Susan Mallery Fool's Gold Series Volume One: Chasing Perfect\Almost Perfect\Sister of the Bride\Finding Perfect (83 page)

“Did you hit your head this morning?”

She laughed. “Okay, there's a rumor of a curse. I don't know the details.”

“That's convenient.”

“Something about men and the world ending in 2012.”

“Dr. Hendrix, I expected better from you.”

“Sorry. That's all I know. You might ask Pia. She mentioned something about doing a Mayan festival in 2012.”

“To celebrate the end of the world?”

“Let's hope not.”

Talk about a crazy history. A Mayan curse? In the Sierra Nevada mountains? And to think he'd been worried that small-town living would be boring.

* * *

P
IA CAREFULLY COLLECTED
cat food, dishes, cat toys and a bed that Jake had never used. Jo, the cat's new owner, had said she'd bought a new litter box and litter. After making sure she hadn't forgotten anything, Pia got the pet carrier out of the closet and opened it.

She expected to have to chase Jake down and then wrestle him into the plastic-and-metal container, but he surprised her by glancing from it to her, then creeping inside.

“You want to go, don't you,” she whispered as she closed and secured the front latch.

The cat stared at her, unblinking.

Crystal had said he was a marmalade cat—sort of a champagne-orange with bits of white on his chin. Sleek and soft, with a long tail and big green eyes.

She stared back at him.

“I wanted you to be happy. I really tried. I hope you know that.”

Jake closed his eyes, as if willing her to be done.

She picked up the tote holding his supplies in one hand and the pet carrier in the other. She took the stairs slowly, then put Jake and his things in the backseat of her car.

The drive to Jo's only took a few minutes. She parked
in front of the other woman's house. Before she could get out, Jo had stepped out onto the front porch, then hurried down the steps.

“I'm ready,” the other woman called as Pia got out of her car. “It's weird. I haven't had a cat in so long, but I'm really excited.”

Jo opened the back door of the car and took out the carrier. “Hi, big guy. Look at you. Who's a handsome kitty?”

The cooing singsong voice was nearly as surprising as the words. For a woman who prided herself on running her neighborhood bar with a combination of strict rules and not-so-subtle intimidation, Jo's sweet baby talk was disconcerting.

Pia collected the tote and followed Jo into her house.

Jo had moved to Fool's Gold about three years ago and bought a failing bar. She'd transformed the business into a haven for women, offering great drinks, big TVs that showed more reality shows and shopping channels than sports, and plenty of guilt-free snacks. Men were welcome, as long as they knew their place.

Jo was tall, pretty, well-muscled and unmarried. Pia would guess she was in her midthirties. So far Jo hadn't been seen with a man, or mentioned one from her past. Rumors ranged from her being a mafia princess to a woman on the run from an abusive boyfriend. All Pia knew for sure was that Jo kept a gun behind the bar and she looked more than capable of using it.

Pia stepped into Jo's and closed the front door. The house was older, built in the 1920s, with plenty of wood and a huge fireplace. All the doors off the living room
were closed and a sheet blocked the entrance to the stairs.

“I'm giving him limited access for now,” Jo explained as she walked through to the kitchen. “The sheet won't work for long, but it should keep him on this floor for a few hours.”

Pia trailed after her.

Jo put the carrier down on the kitchen floor and opened the door. Jake cautiously stepped out, sniffing as he went.

“The house is really big,” Jo explained. “That could scare him. Once he gets to know the place, he'll be fine.”

“He must have loved my apartment,” Pia murmured, thinking of how small it was.

“I'm sure he did. Cats like upstairs windows. They can see the world.”

Pia set the tote on the counter. “You know a lot about cats.”

“I grew up with them,” Jo said wistfully, then leaned down and petted Jake's back.

Pia half expected the cat to take off one of Jo's fingers with his claws. Instead Jake paused to sniff her fingers, then rubbed his head against them.

He'd never done that to her, she thought, trying not to be offended. Apparently being a cat person helped.

Jo set out dry food and water on a place mat in the corner of the kitchen. Jake disappeared into the laundry room. A minute or so later, there was the distinctive scratching sound of litter being moved.

“He found his bathroom,” Jo said happily. “He's all set. He'll figure out the rest of it. Come on. Let's go sit in the living room while he explores. I've been working
on a new peppermint martini recipe. I'd like it ready for Christmas. You can tell me what you think.”

A martini sounded like an excellent plan, Pia thought, trailing after her friend.

They sat on a comfortable sofa, across from the huge fireplace. Jo poured liquid from a pitcher into a shaker, shook it, then tipped the startlingly pink liquid into two martini glasses.

“Be honest. Is it too sweet?”

Pia took a sip. The liquid was icy cold and tasted of peppermint. It was more refreshing than sweet, with a hint of something she couldn't place. Honey? Almond?

“Dangerously good,” she admitted. “And I'm driving.”

“You can walk home and get your car in the morning,” Jo told her. Her gaze sharpened. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” Pia took another taste of her drink. “Just feeling kind of strange. Giving up Jake and all.”

“I'm sorry,” Jo said. “I didn't mean to steal your cat.”

“You didn't. He's not my cat. I thought we were getting along great, but you've had more contact with him in the past five minutes than I've had in the last month. I don't think he likes me.”

“Cats can be funny.”

As if to prove Jo's point, Jake jumped up on the back of the sofa. He stared at Pia for a moment, then turned his back on her. He dropped gracefully to the seat cushion, stepped onto Jo's lap, curled up and closed his eyes. As he lay there, he began to purr.

Pia found herself feeling snubbed, which hurt a whole lot more than she would have guessed.

“He never purred for me.”

Jo had begun stroking the cat. Her hand froze. “Did you want to keep him?”

“No. I would say he hates me, but I don't think he put that much energy into it. I just never thought of myself as giving off the anti-cat vibration.”

“You weren't raised with pets.”

“I guess.”

Apparently Crystal had made the right choice in leaving her cat with Jo. The only question was why her friend hadn't given Jo the cat from the start. No, she reminded herself. That wasn't the only question.

She felt a slight burning in her eyes. Before she could figure out what was going on, tears blurred her vision. She set down her drink and looked away.

“Pia?”

“It's nothing.”

“You're crying.”

Pia fought for control, then sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “Sorry. I don't mean to. I'm feeling all twisted inside.”

“You really can have Jake back. I'm sorry to have upset you.”

Jo sounded earnest and caring, which Pia appreciated. She gulped in a breath. “It's not the cat. Okay, yes, part of it is he obviously thinks I'm an idiot. It's just…”

The embryos. She knew that's what it was. That if she couldn't get Crystal's cat to like her, what hope did she have with actual children? Every time she thought of giving birth to her friend's babies, she started to freak.

She was totally the wrong person. She had no expe
rience, no support system, no nurturing abilities. She couldn't even bond with a cat.

But she wasn't ready to talk about that. Not until she'd made up her mind about what to do.

“I miss her,” she said instead, mostly because it was true. “I miss Crystal.”

“Me, too,” Jo said, sliding toward her.

They hugged.

Pia gave in to her tears. Jo held on, patting her back, not saying anything—just being a friend. Oddly enough, Jake stayed where he was, as well. His warm body and the vibration of his purring offered their own kind of comfort.

Pia allowed the caring to heal her, just a little. But even as she started to feel better, somewhere deep inside, she heard the call of three yet-to-be-born children.

CHAPTER THREE

P
IA STOOD ON THE SIDEWALK,
trying to breathe. The sense of panic was becoming familiar, as was the blurring of the world around her. Determined not to faint, she drew in deep, slow breaths, supporting herself by putting a hand on the brick building.

Think about something else, she commanded herself. Cookies. Brownies. Ice cream.

Chocolate-chip brownie ice cream.

After a few seconds, her vision cleared and she no longer had the sense that she was going to collapse—or run screaming into the bright, warm afternoon. Everything was fine, she told herself. And if it wasn't, well, she would fake it until it was.

She straightened, determined to return to her normal professional self. She had a meeting and this time she was going to get through it without doing anything to embarrass herself. No one would know that she'd just—

“You okay?”

She looked up into Raoul's warm, dark eyes. He stood by an open side door she hadn't noticed. His expression was both wary and concerned, despite which he looked plenty handsome. Which was pretty rude of him, if you asked her. The least he could do was be forgettable. Especially when she was feeling vulnerable.

Slowly, she turned toward the glass windows next to her and held in a groan.

“You saw that?” she asked cautiously.

“The part where you clutched your chest, bent over and nearly passed out?”

Oh, God. Heat burned her cheeks. “Um, that would be it.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

She wanted to close her eyes and disappear. But that would violate her mature mandate. Instead she squared her shoulders, sucked in a breath and curved her lips into what she hoped was a smile.

“Sorry. I was distracted.”

He motioned for her to step into his office. “It seemed like more than that.”

“It wasn't,” she lied, firmly clutching her oversize handbag. “So, as you can see, I'm here and ready for our meeting. I have several ideas for linking the camp with existing festivals. Either with a booth, or as a sponsor. A nonpaying sponsor. We force our corporate friends to cough up the big bucks to get their names on a banner, but we're more forgiving with the nonprofits.”

“Good to know.”

His office was large, with plenty of windows. There were four desks and lots of open space. She glanced around at the blank walls, the few boxes pushed next to a copy machine and the lone visitor chair.

“I guess decorating isn't in the budget,” she said.

“We're still settling. Currently, it's just Dakota and me. We had more people working in the summer, but they were mostly up at the camp. I wanted room to expand.”

“Apparently. It's nice. I would have expected a few football posters on the wall.”

“They're not unpacked yet.”

“When you do get them out, they'll add plenty of color.”

He motioned to a square folding table in the corner.

Once they were seated on the plain chairs, she withdrew a file folder from her bag and set it on the table. She was aware of him sitting close to her but was willing to pretend she wasn't. One crisis at a time, she told herself.

“In case you haven't heard,” she began, “Fool's Gold is the festival capital of California. We have a major event every single month. By major I mean we draw in over five thousand people and we fill at least fifty percent of the hotel rooms. The result is a nice influx of cash for our city.”

She paused. “Do you want this level of detail?”

“Sure. Information is never bad.”

She thought about some of the very tedious city council meetings she'd sat through—especially the budget ones—and knew he was wrong. But she kept that thought to herself.

“Currently tourism is our largest source of income and employment. We're working to change that. In addition to the existing hospital, we'll soon have a new facility that will include a trauma center. We also have the university campus. Those three sectors provide a lot of employment, but in this town, service jobs rule. One of the long-term goals of the city is to bring in more high-paying manufacturing jobs, so we're not constantly exchanging the same tired dollar, week after week. But
until that happens, the festivals bring us both jobs and money.”

She opened the folder she'd brought. “In addition to the major festivals, we have smaller events that draw a regional crowd. No ‘heads in beds,' as the chamber of commerce likes to say. As in no one spends the night. That's less money for the town, but also less work.”

Raoul took the list of festivals and scanned them. She'd marked the ones that would get the most family interest.

“If we can come up with a good angle, say a famous football player headlines the right event, we can draw some media attention,” she said. “I'm guessing we can get TV here based on your celebrity, but it would be nice if we could find a good tie-in and maybe get on one of the morning shows.”

“Bringing money to the town and donations and sponsorship to the camp?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

This was good. Focusing on work helped her stay calm. Because if she thought about that morning…

Without warning, the trembling began again. Her chest got tight and she had to consciously deepen her breathing.

Raoul glanced at her over the papers. “You okay?”

She nodded because speaking seemed iffy at best.

He dropped the sheets. “What's going on?”