Two of a Kind (26 page)

“Several. Three former football players have a PR firm called Score. Raoul Moreno knows them. They came to visit him and liked the town.”

“Football players work,” Eddie said. “Maybe we can see their butts.”

“If we ask nicely,” Gladys said.

“One of the principles is a woman,” the mayor added. “Will you want to see her butt, as well?”

“Probably not,” Eddie said.

Felicia turned to Charity. “Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much. You get used to it.”

The mayor passed out the agenda. “We’ll ignore the added items,” she said.

There was a fifteen-minute discussion on a parking garage for the local community college, a report by Police Chief Alice Barns on how the usual summer tourist season was affecting crime, followed by an overview of the year-to-date budget.

Finally the council turned to the matter of the festivals.

“I see attendance was up,” the mayor said, smiling at Felicia. “The lines were very long at the book festival.”

Felicia stood and prepared to give her report. She mentioned the changes she’d made, along with some of the complaints she’d received. She talked briefly about the increased revenues and how next year they could support more vendors if that was what the city wanted.

“I heard most of those who complained at the Fourth of July festival were converts by the end of the long weekend,” the mayor said.

“Ignore the whiners,” Eddie called out. “You obviously know what you’re doing. Stick to your guns.”

Gladys nodded. “She’s right.”

“Thank you,” Felicia said, gratified by their support.

“While I don’t like to encourage them,” the mayor said, “I have to agree. We’re all very pleased with the changes you’re making. Stay the course, dear. This town is lucky to have you.”

Felicia nodded, her throat too tight for her to speak.

* * *

GIDEON CHECKED HIS watch again, then wondered if he’d made a mistake. He’d been in town earlier when he’d seen the display of mountain bikes outside the sporting goods store. He had the idea that it was something the three of them could do together. Not only would it help to fill the weekends, but the days were still long enough that they could go riding when Carter got back from camp.

But from the second he’d unloaded the bikes, he’d started to think he’d made a mistake. Carter might be too old, or think the idea was boring. What if Felicia didn’t know how to ride a bike? He didn’t like the worry, and he sure didn’t like not knowing if he’d done the right thing.

Before he could pack everything up, Felicia and Carter drove up the mountain and pulled into the driveway. He was stuck standing by the garage, the bikes right in front of him.

Carter climbed out of the car and hurried over.

“You got these?”

Gideon nodded.

“Wicked. I’ve seen bikes like this in a magazine, but I never thought I’d have one.” He went over the bike, calling out details. “Can we try them out now?” he asked eagerly.

“Sure.”

“Did you get helmets?” Felicia asked.

“Killjoy.”

She walked over to him and put her hands on her hips. “If you like, I can provide you with the statistics on bike safety and brain damage that results from bike accidents.”

“With a breakdown by age group?” he asked.

“If it’s important to you.”

If Gideon hadn’t already been climbing on his bike, he would have pulled her close and kissed her.

“I got helmets,” he said instead.

“Carter,” she began.

“I know, I know,” the teen grumbled, getting off his bike and walking over to her. “Helmet first.” He took his and put it on, then waited while she adjusted everything.

“I can do that myself,” he told her.

“I know, but I feel better doing it.”

Carter glanced at Gideon and rolled his eyes. “Women.”

Gideon chuckled.

Once they’d all put on their helmets the three of them set off up the mountain.

Carter led the way on the private road by the side of the house, pedaling fast. “We’ll go really high,” he called over his shoulder.

“There’s a lookout about two miles up,” Gideon told him.

“As long as we don’t go onto the highway,” Felicia said, keeping up easily. She was wearing khakis and a sleeveless white blouse, but her office clothes didn’t slow her down.

“No highway,” Gideon agreed.

“I heard that,” Carter yelled. “I’m old enough to stay safe.”

“No highway,” Felicia repeated.

“Is there a back way to town?”

“We’ll find one,” Gideon said.

The sun was high overhead, but the tall trees provided shade. In Fool’s Gold the temperature was probably close to ninety, but up here, it was a good ten or fifteen degrees cooler.

“When did you learn to ride a bike?” he asked.

“One of the lab assistants taught me.” She pedaled steadily beside him, her face a little flushed. “He thought I should know how. Later he convinced the professor in charge of me to sign me up for swimming lessons.”

“He sounds like a nice guy.”

“He was. I think he felt bad I was alone in the lab so much, but by then, it was all I knew.”

By then. Meaning she’d known something else before. She was so intelligent, he hadn’t given much thought to the connection between what had happened to her and how it must have felt for a four-year-old little girl to be abandoned by her parents.

“You must have had someone looking after you at first,” he said.

“The university hired a nanny to stay with me. There were houses for professors on campus. I was given one of the smaller ones at first, and there was always someone to prepare my meals and stay with me at night. Later, when I was about twelve, I moved into one of the living units in the applied sciences building. There were a handful for the graduate assistants.”

“You were on your own from the time you were twelve?”

“Mostly. By then I’d published several papers and cowritten a book, so I had income to buy food. I saved the rest of it. Having a way to support myself financially made it easier to show the judge I was ready to be an emancipated minor.”

Despite his months of torture, Gideon knew that pain came in more than one form.

“You did a good job raising yourself.”

“I dealt with what I had,” she said with a smile. “I like to think my studies have helped other people, so when I have regrets about what happened, I remember that.”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Sometimes.”

Carter disappeared around a bend in the road. Felicia started to pedal faster.

“Don’t worry. The road dead-ends at the lookout. He’s got nowhere to go.”

“Over the edge.”

“You’re a worrier,” he told her. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Just because I can calculate the odds of various outcomes doesn’t mean I’m a worrier.”

“Sure it does.”

* * *

FELICIA WAS CONCERNED that Gideon was being critical, but from the way he was looking at her, she thought maybe not. If she had to guess, she would say his voice had a teasing quality to it.

They rode around the side of the mountain and found themselves on a large flat plateau. Trees and rocks provided a natural wall on three sides, while the fourth was a stunning view of the entire valley. She could see the town and the vineyards beyond. In the distance turbines spun in the afternoon breeze. Carter had leaned his bike against a rock. His helmet was on the ground, and he was standing with his back to them.

“What do you think?” Gideon asked, coming to a stop beside her.

Before she could say she was impressed, she noticed Carter’s hunched shoulders were shaking.

“Leave me alone!” he yelled without turning around. “Just leave me alone.”

His reaction was hostile, almost angry, she thought, taking in his body language. She saw the stiffness in his legs and the odd way he held his arms. For a second she thought he’d fallen and was hurt, but then she understood he was upset for reasons that had nothing to do with physical pain.

“What the hell?” Gideon muttered, starting toward him.

“Stop.” She grabbed his arm. “He needs to be alone for a few minutes.”

Gideon took off his helmet and glared at her. “Why?”

She drew him to the other side of the plateau. “He’s crying.”

“What? How do you know?”

“I’m not sure. I’m guessing.”

He stared at her. “You’re guessing? You don’t guess.”

“I think that’s what’s wrong.”

“Why’s he upset?” Gideon asked. “Why now? It’s been a couple of weeks. Everything is going okay. I thought he and I had fun at the radio station. Was I wrong?”

“No. He liked spending time with you. Maybe that’s the problem.” She felt as if she was stepping through a minefield without a map.

“He’s been through a lot,” she continued. “Losing his mom, the foster care situation, finding you. He had no way of knowing if you’d want anything to do with him. He just showed up. That’s very brave, but also terrifying. What if you’d rejected him? What if you still might?”

“I wouldn’t have thrown him out or anything. His home is with me.” Now he was the one to shift uncomfortably. “I know I’m not the best dad, but I’m working on getting more involved with him.”

“I know, but he doesn’t. Give him a moment. He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Him crying? That’s a response to socialization. If he were a thirteen-year-old girl, you’d be more understanding. As a society, we don’t like our boys to cry, but they need the emotional release just as much. It’s not unhealthy.”

Gideon’s mouth twisted. “I meant I don’t like you being insightful. You’re already too smart. If you understand people as well as everything scientific or mathematical, how can we ever have a fair fight?”

She smiled, feeling a little proud of herself. “You’ll always be able to best me physically.”

“Like I’d hit a girl.”

* * *

FELICIA PULLED THE brownie pan from the oven. The smell of chocolate drifted throughout the house, which was enjoyable on its own, but what really pleased her was the satisfaction she received from baking. Logically, it made no sense. The creation of a brownie from disparate ingredients was the result of a chemical reaction when heat and time were applied. There was no magic. She’d performed much more complicated experiments in a lab. There, the results had had significance. Still, baking brownies was better, she thought happily, and she couldn’t begin to say why.

She also found pleasure in knowing her way around the large, open kitchen. At first she’d been intimidated by the cupboards and drawers, not knowing what went where or what half the items were for. Gideon had admitted to hiring a decorator to furnish the house. He’d bought the bed in the master and the sofa in the media room and had left everything else to her, with instructions to keep things simple and masculine.

The woman had taken his instructions to heart everywhere except the kitchen. While the plates were simple white squares and the appliances were stainless, the decorator had bought every kitchen gadget ever made. Felicia was still figuring out what some of them were. She was intimidated by the food processor, although the thought of using the dough hooks that had come with the passive mixer was getting more interesting by the day. She could imagine the comforting smell of baking bread on a cold, snowy winter day.

As she put the brownie pan on the cooling rack, she wondered if she would still be living here when it was snowing. She and Gideon hadn’t discussed their future. Per their agreement, they were supposed to date and nothing more. He was teaching her how to be with a man so she could find someone normal to fall in love with. Carter had shown up and challenged all that. Now she wasn’t actually dating, but she was living with a man. She thought maybe that was instruction enough.

But she was less sure about leaving. She liked the big house and the views of the mountains. More, she liked being around Gideon. Even when he was emotionally distant, walking the floors in the hours of darkness, she felt closer to him than she ever had to anyone else. She liked knowing he was nearby.

Since they’d made love again, he slept with her—those few hours when he slept. Knowing he was going to be in the bed with her made her feel safe. Odd, considering she rarely felt
unsafe.
She supposed it was because he understood her better than most and still seemed to like her. She could be herself and know she wouldn’t be judged. She trusted him.

She heard footsteps and turned to see Carter walking into the great room toward the kitchen. The teen had been quiet all through dinner. Her instinct had been to let him be. He would talk when he was ready. She hoped she was doing the right thing by letting him decide when or even if he wanted to talk.

When it came to him, she was never sure she was doing the right thing. She found herself worrying about him at odd moments, which made no sense. He was obviously capable. But she couldn’t shake the feeling.

He leaned against the counter. His face was pale and his eyes slightly red. She wondered if he’d been crying again. The thought of his emotional pain made her own heart ache.