The Way Back. Stephanie Doyle

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE NEXT DAY, Jamison headed for his daily jog, but was stopped before he could even start. Perhaps he should have been surprised by the sight of Gabby on the beach waiting for him. He wasn’t. As a man who prided himself with being honest—at least with himself—he had to admit he was…delighted to see her again.

      He really didn’t want to think about what that reaction meant.

      Instead, right now he had the persistent editor who wanted to be a writer to deal with. He’d much rather deal with the attractive woman, but it was clear her professional persona came first.

      Damn.

      After leaving her in his dust yesterday, Jamie knew he hadn’t seen the last of her. She’d been wounded and humiliated, but he got the sense she wouldn’t quit so easily. He’d expected to find her stalking him into town. Or maybe hiding out in his bushes. What he didn’t anticipate was her making a second attempt to keep up with him running.

      Her hair was tied in a ponytail. Those long dark waves hanging down her back were giving him fits at night. He was imagining all sorts of dirty things he’d like to do with that hair. Not the least of which was grip it tightly in his hand while he thrust into her from behind.

      Swell, he was getting aroused before his run. That was not going to be comfortable.

      “I wasn’t prepared yesterday so I went shopping,” she said, indicating the Lycra running pants and pullover she wore.

      “I see that,” he murmured. Her legs looked long in the sleek black material. The pullover she wore came down over her hips, which, like most women, she obviously wanted to hide. But the legs were all out there for him to see and they looked pretty damn good. “You think you can keep up now you have the right equipment?”

      She raised her arms over her head and put one leg behind the other as if she was stretching. Then she switched legs after only a moment letting him know she had no clue what she was doing.

      “I’m going to give it my best try. You did say we could talk while we run.”

      Right. He ran five eight-minute miles every day. As an obvious novice she had no hope of keeping up.

      “That’s what I said.” Jamie bent to rub his dog’s collar. “I’m going to do my usual pace, buddy. You can hang back with her.”

      The dog shook his tail.

      “Yeah, I know you don’t like it, but those legs are getting too old for the pace. At least today you’ll have company.” It bothered him that Shep was stopping earlier and earlier into the run. It didn’t seem that long ago that Shep would outpace him for the entire five miles.

      She hopped up and down a few times and he could see the cold air puffing off her lips. It wasn’t frigid this morning but the coolness would make it harder for her to breathe. He couldn’t help but wonder how long she thought she would manage.

      He didn’t wait to ask her. Instead he trotted down the beach at his normal warm-up speed. He could hear her crunching behind him, her rhythm quickly becoming erratic.

      “You do this every day?” she called.

      “Every day,” he said without turning around. He didn’t want to give her any encouragement although he wouldn’t have minded watching the ponytail—or other parts of her body for that matter—bounce around.

      “So if NASA did come calling, you could tell them you’re in good physical shape.”

      “I’m in excellent physical shape,” he said trying not to brag. “But it still doesn’t mean I would be a viable candidate.”

      “Because of the scandal?”

      He tried not to wince at the word. It was so dramatic. “Because I’m retired.”

      She was puffing now and falling back a few steps as he increased his speed. “But what if they really needed you?”

      What if they did? Jamie shook his head. They wouldn’t. There were always others to fill the spaces opened by those who retired. The finest pilots. The best minds. If the Space Station was truly in trouble and the International Space Committee asked NASA for help, NASA had a rich pool of talent to select from.

      Besides, he couldn’t fathom any reason why he would put himself through it all again. The press. The media. The spotlight. Hell, no. Jamie Hunter’s days of standing in front of a camera were over.

      “Can you hold up a minute?”

      He stopped and saw her several yards behind. She was bent over with her hand grasping her waist. Trying to breathe out a cramp no doubt. She’d barely lasted five minutes.

      Rookie.

      “Sorry. You know the rules. If you want, you can walk with Shep.”

      * * *

      GREAT. THE DOG AGAIN. Gabby wondered how much insight into his master Shep could provide.

      “I’m guessing not much,” she wheezed. “Right. You’re not talking about him, either. Oh, my goodness, this is painful.” She was finally able to work out the cramp in her rib cage. Several deep breaths and she could stand upright. She thought about starting again, but her legs felt like rubber.

      Best to walk it out for a while. As she put one foot in front of the other the dog came to walk by her side. Crazy, but she sort of liked the company and she felt sorry for a loyal friend who was getting too old to keep up with his master.

      Her performance was pathetic. That she had deluded herself into thinking she’d be able to run with Jamison… Well, she would have laughed if she’d had the lung capacity. Intellectually she knew a person didn’t get in shape overnight. Not when it had taken so long to get out of shape. She never really saw it happening. She’d never been a work-out fiend. In her twenties what she ate or drank never impacted her figure at all. A couple of times a week at the gym, thirty or so minutes on the treadmill or a stationary bike and she was fine.

      It wasn’t until her work weeks started getting longer and her trips to the gym grew fewer that everything changed. Gradually, the inches had packed on. Not enough to make her worried, but enough to maybe shop for clothes one size up than what she’d been wearing. Or to pick a top that hid the little extra around her middle.

      Certainly there had to be some forgiveness. At that point, she’d been working harder than she ever had before. Giving more of herself to the show rather than her personal life. Yes, she knew the demographics and format were aimed at a younger audience. A local show competing against a major network had no shot of beating them, but it could target a certain age range.

      The guest singers were in their teens, the actors promoting their TV shows and movies were barely into their twenties and Gabby never considered interviewing an athlete over thirty. Only really famous movies stars and the city’s mayor could break the no-one-over-thirty rule.

      It wasn’t until last year that she finally stopped for a second and took notice of the people she was working with, the people she was interviewing, even the people she was working for. In an instant