Gold Medal Hero Read online

  "Time will tell, but wear your walking shoes again."

  "See what I mean?" She punched fists on hips and glared at him. "All the time—secrets! Why can't you just come out and tell me? I want to know!"

  But he only laughed, and when she reached out to slap his arm, he jumped away. "Come on. We've got a deadline to meet."

  "For a drive in an open-air truck I suppose. Is that why you said to wear my jacket and warmest clothes?"

  His grin widened. "Not quite, but you're getting into the spirit. That's—" In response to the familiar ring of a phone in his room, he turned and marched towards the sound. "Just a minute."

  Icy fingers covered her body and she collapsed onto the bed. Another threat, conveyed in a different way? Because if not, someone else had tracked them down.

  But Connor, when he reappeared at her doorway, looked cheerful. "Just a confirmation of the time and you're down to ten..." He frowned. "Bailey, what—?"

  "It wasn't another threat?" God, if only she could warm up.

  "Not a threat of any kind."

  With the help of water from her drink bottle she moistened her mouth but her legs still felt too weak to stand. Connor griped her waist, plonked her feet on his shoes, and wrapped her in a warm, safe hug.

  She could have stayed there, relishing his strength, his support, his understanding. Such a different side of him from the stories she'd heard and it would be easy to stay in his arms, safe and secure. With a sigh she forced herself to ease back but managed only part-way as her fingers hooked around his neck. "Th-thanks." Only then did she step off his shoes. Shaking, she shoved the last of her belongings in the bag and slid the zip closed. "R-ready."

  Out on the tarmac a mini-van waited, its sliding door covering part of the name: 'Ski...tures'. Ski Plane Adventures? Oh, man. What next would he come up with?

  And why?

  Another couple waited inside the vehicle and Bailey sank onto the front bench seat. As Connor slid beside her she gripped both hands together. The expense! How would she ever repay him? "Is this for real?"

  "Yep. A real van." Glancing around, he added, "With not many people. Cozier that way," and as usual, his arm slipped around her and pulled her close.

  Too close in this confined space and since she'd already warmed up, she elbowed him—hard, instigating his common response of a soft chuckle. Seemed he was determined to stay in a good mood today. Probably thrilled the weekend—and the questions—were almost over.

  At the airport a small airplane waited. Yikes. Still, for an activity like this she'd put up with cramped conditions and a noisy engine, provided Conner remained by her side. The time for parting from this fun guy loomed far too close.

  What a flight they had! Surprisingly, a commentary accompanied the breathtaking scenery as Bailey watched through the window beside her, too engrossed to bother with photos. The plane took them up the Hooker valley towards Mt Cook, over the Divide and down Fox Glacier, up Franz Joseph Glacier and back across the Southern Alps. Then, wonder of wonders, they landed on the Tasman Glacier's frozen snow.

  Camera clutched against her, Bailey jumped out. Below her, the deceivingly soft, smooth layer that looked like cotton-wool, crunched when she landed. And cold—so cold when she touched. Automatically, she pulled woollen gloves from her jacket pockets and slipped them on.

  A thump on her chest, an explosion in her face, and ice trickled down her front. A snowball, thanks to Connor, grinning from a few feet away. Cold seeped through her gloves as she gathered snow in retribution but he dodged out of the way, laughing.

  Silence.

  Absolute silence. As if the plane's engine had failed. Were they stranded?

  Oh! From the cockpit the pilot emerged, grinning. So he'd switched off the engine. That was all.

  Now without any artificial noise they could really sense the remoteness of their situation, the depth of snow and ice beneath them, the height of the mountains and the stark beauty of their surroundings.

  She gripped Connor's arm. "Can we have a photo of us together, please? I'm sure the pilot will oblige."

  Immediately, the man came forward and she handed the camera over, explained what she wanted and joined Connor who actually pulled her against his side for the photo. He'd better have his trademark smile on, too. Only another five or six hours of his company left and she had to make the most of every minute. Every memory.

  Views of the foot of the glacier and Tasman Lake were almost an anticlimax as they flew back. Such an awesome hour they'd spent.

  "So, we've still got the hike to the Red Tarns this afternoon?" she asked Connor as they walked to their unit to change. "You should have left the flight till last. No walk could compare to that experience."

  "No? Perhaps you shouldn't count your chickens until every last one of them has hatched. You might get a surprise yet."

  From what; a couple of red pools? Not likely.

  CHAPTER 5

  Connor stopped on the path to look back at Bailey. They'd hardly started this walk to the Red Tarns but the darned woman had her camera out already. "Hurry up!" He needed to get going, to leave people behind and enjoy this last chance of being alone with her in another of Mt Cook's magical beauty spots. This first part of the track was an easy walk, very different from the steep steps later on that would make conversation impossible. "This is probably your last chance to ask questions."

  "Just think," she said, fussing over the blasted camera instead of putting it away. "We've been here nearly a whole weekend and no-one's recognized you. Isn’t that a tiny bit disappointing?" She looked up at him. "Perhaps just a teensy, weensy, bit disappointing?"

  What would she say if she knew the truth? "I didn't come here expecting acknowledgement. I came to give you time to get to know me a little to help with your article."

  "What?" Inches behind him, she halted. "Are you saying you hadn't planned on coming here, before you met me?"

  That's right, Freeman. Spill the beans. Spoil the plan. Trouble was, she'd crept under his skin, relaxing him so much he'd gone and screwed up. "Yeah. You must have looked so desperate for this interview, I gave in."

  "Except that doesn't explain why you thought of going away, and for the whole—"

  "And do it where?" He dragged her aside as another couple approached, then waited till they'd passed before walking on. "In your flat where your mates could listen in? No way. Hiring some crappy hotel room in Mosgiel? Nah. Sitting on a bench in a park with numerous distractions around? Not likely. You'd have got nothing out of me there, either."

  "You're saying there weren't distractions here?"

  Apart from her? "Not the same. Not when they'd help us relax. Besides, this was a place you wanted to see—"

  "But you'd already booked! You said... Well, implied, you'd already planned the weekend. You deceived me, Connor." She stopped walking, shook his hand free and stared at him like a disgruntled kid, her bottom lip pouting.

  Before she went all anti and marched off he put his hand against her back and propelled her forward. She wasn't going to pike out now. Not when their parting was so close.

  "Never mentioned someone else, did I? Still, it's best you know I arranged it especially for your interview. Don't regret it for a moment, either."

  A frown created wrinkles between her eyebrows. "Just for my interview? But even that doesn't explain why you agreed to do it, after initially being downright hostile."

  Gently, he turned her to face him, lifting a lock of curls from her shoulder and pushing it back. "Only till you said you were involved in my sport."

  "That... That's what changed your mind?" A visible gulp and she stepped back, making his hand drop. "A little thing like that?"

  Yep. Something between them alright. "Not little to me. You have no idea the trouble I have trying to explain the basics of rowing to reporters, like the difference between a Four and a Quad."

  A soft chuckle of understanding. "Which do you prefer, sculling or sweep oar rowing?"

 
He shrugged. "Sweep oar I guess, because it's what I do."

  "Do you have a favourite boat?"

  "Probably the eight. It's the fastest."

  "True. I'll include your preference in my article. It'll be useful background and a way of educating readers on the different boats."

  "Do it however you want, just don't include my present private life." He turned to start walking again.

  "Present?" She squinted up at him. "Oh, you mean this weekend. No. Won't mention it. Promise. Guides' honour."

  After saluting, she marched ahead, missing his smile. This journalist continued to cheer him up. But how would she react to his next idea?

  ***

  A good view from up there, he'd said, but they hadn't even started climbing yet. Bailey glanced at her watch.

  "Why are you so worried about the time?" Connor's deep voice asked from behind. "We've got plenty left before we leave for our flight."

  "Oh, it's not that. I'm just checking to see how long it's taking us to get to these tarns. The information said two hours return but this track seems to be going nowhere. Nothing like yesterday's hike."

  "Why don't you forget about the time and concentrate on enjoying the quiet, like you did yesterday?"

  Good point. She was being unreasonable, not wanting the weekend to end but every second brought it closer. How could she say goodbye in only a few hours? This guy had done so much for her, and so much more than she'd asked. Every one of her questions had been answered in such a casual way, she'd loosened up. Like everything else about him, his frequent sexual references had been for fun, to ease her into the mood of acting their pretend relationship. Nothing more.

  Spending time with him had given her an unexpected thrill, and learning aspects of his complex character had been intriguing. Only two days since they'd met and already she could often gauge his mood from the signs. Like how his eyes changed to a lighter colour when he teased, and the current deep, dark grey suggested serious thoughts. For several minutes she looked around, studying the nearby trees. "I can hear people talking but can't see any, can you? They're too well hidden."

  "No. I can't see them either. But I do know where they might be."

  "Yeah?"

  "Enjoying the bridge up ahead."

  A quick intake of breath was all it took to jerk her brain awake. "Is that why you chose this activity for today? To tease me about another bridge?"

  "Why not? You enjoy it."

  Yeah, she did, and couldn't stop smiling as he walked ahead, forcing her gaze to drop lower. In the absence of his handsome face she'd happily watch that firm butt all day.

  Upward steps led off on the far side of the bridge but as they climbed, the hillside sheltered them from any breeze. Bailey stopped to pull her sweater off and tie it round her waist since they hadn't brought a backpack today. Still, with the steps so steep and the sun beating down, her energy soon waned again. Slower and slower she walked until finally she collapsed beside the path, puffing.

  Of course when she stripped off her shirt so only her singlet remained, Connor watched the whole performance.

  "Sure you won't burn?"

  "Why? Did you bring sunscreen?"

  "No. Didn't you?"

  "I seem to recall you telling me to bring warm clothes so no, I didn't think of sunscreen. Besides, I thought it would be cooler up here, not hotter." Instead of adding the shirt to the sweater around her waist, she sat the buttoned-up collar on her head so its fronts protected her face from the sun.

  From then on, Connor pushed her upwards every time she slowed until finally they reached the top. There, a flatish, open area contained several puddles amongst the tussock.

  "The Red Tarns," Connor explained, his arm draped loosely over her shoulder. "And look, the pool's completely still."

  "But not red," she stated as disappointment nagged her. Why had she expected such a phenomenon? "Not surprising, with a blue sky above."

  "It's the weed." He pointed out a dark mass in the water. "Makes them look red in certain lights. Certain conditions."

  "But not these, obviously. Still, I guess we needed the exercise." Forcing a smile to hide her disappointment, she retrieved her camera and snapped several photos. Only then did she turn around.

  "Oh!" Shock pulled the breath from her lungs, leaving her devoid of oxygen and frozen in place. Impossible to breathe, move, or even think, with that scene in front of her. Three hundred metres below them lay the sprawling village of Mt Cook. To her right, the road to the Tasman Glacier disappeared around the end of the range of mountains that bordered the Hooker Valley on its other side, and in the distance, Mt Cook's distinctive, snow-capped peak rose into the sky. To her left, impressive snowy peaks from the Southern Alps stretched a watch over the valley.

  Reminders of the weekend's activities crowded her mind, jumping out at her from a view so high she could have been in an aeroplane.

  "Heavens, this is incredible. Why didn't I believe you this morning? You were spot on when you suggested the highlight of my weekend might not be the flight. I should have guessed from all those steps."

  "Except the heat absorbed your concentration." Spoken so seriously, she frowned.

  He'd hardly teased since the bridge. Why not? Already thinking of training tomorrow? Too early, surely. "I would never, ever, have believed anyone could walk to such an altitude, to a view this good, in only an hour."

  "More than that because it's so steep. Quicker going back."

  "But I don't want to go back, at least not yet." Not when it meant returning to her normal life and all its hassles. "I want to savour this view"—and the weekend's memories—"for the rest of the afternoon. And take photos." Millions of photos, including of him. If only he'd let her.

  "Here. Give me the camera and stand over there." He pointed to the cliff edge. "I'll take your photo."

  So she ripped off her cap and dropped it on the ground along with her sweater and shirt, smoothed her hair and stood where he instructed. But contrary to his request, she faced him instead of the view, her best smile on as he clicked the camera. "With luck, an ideal photo for my travel article on Mt Cook."

  The camera lowered. "You won't mention me, will you?"

  "Course not. I'll call you my companion."

  "O-kay. Guess that'll do. And you won't use any photos of me?"

  "No. Promised, didn't I?" She lunged for the camera. After all the time they'd spent together the last couple of days, why couldn't he trust her now? "I'd still like a photo of you here, to remind me of the weekend. Nothing to do with the article or publication."

  "Won't it remind you of—?"

  "The scenery, yes, plus all the amazing things we've done this weekend. The fantastic times we've had." And how much she owed him, in favours as well as financially since he'd refused to accept even a contribution for any of their expenses.

  With a slow, reluctant nod he handed over his cell phone. "Only on here, and I'll send you a copy." Almost the moment she'd taken the photo he grabbed the phone back. "Swap places," he instructed.

  What the—?

  "Say sex."

  "Cheese."

  Three strides later his arm slipped around her, keeping her stationary while the other hand held his phone out in front.

  Taking a selfie of the two of them together? Changed his own rules. Cheat.

  Although this might be like posing with a fan which would be normal behaviour for him, and no doubt one reason for his immense popularity.

  But the fact that he could change his initial criteria to suit her, melted her heart a little bit more.

  A little more than he'd been doing, all weekend.

  Too bad that after today he'd never drape his arm across her shoulder, never tease her or make a funny sexual reference, never pay her a compliment, and never spoil her with an out-of-this-world activity. In future, the only time she'd see him would be in a group of people at the national rowing championships. All she'd be was an ordinary club cox'n.

  Saying go
od-bye would be easier here than in a crowded airport terminal, so she cleared her throat and began. "This has been an awesome weekend. You've been so generous, treating me to all these activities. These expensive activities," she added, her hands boxing her hips as she glared at him. "It's going to take me a long time to come down to earth and get back into work mode."

  "How long will the article take to write?"

  Hands dropped and she kicked at a tuft of grass. "I can't even think where to start."

  "Bailey." He seized her shoulder, fingers digging in. "Don't let that jerk put you off. You need to write the article as quickly—"

  "Write it?" She shook off his grip. "How can I possibly write it now? That note could have come from my boss!"

  "If it did, you're better off getting out. But who knows? He might congratulate you on your originality instead. So go for it. And remember, the school principal assured me you're an honest reporter and from the article he sent me, I know your writing's good. So trust your ability, get this story done and send it out to every magazine editor you can find. Prove to the world you're a first-rate writer who does plenty of research on worthwhile subjects. Make everyone sit up and take notice. Of you." The back of his fingers slid gently down her cheek. "Your writing. Your talent."

  Could she? Connor sounded so convincing, so confident in her ability. "Thank you." Without thinking, she stretched up and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

  Not surprisingly, his gaze roamed over her face as if trying to read her intentions. And well he might, with such conflicting signals. "Did you achieve what you wanted this weekend?" His voice sounded husky, as if the kiss had affected him, too. "Ask everything you intended? Get to know me enough?" Now his breath kissed her cheek with a soft touch and she turned her face towards it.

  Heavenly. "Yeah," she managed to say, her tone dreamy before she mentally shook herself awake. "And then some. Don't worry. I've got heaps of material to work on, and I will. Write it, I mean." Stepping back to avoid more temptation, she added, "Thanks so much for the weekend, for your support, your confidence in me, and all the outings. What about you, though? Did you have a good break? All relaxed and ready to return to training tomorrow?"