She crossed the street to walk by the park. Even in the dark she could see the shapes of the spring flowers waving slightly in the light breeze.

Tomorrow night she had a date with Robert. They were going to Margaritaville, and while she appreciated the invitation, when he'd mentioned the restaurant, all she'd been able to think about was Josh warning her about the margaritas with extra shots.

It wasn't Robert's fault, she reminded herself. Josh was practically larger than life, a force of nature. Someone normal and nice could easily get overlooked. She was determined to make sure that didn't happen.

She continued to walk by the park. Across the street was the sporting goods store. A flash of movement caught her eye and she stopped when she saw someone riding a bike up the paved driveway beside the store and circle around back. The rider looked amazingly like Josh, except he'd told her he never rode anymore.

Charity crossed the street. She had to be mistaken. Why would he tell her he didn't ride if he did? What was the big deal? So it was someone else. She just wanted to make sure.

As she rounded the back of the building, she saw a small shed tucked in the trees. The door stood open. As she watched, a man finished pulling on jeans. He drew a sweatshirt on over his head and stepped into boots.

The overhead bulb wasn't very bright but it gave off enough light for her to identify the man. Josh looked up and saw her.

"You said you didn't ride," she told him, blurting out the first thing that came to her.

"I didn't know you were going to spy on me." He stepped out of the shed. After closing the door, he locked it behind him, then walked toward her.

He was flushed and sweating, his breathing a little fast, as if he'd just finishing a grueling workout. Nothing about this made sense, but the far more interesting fact was that her curiosity seemed to be enough of a distraction that she could control her reaction to him. Or at least keep it more manageable. The tingles were still there, as was the awareness. But she wanted to know what was going on nearly as much as she wanted to rub against him and purr.

Progress, she thought happily. Maybe in time she would be able to have an entire conversation without hearing her hormones chanting.

"I wasn't spying," she said, still confused by his actions. "I saw you go riding by. At least I thought it was you." The pieces all fell together. "Is this what you do every night? Ride? Are you coming back to the hotel tired and sweaty from exercise? You know, everyone thinks you're off having s.e.x."

"Including you?"

"I'm not the one who had a girl waiting in my room."

He flashed her that killer smile and her knees went weak.

"People would talk if you did," he said. "In a different way than how they talk about me."

"I'm sure that's true." She studied him in the lamplight. He looked good. Not that she thought there was a time when Josh didn't. "Everyone said there weren't any secrets in Fool's Gold."

"Then this is the only one."

"Why do you ride at night?"

He stared at her, as if judging...no, not judging. Gauging. But what? If she could be trusted? If she was really interested? She found herself wanting to urge him to believe in her. She wanted to say she would never let him down.

That was the hormones talking, she told herself, even as she continued to hope he would explain himself.

"I ride at night because riding during the day isn't an option."

JOSH HADN'T BEEN SURE he would tell her, but now he'd started and there was no going back.

Maybe he wanted someone to know his guilty secret. Maybe it was how she looked in her jeans and hoodie, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Less proper, more approachable. Not that he'd ever been intimidated by a woman. Maybe it was the way she stared at him as if she really wanted to understand.

She already didn't think very much of him. Telling her wouldn't change anything.

"How much do you know about me?" he asked.

She groaned. "Tell me this isn't about your ego, because if it is..."

"That's not what I meant. How much do you know about the riding, and why I stopped?"

"You retired. You said so. It's a young man's game."

"Nothing else?"

"Is there more?"

"There's always more."

He moved toward the sidewalk. She kept pace with him.

"I ride at night because I don't want anyone to know I'm still riding. If people see me, they'll ask questions. They'll want me to be in charity races or consider going back to it and I can't."

"Why not? Are you injured?"

"A kid crashed during my last race. He was a teammate. I was supposed to look out for him. He crashed and he died."

"Do you blame yourself for that?"

"In part."

"Was it your fault?"

He stopped walking and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "You ever see a pack go down? One guy wobbles, b.u.mps another and it's all over for everyone. The only thing you can do is save yourself. I got out and Frank didn't."

Once again he saw his friend flying through the air. He heard the sickening sound of Frank's body hitting the road.

She stared up at him, her brown eyes dark and questioning in the night. "But you didn't have anything to do with the crash, right?"

"No."

"And you didn't cause him to go down."

He shook his head.

"Then it's not that you killed him."

She made a statement rather than asking a question.

Impressive, he thought, surprised she'd already figured it out. A few of his buddies had come to talk to him, trying to get him to join them again. They told him it wasn't his fault, that no one blamed him. They all thought it was about guilt.

In a way they were right-the guilt was there. Strong. Powerful. It chased him, doing its best to suck him down. But it wasn't the real problem.

"I can't ride with anyone else," he said quietly, staring over her head, at the black sky. "I can't be next to another rider without losing it. I panic, like a little girl. I can't breathe, I shake."

"Isn't that just anxiety? Can't you talk to someone or take something?"

"Probably, but you can't ride professionally if you're weak or drugged."

"This isn't about being weak."

"Sure it is." It was about being weak and broken and humiliated. It was about failing. "From what you see and know, this is a sport of individuals, right? But it's not really that way. There are teams. We ride in groups, in a pack. I can't do any of that. I couldn't go riding with you without falling apart. The need, the fire, is still inside of me, but I can't reach it or touch it.

Whatever was there is buried in a pile of s.h.i.t so deep, I'll never be able to dig it out."

He thought she would step back then. Turn away in disgust. That's what Angelique had done. Curled her perfect lip at him and said she wasn't interested in a coward for a husband. She wanted a real man. Then she'd walked out.

He'd bared his deepest flaw, had exposed his soul and she'd left. That's what people did. They left when you were broken. His mother had taught him that.

Charity surprised him. She continued to stare at him, then she shook her head. "I don't believe you. If that fire is there, it'll find a way."

If only, he thought grimly. "Want to tell me when?

I have a life to get back to."

"You mean you're not content living as a small-town G.o.d?"

"Deity status aside, I don't want to end my career like this." A loser. Afraid.

"Not to get too metaphysical on you, but maybe there's a reason this happened."

"If that's true, then so is that old saying. Payback's a b.i.t.c.h." He shrugged. "It's okay, Charity. This isn't your problem. Go ahead and tell me that I'll figure it out and be fine."

"That won't solve anything."

"But you'll feel better."

"I felt fine before."

She started toward the hotel. He walked with her.

"You like that they think you're out having s.e.x with fifty different women a night," she said.

"It beats the truth." He jerked his head toward the buildings next to them. "I grew up here. The good people of Fool's Gold have a lot invested in me. I don't want them to know the truth."

"There's nothing bad here. You had a very natural reaction to a horrible circ.u.mstance."

"I got spooked during a race. It's not like I faced sniper fire in a war."

"You're too hard on yourself."

"Not possible."

"Oh, please. Don't be such a guy."

"If I wasn't, my reputation would be even more interesting."

She laughed. The sweet sound carried on the night.

She was easy to be with, he thought. Nice. Down to earth. She hadn't bolted, which he appreciated and he believed she wouldn't tell anyone what he'd told her.

When they were within sight of the hotel, he stopped. "You go on ahead."

"Why?"

"Do you want people to think we were together?"

"We were just walking."

"Come on, Charity. You've been in town what-three weeks? You really believe that's what they'll tell each other?"

"Probably not."

He raised his eyebrows.

She smiled. "Definitely not. Okay. Point taken. I'll go first."

She took a step, then turned back. "They love you. They would understand."

"They love the guy on the poster."

"They might surprise you."

"Not in a good way."

"I didn't know you were a cynic."

"I'm a realist," he told her. "And so are you."

"I think you're underestimating their affection."

"It's not a risk I'm willing to take."

She started to say something, then shook her head and walked across the street.

He watched her go. The sway of her hips drew his gaze to her b.u.t.t. She was pretty in a quiet kind of way. Hers was a beauty that would age well. Before, when he'd really been Josh Golden, he could have had her in a heartbeat. The irony was back then he wouldn't have slowed down long enough to notice her.

Life sure had a sense of humor.

CHAPTER SIX.