Race To The Altar

by Patricia Hagan

  “And you don’t want Rick to sit in?”

  “Not this time. Let’s you and I talk first. I’d really like to go over the budget with you, too, because while I’m sure the sponsors appreciate you cutting corners to stretch the money, there are some things I’m sure they won’t like you skimping on.”

  Liz was unaware she could be heard by the crew working on the car next to Rick’s. Not that they were purposely eavesdropping. They were just enjoying a little eye candy in the garage. Like Rick, they could not help but notice and appreciate the way her suit hugged her generous curves.

  Concerned over what she had just said, Mack demanded, “Like what? Show me where I’ve skimped on anything.”

  “Those tires.” She pointed. “Maybe they aren’t about to blow like you said the old ones were, but I still say they don’t look any better. The tread is completely gone, and—”

  Liz was drowned out by a sudden explosion of laughter.

  For a few seconds, Mack laughed, too, then, seeing the look on Liz’s face, took her arm and led her away.

  “What…what was that all about?” she stammered when they were out of earshot of the others. “What did I say that was so funny?”

  “Liz, I need to explain about the tires. They don’t have any tread, because NASCAR doesn’t race in the rain.”

  “You mean they never have tread?”

  “No. But you couldn’t be expected to know that. And don’t pay any attention to those hyenas laughing about it. You’re a rookie when it comes to racing. But I’ll try to help you learn along the way. Just ask me anything you want to know.”

  “Like I asked Rick?” she countered tightly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I asked him why the tires on his car didn’t have any tread, and he said it was because they were worn-out.”

  She could tell Mack was biting back a grin, which made her all the madder.

  “Damn him,” she cursed between clenched teeth. “He knew I’d make a fool of myself with that.”

  “No. In all fairness, I doubt he planned it that way. Remember. He didn’t know who you were then. He was just annoyed you were there so he was being a smart aleck.”

  Liz supposed that was true but still felt deeply humiliated and vowed to find a way to get him back.

  “Here he comes,” Mack said. “Raise hell with him later if you want to, but let’s get these photos over with so he can get to the meeting.”

  “By all means,” she said sweetly, turning in the direction of the drivers’ lounge.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Rick was probably the best-looking thing she’d seen since her last Mel Gibson movie. There was only one word to describe him—hunk.

  The uniform was formfitting. And what a form he had, she mused, swallowing a sigh. He had not zipped the suit all the way, and dark hairs on his superb chest were provocatively revealed. His narrow waist emphasized great buns, and his relaxed stride was like that of a jungle animal, lazy after feeding yet ready to spring at any moment.

  He reached Liz and Mack, his hair still damp from the shower. Liz clenched her fists against the ache to touch it, run her fingers through it. Her gaze dropped to his partially exposed chest, and she felt a stirring of desire to explore there, as well.

  “Well, are we ready?”

  He spoke curtly, impatiently, which dissipated the spellbound moment for Liz. “Yes, let’s get on with it.”

  She turned and walked toward Pete, wishing all the while the sponsor had chosen a married driver…or, at least, one who didn’t heat her blood every time she got near him.

  Chapter Three

  The restaurant was located right on the beach. Liz tipped the maître d’ to give them a window table for a sweeping view of the ocean.

  “Wow, this sure beats that greasy spoon we’re used to,” Benny Dyson, a crew member said. “The food was good, but choice seats there looked out on the swamp and the alligators.”

  Rick’s jaw knotted. “Buckeye Joe’s has the best steaks in Daytona, and you know it, Benny.” Liz was in the ladies’ room, and he seized the chance to grouse. “We’ll be lucky to get anything besides caviar and roast duck at a place like this.”

  Mack was scanning the menu. “I don’t know about that. They’ve got a sixteen-ounce T-bone that sounds good if she doesn’t mind me ordering something that costs almost thirty bucks.”

  “Caviar is good,” Benny said innocently. “I think you ought to lighten up on the babe, Rick. She seems nice, and footing the bill to feed us is even nicer.”

  “Let me tell you something.” Rick picked up his fork and shook it at him. “She’s not the one paying. The sponsor is. And I’d rather see thirty bucks spent on the race car.”

  “Rick, I agree with Benny,” Mack said. “Lighten up. Buying us dinner is part of the package. Enjoy it.” He turned to Benny. “And if I were you, I’d strike the word babe from my vocabulary. She’s got a name. She expects you to use it.”

  “Yeah, all right. I’ll watch it. Say, Rick, how come you don’t like her?”

  Mack reached for a hot roll a waiter had set on the table, along with a pat of honey butter. “Ah, you know how he feels about women in racing. They get on his nerves.”

  “They’re bad luck,” Rick said, not about to divulge his real feelings. “Big Boy’s could just as easily have sent a man to do the PR.”

  “But they didn’t,” Mack pointed out. “They sent Liz. And like I’ve been telling you all evening, forget how you two rubbed each other the wrong way. We’ve got a qualifying race to run tomorrow, and you need to focus.”

  Oh, he was focusing, all right, Rick thought furiously as he watched Liz approach.

  But not on the race.

  Mack had told him how humiliated she had been about the tires, and he figured on embarrassing her again. Hopefully she would then have second thoughts.

  Maybe, he brooded, he wouldn’t be so opposed to having her around if she weren’t so good-looking. She had gone to her motel from the track, meeting them at the restaurant. She’d happily shared the news her lost luggage had been found and delivered. So she had changed from her business suit into a blue and white pants outfit. The top was scooped low enough to be sexy but still in good taste, and her tiny waist emphasized the rest of her.

  She was not wearing her hair in the austere bun; instead it hung softly around her face.

  He was glad she had put Mack between them. That made it easier to ignore her…or try to, anyway.

  Mack leaped up to pull out her chair. “We were just saying what a nice place this is, Liz. Be sure to tell the VIPs at Big Boy’s we appreciate it.”

  She gave everyone at the table a sweeping smile, even Rick. “You can tell them yourselves next Sunday. I had a message waiting at the motel saying Gary Staley, the CEO, is flying a crowd in for the race.”

  “So we get to meet them in person,” Mack said. “We’ve only talked on the phone.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve got to make reservations somewhere special for dinner Saturday night, and—”

  Benny laughingly interrupted to remark, “Well, how much nicer can it get than this?”

  “You’ll see,” she said with a wink, then continued, “I’ll also arrange garage passes for them before the race, and—”

  “Hold it.”

  All eyes turned on Rick.

  “The last thing we need right before a race is a bunch of people getting in the way and asking stupid questions.”

  Mack cried, “Hey, wait a minute, Rick. We’re talking about the people footing the bill for you to try to win the rookie title.”

  “Which won’t happen if I’ve got to worry with them,” Rick argued. “PR reps for other teams handle the VIPs themselves. They don’t bring them around the driver right before a race.”

  “Well, I don’t intend to do that,” Liz defended. “I don’t want them to get in your way, either. So I’ll remedy the situation by keeping them a good distance away, and I will answer th
eir questions.”

  “You?” Rick scoffed.

  “Sure.”

  “You don’t know beans about racing, Liz.”

  Mack groaned. “Here we go again. I thought you two called a truce.”

  “We have,” Liz said sweetly. “We’re just talking, Mack. We aren’t arguing.”

  “Well, you’ve got a week,” Rick said smugly. “Maybe you can learn enough to carry on an intelligent conversation, or fake it, at least.”

  A waiter came and took their orders. Liz emphasized they should all have whatever they wanted, regardless of the cost.

  After he left, she turned to Rick. “I won’t have to fake it. And I don’t have to take a crash course. I know enough about your car to explain it to them.”

  “Yeah? Well, let’s hear it.” Rick leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t have to do anything to humiliate her. He would let her do it herself.

  Liz wriggled in her seat, as though eager to show off her knowledge. Then, propping her chin on coyly laced fingers, she began. “Well, I know that the toilet facilities in race cars are being studied by NASA, because they’re thinking about using the same system for the astronauts.”

  Benny choked on a bite of roll.

  Two of the other crew members, having just sipped their beers, sprayed the table.

  Mack cried, “Liz, no—”

  She ignored him. “I also know about that little button on the dash that sends a signal to a big computer somewhere to make it fair for everybody to start their cars at the same time.”

  “Oh, man.” Benny reached for his water glass, still coughing and choking.

  The others reached for their beer, struggling with the hilarity of it all.

  Mack grabbed Liz’s wrist. “Hey, you’re just clowning around, right? You don’t really believe all that?”

  Making her eyes wide with innocence, Liz replied, “Why, of course I do. I had a very good teacher.”

  Mack looked accusingly at Rick, who had been listening stone-faced and silent. “Did you tell her all that crap? I heard about the tires. Jeez, Rick…”

  Liz had wasted no time once she got to her motel room unpacking the books she had bought on racing. Scolding herself for not finding the time to do so earlier, she had located information on the construction of race cars and devoured every word.

  She relished the astonished look that came over Rick’s face with each word she spoke. “The typical Winston Cup car weighs thirty-four hundred pounds and has a seven- to seven-hundred-fifty-horsepower engine that drives the rear wheels through a four-speed transmission. Top speed is 220 miles an hour. The roll cage inside the car is made of 150 feet of steel tubing to protect the driver. There are no doors, no passenger seat, and no speedometer. The tires have an extra layer of rubber to try to guard against a flat. They’re fortified by a belt network that was designed to keep their shape under extreme stress.”

  She paused to sip her wine, reveling in the moment, then continued. “There are two eleven-gallon rubber gas tanks encased in steel for safety, but fuel economy would be a nightmare for the ordinary street car. Race cars only get five miles to the gallon, and, of course, they use a special kind of fuel that is much more expensive than regular gas.”

  A hush had fallen over the table.

  Rick was the first to break it, not about to let her get the best of him, merely because she’d managed to speed-read some technical stuff before dinner. “Well, now, Liz, that’s real impressive. Maybe with all that information to share, you can keep the bigwigs out of my way.”

  “I intend to. But I’m sure they’d like to hear about the toilet facilities. I thought maybe you could explain that to them.”

  Mack shook his head. “What in heck did you tell her, Rick?”

  The waiter appeared with stuffed shrimp appetizers for everyone. Rick helped himself before flippantly responding. “She can’t take a joke. Or maybe she doesn’t know enough about what’s going on to realize it’s a joke. She asked about that hole in the seat. I made up a story about how it’s the way drivers use the bathroom during a race.”

  “When actually,” Liz corrected, “it’s where the driver’s shoulder harness connects. You were just teasing, I know.” She flashed her sweetest smile at Rick, but her eyes were cold. “But enough funny stuff. From now on I would appreciate it if you would tell me the truth when I ask you a technical question, okay?”

  Rick gave a curt nod of assent and bristled to think how she might have won the lap but would never finish the race.

  Not if he could help it.

  Mack breezed into the motel’s coffee shop and went to where Liz was waiting in a booth.

  “Is Rick coming?” she asked. She had scheduled a breakfast meeting to go over a few things, and, since the night before, she had arranged for Rick to be a guest on a popular local talk show for that evening.

  Mack signaled the waitress for coffee. “He’s taking a shower. He said he’d skip breakfast and head to the track. He wants to get started checking the car out before the races today.”

  “Well, I need to tell him about a radio show I’ve got him scheduled to be on tonight.”

  Mack’s eyes widened. “The one called Pit Stop?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh, man, that’s great. During Speed Weeks, it’s broadcast from one of the hottest nightclubs on the beach. He’ll get a lot of exposure.”

  “I know. So will you please call him on a house phone and tell him I need to meet with him now?”

  Mack frowned. “Liz, he said he’d rather me deal with you, so I’ll tell him about it when I get to the track. I’m sorry, but that’s just how he is.”

  “Well, it’s not how I am, and he’s got plenty of time. It’s only seven o’clock. He can be at the track by eight. Now if you don’t want to call him, Mack, I will.”

  She started to get up, but Mack waved her to stay seated. “I’ll do it. But I can’t understand why you and I can’t handle everything and leave him out of it.”

  “That’s just the point. He is everything. He is the focus of my job. I’ve also arranged an interview for him with an Atlanta journalist. Big Boy’s has sixteen restaurants in the Atlanta area. They’ll be thrilled to see a story about Rick in the paper. I need to tell him what time to meet the writer and where.

  “Your job, Mack,” she politely reminded, “is to take care of the car. I plan to ease a lot of your burdens over managing the team to give you more time to do that. Now please get Rick down here so we can discuss all this and get it over with so you can do your job, and I can do mine. Okay?”

  Mack made the call and returned to say Rick was on his way. “He’s grumbling, but he’ll be okay.”

  Liz couldn’t care less.

  About ten minutes later, Rick all but threw himself into the other side of the booth next to Mack. “All right, what’s so important it can’t wait?”

  Liz handed him a schedule for the week that she had prepared. “I just wanted a quiet moment to go over all this with the two of you.”

  Mack, reading over Rick’s shoulder, said, “This is all PR stuff—appearances at the mall to sign autographs, stuff like that. What has it got to do with me?”

  She explained how she needed Mack to know Rick’s schedule so he wouldn’t have him practicing or working on the car at those times. “I’ve checked the track schedule, and I’ve made sure there won’t be any conflicts as far as what he needs to do there. I want you to coordinate with me.”

  “Great. No problem.” Mack looked up to see Benny waving from the door. “Gotta go. See you guys later.”

  “We’ll have dinner again later in the week,” Liz said.

  “Afraid not. My wife’s driving in from Charlotte today and bringing the kids. We’ve got an efficiency, so she’ll be doing some cooking.”

  “Well, maybe she can join us,” Liz said. “I’d like to meet her. In fact, I’d like to meet the families of the entire crew. I want us to be like a fami
ly, all working together to win and make Rick a star.”

  Mack gave her a little salute and left them.

  Rick reached for the coffee Mack hadn’t had time to drink. “I knew he was going to duck out and leave me with all this.”

  “All what?” Liz said, troubled that he continued to resent her at every turn. “I just want to make sure you understand about the show tonight, what time you need to be there, and—”

  “The show,” he scoffed, staring down at the schedule. “Now I know some drivers who aren’t rookies that haven’t been able to get on there. Pit Stop features the biggies, not the little guys like me. But—” he paused to give his most mocking grin “—I guess that’s an advantage to having a female PR person, right?”

  “Wrong.” Liz was fast getting her dander up. She knew what he was implying and didn’t like it.

  “Then how did you arrange it? Tell me. I’d like to hear. Exactly how did you manage within twenty-four hours of arriving in Daytona to get me on that show tonight?”

  “I met Jimmy Barnes, the host, at a party last night.”

  “A party. After you left us at the restaurant, you went to a party.”

  “That’s right. The invitation was in my press package. I was introduced to Jimmy, and I told him about you and the new sponsorship, and he said great, he’d like to have you on his show tonight. Simple as that.”

  Rick knew it wasn’t that simple at all. Jimmy Barnes had been turned on by Liz like any normal man would be, and he’d let her wheedle him into putting him on the show. Maybe some drivers would consider that an advantage—having a sexy female pave the way for them—but not Rick.

  Still, he knew better than to gripe about it. He did need the exposure. And he wanted it badly. That’s how other sponsors became interested in a driver.