The years passed. His short track career took off, and he made decent money. So did Mack as co-owner of the car and crew chief. Rick started a savings account. He had a few girlfriends here and there who didn’t want to get married, much less care what he did for a living. Yeah, that kind, but what difference did it make the way he was spinning his wheels when it came to romance?
He was glad when they reached the track, relieved to be caught up once more in the thrill of it all.
“We’re gonna do good today,” Mack said, pounding the steering wheel with his hands as they drove through the tunnel into the infield. “I can just feel it in my bones.”
“Me, too,” Rick said, although he didn’t. Mack believed in positive thinking and getting all hyped up over something. Rick just believed in doing his best and whatever happened, happened.
“I think now that we’ve got a big-money sponsor, you’re a cinch to win the rookie title. We’ll have all the parts and supplies we need, you’re a good driver, so the sky’s the limit.”
“With a little bit of luck,” Rick reminded him.
“Oh, we’ve got plenty of that,” Mack said confidently. “Like with Liz. It was just luck we got her for PR. She was telling me the other day how it all happened fast, and she was the only one available to take the account. Otherwise, they’d have sent a guy who might not have been willing to try like she does. I mean, she gives a hundred and fifty percent, you know?”
Rick did not want to hear any more about Liz. Not now. He needed to focus on the race, not think about smoldering green eyes and a soft, sweet laugh that made him feel like a teen with his first crush.
Trying to shut him up, Rick goaded, “Does Rosie know you’ve got a thing about Liz?”
Mack hooted. “Me? Why, no. I mean, she knows I’m impressed with what she’s been doing…that I like her as a friend, but that’s it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mack said, sounding a little defensive.
“Then how come you can’t stop talking about her?”
They were through the tunnel, once more in the brilliant blue sky, the sun beating down as seagulls drifted in the gentle Florida breeze.
Mack slowed, despite the bumper-to-bumper traffic, to turn and look Rick straight in the eye. “I keep talking about her, because I don’t like how you can’t seem to stand her, Rick. I know you’ve got this thing about women and racing, and I’m afraid you’ll run her off…whether intentionally or not. I like her. The guys like her. So whatever you feel, or don’t feel, I’d appreciate it if you’d chill out. Do your job. Let her do hers. Leave it at that if you want, but I think deep down you just might be fighting your true feelings here.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not. I think you do like her, and that’s what’s bugging you.”
Rick chuckled at the supposed incredulity of such an idea. “I don’t see how in the world you came up with that notion, Mack. I think you’ve been out in the sun too much this week. So put a sock in it, okay? And let’s get busy and race.”
Like her? he silently scoffed as they drove on toward the paddock area reserved for drivers, crews and their families. She was a pain in the butt. She also had the staying power of superglue. No matter what he said to her, she came right back at him. Maybe in the beginning she had been easily intimidated, but evidently when she wasn’t at some fancy corporate party she was doing her homework. He had to admit she had quickly learned enough about racing to carry on an intelligent conversation.
But she was still new to the game. A real rookie. And, being a woman, sooner or later she would cave.
Then he would be rid of her and, hopefully, the dreams about her, as well.
Liz was not feeling well. She was so keyed up and excited she hadn’t been able to even finish her coffee at breakfast.
It was overwhelming, and she was loving every second of it, but she was also exhausted.
During the day, she was at the track, trying to drum up interviews and appearances for Rick, and passing out press kits and free caps to the media. And since Daytona was the first race on the schedule, there was lots of socializing. Some nights she’d felt the need to show up at several parties after being in attendance with Rick at things she’d managed to set up for him. Then, when she had finally gotten back to her room, she had studied her racing books till she couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer. So she’d had very little sleep and was glad it would soon be over…for a few days, anyway.
Also she had not been eating the way she should. Finger food at cocktail parties, a bite of a hot dog at the track. Food on the go. So in addition to being worn-out, her diet had also suffered.
Jeff rode with her in her car to the track. The airport was adjacent. He’d have no trouble getting there for his flight back to New York after the race.
They went together to the VIP section where Big Boy’s had rented a private booth for the bigwigs and their special guests. Arena-style seating in soft cushioned chairs before floor-to-ceiling windows allowed for a panoramic view of the two-and-a-half-mile oval speedway. In the rear, tables were laden with gourmet treats, all catered by white-jacketed waiters. Champagne was on ice, and a bartender stood ready to fill any drink order.
And, of course, there was plenty of pizza. Special ovens had been brought in to make sure it was hot and fresh. Liz suggested that trays be sent to the press box to schmooze the sportswriters, and Jeff said it was a great idea.
Liz made sure she introduced herself to everyone, shook their hands, urged them to let her know if they needed any information at all about their driver. She said and did all the right things.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay up here?” Jeff asked as she made ready to leave.
She could see the drivers were lining up to be introduced at the start and finish line. She had wanted to be there to see Rick when he waved to the crowd, dressed in his colorful new driver’s suit. But she had tarried too long and would have to hurry if she were to cross the track before NASCAR closed the gates from the grandstands. “I really want to be down there, Jeff. If anything should happen, good or bad, I need to be around.”
He warned, “It’s going to be awful hot out there. Try to stay in the infield press room as much as you can, where it’s air-conditioned.”
“Sure, sure,” she said, knowing she would take her place behind the pit wall in the section marked for car sixty. “Talk to you next week.”
Jeff gave her a thumbs-up. “Good job, Mallory.”
She hurried out, feeling a little dizzy. The smell of pizza hadn’t helped her stomach any, and she wondered if she should have a cracker, then laughed at such a notion. Crackers at a racetrack? Get real. They’d be about as available as chicken noodle soup.
The ride to ground level in the elevator made her so woozy she had to grip the railings to steady herself. Then she was outside and pushing through the crowds, trying to keep from stumbling as she walked down the steps toward the high chain link fencing that separated the stands from the track.
“You just made it, lady,” the track official said as he ushered Liz through the gate. “Hurry now.”
Running across the already steaming asphalt was sheer misery. By the time she reached the pit area, she longed for a cool drink and a place to sit down.
Mack stuck a clipboard and pen in her hand and handed her a headset and a stop watch. “Try to keep up with his lap times if you can.”
The cars began the parade laps. One of the crew members helped Liz climb up into a tall, wooden chair. She was grateful for the tiny umbrella perched over it that offered some respite from the relentless sun.
But there was nothing to be done about the oppressive heat, which only got worse as the race got under way. The hot roaring engines and the blistering tires on the asphalt sent temperatures soaring. Liz wondered how the drivers stood it.
When Rick came in for his first pit stop, she watched as one of the crew members handed him a big bottle of co
ol water. He drank some of it, then squirted the rest of it on his face.
At one point, Mack called up to her, “You doing okay?”
She was fanning herself with the clipboard. “Yes, but next time I’m going to bring one of those little battery-operated fans.”
“You don’t look so good. How about going over to the media room and resting a spell to cool off?”
“No. It’s my first race, and as long as my driver is on that track, I’m watching.”
But Mack did not hear her, having turned back to the action on the track.
There were spinouts that brought the crowds to their feet. Liz bolted upright, too, anxious to make sure Rick was not involved. Then there was a crash, and she held her breath till she saw number sixty streak right past the melee.
Now and then a crew member would remember to hand her a bottle of cool water. Twice during the afternoon she got down off the chair to go to the rest room. Splashing water on her face, she was stunned at how pale she looked.
But there would be time to rest later.
She had to get back out there and keep an eye on Rick, all the while telling herself it was just a job. Nothing more.
The roar of the crowd was deafening as the gleaming red Monte Carlo whizzed down the front stretch.
Rick was in fourth place with fifty laps to go. Phenomenal for a rookie, and he actually had a chance to win.
And then it happened.
A car spun directly in front of him, and, to keep from hitting him in the driver’s door—called a T-bone—which could be fatal to the driver, Rick took the wall.
He smacked on the side, felt sheet metal crumple, then spun sideways, tires smoking. All the while he prayed with gritted teeth that nobody else would slam into him. Then, mercifully, he was on the apron and sliding to a stop.
By the time the emergency crew got to him, Rick had unsnapped the window netting and crawled out, unscathed.
He was staring mournfully at the damage that had taken him out of the race when Benny and a few other crew members came running up to ask if he was all right.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, but the car’s had it for the day. Damn it, we were running good, too.” He glanced around. “Where’s Mack?”
“He stayed with Liz, to make sure she’s gonna be all right.”
Rick was kneeling beside the car but quickly straightened. “What’s wrong with her?”
Benny flashed a knowing grin. “I guess you’re right about women at racetracks, Rick.”
Rick tensed. “What are you talking about?”
“When you spun out, she fainted.”
Rick shook his head in disgust and once more thought the sooner he got rid of her, the better.
Chapter Six
By midweek after Daytona, Liz was ready to go again, but Jeff phoned to advise her to take it easy.
“You gave us quite a scare,” he said. “So get some rest.”
She insisted she was fine. “The heat got to me, and I hadn’t been eating like I should. The doctors said that’s all it was.”
“Still, you’ll make the Big Boy’s folks feel a lot better if I can tell them you’re going to stay in bed for a while.”
“No way,” she said emphatically. “I’m not about to miss a race if I can help it. Besides, I’ve always heard Rockingham is a beautiful place. It’s in the area known as the Sandhills of North Carolina.”
Jeff warned, “It’s also still February, and the weather report doesn’t look good. I hear that race has been snowed out a few times.”
“Think positive. Besides, it’s nice and warm here in Charlotte, and it’s already Wednesday.”
“Have it your way, but take care of yourself.”
After he hung up, Liz stared at the phone, trying to recall once again what had happened last Sunday. For the life of her, it was just a big, gray fog.
She had been perched high up on her chair, the umbrella giving some shade, but the heat and glare radiating from the concrete below was almost blinding. It also felt like steam was rising. She longed for shorts, halter top and a cool breeze.
The race had gotten tight, and Rick’s crew naturally forgot about her. There were no more bottles of cold water passed up. And she was not about to climb down and get her own, her eyes glued to number sixty as it circled the track.
Then things began to blur just as a huge wave of sound erupted from not only the grandstands but the infield and pit areas as well. Something was happening on the track, and Liz shielded her eyes with her hands and tried to see what it was.
And that was when the feeling of steam rising from the concrete had become a choking fog, swirling around to make her sway as she struggled to breathe.
Through the confusing mist, Liz was able to grasp that she had to get down off her perch or she was going to fall.
One foot, then two. Turning, she grabbed the arms of the chair and continued trying to get down. She felt violently sick to her stomach, and her head was throbbing.
And then there was nothing.
She awoke in the infield hospital with unfamiliar faces staring down at her. A doctor asked what she had eaten, how much she’d had to drink. When she admitted she’d had no food and very little water, he said she was dehydrated. He had wanted her admitted to a hospital overnight and given fluids, but she had refused, insisting she’d be fine.
Mack came to see how she was doing. He said Rick had hit the wall and spun out, and he wasn’t sure where he finished. He was on his way to find out and also see how badly the car was damaged.
She had planned to join them, but the doctor insisted she have one bag of IV fluids before he would allow her to leave.
Then, just as she thought she could escape and go find out about Rick, an aide to the CEO of Big Boy’s came to escort her to the corporate jet. She was flown directly to Charlotte, where a car was waiting at the airport to take her to her apartment. Her luggage was picked up and delivered, as well as her rental car, which she had left parked at the airport.
“Nothing like working for the big guys,” Jeff had said when he heard of her VIP treatment. “They really like you, Liz.”
She was appreciative but also embarrassed to have caused such a stir.
She wondered what Rick thought about it all. The team had driven all night after the race to return to the shop in Charlotte. They had to get ready to leave for Rockingham. She had read in the paper about the wreck, how Rick spun out, and felt bad for him and the whole team.
The phone rang, startling her from her reverie.
It was Mack, saying they were about to leave and had a few questions about when checks would be received for expenses and so forth. She told him to get all receipts to her, and she’d prepare reports.
When she said she’d see him in Rockingham the next day, he was surprised.
“You really feel up to it?”
“Of course, I do. I just fainted, for heaven’s sake. And I didn’t even get hurt when I fell.”
“Well, if I were you I’d just settle in and not plan to go. The weather report looks bad. You’re probably making the trip for nothing, and so are we, but we don’t have a choice.”
She told him she’d be there, anyway, not about to miss anything. Besides, if the weather forecasters were wrong, as they sometimes were, she’d be miserable at home watching the race on TV.
“So the car wasn’t messed up too badly from the wreck?”
He said it was mostly sheet metal damage. “We had that banged out before we even loaded it on the truck. No problem. See you this weekend.”
“For sure. By the way, is Rick really okay? I saw it on the news, and he really slammed into that wall. Do I need to get out a press release assuring everyone he’s all right to race?” She had been worried but had hesitated to call him, instead relying on Mack to let her know what was going on.
“He’s fine. Now give me a call on my cell phone if you decide to stay home and keep warm this weekend. See you.”
“Yeah, see you.”
Liz hung up and got busy packing. Nothing was going to keep her from going to Rockingham. The sponsors thought she was doing a great job. So did her boss.
But she was just dedicated, that’s all.
Wanting to see Rick again had nothing to do with it.
At least that’s what she wanted to believe.
The air was crisp and cold and pungent with the sweet fragrance of pine. The sandhills of North Carolina were known for rolling plains, covered in pine needles. It was golf country, as well as horse country.
Liz had fallen in love with the area on sight.
But the air also smelled like snow, and the dark gray clouds gathering overhead were likewise ominous.
Time trials had been held without a hitch. Liz was thrilled Rick made the top fifteen in the lineup for Sunday’s race…if there were to be a race. It was now Saturday, and everyone was holed up in their motel rooms as the temperatures plunged and snow flurries began whipping through the air.
Liz had taken the team out for an early steak dinner at a restaurant across the highway from the motel. Rick had sat at the opposite end of the table, ignoring her as much as possible but polite when it was necessary for them to talk to each other.
If the race were snowed out, it would be run on Monday—weather permitting. If not, it would have to be worked into the schedule later.
Next up was Las Vegas, and she had waited till the whole team was gathered for dinner to announce the good news she’d received via e-mail on her laptop computer only a few hours earlier. The sponsor was having delivered to the Charlotte shop on Monday a brand-new hauler for the race car. There was even sleeping space for the crew, but, she said, they would be flown out so they wouldn’t be tired from the long drive.
The team cheered, but Liz noticed Rick didn’t seem to share their enthusiasm and wondered why. If something was bothering him she figured it was part of her job to find out. After all, if he was feeling down, it could affect how he was perceived by not only his fans but also by the media. Rumors would start flying. She’d heard how that happened often in racing. Crew chiefs were hired away. Drivers switched around. She did not want that sort of gossip circulating about her team.
Race To The Altar Page 8