She gave his chest a hard jab with her finger. “But I did it to help you, only you don’t appreciate it. And I don’t appreciate you using me to do your dirty work, either.
“Look at me,” she ranted on, “I’m soaked to the bone with sweat in what has to be the worst heat and humidity I’ve ever seen. Added to the fact that I’m supposed to be having lunch with your sponsors at this very minute, I’ve broken two fingernails, all thanks to you.”
She wished she had brought her cell phone and swore then and there to strap it to her ankle, if need be, to keep from ever not having it with her. “I’m leaving. I’m going back to the motel if I have to pay a taxi to take me there. Then I’m going to see if I can salvage what’s left of the day.”
Rick was pleased to see she was starting to break. A few more sweaty days, a couple more broken nails, and she’d decide she wasn’t cut out for the job. “Okay. I’ll drive you back. Just give me a few more minutes.” He was hoping against hope the VIPs would come to the track when Liz didn’t show.
A half hour later, Liz had enough of his dawdling. “That’s it. I’m out of here.”
She was about to peel out of the overalls, when she heard a familiar voice laugh and say, “Well, I think I’ve seen it all.”
She groaned out loud at the sight of Jeff striding toward her with four very important looking suits.
“I hope you’re happy,” she whispered to Rick.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “But there was work to be done.”
“And you could’ve done it without me.” Quickly she yanked off the overalls, then remembered she wasn’t dressed much better beneath and felt even more foolish.
Jeff made the introductions, and, adding to her misery, Liz forgot to wipe her greasy fingers before shaking the hand of Gary Staley, the CEO of Big Boy’s Pizza.
“I am so sorry,” she cried, looking around for a rag.
“Not a problem.” He took a neatly pressed handkerchief from his pocket and took care of it himself. “You are really something, Miss Mallory.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” She was floundering for a way to explain herself. She did not want to blame Rick. To do so would mean telling about the possibility the fuel was illegal. That could get everyone in trouble.
“No need to say anything,” Gary pleasantly told her. “I think it’s obvious we couldn’t have asked for a better PR rep for our company.”
“Excuse me?” Liz whispered, darting a look at Jeff to see he was beaming with approval.
Gary continued, “When you didn’t meet us at the restaurant, and we couldn’t get you on your cell phone, Jeff said evidently something was going on at the track. We wanted to see for ourselves, and, believe me, we’re glad we did.” He gave her a gentle pat on her back. “Good job, young lady. Obviously you needed to lend a hand to some mechanical work here, and that’s wonderful of you.”
Liz wasn’t sure but thought something flashed across Rick’s face before he became all smiles to greet the VIPs. He seemed to register annoyance that she’d come out of this smelling like a rose…instead of in hot water.
It dawned then that Rick’s animosity toward her was not solely due to his dislike at having women around the track.
The truth was—he did not like her.
And, again, she felt like a fool to think how she had been losing her grip on her emotions despite resolve.
But no more.
If he wanted them to be polite enemies, so be it.
Chapter Five
“I just can’t get over how well you’re doing on this account, Liz. The sponsors couldn’t be more pleased, and neither could I.”
It was race day, and it was early. Not quite seven o’clock. Liz and Jeff were supposed to be having breakfast in the motel restaurant, but she was too excited to eat. Her very first race, and she could hardly wait.
“Liz, did you hear me?”
“What? Oh, I’m sorry. I was thinking about something.” Actually she’d been imagining Rick soaring around the track at over two hundred miles an hour. She had watched him practice, but racing with forty other cars was going to be different. If he ultimately won, it would be wonderful, but at the very least she wanted him to finish ahead of all the other rookies. It was vital for the points race.
Jeff took a sip of coffee before repeating his compliment.
This time, Liz graciously thanked him, adding, “I have to say it’s probably the most fun account I’ve had.”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, I had reservations about giving it to you, but there was nobody else at the time, and you know how quickly it all came together. But later we can work it out for you to be transferred, if you like.”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. Too quickly, actually, because Jeff looked at her quizzically over the rim of his coffee cup.
Quelling her enthusiasm, she quietly murmured, “It’s a challenge, and I really like it.”
“Tell me. What is Rick really like?”
“Well…” She floundered for a response that would not expose how she really felt, how he was drop-dead good-looking, had a cute personality—with everyone but her it seemed. He was also strong, dynamic, and somewhere beneath that rugged, almost feral, part, she sensed a tender, sensual side.
“He’s a nice guy,” she said finally. “Good with the fans. Gets along with his crew. A terrific driver. I think he’s a serious contender for the rookie title.”
“Which is what Big Boy’s wants. The more exposure he gets, the more pizza they’ll sell.” He grinned. “At least that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
The waitress came to take their order. Jeff gestured to Liz, but she shook her head. “Nothing. Coffee is fine.”
“All right.” He ordered for himself—eggs Benedict and orange juice, then said, “I guess there will be a lot of food in the press box if the fare in the VIP box yesterday was any indication. It rivaled Sunday brunch at the Plaza.”
“I’m not going to be up in the press box.”
“Oh, I forgot. They’ve got one in the infield, too.”
“I’m not going to be there, either. At least not during the race. If Rick does well, I’ll go, of course, to put a spin on things, but I plan to be in the pits with the team.
“They’re giving me a headset,” she went on, unable to contain her excitement any longer. “I’ll be able to hear Mack talking to Rick.”
Jeff cringed at the thought. “But it’s so noisy there, and hot. Good grief, you’ll melt.”
“And next week at Rockingham I’ll probably freeze,” she said good-naturedly. “I don’t mind, Jeff, really. I want to be where the action is. Not feasting on a lot of sugar and carbs with the media bunch.”
“Well, do what you want. As long as the sponsors are happy, I’m happy. Oh, hey—”
He waved, and when Liz saw who it was, she felt the familiar, thrilling rush.
“Morning, Jeff,” Rick said pleasantly, taking off his cap.
Liz almost missed the nod he gave in her direction, for it came and went so quickly.
Jeff beamed. “Wearing the Big Boy’s cap, I see.”
“Oh, yes, sir. And I’ve got a lot of others to remember to put on if I win the race.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Jeff said, “I remember seeing on TV how the driver changes caps so many times in victory lane.”
“That would be my job to help him, I suppose,” Liz said to no one in particular. “It’s considered a courtesy for the driver’s PR person to help him switch hats for photo takes. Every sponsor that spends money on the car, by way of decals or whatever, wants a picture of the driver with the company logo.”
“Don’t worry about it, Liz,” Rick said, almost mockingly. “If I do luck out and win, there will be plenty of folks around to help me with hats. Besides, it’s a long way from the media tower to victory lane.”
She replied equally as tongue in cheek. “True. But it’s not far at all from the pits.”
He looked at her then, unable to
conceal the annoyance that flashed across his face. “What did you say?”
“Oh, come on and sit down,” Jeff said, pulling out the chair next to him. “I’ve already ordered. Liz didn’t want anything.” He nodded to Mack, who walked up just then. “You, too.”
Mack declined. “Thanks, but I just came to speak to my wife. She’s over on the other side with her parents. See you all at the track.”
He walked away, but Rick hung back. “Liz, what did you mean about being in the pits?”
“That’s where I plan to watch the race.”
“But that’s ridiculous.”
“Why do you say that? I know of several PR guys planning to do the same thing.”
“Not that many. And the key word is guys.”
Jeff noticed the tension and looked from one to the other. “You have a problem with her being in the pits, Rick?”
Mack called, “Hey, Rick, do you want coffee to go? We gotta hustle, man, before the traffic gets bad.”
“Yeah, fine,” Rick told him, eyes on Liz the whole time. Then he forced a smile and told Jeff it was okay. “I just worry it’s dangerous. See you two later.”
“Nice that he’s concerned about you,” Jeff commented after Rick walked away. “You two get along well, do you?”
Liz could tell by Jeff’s crafty smile what he was thinking and decided to nip that notion in the bud then and there. “We have a professional relationship and nothing more.”
He continued to smile. “I wasn’t suggesting anything else. I think it’s nice he takes a personal interest in your safety and well-being, that’s all.”
The waitress brought his breakfast, and Liz was relieved Jeff turned his attention to that and let the subject drop.
Interest in her safety and well-being, indeed, she bitterly mused. Rick just did not want her around—period. For some strange reason he seemed to have hated her at first sight, and she would just have to deal with it…as well as her helpless, hopeless, attraction to him.
“What’s with you and Liz?” Mack bluntly asked of Rick as they drove to the track. The other crew members were in different cars.
Rick gave him a sharp glance of surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How come you don’t like her?”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“You never said you did, either.”
“So?” Rick shrugged, pretending indifference. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. She’s got a job to do. And so have I.”
“Yeah, but it’s obvious you don’t want her around. The crew and I were talking about it, and it’s a shame. She tries really hard. And you have to admit she’s got you more press exposure in a week than you’ve had in your whole career.”
“Maybe so, but you have to remember my career, thus far, has been dinky little dirt tracks in the South. Besides, this is Daytona, and it’s oversaturated with journalists looking for something to write about. She didn’t have to twist their arms.”
“Well, she pointed them in your direction.”
Rick did not like the conversation. “Can we talk about something else—like the five hundred miles I’m about to race? I’d think that’d be foremost in your mind instead of some bimbo.”
“Hey, Liz is no bimbo. And I think you ought to lighten up on her. You don’t make her job any easier by being surly.”
“Surly?” Rick echoed, indignant. “I’m as nice as I can be to my fans—to all the race fans—and you know it. So how come you’re on my case?”
“Because it’s obvious you give Liz a hard time. I mean, sure, I can understand your clowning around when you first met, but you act like you’re ready to snap her head off over the least little thing.”
Rick knew that was probably true but was not about to admit it. “You’re imagining things.”
“And you’ve got to remember she’s not like the others.”
That rankled, and Rick snapped, “I don’t need this, Mack. Especially now.”
“Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. You don’t. But when I was walking up to the table, I saw and heard how excited she was over being in the pits during the race. But you sure busted her bubble of joy with your reaction.”
“I don’t like women up close and personal at the track and you know it…just like you know my reasons.”
“Yeah, I remember lots of hysteria at the short tracks. Drivers’ girlfriends getting in fights with other drivers’ girlfriends over something that happened on the track.
“I seem to recall,” he added mischievously, “that a few of yours had a catfight or two.”
“We were younger then, and the short tracks were the bull rings. Anything went. It’s different in NASCAR.”
“Then why are you opposed to Liz being around? She’s got a reason, man. She’s your PR rep. She can’t help it if she’s a babe.” He gave Rick a nudge with his elbow. “And don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
Rick had noticed, all right, too many times to count. But that had nothing to do with it. He was around beautiful women all the time. Beauty queens—titled Miss Something or other—were always being escorted around the pits and garage. He didn’t mind. They came and went.
Which is what he wanted Liz to do.
And the sooner the better.
Mack dared to point out, “Maybe that’s the problem—you have noticed. And it bugs you. I remember what you said after you and Maggie broke up—how you’d never get involved with another woman while you were racing, but sometimes things happen to make you change your mind.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a cute PR gal.”
“You’re crazy. And I wish you’d stay out of my business, Mack.”
“In a way, I think it is my business, because me and the guys are afraid your attitude might get us in bad with the sponsor if Liz goes back and tells it.”
“What’s to tell? I don’t like women around the tracks, that’s all. But I’m polite to them, and to Liz, and more than that I don’t think you or anybody else has a right to ask.
“Now can we talk about the race?” he asked with finality.
Mack obliged, immediately launching into strategy, how long the tires should last, worries over making quick pit stops…all the things crew chiefs were concerned with.
Rick was glad Mack quickly got lost in himself, because he’d just been given a wake-up call.
He had to be real nice to Liz around the crew.
There was just no way he could let them ever say he gave her a hard time.
But Mack had triggered something else—thoughts of Maggie.
God, he had loved her once upon a time, but she had proved love can quickly turn to hate.
No, not hate.
Rick didn’t hate her. He didn’t think he was capable of hating anybody.
But she had sure destroyed any feelings of love he’d had.
One night she was in his arms, all fire and passion, saying she wanted to make sure he didn’t forget her while he was off racing for the next two weeks. And he had sworn there was no way that could happen. He was only twenty years old, just getting started in racing, unsure of himself in lots of ways but not when it came to Maggie. Not then. Because she swore she loved him with every breath in her body. And he had believed her.
They had met at a short dirt track in Savannah, Georgia. Maggie was there visiting her cousin. They’d gone to the race as a lark, but she said later that when she saw him from the grandstand through binoculars, she knew she had to meet him.
And she had.
He had won the race, and, afterward, Maggie had fought her way through the crowd to introduce herself and ask for his autograph.
Only she hadn’t wanted it on a souvenir program.
Nor on a piece of paper.
She had boldly whispered in his ear that she wanted it in a very personal place.
Later that night, Rick had obliged, and they were together from then on.
Maggie was a knockout. Blond hair, big bro
wn eyes, and a body guys drooled over.
Rick was young, naive, and hadn’t had much experience with women. He believed Maggie when she promised a forever kind of love. They had wed, moved into a double wide in his hometown of Dalton, and she went through the motions of settling down to married life.
Unfortunately, that hadn’t lasted long.
All too soon she began nagging at him to quit racing and get a real job. She wanted to start a family, but she wanted a husband around to help. Also, the money he was making back then just didn’t stretch far enough, not with Maggie’s expensive tastes.
Still, he believed she loved him, and he begged her to bear with him. Give him a chance to make it big. He’d make it up to her later.
She consented…or pretended to.
And two weeks after she’d made love to him so fervently it had made him hot to think about it the whole time he was gone, he returned to find a note saying she’d moved out. She couldn’t take it any longer. She was running away with a man who could be there for her all the time.
Rick heard later she had moved to Florida, marrying her new love before the ink on the divorce papers was dry.
For a long time after that, Rick blamed himself. After all, she had given him warning…told him she was miserable the way things were with him on the road all the time. She got lonely. And somebody else was around to ease her ache.
For a long time Rick tortured himself with thinking how maybe he could have stopped it…could have saved the marriage. All he would have had to do was give up racing and get a regular job. He’d make decent wages. He and Maggie could have had a good life. Kids. The whole nine yards marriage is made up of.
Only he hadn’t.
And now that he was over her completely, he could see it probably would never have worked, not when she could walk out on him so easily and never look back.
As time had passed, he was confident he had done the right thing. Racing was his life, and Maggie had known that when she met him…known it when they married. She had promised to accept it but hadn’t been able to. And even though his guilt over his failed marriage eventually faded, Rick vowed that only when he parked the race car for the last time would he marry again.
Race To The Altar Page 7