And then it was time for him to make his move. With only the slightest flick of his wrists, he swung to Jack’s right and mashed down so hard on the gas it was a wonder his foot didn’t go right through the floorboard. There was slower traffic ahead, but the drivers knew to hang down toward the apron—the lower part of the track—and stay out of the way of the leaders.
He was able to pass Jack, but then a slower car veered slightly upward. Jack swerved, and with only one tiny tap to Rick’s right rear, both cars began spinning in a shower of sparks as fenders ground together.
Cars behind frantically tried to get out of the way, but one didn’t make it and plowed right into Rick’s rear.
After what seemed forever, the Monte Carlo finally came to a stop.
Rick smelled smoke and broke free of his harness, unfastened the safety net at the window, and quickly climbed out.
A small fire had erupted under the hood, but a track safety worker was ready with an extinguisher to end any danger of it spreading.
Within seconds, Mack and the rest of the crew were all over Rick, wanting to know if he was all right.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured with a lopsided smile of disappointment. “Nothing a steak and cold beer and a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
And then Liz was there, having followed the crew as they ran down pit road to Rick’s car. She caught up just in time to hear the tail end of Rick’s remarks, the part about needing a good night’s sleep.
Fury steamed within like the smoke still coming from Rick’s wounded car.
He felt her burning, accusing glare and turned to see how livid she appeared. “What?” He said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture.
Mack was already busy checking for any damage under the hood, while the rest of the crew inspected the extent of sheet metal damage.
Liz continued to stare at him, struck with wonder that he could practically admit the wreck was his fault because he hadn’t slept the night before.
He did not like the way she was looking at him and pushed through the gathering crowd. Placing a firm hand on her arm, he steered her toward the fence separating the apron from the infield. “What is wrong with you? How come you’re shooting daggers at me? That doesn’t look too good. Some writers are always around after a crash, and they might take it to mean you blame me.”
“I do,” she said quietly, coldly.
He let go of her arm, towering over her with eyes narrowed. “What did you just say?”
“I said I do blame you. Why does that surprise you? You just admitted it in front of all those people. Now I’ve got to try to put a spin on things before it hits the papers and your sponsor calls me and asks what the heck is going on here.”
Rick took off his helmet and threw it, he was so mad. “This is not the time or place for this, lady,” he said between clenched teeth. “But damn it, you’re crazy if you think I caused that wreck.”
“But you said you did.”
He shook his head in wonder. “You are crazy. And what are you doing here, anyway? You’ve got no business here.”
She lowered her voice to a barely audible hiss. “I have business being anywhere you are on this track, mister. In case you forgot, I work for people who have a heck of a lot of money invested in your career. And they won’t be happy to hear that you wrecked because you were up all night with some woman.”
“Wh…what?” He nearly choked on a gasp, then laughed at the incredulity of such a remark. “Liz, have you totally lost your mind?”
“No, but you have if you’ve already forgotten what you just said—how you needed a good night’s sleep to be all right. Well, you might have had one if you hadn’t had a roommate last night, Rick.”
She pointed a finger. “Get something straight. I don’t give a damn about your personal life. You can stay up all night with twenty women if you want to. Just don’t do it the night before a race. Because if I ever hear of you doing it again, so help me, I’ll go to the sponsor, and—”
“And what?” He caught her finger and squeezed. “Don’t threaten me, Liz. Especially when you don’t know what you’re talking about. The guys asked if I was all right, and what I said was that nothing was wrong that a steak and a beer and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure. That had nothing to do with last night. As a matter of fact, I slept quite well…and alone, too. Not that it’s any of your business.
“So get off my back.” He released her finger with a gentle shove that caused her to take a step backward. “And never, ever, let me catch you anywhere near me or my car when I wreck, understand? Because when I spin out I’ve got enough to worry about without you running up all hysterical to misinterpret everything you hear.”
Liz swallowed against a rising knot of embarrassment and shame. The truth was she had been upset, worried sick something might have happened to someone she had grown quite fond of.
She was also forced to admit that yes, she had been jealous of Dina Fox, and that was why she had so easily lost control.
She drew a deep breath and said, “Rick, listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I was just upset, worried you might be hurt, and—”
He cut her off, still boiling with rage. “That’s why you have no business here. You can’t handle it, Liz. And I want you to quit hanging around in the pits. It’s not safe. Get a seat in the press box like the other PR reps. Enjoy the food and all the perks that go with it. But stay away from me during a race, and stay out of my personal life.”
Contrite as she was over her misconception of his remarks, and despite her feelings for him, he was not going to stop her from doing her job as she saw fit. “You cannot keep me away from the pits, and if you try, I’ll go to your sponsor and tell them how you’re being uncooperative. Maybe some other driver would appreciate having me and Big Boy’s around.”
With that, she turned and walked straight over to the car and Mack. “Will you be able to have the car ready to run at Las Vegas? The sponsor will be calling me to ask.”
“Yeah,” Mack answered with a weary sigh, “but we’re going to have to stay up all night to get the sheet metal damage hammered out. Then it’s got to be painted. What this means is that the hauler can’t go from here to Vegas. We’ve got to get everything back to the shop and go to work.”
“So when will the hauler leave?”
He thought a minute, then walked around the car again before saying, “Tuesday morning. Maybe Monday night. I’m not sure. But the second it’s ready, it’s leaving.”
She knew Rick was standing nearby and could hear every word.
“You have my number at home, and my cell,” she told Mack. “Call me when the cars are ready to go, because I’m going with them.”
“Are you serious?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, turning her head slightly to give Rick a defiant glance. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Rick watched Liz walk away. Anybody could tell she was mad from how she moved—head high, shoulders squared, a don’t-get-in-my-way look on her face.
“Boy, you two are like trying to mix oil and water,” Mack grumbled as he brushed by Rick to get at the car.
That was probably true, Rick silently conceded, but he didn’t want it that way. Not really. All he did want was for her to just go away. She had his insides revving like a high-tuned engine, and he didn’t need that…didn’t want it. Not now.
But neither did he want her for a mortal enemy, and he’d probably come down too hard on her just now. After all, maybe she felt justified in blaming him for the wreck, but he could have set her straight in a gentler way. And setting her up to ride to Vegas with Benny was probably meaner than necessary.
He started after her, not exactly sure what he would say or do but knowing he had to smooth things over a little bit, anyway.
And then he saw it—the car sliding through the pit road opening into the garage area. He knew at once what was going on. The brakes were slipping, and the driver was gearing down
to slow the car. But Liz didn’t realize what was happening. She continued walking straight ahead, her anger making her oblivious to anything unusual going on around her.
Rick broke into a run. He reached Liz just as the car swerved to keep from hitting her. Scooping her up and into his arms, he stepped out of the way as the car swerved to the side, the driver shaking his fist at Liz’s carelessness.
Held tightly against Rick’s broad chest, Liz suddenly felt very foolish, as well as frightened by what had almost happened. “I…I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Rick felt his heat rising and fought the impulse to kiss her then and there. “And that’s probably my fault for coming down so hard on you back there. I shouldn’t have been so rough.”
Their eyes met and held, and Liz softly apologized again, “No, it’s my fault. I know I’m supposed to be alert in the garage area.
“And thank you,” she continued. “I could have been really hurt.”
“He’d have missed you,” Rick said, voice husky. “But you might have been scared into tripping and falling. Just be careful next time.
“And about what happened back there,” he rushed to add, “I guess I worry you’ll get hurt hanging around the pits. I don’t mean to be so brusque.”
“It’s okay.” Liz saw a couple of crew members walk by and grin at how Rick was still holding her. “I think you can put me down now,” she said, feeling awkward…and also intensely stirred by the intimate moment.
“Oh, sure, sure.” Rick set her on her feet. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, really. Thanks again.”
“Another thing…”
She looked up at him expectantly.
“About that trip to Vegas, maybe it’s not such a good idea.”
“Nonsense.” She gave him her perkiest smile to lighten the moment, because being so close was taking a toll on her nerves. “It’s going to be great. Don’t worry about it or me, Rick.”
She gave him a little salute and turned on her heel, anxious to get away from him lest he sense what she was feeling right then…how she longed to throw herself in his arms and feel his strength once more.
He watched her go and this time did not follow, because he, too, was fighting emotions that threatened to spin out of control. Maybe the ride with Benny would make her want to get as far from the world of racing as possible.
And that, Rick forced himself to believe, would be a good thing.
Chapter Eight
It was Wednesday evening and since leaving Charlotte at midnight Tuesday, Benny had stopped only for gas and when she begged to go to the rest room…which he called a pit stop. The radio blared constantly with country-western music, Benny singing along at the top of his lungs.
Still, all things considered, she was not sorry to have made the trip. She liked Benny, and he had provided lots of interesting things to incorporate into her article. It had been a surprise to learn he was driving instead of Bobby, who was sick, but she figured it didn’t make any difference since she was writing about the trip, not the driver.
They passed a sign that read Las Vegas—150 miles.
“Hey, we’re right on schedule,” Benny said triumphantly. “We’ll be there by daylight.”
“The way we’ve been traveling, you should be on schedule,” Liz commented dryly.
He darted an apologetic glance. “You’d have had a better time with Bobby. He takes his time.”
“Well, if I’d found out sooner he was sick I’d probably have passed on this trip.”
“How’d you miss hearing? His wife had to go get him in Rockingham. I had to drive the rig back from there.”
Something clicked. “When did all this happen?” she asked, suspicion needling.
“Oh, he was feeling poorly before he ever left Charlotte, ’cause he asked Rick to ride with him in case he had to take over. His wife came and picked him up Saturday evening. Good thing she did, ’cause she missed the snow, and he didn’t have any business being out in that kind of weather.”
“So he left Saturday night,” she said tightly, angrily. That meant when Rick had suggested Monday morning that she do a story about riding to Las Vegas with Bobby, he already knew Bobby wouldn’t be making the trip. He wanted her to go with Benny, no doubt aware of all his annoying habits. So it was just another of Rick’s ploys to get rid of her.
Despite being so annoyed, Liz dozed off, only to be awakened by Benny’s excited cry, “Look at all them lights. Right smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Las Vegas, Nevada. Yahoo!” He let go of the steering wheel to wave his arms.
Liz was spellbound by the glittering lights sprawling before them. It was beautiful. No, more than that. It was positively awesome.
“Where’d you say we got reservations?” Benny asked.
“The Mirage. But that’s not where you’re taking this truck, is it?”
“Oh, no ma’am. I’m going to the track. But I can drop you off in front of the hotel.”
He did so, and Liz practically floated into the luxurious lobby.
“Ah, yes, Miss Mallory,” a desk clerk greeted her when she went to register. “You’ve got quite a box full of messages waiting.”
She took them with her to her room, intending to have the bath she’d been dying for, then order room service—a huge breakfast.
But she made the mistake of glancing over the messages and one leaped out at her. It was from Jeff, sent the day before, saying she needed to get in touch with him right away. He had been unable to reach her on her cell phone. She wasn’t surprised. There hadn’t been a cell tower in the desert, for heaven’s sakes, and on the rare occasions when Benny had stopped anywhere, it had been an ungodly hour to call anyone back East.
When she went to the phone, she saw the message light blinking. Dialing the appropriate number, she retrieved Jeff’s voice mail: “Hey, Liz. I wish I could get in touch with you, because if you don’t receive this right away, you’re going to freak out when you do. Gary decided at the last minute he wants to throw a huge cocktail and dinner party out there. Seems there are several Big Boy’s Pizza shops in the area, and he wants to invite all the managers and employees. He wants a lot of glitz, and he also wants the race car parked outside. So get it together. I know you can do it. Ciao.”
Liz hung up the phone and pressed her fingertips to her temples in frustration.
A glitzy party. But when? Oh, heck, it didn’t matter when, because it was going to take some doing to throw it together regardless.
She grabbed the phone and called Jeff at home. She woke him up, realized it was only three o’clock in New York but couldn’t care less. “So, is there anything else I need to know about this party before I lose my mind over it?”
His laugh was sleepy and lazy. “What day is it out there?”
“Same day as where you are,” she said, unimpressed by his humor. “Thursday morning.”
“He wants to have the party tomorrow night.”
“Oh, that’s just great. And how many people are we talking about?”
“I don’t know. You’ll need to call Big Boy’s offices and find out.
“But don’t worry, Liz,” he added cheerfully. “Gary said to spare no expense. He really wants to put on the dog this time. He’s bringing some investors with him, so we’re talking real lavish, okay?”
Liz sank down on the bed, wishing she could stretch out and sleep for a couple of days but forget that. Forget everything but putting together a huge party in two days. “I don’t know where to begin.”
He laughed again, and this time it grated.
“Walk your fingers through the yellow pages, Liz. You can do it. Ciao.”
He hung up, and she felt like throwing the phone across the room. Instead, she picked it up once again, this time to order coffee—strong and black, and a quick breakfast.
By the time room service arrived, she was showered and changed and ready to go to work.
Within an hou
r, she had a ballroom at the Mirage reserved for Friday night.
In two more hours, she had obtained the number of people to invite—forty. She then phoned the food and beverage manager of the hotel and told him she needed to see him in her room right away.
Two hours later she had arranged a sit-down dinner of lobster and steak, an open bar, and a band for dancing later.
Next she unpacked her laptop, made out an invitation, then sent it by messenger to a print shop. Forty names and addresses were a bit much for her to do herself, but she was able to find a calligrapher through the print shop to take care of it and get them delivered by courier. Thank goodness everyone invited was local.
By noon, all the preparations were made for the party. She had even called the local newspaper and made sure a reporter and photographer would cover the event.
As an added touch, she did walk her fingers through the yellow pages to find a store specializing in gifts and party favors. If she could have Rick’s photo to them by that afternoon, they would be able to etch it on crystal wineglasses for every guest to take home as a souvenir.
Late in the day, she called Jeff again.
“I hope you aren’t having problems putting all this together,” he said warily when he heard her voice. “Gary Staley is the kind of man who doesn’t like excuses.”
“Rest easy. It’s a done deal. All I have to do is make arrangements for Rick and the car, which won’t be a problem.”
“Better not be,” Jeff said, a bit gruffly. “By the way, are you two getting along any better?”
“Let’s put it this way—we aren’t getting along any worse. He still doesn’t like having me around, but it’s no big deal.”
“I should say not. You’re doing a hell of a job, Liz. And don’t worry. If the sponsor renews his contract, we’ll get a male rep on the account next season and put you somewhere else. No need for you to have to put up with him acting like a jerk just because you’re a woman.”
Even though she was annoyed with Rick, Liz did not want Jeff to have a false impression of the situation. “Actually, he isn’t being a jerk. He cooperates with me fully. He’s great with the media and his fans. He’s got a great personality, and everybody likes him. It’s just me he has a problem with, but I’m not letting it get in the way of anything, so don’t worry.”
Race To The Altar Page 11