Liz saw Rick was unconscious and also that the man trying to help didn’t know what he was doing.
“Can’t get the harness off. Get me a knife,” he shouted to no one in particular.
“Out of the way,” Liz elbowed her way through the crowd. “It has a catch. I know where it is.”
Smoke was billowing from the car. Coughing and gagging, people began to back away until Liz found herself standing alone. And, to her horror, the bravado she had so proudly mustered began to slip away as she stared at Rick. It was as though she had suddenly become encased in ice, frozen to the very core of her being, unable to move.
He was slumped back in the seat, head lolled to one side, mouth agape. He was not moving, and she could not tell whether he was breathing…could not tell if he was alive.
Someone frantically yelled, “Hey, lady, get away from there. It might blow.”
The ominous warning had the effect of a blowtorch, quickly freeing her of the frozen prison. She came alive and reached to press her fingertips against the pulse in Rick’s neck. She felt it beating and whispered thanks to God. There was no sign of blood, but he had flipped several times. Probably there were internal injuries, but there was no time to worry about that now.
Having watched him snap himself in and out so many times, she knew exactly how to pop the harness free.
“Help me get him out of here,” she shouted, but it was with calm, not hysteria.
Right after Rick was lifted and quickly carried away from the car, the whole inside was engulfed with flames. A few more seconds, and it would have been too late.
“Hey, lady, you saved his life,” somebody yelled.
“Sure, she did,” someone answered. “I’ve seen her. She’s with his crew.”
Liz had no time to bask in the glow of praise, nor was she concerned with being thought a heroine. Her focus was on Rick, who still had not moved nor opened his eyes.
“I think he needs oxygen,” she told the attendants when they leaped out of the ambulance. “He might have gotten some smoke in his lungs.”
They took over and it was not long before they were loading him into the ambulance. Liz got in right beside him, not asking permission and with such a determined air no one dared say anything.
She stayed with him till he was taken into the infield infirmary, then waited with Mack and the rest of the crew.
“It looks bad,” Mack said, tears leaving trails on his oil-streaked face like gullies in the rain. “The car is totaled. He has to be hurt bad, Liz. Was he conscious at all?”
“No,” she said, swallowing against the burning of her own tears she was fighting to hold back. “But he’s going to be all right, Mack. We have to believe that.”
Mike arrived, having had to wait till the race ended before being able to get across the track to the hospital. “Is he going to be okay?”
“We don’t know yet,” Liz replied dully.
He dropped into a chair. “Man, can you believe this? He was so close to winning the title and—”
“We aren’t concerned about that, Mike,” Liz snapped. “That’s not important now.”
Mike nodded glumly. “Yeah, I guess not. Well, is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, you can go outside and tell the press we’ll have a statement for them as soon as we know something.”
Just then a doctor walked in. He said his name was Dr. Sadler and that Rick was to be transported by helicopter to a trauma center in Atlanta.
Mack rushed at him. “How bad is it, Doc? We’ve got to know.”
Dr. Sadler unpeeled Mack’s fingers from the lapels of his white coat, gently explaining all he could say at that point was that Rick’s vital signs were good. There was no sign of internal bleeding.
“I’m riding with him,” Mack said.
Dr. Sadler shook his head. “You’re too upset. That might be bad for him should he regain consciousness and see how you’re reacting.”
Liz agreed. “You stay here, Mack, and try to call his sister and let her know he’s been hurt. By the time you drive to the hospital we should know something. I’ll go with him if it’s okay with the doctor.”
Dr. Sadler said that would be fine. “You’re calm enough you won’t get in the way, and I’ve already heard how you were able to keep the crowd from panicking and coordinate the rescue. Good work.”
Liz had not thought about it. She had just done it. And not just because she loved Rick. Something told her she would have been able to do the same thing for anyone else, and that made her proud.
She asked Mike to see that her rental car was returned to the motel and to take her carry-on luggage to Mack so he could bring it with him to the hospital.
“You may not make that plane,” Mack pointed out.
Liz knew she wouldn’t but didn’t care. She had no intentions of going anywhere till she knew Rick was going to be okay. She also did not want him to be alone. If Wendy showed up at the hospital—which wasn’t likely since Rick had said she was in Europe—she would leave. Otherwise, she wasn’t going anywhere till his sister arrived.
It was several hours later when Mack got to the hospital. She was able to tell him there was still no word on Rick’s condition. “They’re doing all kinds of tests, and we should know something soon. Did you find his sister?”
“Yes. She’s on her way. She’ll be here early tomorrow. I’ll stay with him till then. You’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Not anymore. I’ve already missed my flight tonight, but I rebooked on one at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. I can stay till then.”
“That will be a help. I need to get on the road with the guys back to Charlotte, but I’ll hang around till we know something.”
A doctor came into the waiting room and glanced at Liz expectantly. “Mrs. Castles?”
Don’t I wish, Liz thought as she stood. “No. I’m his public relations representative—Liz Mallory. This is his crew chief, Mack Pressley.”
He shook their hands in turn. “I’m pleased to tell you Mr. Castles is a very lucky man. He has a mild concussion, a few broken ribs, and some cuts and bruises. He should be fine in a few days. I guess I don’t have to tell you it could have been much, much worse.” He shook his head in wonder. “These drivers have got to have nerves of steel. Makes me cringe just to watch them out there.”
He left them, and Mack looked at Liz with fondness and said, “You do, too.”
She laughed. “I do what?”
“You have nerves of steel. You were great.” He gave her a hug and left.
A short while later, a nurse came to tell Liz that Rick had awakened but not for long. He was in a lot of pain with his broken ribs and had to be sedated. “He’ll probably sleep through the night, so there’s no reason for you to stay.”
Liz felt like saying oh, yes, there was, because she wanted to be with him every possible moment between now and the time she had to leave in the morning. Instead, she explained she would like to stay with him until she had to leave for her flight the next morning. “Hopefully, his sister will be here by then. I don’t want him to be alone.”
“As you wish,” the nurse said, and led the way to his room.
He was sleeping soundly. Liz drew up a chair to sit close by the bed.
Now and then she would tenderly brush away a tendril of hair from his forehead, or kiss a bruise on his cheek. And each time her flesh touched his she felt the familiar rush of longing…of love.
She did not sleep, not wanting to miss a single moment. After all, she would never see him, nor be with him again.
It was over.
No, she corrected herself.
It had never really begun.
For Rick, it had been nothing but meaningless pleasure. She was the one who had so stupidly fallen in love; therefore, she was the one who grieved over parting.
It was just after dawn when a nurse came to tell her that Rick’s sister had phoned from the airport to say she had arrived and was on her way.
W
hen the nurse left, Liz knew it was time to finally say goodbye. Trembling with love, she leaned to whisper in Rick’s ear, “I love you, my darling. And I always will.”
She kissed him on his lips, then ran from the room before she broke down completely.
Chapter Seventeen
Rick felt as if he had been hit on the head with a tire iron.
He moaned, stirred and tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too great. He ached all over, and it hurt to breathe.
Cool fingers touched his forehead, and a soft voice said, “It’s okay, Rick. I’m here, and you’re going to be all right. I’ve rung for the nurse.”
“Liz…” His whisper was thin, hoarse, and a faint smile touched his lips.
She had said she loved him. He had felt the warmth of her breath as she had whispered the beautiful words in his ear. He had tried to respond, tried to tell her that he loved her, too, and somehow, some way, they would work things out.
But where was she?
And why was he trapped in a horrible black void, every muscle in his body sore and aching?
“Mr. Castles?”
A different voice, also a woman’s.
“Mr. Castles, your sister says you’re trying to wake up. Can you open your eyes for me?”
With great effort, he managed to blink and thought how even his eyelids were hurting.
Everything was blurred, then, slowly, images came into view—a woman wearing some kind of print jacket was standing over him, a stethoscope draped around her neck. She was holding his wrist while looking at her watch.
Movement on the other side of the bed caused his gaze to shift.
Was he seeing things?
He tried to lift his head from the pillow. “Marcie? What are you doing here?”
His sister leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Don’t you remember what happened?”
“He may not,” the nurse said. “He had a concussion. Sometimes there’s memory loss, but it’s usually short-term.”
He was in a hospital. That much was becoming clear. And his sister was there, having traveled a long way. But where was Liz? He was sure she had been there…sure she had told him she loved him. But was it just a dream? He’d had a concussion, the nurse had said. A blow to his head. He couldn’t think clearly. Not yet. But gradually the pieces of the puzzle began to fit.
A few laps to go. A car in front, spinning wildly. No choice to be made. He wasn’t about to hit him head-on on the driver’s side. A slower car was right beside him. He couldn’t drift low. He had to take the suicide side…and that’s when it happened.
He hit the wall too hard and the car had begun to flip, end over end. He winced to remember the jolting pains each time it hit the asphalt.
The smell of gas.
A flash of panic.
And then…nothing.
“I crashed,” he said quietly, soberly.
Marcie said, “Yes, honey, but you’re going to be okay.”
“Where’s Liz?”
Marcie looked to the nurse for explanation.
She shook her head. “I have no idea who he’s talking about. When I came on duty a little while ago there was no one in here.”
Rick was struggling to sit up. “She was here. I know she was. She talked to me.”
The nurse gently pushed him back on the pillows. “Mr. Castles, you were probably dreaming. You’ve been heavily sedated, because you have some seriously broken ribs and a lot of bad bruises. The doctor wanted you to rest.”
“No,” Rick said firmly, stubbornly. “She was here. I know it.” He looked to Marcie in desperation. “Call Mack. Get him on his cell phone. Ask him if Liz left—” It suddenly dawned he did not know what day it was. “How long have I been out?”
“Since yesterday,” Marcie answered.
“Then ask Mack if Liz left yesterday after the race. Call him now, please.”
“But what’s his number?”
Rick was still light-headed and could not remember. He slammed his fists on the bed in frustration.
The nurse said she thought she’d seen some phone numbers for people to contact if need be on his chart. She left to go see.
“How do you feel now?” Marcie asked. “Are things getting clearer?”
“Yes, bit by bit.” He tried to pull himself up again, but it hurt like hell. His hands slid down his sides to feel the bandages.
“I’m so sorry, Rick,” Marcie said, close to tears. “But it could have been much worse.”
He knew that, just as he knew, and appreciated, NASCAR’s rigid safety features were probably the reason he was still alive.
Marcie talked on, but he wasn’t listening, eyes riveted to the door.
Finally the nurse breezed back in. “I was right. A number is listed for a Mack Pressley.”
She handed a slip of paper to Marcie, who promptly took her phone from her bag and dialed. When Mack answered, she said, “This is Marcie. Rick wants to talk to you,” and gave him the phone.
Mack was relieved to hear Rick’s voice. “Thank God, you’re going to be okay. Listen, I’ve got some good news for you. You know you didn’t win the championship, but—”
Rick cut him off. “I don’t care about that. I don’t care about anything but Liz, Mack. When did she leave?”
For a few seconds, Mack was too stunned to speak. Then, with a soft laugh, he said, “Man, oh, man. I never would have thought—”
“Just answer me, damn it.”
“I don’t know when she left. The last time I saw her, she was at the hospital with you. She was planning on staying till her flight this morning and was hoping Marcie would get there before she had to leave.”
“Then I was right. She was here.”
“Rick, she was more than just there. She happens to be the reason you aren’t a crispy critter this morning, because she was the one to reach inside the car and unfasten your harness so they could get you out. The fuel bladder ruptured, and the car caught fire before the emergency crews could get there.”
“I…I don’t believe it,” Rick said dizzily.
“Well, it’s true. She was cool as a cucumber. Took right over. And she not only rode with you in the ambulance to the infield hospital but flew in the helicopter to the trauma center, as well.
“I hate to tell you this,” he added sheepishly, “but I was the one who went all to pieces. That was a hell of a crash. Wait till you see it on the news. It’s been on all morning.”
Rick had something more important on his mind. “What time was her flight?”
“I think she said eight-thirty.”
“Thanks.” He heard Mack shouting for him not to hang up, but there was no time to spare.
He turned pleading eyes on Marcie. “Help me get up and out of here.”
“Rick, you can’t—”
The nurse joined in. “No, you can’t leave. You have to wait for your doctor to make his rounds and discharge you, but he’s probably going to want you to stay another day for observation.”
“Well, I’ve got other plans.” He beckoned to Marcie. “I swear, sis, if you don’t help me get to that airport, I’ll crawl if I have to.”
“He means it,” Marcie told the nurse, well aware of how her brother could be once his mind was made up.
The nurse turned toward the door. “I’m getting the doctor.”
Marcie spotted a bag in the corner. Evidently someone in Rick’s crew had thought to bring his things. She found a pair of slacks and a shirt and, against her better judgment, assisted him in dressing.
She was trying to help him stand when the doctor arrived. Irate, he demanded, “And just where do you think you’re going?”
Rick’s smile was a little stronger. It was amazing what vigor love could muster. “I’m going after a dream, Doc. With or without your permission.”
Marcie tried to explain. “I think he wants to go to the airport to try and see some girl before her plane leaves.”
The doctor gave a deep, exaggerated sigh. �
��Oh, all right. I can’t stop him.” He turned to the nurse. “Just make sure he signs the release forms so we won’t be held responsible. Then get him a wheelchair and help him to a car.”
“We have to get a cab,” Marcie said. “I don’t have a car.”
“Let’s do it,” Rick said, spirits soaring as he tried not to think about how it hurt every time he drew a breath or moved a muscle.
Everything else in his life was on hold until he found Liz, because if it hadn’t been a dream, if she did love him, then nothing was going to stand in the way of their being together.
Not even his career.
Because the crash had given him a wake-up call, making him realize that nothing was more important than loving someone…and being loved in return.
“Flight 270 to Los Angeles is now boarding,” came the loudspeaker announcement. “First-class passengers may proceed.”
Liz stared at her boarding pass. Row twenty-six. It would be a few moments yet, and she was in a hurry to run to her future…to run from her past.
A little boy of perhaps ten or eleven was seated across from her. She had noticed how he kept staring. She probably looked a sight in rumpled clothes she’d been wearing over twenty-four hours now.
He pointed at her cap. “That’s a Rick Castles cap.”
“Yes, it is,” she replied somberly.
“He crashed yesterday. Right here in Atlanta.”
Her stomach lurched as the image flashed in her mind. “Yes, I know.”
“I saw it on TV last night. The car caught fire. But he’s going to be all right.”
“Yes, I know,” Liz repeated, not wanting to talk about it, not wanting to talk at all.
The speaker boomed again. “Rows one through fifteen may now board.”
Liz closed her eyes, hoping the boy would take the hint and leave her alone.
But he didn’t and began talking about how Rick Castles was his favorite driver. “I’m sorry he didn’t win the rookie championship, but Jack Blevins is a real nice guy.”
“Yes,” she murmured politely. “He is.”
Then came the announcement Liz had been waiting for. “Rows sixteen through thirty may board.”
Race To The Altar Page 23