Hearts Racing (7 page)

On the veranda she found Buck, not asleep after all, but peering out over the veranda’s railing, toward the road. Cars could just be heard on the highway over the various night sounds of bugs and a light breeze sighing in leaves. The moving air was nice and warm on her face. He heard her behind him, turned, and smiled.

“Hey,” he said. “I was just thinking the moon might be up by now. Look.”

She craned her neck but couldn’t quite see around the eaves of the dormitory building. She stepped to the railing and stood on her tiptoes. She could just see the moon, crescent shaped in the sky. It looked positively enormous in the clear night sky. The breeze came again, and with it Buck’s smell. It was as intoxicating as the tequila, if not more. He was smiling, studying the moon. The moonlight played on his face, his features wondering.

Faith didn’t put stock in any sort of mystical mumbo jumbo. She didn’t go in for fortune telling or astrology or anything like that, maybe because her life revolved around achievable results that came from hard work. Wishing never got anyone more fit. But in this moment, she realized she was telling the future. Buck was going to turn to face her, and they were going to kiss. The thought came to her as clear as his laugh tolled across a room. As clear as if she’d seen a coming storm. Their faces were drawn together, barely moving but unable to stop, like planets joining in some distant universe. She never even had a thought of stopping it, until she wasn’t just telling the future. She was kissing him. They were kissing each other. She squeezed him, feeling the muscles in his back and drinking in his smell. Oh god, she was kissing him! 

He pulled back.

“Oh,” she said, not knowing any word to use at this moment. She stepped back too, now, hand to her mouth. The hand brought with it a waft of the heady Buck cologne smell. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I ah . . .” He looked sheepish. “I want you to know I . . . well, I don’t do this kind of thing. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Me either. It’s just been so crazy. But I can’t do, you know . . .” She trailed off. Do what? “This,” she finished.

“No. Yeah. You’re right. We gotta keep things professional.”

“It’s not just that,” she said, looking at the boards that made up the veranda’s decking. Her insides were doing flips, and she had no way to tell what they were trying to tell her. Jump on him? Sniff him some more? Go to bed? Jump off the veranda and make a break for it? “I’m, you know . . .”

“You’re what?”

“Engaged.” Her voice had a pleading tone, and her arms made a fussy motion that she’d not intended them to make, like a little girl throwing a tantrum. She definitely needed to go to bed. Or jump off the veranda and run for it. Something.

“Hey, look,” he said. “I’m sorry. I had a couple of tequilas, and it’s so beautiful out here, and you’re so, you know . . .”

“What?”

Buck looked at her. Something in his face seemed to change. Not imperceptibly, obviously, because she was able to perceive it, but something small shifted and she felt he might have made up—or changed—his mind. A smile appeared. His eyes were as green as ever. He looked rueful, apologetic, but with a dash of puckishness as well. That dash made her insides give up the flips in favor of just rebounding around her in a mad seizure. He wasn’t sorry.

Maybe his insides might be doing the same thing hers were?

“Let’s just call it a nice night and leave it at that,” she said.

Buck nodded. “A nice night,” he agreed.

She went back into the hallway, heading for her room. The lights had been turned out. It was the same hallway she’d walked down just a few minutes before, but she was a completely different person. Like she’d been over a waterfall in a barrel and lived to tell the tale.

She turned back. Buck was there, on the veranda, watching her go and smiling. The moonlight played on his face still, the shadow of the building casting a sharp line diagonally on his body as though to accentuate his features. He looked calm and pleased, like a man who’d eaten a gorgeous dinner, drunk some high quality tequila, and then been kissed on a moonlit veranda.

Chapter 12

Buck woke up feeling like an asshole. No. Not just an asshole. President and Founder of the Asshole Club for Inappropriate Assholes. He rose, stood, and looked out the window. It was a clear day, an irritating contrast to his mood. At least it would be decent weather for a ride. He kicked his legs. They were still stiff and reluctant to move from the last vestiges of the road rash he’d picked up in the crit back in New Lyon, but they’d probably be okay. They’d have to be okay. He needed a ride in the worst way.

Downstairs in the dining area, Faith was eating a grapefruit. Clanking noises came from the kitchen, so she wasn’t the only one awake. But maybe he could have a quick word with her.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked up. Smiled. A hint of a frown. Smiled again. “Hey,” she said.

Then Miriam saw him and called good morning from the other room. “
Buenos dias
,” she said, but the “
dias
” was missing the “s” sound, so it sounded more like “
Bueno diaaaa
.” She had breakfast ready to eat, the smell of bacon making its way into Buck’s nose. He felt better. Faith couldn’t be too mad at him if she smiled at him like that. Sure, there was a suggestion of hesitation there, but she hadn’t chucked her grapefruit at his head or jabbed him with the pointy grapefruit spoon. Things would be okay.

Except, would they be okay? Now he knew how her hair smelled. He knew how those gorgeous lips felt on his, how it felt to have her arms around him. Not just a woman’s arms, but an athlete’s arms. She was so strong, but so intoxicatingly feminine. Not
at all
like the women he was used to. Nothing like the cycling facility girls, who spent all their time talking about television or looking at their phones. She had consequence. Gravity. And when she’d hugged him last night, he’d felt her body pressing against him, the pressure of a breast touching his side and—

And she was looking at him oddly. He was staring.

“Bicycles!” he said, his voice a horrifying croak. He cleared his throat. “B—uh, bicycles,” he tried again. Not much better, but at least he wasn’t staring anymore. He smiled sheepishly. She smiled back again. Don’t be freaked out, he thought at her, telepathically. I’m not a weirdo.

“Yes, bicycles!” a voice replied. It was Jose. He walked in, already in his Miami riding kit. His face displayed surprise at Buck still in his sweatpants and tee shirt. “You need to kit up. We ride.” 

Buck clenched his fists and shook them happily. We ride! Finally, something he was sure he could do without making an ass of himself. “Yes,” he agreed. “We ride!”

Buck headed back to his room and got dressed to ride then hurried back downstairs. In the bike room, the rest of the riders were also awake and dressed. Buck pulled his bike off the rack and inspected it. No problems. He pumped the tires up to pressure and threw a leg over the bike. It felt good. Back where he should be: on the bike.

Miami riders kept things loose. They chatted among themselves during the ride, keeping the pace relaxed. Even so, Buck eyed their technique. It needed work. But it wasn’t terrible by any means. And anyway, he certainly needed work too. He wasn’t up to full power. It felt great to ride, though, especially given the flat terrain. There wasn’t a hill taller than twenty-five meters anywhere to be seen.

“Hey, Jose,” Buck said, riding up alongside. “How do you guys train for climbing?”

Jose smiled evilly. “You will see.”

There must be a hill around here somewhere, but Buck was glad they were keeping it light today. He just wanted to spin his legs out, remind them what it was like to pedal a bicycle.

After a couple of hours, they returned to the facility, winding their way around the entrance on the dirt track. Thankfully, the dirt was packed enough that their tires didn’t sink in.

In the courtyard area between the two buildings, Buck dismounted, feeling immensely satisfied. He spotted LeMond’s car parked nearby and smiled. This was going to work out nicely, he thought. It’d been so good to ride. Now he had his trainer and friend on-site. Tomorrow they would start training for real.

His eyes landed on the kitchen and dormitory building, and he realized the dining room was up a short flight of stairs. There must be a room below it.

“Hey, Jose,” he called into the bike room where Jose was replacing his bike in its rack. “What’s below the dining room?”

Hidalgo was racking his bike too. He stopped and looked at Jose as if he wondered how Jose would handle the question. Buck wondered why.

Jose didn’t flinch. “It’s nothing,” he said, shrugging. “Water heater. Pipes and stuff.”

That made sense. Those things had to be somewhere. Still, Buck could see a shiny padlock on the door two floors underneath the veranda. Did people steal hot water around here? Probably not. This area of the country would get hot enough in the summer time for anyone.

Buck shrugged it off and racked his bike up. He went upstairs. Faith’s door to the bathroom was open, and he could see a neatly made bed beyond. She must be down in the gym or something. Buck stripped then jumped in the shower. He enjoyed the hot water, which he complimented with singing.

When he got out, the mirror was fogged. He wiped a space out so he could see himself then drew a smiley face next to it with a finger. The next time the mirror fogged up, he’d see that face again.

“Nice singing,” a voice said, coming from Faith’s open room.

“Hah! You heard that? Sorry.” Buck laughed. Oops. He hadn’t known anyone was listening. He poked his head around the door to find Faith sitting on the end of her bed with a book. He hadn’t seen her before.

“No, it’s okay, I like—”  Faith was cut off by LeMond’s voice coming up the stairs.

“Buck?”

“In here,” Buck called back.

“Not in here,” Faith said, hissing and waving at him to go into his own room.

“Oh!” Buck whispered back, understanding. He leapt through the bathroom and called “Back already, huh?” to LeMond, so he’d hear Buck coming from his own room.

LeMond pushed the door open and stood there, appraising Buck. “Looks like you’re healing up okay,” he said. “Probably healthy enough to put some clothes on.”

“Seriously!” came Faith’s voice from the other room.

LeMond smiled big and mouthed “She likes you,” making a small pointing motion with one hand.

Buck waved him off with a
psssh
and a flap of a hand. “Welcome back. Got in a decent ride today with the guys. Easy, but they look pretty okay.”

LeMond nodded.

“Hey, how do they train for the climbs in all this flatness, anyway?”

LeMond looked left and right like he was about to reveal a secret. “You ready for this? A parachute.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, really. They have a little parachute they hooked up to an old hiking backpack. Adds a ton of drag.”

“Huh. Can’t wait to see that one.” Parachutes. He was in a strange land for sure. Buck didn’t know what made him want to say it. But he said it. “Hey, listen. What’s in the room under the dining area? Just curious.”

LeMond shrugged. “Water heater. Pipes and stuff.” The same exact thing Jose had said. Maybe Buck was being crazy, but it sounded kind of like someone had told both of them to say that.

“Water heater. Pipes and stuff,” Buck repeated.

LeMond shrugged again. “What am I, the facilities staff? We need to focus on those legs, pal. There’s a race to win and not a lot of time to train for it. Now listen, we start tomorrow bright and early. Faith’s got some stuff for you in the morning, and then we’ll send you guys out on a ride in the afternoon.”

Buck nodded. “I like it. As long as I don’t have to do too many CrossFit barfies or kicky pullups I’ll be ready to get back in the saddle for sure.”

“They are called . . . burpees!” Faith said, her voice loud enough to be heard from her room.

LeMond made his excited smiley face and pointed again.

Buck just shook his head and snorted. LeMond didn’t know what he knew. That he’d already accidentally kissed her and blown it. Besides—engaged. And besides that—CrossFit. Blegh!

LeMond put on a wry face. “All right, good. Get some sleep tonight.” His voice rose so it could be heard down the hall. “And Jose?”

“Si?” came Jose’s voice from his room.

“Tonight, no
añejo
!”

Jose laughed, and Buck could hear another couple of voices laughing too. Then, two voices echoed back together.

“
Añejoooo
!”

Chapter 13

Faith and the rest of the team fell into a routine, which, in her opinion, was the best thing for anyone. Routines mean you know what to expect. Routines mean you can predict outcome. Routines mean no one is likely to surprise you by getting arrested or threatened with execution.

She sent and received messages with Barker, but he seemed distracted. The usual epithets and comments about her shape were still there, but sparse. Not that him being distracted was necessarily a bad thing, since she’d left town without being completely truthful with her fiancé about where she was going. She was careful to be vague about what she was doing, just saying she was training some people. Which was true . . . ish.

On the good news front, the team responded well to her training. Buck put them through their paces as a cycling team in the afternoons, where they were also showing promise. They even had a parachute they attached to one another to create extra drag. The Miami riders had been attaching it to themselves, but Buck had the idea to tie it to their bikes instead. Either way, weird sport, Faith thought. But she kept that thought to herself. She was proud of the guys and felt like a valuable member of the team.

Buck. She tried not to think about him too much, but he was like a virus or something. They’d kissed that one time, and now she couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt. She made little excuses to touch him almost every day. Of course, part of his training was massage, but she also brushed his hand with hers now and again, and it sent sparks shooting around her bones. It was shameful. She was engaged, for god’s sake, and here she was acting like a schoolgirl.

The afternoon rides got longer and longer, leaving her with hours of free time to kill at the facility. She read and wandered around, though there wasn’t much ground to cover inside the fence. One afternoon she wandered over to stand underneath the veranda, the scene of the crime where the kiss happened. She looked up there as though she were looking back in time, back to that moment when his lips had found hers.

There was a metallic scraping sound. One of the metal doors under the dining area opened a crack. She’d never seen anyone go in there before. Buck had mentioned to her once that he wondered what was in there, but she’d forgotten about it. The only person on the grounds in the afternoons was usually Miriam, possibly LeMond, but at that moment LeMond was out scouting new training routes.

She froze.

It was just Miriam. She had a bag of flour under one arm. Faith relaxed and smiled, but when Miriam saw Faith looking at her she froze too, obviously caught in the act of . . . of what? In a second, Faith saw what. Behind Miriam, in the basement, stacked in racks upon racks, were guns. Faith was no gun expert, but they looked like automatic rifles. And it wasn’t a collection. A collection is usually lots of different kinds of guns. These were lots of the
same
gun.

Faith’s insides went cold. Miriam either didn’t know what to say, didn’t have the English facilities to say it, or maybe even both. So she just closed the door, put the padlock on it, locked it, and then mimed putting a padlock on her mouth for Faith. She smiled. Our little secret.

Faith nodded. She wouldn’t say anything to anyone. She turned and walked away, trying to look as casual as possible.

What the hell was going on around here? The stout buildings around the facility had a militaristic look she hadn’t ascribed to them before. If she got caught around that many illegal guns, it would be the end for her. The American attitude toward private gun ownership had changed drastically when the French assumed control. They didn’t want any crazy rebel groups forming a resistance against them.
Vive l’empire
, they said.

If someone reported the guns in the basement, and the French found out she was on the premises at the time, it would be the end for her brother. Maybe her parents, too. Would Barker help her out of a jam like that? Probably not. It could reflect poorly on his political position that he’d been engaged to her. Not that he’d given her a ring. Granted, she’d been coerced into the relationship, but still. He could at least give her a ring.

She’d have to talk to LeMond about it. Get back to New Lyon. But that meant leaving Buck.

Aw, come on, woman. Leaving Buck? Now you’re talking crazy. Ring or no ring, you’re engaged. Not to Buck, to Barker.

She didn’t know what to do, but one word circled around her: guns! And could she really go without telling Buck about her feelings? Wait . . . Feelings? No. She couldn’t go without telling Buck what was in the storage room—there were no feelings, only a bad situation that could get way worse. That wouldn’t be right, to save herself without giving him the same heads-up. She’d have to think about this.

Faith walked back across the parking area toward her gym, but stopped when she heard the sound of tires on the track outside the gate. Then the gate began to move aside. It would have to be LeMond. She waited there for him. She needed to talk to him right away.

But it wasn’t LeMond. It was a van with tinted windows and a layer of road grime from many kilometers. It parked and a half-dozen men got out. They nodded to her but didn’t smile or introduce themselves. They looked like athletes, with the corded appearance brought on by low body fat, but they didn’t have the spindly look of cyclists at all. Much stockier. A few headed inside and up the short stairway to the dining area, but one stayed behind, leaning on the front of the van and lighting a cigarette. Maybe they didn’t say anything because none of them spoke English or French? They all looked to be of Hispanic descent.

The last person to step out of the van was Miguel. He smiled warmly at Faith and tucked a cell phone into his inside jacket pocket. Its screen was glowing, so he’d probably just completed a call. He strode confidently over to her with his hand out, still smiling.

“Such a pleasure to see you again, Miss Racing,” he said. His hand was warm, reassuring, but without any trace of smarminess. A lot of men could learn a thing or two about being personable but still professional from Miguel.

“Thank you,” Faith said. She wondered what her face must look like. Whatever expression she was wearing, it certainly seemed to amuse Miguel. He chuckled as if she’d shared a private joke.

“Is everything going well?” he asked.

“I . . . well, I think, ah. Yes. Everyone is feeling strong.” All the work she’d done with these cyclist guys and the best she could come up with was “feeling strong?” She’d  probably already doubled their core strength, if not their mobility.

“Good, good. And the facilities? You are finding them adequate?”

“The equipment is top-notch. Some of the best I’ve ever used. Certainly better than my gym had.” She was careful not to let any hitch or hesitation enter her speech. She couldn’t be sure whether Miguel knew about the guns in the basement or not. And if he did, and she told him, would he be angry? She could be sent back to New Lyon for snooping, or maybe they’d all have to leave, thus sabotaging Buck’s chance to race at Nationals. A thousand questions without solid answers.

Miguel beamed. “I am pleased to hear it. Your work here is very important to the Miami riders, as well as to me personally. And of course, to Buck . . .”

“And LeMond,” Faith added.

“Yes, of course! Together we will do great things. I promise you that.” He then turned and headed the way the other men had gone, up to the dining area, giving the smoking man a companionable slap on the shoulder. The cigarette got stubbed out under a shoe, and the two men walked up the steps.

Faith was left to wander back into the gym and into the tiny office she’d set up for herself in a side room. She stared at the wall and wondered what any of this, let alone all of this, could possibly mean.