Susan Mallery Fool's Gold Series Volume One: Chasing PerfectAlmost PerfectSister of the BrideFinding Perfect

by Susan Mallery

  Charity reached across the space separating them and touched Marsha’s arm. “I know he died. She told me. I’d been asking a lot of questions. While I could believe my mom didn’t have any family, I knew I had to have a father. Once he was gone, I stopped asking questions.”

  She’d been twelve, Charity remembered. Sandra had come in her room. They’d been living in a rented mobile home, in a park at the edge of Phoenix. Charity recalled everything about the room, the view out of her small window, the sound of the dripping faucet as Sandra told her that the boy who had gotten her pregnant had gone into the military and he’d been killed. A helicopter crash.

  Marsha squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I thought it would make a difference, but it didn’t. She never answered my letter and when I sent the detective to check on her, she was gone. Just like she’d promised. I’d lost her all over again.”

  She shrugged. “So I gave up. I stopped looking. Stopped hoping. I accepted that I’d chased away my only child and moved on with my life. Then a few months ago, I decided to try again.”

  Charity’s chest tightened. “You hired another detective?”

  Marsha nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “It didn’t take him long to find out my baby girl had died. Cancer. He said it took her quickly.”

  Charity nodded. She’d had time to get used to the loss of her mother, but for Marsha, that news was fresh. Still painful. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, realizing that when it came to Sandra everyone had been sorry except Sandra herself.

  “It was a shock,” Marsha admitted. “She was my only child. Shouldn’t I have known? Guessed? Felt it in my heart? But there was nothing. No warning. I mourned her. I mourned what could have been. What I had thrown away.”

  “No,” Charity said firmly. “You aren’t completely responsible. Yes, you made mistakes, but so did she. The whole time I was growing up, I begged her to tell me about my family and she wouldn’t. She refused, because what she felt was more important than what I wanted. She died, leaving me alone in the world, and never bothered to tell me the truth. I had you all this time and she never told me.”

  Now Charity was the one fighting tears. “I hated moving around. I would beg her to stay, but she wouldn’t. When I was a junior in high school, I told her I was done. I was going to graduate from that high school. She promised to stay as long as she could. It was six months, and then she took off. I stayed. She sent me money when she could and I worked part-time. The rental was cheap enough. She wasn’t even worried about me. She said I would be fine. She didn’t even come back for graduation.”

  She turned to face Marsha. “Tell me you would have been there.”

  “Yes, but that’s not—”

  “The point? It’s exactly the point.”

  Feelings Charity didn’t normally allow surged up inside her. She’d learned that it was better not to think about some things too much. Better to always be in control. Now, as she felt that control starting to slip, she knew she had to get away.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I need to go. I’ll…We’ll talk later.”

  She grabbed her handbag and hurried from the room. After racing down the stairs and out of the building, she glanced both directions, not sure where she should go. In the distance, to the left, she saw one of the three parks in town and headed there.

  She wouldn’t think about it, she told herself. And there was no way she was going to cry. She never cried. It accomplished nothing and left her feeling weak.

  She walked briskly along the sidewalk, remembering to smile at people she passed. She reached the lush green park in a couple of minutes and ducked down one of the tree-lined paths until she found an empty bench. Once there, she collapsed and tried to sort out everything spinning in her head.

  Her reaction to her mother keeping the information about Marsha to herself was obviously an emotional misdirect. Better to be pissed at Sandra than think about all she’d lost. All she’d missed out on.

  She had family. A grandmother. And if wasn’t for her own mother’s stubborn ways, she could have spent the past twenty-eight years knowing her.

  Marsha Tilson. Which meant Charity’s last name was probably Tilson and not Jones. Jeez, had Sandra even bothered to change her name legally before slapping “Jones” on Charity’s birth certificate?

  She heard footsteps and angled away from the path. At least there weren’t any tears to wipe away. She braced herself to have to make polite chitchat, then nearly fell off her seat when she saw Josh moving toward her.

  He looked concerned and uneasy, not to mention his usual stunningly handsome self.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  He paused in front of her. “I’m here to make sure you’re all right.”

  How could he possibly know what was going on? There hadn’t been enough time for him to hear the story from Marsha. Unless he already knew.

  “When did she tell you she was my grandmother?” she asked, not sure if she was pissed or not.

  “The day before the first interview.”

  The interview. The job. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Marsha hired me because I’m her granddaughter.”

  He sat next to her and put his arm around her. “She hired you because you were the best one for the job. She didn’t make the decision by herself and you weren’t the only candidate. It was a group decision. Don’t you have enough on your plate without going there?”

  “Maybe,” she admitted, relaxing against him. She didn’t want to. She wanted to be strong all on her own. But it felt so good to lean into his strength. As if he could hold all of her problems at bay.

  “Who else knows?” she asked.

  “Just me. She needed someone to talk to. Then after you got here, she wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

  Charity sat straight up. “What? Is that why you’ve been so nice to me? Did you sleep with me because my grandmother told you to?”

  He grinned. “Want to run that last sentence by your common sense? What grandmother asks a guy to sleep with her only granddaughter?”

  “Oh. You’re probably right.”

  “Probably?”

  Some of her outrage faded. She sagged back against him. “My head hurts.”

  “It’ll get better. You need a little time to take everything in. But if you’re going to have some surprise family, she’s the one to have. Marsha’s one of the good guys.”

  “I know, but it’s so strange to think about. She’s known about me all my life. She wanted to be a part of things. She wanted us to be together.” Her eyes began to burn. She blinked away the sensation.

  “My mother was the most stubborn person in the world,” Charity whispered. “She was totally unconventional. She didn’t care if I ate cake for breakfast, or what time I went to bed. She said she’d grown up with too many rules, that she didn’t believe in them.”

  She glanced at him. “It sounds great in theory, but the truth was, I would have liked a few rules. I had to take responsibility for everything myself. I knew she wouldn’t. I was making sure there was food in the house by the time I was nine and handling the bills by the time I was twelve. I wanted to be a kid, but I was too scared of what would happen if no one was in charge.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking her hair. “You should have had better.”

  “I had better than a lot of people. I never went hungry. I had clothes and a roof over my head.”

  A pretty low bar, Josh thought, seriously pissed, but determined not to show it. The last thing Charity needed was to deal with his feelings. This was about her.

  “She wasn’t a bad person,” Charity said. “Sandra loved me.”

  Another point he wouldn’t argue, but he didn’t believe Sandra was all that good a person. He doubted Marsha had been a perfect mother—no one was—but she’d always led with her heart. She was tough, but fair. No one changed that much and the woman he’d known since he was ten years old was giving and loving, and if she’d been s
trict, there would have been a reason. He would know—she’d looked after him, offering advice and support.

  He knew she’d supplemented dozens of kids’ college educations, gave both money and time to several charities and ached for the one thing she’d lost—a family.

  To his way of thinking, the fault was Sandra’s. Not for running away, but for insisting that Charity not have anything to do with her grandmother. It was one thing for Sandra to hold a grudge, but she’d had no right to impose those rules on her daughter.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Charity admitted.

  “Give it time. Things have a way of getting clearer.”

  “I ran out on Marsha. I have to say something to her. Explain.”

  “She knows you were overwhelmed. That’s why she called me.”

  “The neutral third party?”

  “The brilliant and hunky guy who will distract you.”

  Charity managed a smile. “Oh, right. Silly me.” She straightened. “You’re right. I need to give it time. This has been a huge shock and I don’t have to do anything about it right now. I can live with the information, then decide what it means to me.”

  “An excellent plan.”

  The smile faded. “The worst of it is, I can’t get closure. Not totally. Sandra’s gone and I can’t go back and ask why she never told me about my grandmother.”

  “She had her reasons,” he said carefully, not wanting to step into anything unpleasant.

  “Stupid ones.” She stood. “Okay. I need to get back to work. That will distract me.” She lightly kissed him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You didn’t have to come after me. I would have been fine.”

  “I enjoy a good rescue.”

  Her dark eyes stared into his. “You’re a really nice guy.”

  He pressed his index finger to his mouth. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.”

  That earned him another smile. “I think word has already gotten out.”

  * * *

  DEMONS CAME IN ALL shapes and sizes. Josh’s were in the form of twelve guys from the local high school. They ranged in age from fifteen to eighteen, mostly skinny and awkward-looking on the ground, but they could fly like the wind on bikes.

  Coach Green, a tall, skinny guy about Josh’s age, practically danced in place. “This is the best,” he said, grinning. “I raced in college. Nothing like you did, of course. I didn’t have the raw ability. But man, I wanted to be just like you. I can’t tell you how excited we all are to have you working out with us.”

  Josh swallowed against the tightness in his chest. It didn’t help. The worship in Coach Green’s voice was only making a crappy situation even more potentially disastrous. What the hell had he been thinking when he’d agreed to participate in the race? It wasn’t that he was going to get his ass kicked—it was that he was going to humiliate himself in front of the world. Everyone was going to know he was a sniveling, frightened coward. Talk about a shitty legacy.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a bike,” Josh lied. His last ride had been the previous night. But it had been what felt like fifteen lifetimes since he’d ridden with anyone else. Stood next to other riders. Heard the sounds, exchanged conversation, then focused on the race.

  Even looking at the kids who kept glancing at him, he felt the bands lock around his chest. He couldn’t breathe, but that was the least of it. What killed him was the mind-numbing terror. Anywhere but here, he told himself. He’d rather stand in fire than go through this.

  “The guys will go easy on you,” the coach joked.

  Only it wasn’t a joke and no one knew, Josh though grimly.

  Green called the guys over. They walked their bikes toward him, their young faces bright with anticipation. They introduced themselves. A couple shook hands with him.

  He’d seen most of them around town. He recognized their faces. Now he was supposed to ride with them. “Josh is coming out of retirement for a charity race in a few weeks,” Coach Green said. “He’s going to be training with us until then.”

  “Sweet!” one of the guys said.

  “I’m old and out of shape,” Josh said. “Be gentle.”

  The guys laughed.

  Coach Green yelled for them to line up and start the warm up.

  Josh moved behind the kids. He’d go in the back, he thought. Keep the other riders where he could see them. A few miles at an easy pace would be good.

  A whistle blew. The riders pushed off and cycled away. Josh waited until they were at least a hundred yards ahead before starting himself. He focused on moving the bike forward, of warming up his muscles, of the familiar feel of what he did.

  It had been two years since he’d ridden during the day. He’d forgotten how bright everything was, the colors of trees and buildings as they passed in a blur. There was a light wind and the temperature was in the sixties. Perfect, he thought.

  The kids in front of him had picked up the pace, so he did, as well. Inside of him, something woke, stirring to life. A burning need to reach them and pass them. The desire to win.

  The sensation surprised him. He would have thought humiliation would have crushed any competitive spirit he had left, but obviously not.

  Without any kind of a plan, he pedaled harder and faster, easily closing the distance between him and the students. One of the guys noticed and yelled something. The pack sped up. Josh continued to gain, feeling the blood moving through his body, the rush when he realized all he was capable of, knew that he hadn’t lost everything.

  “No way, Golden,” one of the kids yelled as he reached them. “You’re not beating us.”

  They crowded together, around him. Moving close to trap him between them.

  Their tactic was obvious and not especially skillful. He knew the maneuvers to outflank them. He didn’t even have to think about it—the movements were instinctive.

  Only he couldn’t do it. The instructions flowed from his brain to his muscles, but somehow never arrived. Maybe it was the coldness seeping into his body. The chill that told him he was afraid. Maybe it was the memories flashing so quickly that he couldn’t see anything but Frank soaring through the air before falling to his death. Suddenly Josh couldn’t breathe. Cold sweat broke out everywhere. His muscles cramped painfully, forcing him to stop.

  He didn’t remember moving, but suddenly he was beside his bike, hunched over, waiting for his heart rate to return to something close to normal. Nausea rose inside of him. He shook like a frightened, dripping dog.

  When the kids started to turn, to come back and check on him, he waved them off. After he pointed to his bike, they nodded and waved, then continued their ride. They would assume he had a flat or something mechanical had gone wrong. With luck, they would never guess the truth.

  As much as he wanted to compete, as strong and powerful as the drive was within him, he couldn’t do it. That part of him, the pieces that made him whole, were shattered beyond repair. None of the trophies sitting in boxes mattered. There wasn’t enough money in the world to make this right. He was a loser and a coward, and the hell of it was, he didn’t know how to make any of it better.

  * * *

  SATURDAY AFTERNOON, CHARITY walked the short distance between the hotel and Marsha’s house. Despite the weeks she’d been in town, she’d never been to her boss’s house before. Not that she was visiting as Marsha’s employee. Instead, Charity was going to see her grandmother for the first time in her life.

  Grandmother. The word felt strange. She couldn’t seem to grasp the whole meaning of what she’d been told. For the past couple of days she’d alternated between happiness and confusion. She’d wanted to be a part of a family for so long, she couldn’t believe it had finally happened.

  She was also wrestling with anger, mostly at her mother. Maybe Sandra hadn’t wanted anything to do with Marsha, but she’d had no right to keep Charity from that relationship. Especially after her death. Why hadn’t she told her
own daughter that she had other family? Sandra had known how much Charity had wanted to belong somewhere. Yet she hadn’t bothered to leave a note, or even a hint.

  As Charity approached the house, she did her best to push away the annoyance she felt. She didn’t want to start her afternoon with Marsha in a bad mood.

  She turned the corner and saw the white house Marsha had described. It was two stories, in a craftsman style typical of the area, probably built in the 1920s. There were elements that were similar to the house Charity had fallen in love with. The house Josh wanted to sell her at a discount. Something else she’d yet to come to terms with, she thought humorously. Who could have known her life would go from fairly boring to wildly confusing in a matter of a few days?

  She walked up the three steps to the wide porch and knocked. Marsha opened the door almost immediately.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” the older woman said. “Come in.”

  Charity stepped into a bright, open living room. Something about the combination of colors, furniture placement and windows made her want to sink into one of the overstuffed seats and never leave.

  “Thanks for having me,” she said, feeling a tiny bit awkward.

  Marsha had replaced her usual well-tailored suits with jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. Her white hair was more casual, soft waves rather than a bun. She linked arms with Charity.

  “Instead of dancing around the topic, I thought we’d face it head-on,” she said, leading the way to the stairs. “Let’s go look at Sandra’s room. I’m hoping you can get a sense of what her life was like before you were born.”

  “I’d like that,” Charity told her.

  They climbed the wide staircase and turned left at the landing.

  “The last door on the right,” Marsha said, releasing Charity. “Nothing has been changed, I’m afraid. Despite my best intentions, I turned my daughter’s room into a shrine. I’m sure any number of psychologists would have plenty to say about that.”

  Her tone was easy, but Charity saw the flash of pain in her eyes.

  Not knowing what to say, she walked toward the open door. When she reached it, she turned and looked at the bedroom that had belonged to her mother.