The Comeback

by Abby Gaines

  A silence fell; Kaye glanced at her watch.

  Come on, Zack. “I’ll try his cell again,” Gaby said. Her call, watched by Kaye, went straight to voice mail. “The reception can be patchy around here, he’s probably a minute away,” she said brightly.

  He wasn’t. He wasn’t even fifteen minutes away. Just as Kaye was making noises about having to leave—long after Gaby herself would have given up—his pickup truck swept into the parking bay in front of the house. Only the fact that he hurried inside prevented Gaby from stabbing him with her pen.

  Thank goodness he was wearing a Getaway Resorts polo, she thought as she introduced him to the reporter. He didn’t have time to change.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said distractedly. “My team worked through the night to find the glitch in my race car’s handling. We finally cracked it half an hour ago.”

  “So that’s not just designer stubble,” Kaye said archly, eyeing Zack’s unshaven chin.

  “Huh?” He registered the direction of her gaze, ran his hand over his jaw. “Uh, no.”

  Gaby rolled her eyes. If you’d asked Trent a question like that, he’d have made some flirty rejoinder that would have won instant forgiveness for his tardiness. Zack’s response highlighted how stupid the question was. Kaye’s lips tightened, but she sat back down on the couch, and switched on her voice-activated recorder.

  Zack slumped into the armchair opposite. From his long, slow blink, Gaby realized he was on the verge of falling asleep. Whatever adrenaline had carried him through the night, it had just run out.

  She had the horrible suspicion that no matter how good his intentions toward this interview, he might forget all their preparatory work.

  Give him caffeine. She poured him a coffee, though he seldom drank the stuff. He frowned when she shoved the cup into his hands, made to give it back, but when he caught her warning look he wrapped his fingers around it.

  A ring at the doorbell announced the magazine’s photographer, who was supposed to have arrived just as the interview wrapped up. Gaby went to let him in. Her explanation that they were running late didn’t faze the man.

  “Celebrities,” he said with a resigned grin. “I’ll set my gear up while they talk.”

  Back in the living room, Kaye was asking Zack some questions about his youth, easy ones designed to relax the subject. Zack looked more sleepy than relaxed, legs stretched out in front of him, eyelids heavy. He answered the questions too briefly, and Gaby had to prompt him to elaborate.

  “Let’s talk about your racing,” Kaye said. It soon became obvious the journalist didn’t know much about NASCAR. Although Gaby and Zack had rehearsed for this, tiredness seemed to have worn Zack’s patience thin. He tried, but a couple of times he sounded almost snappy. The chances of a positive story in the magazine slipped a little further away with each curt response. Gaby chewed her bottom lip.

  “I believe you’re good friends with Kent Grosso, the son of last year’s NASCAR Sprint Cup Series champion,” Kaye said.

  Zack nodded. “Kent’s a former Sprint Cup champion himself, don’t forget. I’m a couple of years older than he is, but we used to race karts together as kids and we’ve stayed pretty close.”

  Gaby had noticed Zack had strong friendships with a handful of other drivers—it was only his family he had trouble with.

  “Kent must appreciate the support of friends like you, with the difficult time his family is going through,” Kaye said sympathetically.

  It had been a heck of a year for Kent and his parents, Dean and Patsy, who owned Cargill-Grosso Racing. Alan Cargill, the team’s former owner, had been murdered in New York last December—the death of a man so beloved in the sport had shaken everyone. Then rumors had surfaced that Kent’s twin sister Gina, stolen at birth and believed dead, might be alive and somehow involved in NASCAR. The press had been all over the family. They still were, going by Kaye’s line of questioning.

  “I don’t gossip about my friends,” Zack said flatly.

  Gaby almost cheered. Yet she knew Zack had just made things harder. She gave him an encouraging smile.

  “So, Zack.” Kaye’s voice was clipped. “You’re still a bachelor at age thirty-four.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Gaby could tell by his grimace he was stifling a yawn, rather than regretting his bachelor state, but fortunately the distinction bypassed Kaye.

  “So, why haven’t you met Ms. Right?” she asked.

  “Uh…” Zack blinked again, even more slowly.

  Stay awake, Gaby urged. Then wondered if it might be safer for him to fall asleep.

  “You must have your share of dates,” Kaye persisted.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Have you had many serious girlfriends?” Kaye asked.

  “A couple. Don’t get much time.” Zack sounded about as personable as a lug nut. The reporter’s eyes began to glaze over.

  “So, what kind of woman will it take to win your heart?” Kaye continued gamely. “What qualities will she have?”

  Yikes, they hadn’t rehearsed this, since Zack wasn’t part of the bachelor contest…yet. Gaby found herself listening for the answer with inordinate interest.

  “I guess—” Zack ran a hand around the back of his neck, easing tired muscles “—she’ll support me in my racing.”

  Kaye nodded encouragement.

  “She’ll put what I do ahead of what she does.”

  Excuse me? Gaby sat up straighter, tried to flash him a warning.

  “Are you saying you wouldn’t marry a career woman?” Kaye asked.

  Zack’s glance intersected with Gaby’s. “Uh, my wife can have a career. Of course she can.”

  He probably didn’t intend to sound as if he was doing the future Mrs. Zack Matheson a favor.

  “It’s just, while I have a window of opportunity to race NASCAR, that has to be the priority in any relationship.”

  Gaby groaned silently. Not only was he a lug nut, he was a Neanderthal lug nut.

  Then he rubbed his eyes, and the gesture made him look oddly vulnerable.

  “You need to understand that racing isn’t just racing for the Mathesons,” Gaby explained, trying not to sound like a desperate rescue mission. “Zack’s entire family is involved in the team. Naturally, his wife would be too, to whatever extent she chose.”

  “Tell me about your family’s history in NASCAR,” Kaye said.

  Zack stretched, and Gaby’s gaze got hung up on his lean length, the play of muscles in his arms as he clasped his hands behind his head. Kaye appeared equally fascinated. “It all started with my father,” he said. “Dad was a NASCAR champion back in the 1960s. He still has the blood of a champion in his veins, strong as ever. He’s an inspiration.”

  Zack’s respect and love for his father were obvious; Gaby thought she spied a minuscule softening in the reporter’s demeanor. “Your brothers,” Kaye said. “They’re involved in the team, too, right?”

  Uh-oh. Gaby was racking her brain for a way around certain trouble when Zack said, “In recent years, Chad and Trent have been a lot more involved than I have.”

  “You’re the odd one out,” Kaye suggested. Zack’s face darkened.

  “He sure is,” Gaby chirped. “He’s the only one who’s still a bachelor.” Zack’s glare told her he didn’t welcome a return to that topic.

  “I covered Trent’s wedding for the magazine.” Kaye’s expression turned dreamy. “What a wonderful day. We did a photo shoot of Chad and Brianna, too.”

  Trent’s wedding had been a highlight of the NASCAR social calendar earlier this year, and the announcement of Chad’s reunion with Brianna, his “secret wife,” had generated many column inches in the women’s magazines.

  Zack gave a noncommittal grunt.

  “Both your brothers married career women,” Kaye observed.

  “More to the point,” Zack said, “they both married incredible women. Kelly is perfect for Trent, she puts a dent in his ego while still making him feel lik
e the luckiest, happiest guy in the world.”

  Kaye laughed.

  “And Brianna…” Zack pondered Chad’s wife, and a slow smile took over his face. “She has this amazing knack for taking the pressure off Chad. He can get pretty uptight, but when Brianna’s in the room, he’s doesn’t give a damn about anything.”

  “Wonderful,” Kaye breathed. She wasn’t talking about Chad, Gaby figured. Nope, she was looking at the way Zack’s harsh face had softened, and the wistfulness in his eyes.

  “Then there’s Dad and Julie-Anne,” Zack said. “Dad’s not an easy guy, but in Julie-Anne’s hands, he’s like butter.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Kaye didn’t dare do more than make an encouraging noise. Gaby contented herself with a silent nod.

  “I guess,” Zack said contemplatively, “my brothers and my dad found the women who were right for them. None of those women met any checklist, they probably weren’t logical choices. But as it turns out, those three are the happiest guys I know.”

  A flash of white light broke the mood. Kaye glared at the photographer, who shrugged without apology. “Too good to miss,” he said.

  Zack yawned. “Are we done here?”

  “Did you get that wave in Zack’s hair in that shot?” Gaby asked.

  “I don’t have a wave in my hair,” Zack said, alarmed.

  “Got it,” the photographer said.

  “What wave?” Zack ran a hand over his head.

  “Very nice,” Kaye approved.

  Zack got a hunted look. “There’s no wave.”

  “It’s scarcely visible,” Gaby assured him.

  “Then why did you want a photo of it?” he said suspiciously.

  Gaby exchanged a humorous look with Kaye—the man had so little vanity, it was endearing.

  “Smile, please, Zack.” The photographer took a half-dozen more shots, Zack’s cooperation decreasing with each one. At last, they were finished. Kaye shook Zack’s hand and said, “Good luck at Watkins Glen.”

  Exhaustion fled, Zack’s face lit up. Kaye’s mouth dropped open at the sheer beauty of him; Gaby knew just how she felt. Carefully, the photographer lifted his camera, snapped a couple of shots without the flash.

  “I won’t need luck,” Zack said. “Not with the work we just put in on the car.”

  Yes! Somehow, they’d ended on a high. As Gaby escorted Kaye and the photographer to the door she felt a surge of the kind of relief heart patients must feel when brought back to life by a defibrillator.

  “Interesting man,” Kaye said as she stepped outside.

  “He sure is.” Gaby wondered if she meant interesting cool, or interesting psycho.

  “Pity he’s not in the bachelor contest,” the reporter said. “I could do a major article on him then.”

  Gaby turned cold, despite the sunshine. “Your editor told me this would be a five-page profile.” That was why she’d busted her butt, gone through all this stress.

  Kaye grimaced. “We don’t have the space. The advertisers are supporting the bachelor contest, and that’s where our coverage is going.”

  “So, how big will this article be?” Gaby tried to hide her dismay.

  The reporter shrugged. “A page, tops. We’ll give him a decent photograph.”

  All that effort in exchange for a measly page, doubtless tucked in the back of the magazine behind the bachelors. Sandra and Getaway were expecting a major feature. Because Gaby had told them to. And after that, there would be…nothing. She knew without talking to Zack that he hadn’t enjoyed the interview. So he wasn’t about to announce his candidacy in the bachelor contest.

  “That’s disappointing,” Gaby said. She heard the weakness in her voice and despised it. What had Sandra said? I need someone who’ll fight for my business.

  Gaby was letting Now Woman renege on its commitment, when the editor and the journalist surely knew they’d never have been given so much of Zack’s time on such short notice, at this stage in the season, unless it was for a major return. She had also let Zack renege on his commitment, because she had wanted him to get that car right, and because his fatigue had tugged at her heartstrings.

  Dammit, right now she didn’t deserve that promotion.

  Fight, she told herself. Not just for Sandra’s business, but for yourself, for your future, for your peace of mind. Determination trickled into her veins. Not enough. If you don’t fight this battle, no one else will. Resolve built, becoming a flood that swept her forward.

  “That’s not acceptable.” Gaby amended her earlier comment to the journalist, her tone clipped.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” Kaye said, her smile friendly but firm.

  “There’s always something.” Gaby tugged the front door closed behind her. “What if Zack signs on for the bachelor contest?”

  Kaye’s eyes lit up. “He didn’t seem overly interested.”

  “If I can persuade him,” Gaby persisted, “will you give us the cover?”

  The request went beyond what they’d agreed with the magazine, but as far as she knew, Zack had never had the cover of a women’s magazine. Unlike Trent.

  Kaye pursed her lips. “I’d need to talk to my editor. But Zack would sure spice up the contest—he’s a bit of a dark horse.”

  You can say that again. “He won’t enter unless we get the cover,” Gaby said firmly.

  Kaye hesitated. “I think we can do that—I’ll call you when I’m back at the office.”

  Gaby shook the reporter’s hand with a determination that her marshmallow-me didn’t recognize. Hold that thought. And go back inside to Zack, ready to fight with everything you’ve got.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AMAZING HOW THE DECISION to fight for her life crystallized Gaby’s thoughts. By the time she reached the great room, she had a full battle strategy. She wasn’t entirely proud of it, but she was confident it would work.

  She found Zack flopped on the couch, his head thrown back, eyes closed. Lines of tiredness ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth, and for a moment Gaby thought he’d fallen asleep. He held up a hand as she approached. “I know, I know. I screwed up.”

  Gaby sucked in a breath. “Actually, you did okay.”

  He opened his eyes. “Really?” He looked wary. “What did I say?”

  “But you almost screwed up,” Gaby continued. “I can’t go through this stress every time we have a media interview.”

  “Then let’s not do any more interviews.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Now that my driving and my car are back on track…”

  “One fourth-place finish doesn’t equal back on track.”

  “That’s not what you told that reporter,” he said.

  “I was putting you in a positive light.”

  “Maybe,” he said, “the light is real. Like the sun. Not something that’s going to switch off next week.” He tsked at his own garbled metaphor and said, “So you think the article will be all right?”

  “You’re going to be on the cover,” Gaby said.

  “Wow.” He sat up. “The cover.” He ran a hand over his face. “Maybe I should have shaved.”

  Gaby looked at the darkness of shadow accentuating the strong line of his jaw. Every woman who saw that magazine would drool. She was having a hard time refraining from drooling herself, and she was mad at him.

  She licked her lips, in case a stray fleck of drool had escaped. “Getaway doesn’t mind the unshaven look,” she said. “They think it sends a message that their hotels are places where you can really relax.”

  He rolled his eyes at the PR-speak.

  “You nearly killed that interview, but only just,” she said. “What happened to all that preparation we did?”

  “I’ve been up all night,” he began.

  “You have a car chief and a bunch of mechanics to fix your car, but no one else could do this interview. You should have gone to bed so you could keep your promise to me.”

  “What’s the problem?” he said. “I admit I made some mistakes, but like y
ou said, it went okay.”

  “We weren’t aiming for okay,” she said. “Things have to change.”

  “There’s not much chance I’ll be up all night working on the car again….”

  Gaby crossed to the DVD player and started it. She used the remote to turn on the TV. “Watch this—it was picked up by all the national networks last night.”

  Color flashed onto the TV screen, a segment of a popular breakfast show.

  “Today we get to meet some of the candidates for Now Woman magazine’s Bachelor of the Year,” the presenter said.

  That snagged Zack’s attention. “What the—?”

  “Hush,” Gaby ordered, her eyes glued to the parade of drivers on the screen.

  “Idiots,” Zack said.

  She glared at him. “Publicity-savvy, you mean. Look at Garrett Clark.” She pointed as the camera zoomed in on the handsome driver wearing his sponsor’s T-shirt. “Country Bread’s logo on national TV. He didn’t even have to win a race.”

  Garrett was chatting to a group of admiring females. He certainly was handsome, Gaby had to admit, with those chocolate-brown eyes and those—

  “Hey,” Zack said. “What are you gawping at?”

  “I’m watching a driver who understands PR at work.”

  He stabbed a finger at the TV. “You like Garrett Clark?”

  “I respect his abilities,” she said primly. Then, as it dawned on her that Zack’s mile-wide competitive streak was coming into play, she added, “Yeah, he’s cute.”

  “He’s a womanizer,” Zack said.

  Gaby laughed at the old-fashioned term, and he scowled.

  “I thought he was a friend of yours,” she said.

  “He is,” Zack said. “I’m not a woman, I’m safe with him.”

  “It makes sense that a great-looking guy like Garrett Clark would be a womanizer,” she said thoughtfully.

  Zack stood and walked over to the TV. He stood in front of it, blocking her view. “You told me I’m a hottie,” he pointed out. “But I’m not a womanizer.”

  Gaby’s hormones leapt; she slapped them down. This was business. “Looks aren’t everything. Women like men who talk to them.” She craned to see the screen around him.