She couldn’t call her mother back now, where Elise would hear the cars in the background. She had no intention of telling her mother where she was, or why. Elise had kept the secret for some reason, and for now Celeste would respect that. At least until she learned exactly what had happened between Elise and Travis.
Travis suddenly turned and looked up at the stands, directly at her. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but she knew where his attention was directed. As he stared, she reached up and pulled the bill of the cap in a tiny gesture.
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t turn away.
Maybe after the dinner tomorrow night, if Travis really liked what she’d done and started to trust her, maybe she could get him to talk.
Unless he was the visitor who’d tried to scare her away. But she couldn’t stop now. She needed to know how the most unlikely stars had aligned to bring her into this world. She really needed to know.
Beau knew as soon as he heard the vehement reverberation of boos from the grandstands that he had the pole. The glee on Travis’s face confirmed it. His hands still shaking from the wheel vibration, he yanked off the gloves, released the steering column, and flipped up his visor to see his time.
A fifth of a second faster than Dallas! Pulling himself out of the car after one of the crew unsnapped the net, he returned their high fives while he tugged his helmet and restraint off. Automatically, he looked up to find Celeste.
She stood in the stands, cheering. He tapped her a salute, and she returned it with a grin. Surely the reaction in his body had to do with the high of having the top speed, not that smile. Not that beautiful face underneath his very own number seven.
“You were magnificent, Beau.” The feminine voice from behind threw him off balance for a second, staring at one woman, but hearing another.
He turned and nodded. “Thanks, Olivia.”
She flashed her own blinding smile, complete with extraordinary dimples and perfect teeth. For a moment, he thought she was going to reach up and try to kiss him. “Harlan couldn’t be here so he wanted me to cheer you on.”
He acknowledged her comment with a nod and turned to find Tony. She put her hand on his arm. “I need to talk to you,” she said softly.
“Sure,” he said as he stepped back. “I’ll be around the garage. I gotta catch Tony and go over the adjustments now.”
She lowered her voice and took a step closer. “Now, Beau. It’s important.”
Why the hell did she have to be married to the man who wrote the checks? Half his crew stood within hearing distance. He’d had it with her. “Come on, Livvie. Back off.”
He turned and walked away, not waiting for her response. In two strides he was next to Travis, but he felt the heat behind him. He’d just done a very stupid thing. He spun to offer a belated apology, to offer to talk to her, but Olivia stared into the rows of seats above the pit. He followed her gaze and wasn’t the least bit surprised that it landed right on Celeste.
Chapter
Thirteen
Beau stayed in the garage, soaking up the team’s delight over the pole and their bone-deep desire for a win. It had been a long time since they’d had anything to celebrate. The car was primed. The crew was stoked. Everything depended on him winning on Sunday, especially with Creighton Johnston dropping in for a command performance—and Dallas Wyatt possibly motivated to ruin Beau’s race.
“Hey, Beau, better go protect your turf out there.” Billy Bassinger nudged him and pointed toward the garage opening.
Beau peered into the light, seeing only the guard and the usual hangers-on. “What’s up, Billy?”
“I heard some guy pumpin’ Dewayne for information about your girlfriend.”
Beau dropped the computer printout he’d been reading and headed toward the sunshine.
“Hey, Dewayne,” he said casually.
“Way to go on the pole, Beau.” The guard gave him a high five.
“Was somebody out here lookin’ for Cece?”
“A couple of people have asked about her. You know, the gossip hounds and tabloids.”
“Wha’dya tell them?”
Dewayne crossed his arms. “Nothin’, Beau. I just shoo them away. One guy had a VIP pass and asked if she’d gone back to the coach, but he didn’t know what he was talkin’ about, ’cause he called her Cecily or Celeste or something.”
A rock formed in Beau’s chest. “What did he look like?”
A blank look covered Dewayne’s face as he shrugged. “You know, like a reporter, Beau.”
“You tell me if anyone else is askin’ about her, okay?”
“Sure thing, man.”
Beau didn’t see a free golf cart, so he broke into a light jog back to the infield. He shouldn’t have left her alone. Maybe he was wrong about who’d broken into the motor coach and left that melodramatic message. After qualifying, he’d been certain he’d figured it out by the look on Olivia’s face.
She’d hate anyone she thought Beau was serious about. She also smoked, so she’d have matches. And it wouldn’t be hard for her to figure out Celeste’s identity. Olivia ran in those circles now and no doubt subscribed to upscale magazines like the one Celeste had been in. Or maybe she’d been to some fund-raiser in New York and met Celeste. And God knows she was a bona fide expert at stealthily following him around a track.
He was pretty certain that was the answer, but he still didn’t like the idea of a guy asking about Celeste. And using her real name.
As he got close enough to reach the door handle of the motor coach, he heard voices through the open window. One sounded formal—Celeste. The other, way too familiar. He yanked the door open and bounded inside.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded of Olivia.
Celeste must have heard the biting tone in his voice because she spun around from the sink and stared at him, her eyes widening.
“I ran into Mrs. Ambrose outside and invited her in.” Celeste poured from a can of soda and placed a glass in front of Olivia with a paper napkin underneath.
Olivia looked from one to another, an amused expression on her face. Her gaze settled on Beau, and he saw the slight change in her posture. Her shoulders eased back. Her breasts pushed forward. Her dimples deepened. When would she let go?
“I’m just getting to know your fiancée, Beau.”
Beau shot a disbelieving glare at her, then wrapped an arm around Celeste, pulling her close. “Hey, babe.” His kiss was hot and fast and not completely for show.
Celeste popped away and stared at him. “Hi.”
Olivia took a long sip of the soda. “Congratulations on the pole, Beau. Maybe you’ve finally broken the curse.”
“There is no curse.” Beau reluctantly let go of Celeste and turned to Olivia. “You need an ashtray, Liv?” Accusation dripped from his question.
Olivia frowned. “No.”
“Give up smoking?”
Olivia crossed long legs, bare and tan in a short skirt. “Unless I’m under extreme stress. Or nursing a broken heart.” She lifted the glass of soda to her lips. “Cissie was just telling me how you met in New York, at the museum. It sounds…sweet.”
“Cece,” Beau said. “Her name is not Cissie. It’s Ce-ce.” He dropped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. “It’s a nickname. But you know that, don’t you?”
He heard Celeste’s tiny gasp.
“I don’t make it my business to know the names of all your girlfriends, Beau.” Olivia let out a throaty chuckle and winked at Celeste. “That would be a full-time job.”
Celeste took a step toward Beau. “Tell me more about your role with the race sponsorship, Mrs. Ambrose,” she said, a sincere look of interest in her eyes. “I’m delighted that we’ll have an opportunity to work together.”
Man, his girl was all class.
“I don’t have an official role.” Olivia smiled, glossy pink lips against white teeth. “But as Harlan’s wife, I manage to stay fairly well informed o
f what’s going on. And then, I can”—she looked warmly at Beau—“help my old friends whenever possible.”
“What did you want to tell me in the pit today?” Beau asked.
Olivia shifted on the sofa. “It’s no secret that Harlan’s boss wants Dash in Victory Lane,” she said. “He’s coming to town to check things out between Dash and Chastaine.”
“Yep.”
“Harlan’s job—and his future—depend on it.”
“Yep.” Beau bit the inside of his cheek. He’d had enough of this topic today.
“And,” she said casually, “he’s talking to Dallas Wyatt.”
“He certainly is. And what he’s saying isn’t very ethical.”
Her frown deepened. “It’s not unethical. He wants Dallas to race for Chastaine, Beau.”
He kept his gaze locked on her face and not her legs as her skirt rode up with each subtle movement she made. “You know as well as I do that it can’t happen. Dash couldn’t sponsor two cars.”
“It would only be one…if you quit.”
“I won’t.”
“Or got fired.”
“He can’t do it.”
“Or got hurt.” The glimmer went out of Olivia’s eyes. “Or worse.”
Beau felt the blood drain from his face. “Nobody could want to mess with the outcome of silly season that badly,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel.
Olivia’s gaze dropped to her glass as she rubbed her lipstick off it with a long, white-tipped nail. “Don’t underestimate him.”
“I don’t. But Harlan’s not that stupid.”
“No, he’s not stupid at all. But he is desperate.” Beau didn’t like the sound of that word, but before he could press her, Olivia shot a fake frown to Celeste. “Is this more than you bargained for when you bagged a race car driver?”
Celeste’s jaw slackened. “I didn’t bag anything.”
Beau held up his hand. “Girls. Cool it.” He ignored Celeste’s deadly look and reached over to open the door. “This is all fascinating insight, Liv, but I’ve had a long day. Thanks for stopping by.”
Olivia stood and smoothed her skirt over the curves of her hips, then bent over the couch to retrieve her purse. The skirt rode up one more perilous inch toward her backside. She glanced up and caught his stare, then curled a seductive smile before she turned her attention to Celeste. “Thanks for the drink, Cece. I enjoyed our chat.”
He didn’t even want to think about what they’d talked about before he got there.
Olivia cocked her head toward the door and looked at Beau. “Come outside with me.”
The information she dangled intrigued him more than he wanted to admit, so he followed her down the steps of the motor coach and closed the door.
She stood very close to him and looked up with a gleam in her eyes. “You better watch your ass…and not mine.”
“You’re imagining things, Liv. All kinds of things.”
Her eyes narrowed as she stepped back. “Maybe. Maybe not. I do know that winning has become inordinately important to my husband.”
He studied her for a moment, trying to read the implications in her voice. He really didn’t think Olivia would lie to him; not after what he went through with her. “How important? Would he cheat? Bribe another driver? Sabotage my car?”
“Let’s just say he likes all this talk about a curse. Dallas Wyatt’s backside in a Dash car would mean tens of millions more in the marketing fund that he controls. And that, in case you haven’t figured it out, is the power at Dash Technologies.” She pointed a finger at him. “I’m telling you this as an old friend, Beau. He wants you to quit. Or leave. Or wreck so bad you don’t race anymore.”
“I don’t plan on doing any of those things.”
“Then he’ll dump Chastaine altogether.”
“We’ll get another sponsor.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes skeptically. She knew that after the pathetic season he’d had, sponsorship wouldn’t come easy, if at all. Half the racing world thought he was cursed.
She picked an imaginary speck of dirt from his shoulder. “I would miss you.”
He stepped back. “You’d get over it.”
“I haven’t yet, have I?” She shook her head, silky locks grazing her shoulders. “But I guess if I couldn’t get you to relive old times because of my wedding vows, you certainly won’t bend your code of honor now that you’ve given a ring to someone else.” She glanced at the motor coach. “She’s lovely, Beau. Very polished. How long have you known her?”
“Long enough.”
Olivia’s face softened. “So what happened? You said no marriage, ever. To anyone. Was that just to get rid of me?”
The hitch in her voice caught him off guard. When Olivia dropped her tough chick act, she wasn’t so bad. But he had a hard time working up the sympathy he’d managed to muster when he broke things off five years earlier.
He shrugged. “Guess I had a change of heart.”
“Hah!” The familiar daggers glinted in her eyes. “She’ll find out soon enough what that heart’s made of.” She turned and walked away.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, he climbed back in the motor coach. Celeste sat under the open window.
“Just out of curiosity,” she asked. “What is it made of?”
Beau ripped open the Velcro collar of his racing suit. For one dizzying moment Celeste thought he was going to show her his heart. Instead, just the blue twenty-three on a white T-shirt appeared.
“I think she was your visitor last night.”
She suddenly forgot her newfound knowledge that Beau and Olivia had been lovers. “You do? Is that what you meant by the smoking and the nickname?”
“She could easily have recognized you at Daytona after she’d seen that magazine article.”
“And saved it? Would someone do that?”
He looked skyward. “God, yes. Knowing her, she probably has a whole scrapbook of stuff like that. She’d dream to live the life you’ve led. And as you heard,” he said, walking back toward the bedroom, “Liv still carries a torch from our former relationship.”
Beau and Liv had been lovers.
He closed the door behind him, and came back in less than a minute in jeans. Now she’d have to look at him in those again all night.
“So you think she carried her torch right in here last night and burned a page of her scrapbook just to scare me away?”
“I do.” He shrugged. “But listen, we’re ancient history.”
“I don’t need details.” She stood and picked up the half-empty glass Olivia had left, intrigued by his theory. “She did ask a lot of questions. She seemed interested in my background.” Even though Celeste had tried to keep the conversation on the subject of sponsorship.
“You might as well know. It happened before she was married and it was real short. Three or four months at the most.”
She shot him a patronizing smile before turning to the sink. “I didn’t ask for an explanation, Beau. I couldn’t care less. Unless you really think she’s going to blow my cover here.” She rinsed the glass and waited for a response that didn’t come. “Do you? Do you think she’ll tell anyone who I am?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
She snapped the faucet off and turned to where he sat, in the same seat Olivia had been in, folding the paper napkin left behind into a square.
He looked up at her with a defensive expression. “She was a racing groupie before she nailed Harlan. They’re everywhere, you know. They come at the drivers like vultures. And she was…”
“Gorgeous.” She leaned back against the sink, determined to keep this conversation light and end his confession. “She’s gorgeous. Beautiful face and, my goodness, what a figure.”
He grinned. “Man-made.”
She imagined what kind of research he had to do to find that out. “Why didn’t you confront her and make her admit she was in here last night? At least I could sleep better, knowing that.”
S
tanding, he stretched his arms over his head. “She probably figures I know. That ought to keep her at bay. If it was her.”
“If?” Celeste’s shoulders dropped and she turned away to busy herself at the sink again. “I thought you were sure.”
“Did a man come by here looking for you?”
She remembered the weird sensation of being watched that she’d felt on the way over to the motor coach. “No.”
His cell phone saved her from telling him about her uneasiness, but she considered it as he talked.
It must have been Olivia who made her feel that she was being followed earlier that afternoon. She was certain it was no coincidence that the woman was walking by when Celeste looked out the window. She’d been debating whether or not to spring herself from her self-imposed jail and wander around the race track when she spotted Olivia. Acting on instinct, Celeste had invited her in. After all, Travis had told her to make friends.
“I’ll be right over,” Beau said before he hung up. “Tony needs me in the garage. Want to come? They’ll have dinner over there, if you’re hungry.”
A sense of relief cooled her. She didn’t want to stay in the motor coach without him. But she didn’t want to stay there all evening with him, either. “That’s fine. I’ll go.”
Clearly still high on his performance earlier that afternoon, he talked about qualifying as they walked through the VIP area of the infield and onto the access road. Engines roared from the garages about a half a mile away, but for once, no cars rumbled around the track. The grandstands were nearly empty, though the fans that made a weekend of the race milled about the open areas.
A dusky summer twilight lit a lavender sky, and a half-moon shared space with a few early stars. It seemed perfectly natural for Beau to hold her hand.
Her cell phone trilled and Celeste knew immediately it was her mother. Celeste had tried to return her call a few hours earlier but had to leave a message. She let it ring twice, then a third time.
What would Elise Hamilton Bennett say if she knew what her daughter was doing? Knew she was walking hand in hand with a race car driver along the infield of a track, inhaling the faint car smells that mingled with the midsummer humidity? Knew she had unearthed her thirty-year-old secret?
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