Finding Perfect (Fool's Gold #3)(82)

He was wide-eyed, more interested than scared. “I know,” he whispered back.

Raoul was as startled by the rescue as by the potential stalkers. While he appreciated the concern, his pride didn’t welcome the idea of being protected by a half dozen women in their forties and fifties.

Not that he was willing to take them on either. Ego be damned—for now he was keeping his mouth shut.

The three women turned their attention to him. “Are you serious? You’re going to let them tell us what to do?”

He gave them his best grin. The one he wore in all his publicity pictures. “Absolutely.”

“This town is stupid,” the petite blonde said. “We should leave. I don’t know why we thought we could have a good time here.”

“Us, either,” Bella told her. “Drive safe, ladies.”

The brunette flipped her off.

Bella only smiled. “Looks like you need a manicure, missy. Chipped polish is so cheap. Just like you.”

The three stomped off.

Raoul watched them go, then looked at his posse. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bella told him. “I’m sure you could have dealt with them yourself, but why waste time on trash?”

“If I was ten years older,” he began.

Bella patted his shoulder. “Sorry, but no. If you were ten years older, I’d wear you out and then you’d die of a heart attack. So let’s not go there.”

Denise moved up to him and kissed his cheek. “Admit it. You’re secretly humiliated.”

“Some.”

“Then our work here is complete.” She glanced at Peter. “Do you mind if I borrow this handsome young man? There are bumper cars set up across the park and I do love a good bumper car. My kids are all too old. I’ll return him right after that.”

“Sure. If it’s okay with you, Peter.”

“Sure.”

Peter took Denise’s outstretched hand and went off, still licking his ice cream. Raoul thanked the other women, then waited until they’d left before making his way to where Pia held court from her lawn chair.

“Talk to the peanut guy,” she was saying. “He always packs up early. Like he’s going to beat the traffic. Tell him if he does that this time, he’s not coming back. Remind him I can get fifty peanut vendors to replace him with just a phone call.”

She smiled at Raoul. “Hi. Where’s Peter?”

“Riding bumper cars with Denise.” He sank down on the grass next to her chair. “I was just rescued by middle-aged women.”

“What are you talking about?”

He told her about the women who had stopped by and how Bella, Denise and their friends had taken care of the situation.

“That’s sweet,” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. “The big bad football player rescued by older women.”

He winced. “This isn’t good. I’m capable of taking care of myself. But I just stood there and let them do all the talking.”

“Did you think they would allow it to happen any other way? You’re one of us now. We take care of our own. It’s just like the food everyone brought over after I lost the baby.”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Don’t freak. It’s adorable.”

He wasn’t amused. “You can’t tell my friends.”

“What will you give me if I don’t?”

“Anything.”

She laughed.

He enjoyed the sound, and looking at her. She was lovely, with her large eyes and laughing mouth. Her tumbling curls bright in the sun. She was the perfect combination of attitude and kindness.

It wasn’t just her, he thought, glancing around at the crowd enjoying the Fall Festival. It was the town. He’d lived in a lot of different places and while he’d always enjoyed the cities, he’d never felt connected to the community. Not like here. A few people recognized him, but the most they wanted was an autograph.

While he wasn’t happy that he’d been rescued by a bunch of women, he knew the significance went beyond their gender and age. It was that they’d seen the problem and acted. They’d stepped in—as if he were their responsibility. He’d moved to Fool’s Gold to find a place to settle, and what he’d found instead was home.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NORMALLY, AFTER A DAYLONG EVENT, like the Fall Festival, Pia would be exhausted. But as she’d spent exactly half her day just sitting, she felt rested and ready to party at the town’s dinner-dance. Well, in a very quiet, protect-the-babies kind of way.

She finished applying mascara and leaned back to check her makeup in the mirror. She’d taken Dr. Galloway’s advice about stairs and taken the two flights to come back to her place to get ready. All her clothes were here, along with her serious makeup. Raoul was going to pick her up and take her to the dance, then back to his place.

She fluffed her hair, then tightened her robe around her waist. The big question was what to wear.

Sometime in the last day or so, she’d gotten a case of serious bloat. Her pants were tight and no matter how much lemon water she drank, she couldn’t get her belly to go down. There were a couple of dresses she knew wouldn’t fit. But she had one that had an empire waist. The style was forgiving and—