article on Connor and I came to take photos of him training?"

  Once he'd nodded, she carried on. "Well, that's not possible when he's in three seat instead of stroke as I expected. Means I can't get a clear view. So, is there any other way you can think of that would work?"

  The coach's head swung up the rack of single skiffs, stacked from just clear of the floor to the highest one above him."He could row a single. In fact, they all could. Then they can race each other in the local regattas. Thanks for the suggestion, Bailey. I'll put them in singles next session—"

  "But Jeff! Connor doesn’t like rowing singles."

  "Too bad. Be good for him. Make him work harder. And concentrate. Don’t worry about it. I'll say it was my idea, okay?"

  "It still doesn't take care of my problem of getting photos."

  "Mm." Jeff gazed out at the water while she crossed her fingers.

  "Next training session would be ideal but it's not till tomorrow afternoon and you'll have left by then, I suppose?"

  She nodded, fingers clenching. Nothing was going to work, damn it.

  "Your article, though..." Jeff paused, obviously thinking. "Sounds like good publicity for rowing so he can come for a practice by himself tomorrow morning. Early. Like, say, 6 o'clock? That's before sunrise so you should get some good shots. I'll come down and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid like fall out. Best place for you to stand is on the pontoon—"

  "That won't work! He'll hardly have started building up speed by the time he passes me. He won't have started rowing hard, won't have had time to put in any real energy so won't have the right facial expressions, won't have built up any sweat..." She held her hands up in a helpless gesture. "It just won't look authentic, Jeff."

  The coach gave her a long hard stare. "The pontoon behind the presentation stand is the one I meant, as I was about to explain. If your lens is long enough you should get some good shots from there while he rows towards the finish line in lane one. If he does it right it'll look authentic enough."

  "Okay, but you'll tell him about these arrangements, won't you?" she hurried to ask before he slipped away.

  "Yeah, yeah. I'll tell him."

  ***

  Connor turned his back on Jeff and stomped off to the car, anger growing inside him like a geyser about to erupt. "It was your idea, wasn't it?" he demanded, the moment he opened the car door.

  Bailey's glare was full of disdain. "Did not. It was his, and he persisted even though I warned him you hated rowing singles. Honestly, Connor, I stood up for you but he was adamant. He's got a point though; rowing the single against each other will give another dimension to your training."

  "Oh, so you're an expert now, are you?" Backing out of the park, he almost hit the lamp post behind.

  Although her fingers gripped her thighs, she refrained from making a comment on the near miss. Thank God.

  "Not an expert, no. Just someone who can sometimes see both sides of an argument."

  Smarty. Had all the answers, didn't she? He gripped the steering wheel. Christ, why couldn't he eliminate this dark side? She'd never even shift up for the sporting stories at this rate, let alone move in with him. "Look, I'm sorry. I just thought—"

  "I know, Connor." She touched his arm, sending warmth and understanding right through his body. "But rowing a skiff you're not comfortable with may help you overcome your hatred of it. Like the way your mother dragged you to all those sports open days and made you talk to strangers, meant you found rowing. And this plan might even increase your speed from knowing it's all up to you; no crewmates to help out." Her touch turned into a pat. "Give it a try, will you? After all, the idea of action photos was yours and this is the only way I'll get them."

  Anyone would give in to that soft tone and he nodded. "Okay. I'll do this tomorrow, provided you go out this afternoon and talk to sporting officials about the possibility of writing for them."

  "Deal." They slapped hands in a high five. "I'll need to borrow your car."

  He chucked. "Always a catch, huh? Okay. You can borrow the car after we've been to the market but don't be late back. We've got another barbeque—"

  "You're taking me to a market? Oh, man, I love markets."

  ***

  Crowds of people already filled the small park in the middle of town when Bailey and Connor arrived. Just as well he could see over most of the other heads and he steered her through the throng towards the nearest tent. For awhile they mingled with the crowd checking out the wide range of goods on show.

  At a display of costume jewellery she had to stop and study the lovely items. "Gorgeous, aren't they?"

  Surprisingly, he picked up a paua pendant and held it against her t-shirt. "It matches the turquoise flecks." He moved along, the pendant still in his hand. "You'd like something to match, wouldn't you?"

  "Hey, there's no need to buy me anything! You've done enough already." She edged closer and whispered, "Last weekend, remember?"

  The sexy grin he flashed almost made her bones melt.

  "That was different." Without so much as a glance her way, he pulled a pair of matching earrings off the stand. "Call it a souvenir, whatever. Anyway, can't I give you a gift if I want?"

  "As long as it isn't a bribe."

  That made him pause. "Not at all. I enjoy spoiling you." After paying, he clipped the pendant around her neck.

  With the new earrings on, she lifted her face for his approval.

  He slid the shell of the pendant along its chain. "You do like it, I hope?"

  "Connor." She smiled. "It's lovely. Thank you very much." But the simple words, used so often and for so many things, seemed totally inadequate so she reached up and kissed his cheek.

  "Worth it already," he responded with a grin, pulling her into his side again as they walked on.

  "I've got an idea." Bailey pushed Connor inside another tent. "You need a picture in your living room. So choose your favourite painting and don't worry about the cost because this is my shout.

  Didn't take him long to choose; a beach scene with kids playing near the water.

  "It's lovely." She nodded her approval. "Even liven up the room after the party decorations come down."

  "You already do that, when you're there," he responded as they left the confines of the tent. "Now, why don't you go and order coffee for us while I put this in the car? Then I'll take you to the cycle race tent and you can suss out the writing opportunities."

  "There's no need for you to come," she protested.

  "No? But it might be the wrong place and then you won't know where to go, so I've appointed myself as your guide. That's the only way I'll know for sure you've done every
thing possible to research your future sports-writing career."

  ***

  "You're late, Free-bee," Pete accused that evening, waving his tongs at Connor who ignored him to dump a meat pack on the table. "Need I ask why?" Beside Pete, Ken and Aaron exchanged grins but they were way off base there.

  Bailey squirmed out of Connor's hold. If she could be up front and tell these guys she and Connor were only friends, she'd avoid this embarrassment. "It was the pasta salad." She indicated the large bowl in her hands. "I was teaching Connor how to make it."

  "Slow learner, huh." Aaron glared at Connor but the other guys both grinned.

  "No. Complicated recipe." Connor glared back. "Anyway, it was worth spending the time. I can recommend it to you all."

  "Oh, so you've sampled it already?" Ken peered through the plastic wrapper into the bowl.

  "Course. How else could I recommend it?"

  "You're biased," Aaron accused, tapping along the line of sausages on the barbeque so they rolled over like falling dominoes. "Take your precious load inside before you drop it, Bailey. Connor, stick your sausages on here and cook 'em. Ours are almost done."

  Inside, Bailey lowered the bowl onto the table and looked around the spacious dinning-living room. More modern than Connor's house, it had been tastefully decorated with red and pale blue floral cushions on dark blue chairs and some attractive paintings on the walls.

  "Looks delicious," Michelle commented as Bailey removed the bowl's wrapper. "Connor will appreciate it if you can cook."

  Another check on her? "Didn't I tell you—"

  Michelle laughed. "It's alright. I don't think he notices the flavour. Anything goes when they're hungry, and you'll see tonight just how much they can eat in one meal."

  Nat approached, all grace and poise on those long legs. "You know the old saying; the way to a man's heart..."

  Ice skittered up Bailey's spine at the other girl's undertone. "I have no intention of hooking Connor that way, or hooking him at all, as you seem to expect."

  Suzy placed a couple of sauces and mayonnaise on the table. "Maybe not, but you couldn't find a nicer guy."

  "Or a more voracious eater, I suppose." Bailey guessed.