Winning It All

by Wendy Etherington

  “Okay, now that’s interesting,” Isabel said suddenly.

  Darcy, along with everybody else at the table, turned.

  It was Chance Baker, walking into the bar. Alone.

  Without Nicole, his manager, his father, his agent or his crew chief hanging on to his arm, Darcy hardly recognized him.

  But several women in the bar did.

  They strutted toward him in short-skirted, avaricious groups of two or three, eventually surrounding him. He soaked up the attention, and as he slid his arm around a girl on each side, the manager rushed over to accommodate them with a table.

  Away from the one where Darcy sat in the far corner with the Garrisons.

  The guy was clearly no dummy. She made a mental note to ask Parker later if he really had bought the place.

  “Maybe Dad’s love life isn’t the only place there’s trouble in paradise,” Rachel said, then raised her glass again in another attempt at a toast.

  WHILE HIS SIBLINGS CLINKED their glasses together, Bryan leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table.

  A relationship between two people as vain, selfish and superficial as Chance and Nicole couldn’t last. He was surprised they’d managed to hold things together all this time.

  But could this possible personal issue make a difference on the track? He needed to update Sam, let him know the Baker team might be vulnerable. Cade was first, but Chance was third in the standings. Any advantage was welcome.

  “You’re not toasting trouble for Chance?” Darcy asked him as she leaned toward him.

  “Sure. I’d like to see him finish forty-third in the next race.”

  “That’s not the kind of trouble I meant.”

  The revenge quest.

  Would he like for Nicole to see him in a popular female fan moment, like the one Chance just took advantage of?

  Maybe. Things had certainly started out that way between him and Darcy. His motivation for getting into shape had been about showing his ex what she’d given up. So many weeks later, though, he wasn’t sure how much he cared what anyone thought, except him—and Darcy.

  Still, a refrain beat in his head. She left me for him. That weak-headed, self-centered, egotistical jerk.

  What’s wrong with me? Why wasn’t I good enough?

  The fact that Chance could still race and Bryan couldn’t was the most obvious, logical reason, but Bryan couldn’t help the lingering whispers, making him wonder if there’d been more. Had he really been such a lousy husband? Had he ever meant anything to her at all?

  Shrugging, he drank from his beer bottle. “Whatever.”

  “You’re calmer than I would be. If my ex had broken up with the woman he’d left me for, I’d be opening champagne.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’re too nice.”

  “Unlike you, No Second Chances Garrison.”

  “Why would I give her—”

  “I mean, with Lars.”

  “I’m giving him a second chance. Right now. I’m not willing to give him third and fourth chances. And what makes you think Chance and Nicole are broken up?”

  She stared at him. “If they aren’t now, they will be when she finds out about him coming here.”

  “I’d be willing to bet she’s prepared to give good ol’ Chance a certain amount of leniency when it comes to flirting with fans.”

  “And if it went beyond flirting?”

  He shrugged. Who knew what kind of relationship they really had? From his own experience with his ex, he couldn’t imagine it was based on honesty and sincere commitment.

  “Did you ever cheat on her?”

  “No.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Two years.” Would he have seen through her charade if they’d stayed together longer? He liked to think so. But then two years was time enough to get to know somebody. “Why all the questions?”

  “She was a big part of your life once. She changed you.”

  He started to deny it, just on principle, but he’d been getting real with himself for a while now, so he’d sort of gotten the hang of it. “I guess so. But I don’t like to talk about her.”

  “Too painful, I guess.”

  “Not really. It’s more like I feel stupid. And angry. Why didn’t I see her for what she is?”

  “What is she?”

  “A user.”

  Darcy nodded in apparent approval. “Beauty can be blinding.”

  “You’re beautiful, and I see you clearly enough. How long have we known each other? Three months?”

  “I don’t look anything like her. I’m certainly not blinding.”

  Need for Darcy rushed over him in a wave. He wanted her in so many ways, and yet there were barriers between them he wasn’t sure they could overcome. Would her love for her husband always be between them? Or were the qualities that he’d lacked with his ex the same ones that kept Darcy from consummating their relationship?

  He stroked his thumb across her chin. “You are to me.”

  “What are you two whispering about over there?” Rachel asked.

  “Trouble for Chance and Nicole,” Darcy said quickly, as if not wanting anyone else to know exactly what they were discussing.

  Which was fine by Bryan, but he wished he hadn’t made her so sensitive about the issue of telling his family about their relationship. He was getting pretty good at the romance stuff. What did he have to be self-conscious about?

  “It’s weird,” Cade said, furrowing his brow. “They seemed made for each other.”

  Rachel glanced back at Chance’s table. “There’s not a whole lot of depth there for a long-term commitment, though. They probably just argued, and Chance came where he knew he could publically soothe his thin and fragile ego.”

  “Whatever,” Isabel said. “Who cares? It annoys me to give either one of them the consideration of a two-minute discussion.”

  Rachel faced forward again. “I guess you’re right.”

  Isabel gestured with her beer. “I’d rather focus on the possibility of this personal wrinkle in the Bakers’ perfect world translating to the track.”

  Bryan did so love his sister-in-law’s ruthless mind.

  “Hear, hear,” Parker said as he topped off wineglasses and handed out fresh beer bottles. “Let’s talk about the upcoming races in Concord. And getting Cade back in Victory Lane.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “YOU WANTED TO SEE ME?”

  Sitting on the couch in the back of the hauler, Bryan stared hard at his troublesome driver. “I do.” He swept his hand toward the other end of the sofa. “Have a seat.”

  As soon as Lars had flopped into place, Bryan rose, slid his hands into the front pockets of his perfectly pressed black pants, then rocked back on his heels and said nothing.

  Darcy had said the kid was scared of him but only now did Bryan truly believe.

  Lars’s eyes widened and his face went pale.

  Bryan had dressed with purpose that morning. Black and white. Ironed and collared shirt. Dress shoes. He’d shaved. The only time he looked this way was when he held a formal press conference.

  And that’s exactly the image Bryan wanted dancing through his young driver’s mind.

  Lars’s normal cockiness returned quickly. “So, what’s up?”

  “Nothing’s up, but my patience is low.” He paced the length of the sofa, then back. “I understand you went by the shop yesterday.”

  Lars shrugged jerkily. “Just wanted to talk to the guys.”

  Bryan paused and glanced over at him. “Oh, right.”

  “Hey, we could be running better, you know. I wanted to tell the guys what I thought about—”

  “What you thought?”

  Lars’s eyes blazed with anger. “Yes.”

  Bryan’s blood chilled another ten degrees, and he raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes…sir,” Lars corrected with obvious reluctance.

  Though Bryan felt strange demanding what he considered a title for his f
ather’s generation, he needed to remind this kid just who was in charge. Had he really been this insolent and willful at nineteen?

  Probably.

  “What’s your job title?” Bryan asked him.

  Lars paused for a long moment, then sighed. “Driver.”

  “Do you like your job?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He met Bryan’s gaze for a second. Whatever he saw there had him looking away quickly. “Uh…yes, sir.”

  “Do you want my job? Or maybe one of the engineers’?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How about the chassis specialist you had such an in-depth conversation with yesterday? You want his job?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m glad, because you’re not remotely qualified.” He paced back and forth twice. “So, in review, if you want to keep your job as driver, you’ll do that and nothing else. The guys you so helpfully gave advice to have more degrees than you have fingers and toes. They have more combined years of experience in racing than laps you’ve taken on the track in your entire career.” He paused, his anger abating, though his frustration remained. “This is your dream job, dammit. Act like you belong here.”

  Lars’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, sir.”

  “If you have a problem or a suggestion, you take it to your crew chief. But you should know your credibility with the team is lousy. I’d keep my thoughts—other than direct questions about the car’s handling—to myself for now. Instead, I advise you to listen.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Fine. Head out to practice.”

  Lars, for all his immaturity, apparently had a hint of steel. As he rose, he held out his hand and shook Bryan’s. “I appreciate your candor, sir.”

  Bryan nodded, then, as Lars wrapped his hand around the doorknob, he added, “You step out of line one more time, you’re out. You got me?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  Good grief, he’d made the kid tremble.

  Maybe it was necessary, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was comfortable with his actions. Plus, he’d given the kid a third chance.

  It was all Darcy’s fault.

  The moment he walked into the motor home a few minutes later and found her sitting at the table, reading cookbooks, he pulled her into his arms and twirled her around.

  “Why are you so happy about firing that kid?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

  He set her on her feet and kissed the tip of her nose. “Who says I fired him?”

  “You did. A few weeks ago, when he was already pushing the limits of your patience with his second chance.”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  He felt weird telling her that he didn’t want her to be disappointed in him. He’d never expressed his feelings well and now was no exception. “I didn’t feel like it. I only came by for a kiss. Do I get one or not?”

  She waggled her finger at him. “You certainly don’t.”

  “Then I’m going out to the practice session.”

  He let go of her and started toward the door, but she snagged his hand. “What happened?”

  “Okay, fine. I scared him.”

  She smiled triumphantly. “Aha! So I was right.”

  “Yes, you were right, Miss Brilliant Darcy. I intimidated him—”

  “You do that well.”

  “It’s a gift. And scared kid that he was, he folded like a bad poker hand.”

  “But you didn’t fire him.”

  “No. I’m still not completely sure why I didn’t. Except…”

  She slid her hands up the row of buttons on his shirt. “Except…”

  “He’s a good driver. He could be great.” He paused. “And I knew you’d want me to be kind.”

  Her eyes glowed. She hugged him tight against her, and he absorbed her comfort like a sponge, even as the feel of her womanly curves added an edge of torture.

  How much longer could they go on like this?

  “You’re a good man, Bryan Garrison.”

  He closed his eyes at her praise, grateful for her support, but disappointed in himself for knowing it wasn’t enough. But he’d never idled in Neutral in his entire life.

  After a moment, when he was sure he could smile, he leaned back. “Then I deserve a kiss.”

  She laughed, then kissed him with an enthusiasm that rocked him back on his heels. “Go to practice.”

  “Mmm.” He slid his lips across her cheek. “I could be a few minutes late.”

  Even as he said the words, a knock on the door interrupted.

  Reluctantly, he stepped away from Darcy. Forced to do this with increasing regularity, his tone to the intruder was more annoyed than usual. “Yeah? What?”

  The door opened, and Sam stuck his head around the corner. “Did you fire him?”

  “No.”

  At Sam’s thunderous look, which was sure to be followed by a tirade of advice about how Lars was bringing down all the GRI teams, Bryan held up his hand. “We’ve come to an understanding.”

  “Uh-huh,” was Sam’s telling and doubtful response.

  “I’ll be right there.” When Sam retreated outside, Bryan pressed his lips to Darcy’s one last time. Didn’t she feel the straining hunger? Or did she not want him as much as he wanted her?

  His patience felt strained to the limit, and yet every day he went along with his promise to wait until she was ready. He smiled and pretended he was fine with the way things were going. And he was at a loss to figure out what she needed that he hadn’t given her.

  Leaning back, he noted the glaze of desire evident in her amber eyes. When? he wanted to ask, though he bit back the impulse. “After qualifying, it’s just you and me, right?”

  “Aye. I’m making bangers and mash.”

  Bangers and what? “You’re making—” He stopped and shook his head. The direction of his thoughts was obviously way too carnal these days.

  “It’s an English dish—sausages and mashed potatoes with gravy. I’ve adapted them for a healthier interpretation.”

  His stomach growled. “I like mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  Her eyes danced with amusement. “I’m sure you do. You’d better enjoy them, too. It’s your big indulgence for the month.”

  “For the month?”

  She punched him lightly in the stomach. “You didn’t get that six-pack on potatoes and gravy.”

  He kissed her forehead. “True.” As he headed to the door, he looked back at her.

  Man, she was beautiful.

  He started to tell her so, but wasn’t sure how to find the right words. “Bake the kid some cookies if you have time,” he said instead. “I was pretty hard on him.”

  “YOU REALLY LIKE THAT GIRL, don’t ya?”

  Walking toward pit road as the drivers were taking their parade laps, the race at Dover about to begin, Bryan stared at Sam. “She’s not a girl, and, yes, I do.”

  Sam grinned. Well, he showed his teeth, which was a smile for the taciturn crew chief. “Touchy about her, too, aren’t ya?”

  “Does this conversation somehow relate to winning this race?”

  Sam hunched his shoulders. “She’s feedin’ you too much of that rabbit food. No other reason a man should be so grouchy talkin’ about his woman.”

  Oh, there was another reason, all right. One Bryan was even less reluctant to discuss in a professional setting.

  Sex.

  Specifically, the lack thereof, as Parker might put it.

  After the sausages and potatoes dinner the night before, she’d hustled out so quickly he’d been tempted to check for skid marks on his floor.

  He was aware they both had emotional baggage and taking their relationship to that level would make their easy companionship much more serious. She wasn’t some casual one-night stand. Sleeping together would imply commitment, but, hell, they had that already.

  He had no urge to see anyone else, and she apparently didn’t, either. So they were in an exclusive relationship.

  W
ithout the fun stuff.

  “You really think Lars is gonna keep his mouth shut?” Sam asked, dragging Bryan from his personal thoughts.

  “He’d better.”

  “He could be a great driver.”

  “So everybody says. We’ll see.”

  Parade laps finished, the drivers and teams were called to pit road for the prayer, singing of the national anthem and military flyover. They were staples of each and every NASCAR-sanctioned event. The solemn moments always made Bryan think of his father and grandfather and their early racing days.

  Wooden bleachers had transformed into modern entertainment facilities. A guy with a microphone and binoculars had turned into a state-of-the-art broadcast booth. The local beauty queen singing to fans in a covered tent had become infield concerts by international superstars.

  And still the cars went around, counterclockwise, each driver desperate to see the checkered flag first.

  With or without all the hoopla, that simple event would always draw race car drivers and fans, because it meant something to all of them. Memories of fun times with family, crazy times with buddies, celebrations of friendship, realizations of dreams.

  All of them bonded by the sheer, raw appreciation of a skill nearly everyone had on some level. Driving a car wasn’t rocket science. And yet it was.

  It was poetry and science. Heart and technology.

  He knew of no other event that encompassed those opposites so thoroughly.

  As the sound of jet engines faded, he headed toward Cade’s car. “This one’s yours,” he said briefly as the safety director handed his brother his helmet.

  Cade grinned, and Bryan turned away from the circle of crew members, plus Sam and Isabel, who’d sent their driver off to his race.

  After stopping by Shawn’s and Lars’s pit boxes, Bryan climbed the war wagon of equipment—containing everything from wrenches to flat-screen computer monitors—behind the small stretch of pavement where Cade would bring his car in for servicing.

  By habit, he glanced around for Darcy, but didn’t see her.

  Sometimes she hung around the pit box. Other times, she watched the race from the motor home. Though she enjoyed being close to the action, she always seemed self-conscious about being anywhere in public.