Chasing Perfect. Susan MalleryЧитать онлайн книгу.
“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 a store window.
“I don’t see any.”
“Exactly. Fool’s Gold has a serious man shortage. It’s part of the reason I hired you. To bring more men to our town.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE FOX AND HOUND Restaurant was decorated the an American version of a classic English pub. Deep booths, a long wooden bar and English hunting prints on the wall. Charity was sure it was lovely, and later, when she was able to focus better, she would take it all in. Now all she could do was trail after the mayor as they were led to a quiet table by the window.
Charity took her seat across from the older woman and pressed her lips together. She wasn’t going to say a word until Marsha had explained herself.
Marsha began right away. “The problem started years ago. Men left to find better jobs and never came back. That was in my day and for some reason, it’s not getting better. The preliminary census numbers are a disaster. When the actual 2010 census comes out, it’s going to be a disaster—both in the press and in how the town sees itself. If we don’t get some men here for our young women to marry, they’ll start leaving, too, and then the town will die. That’s not going to happen on my watch.”
The mayor sounded fierce as she spoke. And determined.
Charity had reached for her water, mostly to buy time. A man shortage? Was this a joke? Part of a small-town initiation ritual?
“There are plenty of businesses that traditionally employ men,” she began slowly. “If you’re serious about this.”
“I am.” Marsha leaned toward her. “Fool’s Gold was a gold rush town, founded in the 1870s. It grew and prospered, and when the gold ran out, just after the turn of the century, it started to have problems.”
A waitress appeared with menus. She took their drink orders and left.
“Geographically, we’re blessed,” Marsha continued. “That kept us from disappearing completely. The original ski resort was built in the fifties, the vineyards west of here are at least sixty years old. So far we’re holding our own. There are plenty of service industries, some small businesses. Ethan Hendrix owns a construction company that has branched out into windmills, so he brings in a few men, but it’s not enough.”
Marsha shrugged. “I tell myself I should be thrilled by the women he employs. Equality and all that, but I can’t. Men leave here and we don’t know why. Topography? A Native curse? It’s getting out of hand. The young women in town are having trouble finding husbands. Worse, the few men we do have tend to find their wives elsewhere.”
Charity did her best to look both intelligent and interested. “I can see where that would be a difficult situation.” Intellectually she understood a growing population was essential for any town to survive. But a lack of men? Seriously? “You’ve investigated the Native curse issue?” she asked, when she couldn’t think of anything else.
Marsha laughed. “The only Natives who lived in the hills weren’t the curse type. My thought was if we’re bringing in business anyway, how could it hurt to focus on those with traditionally male jobs? Engineering, high tech, a second hospital. Of course hospitals do employ more women, but it would give us a great job base.”
Right. Because Charity could simply go online and order a hospital. She drew in a breath. She