by Abby Gaines
He hurried onto the porch. Amber got out of the car, and he was relieved to see she looked a lot like Julie-Anne, with her long dark hair and curvy figure. If she was like her mother personality-wise, this wouldn’t be so bad.
Julie-Anne planted a quick kiss on Brady’s mouth; as always, he wanted more. “Darling, this is Amber,” she said.
Brady shook the girl’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Awkwardly, he leaned in and kissed her cheek.
She stiffened a bit, then smiled. “You, too, Brady.”
“I, uh, I got you something.” He reached over to the porch swing and handed her a large, white teddy bear holding a Welcome to Charlotte sign.
Right away, he knew it was a bad choice. Sure, she thanked him, but he could see from her raised, then quickly lowered, eyebrows that she thought he was crazy buying her a stuffed animal.
“Libby, the receptionist at the race team, it was her idea,” he explained hurriedly.
Behind him, Trent groaned. “Dad, everyone knows Libby has a stuffed animal fetish. Most grown women don’t want a teddy bear.”
Brady felt heat at the back of his neck.
“It’s sweet,” Amber insisted. “It really is.”
“Hi, I’m Trent.” Trent stepped forward and shook her hand, which at least took the pressure off Brady for a minute.
He and Amber had talked on the phone a couple of times, but it didn’t seem to make this any easier. Not when Julie-Anne was hovering anxiously, worried he might offend the girl.
He cleared his throat. “Come inside and meet the other boys.”
Thankfully, his sons managed to dredge up impeccable manners from somewhere, and Brady started to breathe easier.
“Are you pleased to be home?” Zack asked Amber.
She glanced around the spacious, high-ceilinged living room. “Charlotte hasn’t been my home in a long time.” Obviously realizing how ungracious she sounded, she blushed. “But I’m pleased to see Mom again.”
“Not half as thrilled as I am to see you, honey.” Julie-Anne put an arm around her daughter. Amber didn’t exactly melt into her mother’s touch. Julie-Anne was right, Brady thought—her daughter was still holding on to some resentment.
As Julie-Anne served the meal, a Tex-Mex feast that would appeal to everyone, Amber watched her mom’s interactions with him like a hawk. But she was pleasant to everyone else.
It’ll take time, Brady told himself. But we’ll win her over. They had to, for Julie-Anne’s sake.
AMBER SIPPED HER BEER, smiled politely in response to something Zack Matheson—her stepbrother—said, and wondered how soon she could get out of here. She needed to take a long walk, clear her head. Zack seemed nice enough, and so did his brothers, but who really knew? More importantly, who knew what Brady Matheson was really like? If he was as gruff as his demeanor suggested, there was every chance Amber’s mom had made a terrible mistake. Again.
Amber eyed Julie-Anne, saw the nervousness in her jerky movements as she passed around the plates of food. Was her mom merely worried about this reunion, or was her anxiety due to something more sinister?
I should have come home sooner. Julie-Anne’s announcement of her engagement to Brady at the end of last year had set off alarm bells, and Amber had begun the process of extracting herself from her contract with her eco-adventure tour company employer. Then, in January, Julie-Anne had e-mailed that the engagement was off. Out of consideration to her employer during the busy New Year period, Amber canceled her trip. Only to learn a couple of weeks later that Brady and Julie-Anne had run off to Las Vegas to get married.
Did he browbeat her into it?
Julie-Anne had e-mailed to say how ecstatic she was, but Amber wasn’t convinced. It had taken a while to get out of her commitments, but she was here to see for herself. If she discovered Brady was anything like Julie-Anne’s first husband, Billy Blake, the man Amber could scarcely bear to acknowledge as her father…
“Amber, will you be looking for work here in Charlotte?” Brady asked.
She couldn’t gauge his tone, and that worried her. If Brady was like her father, he was smarter about hiding it than Billy had been. “I’m not sure how long I’ll stay,” she admitted.
She’d been traveling for years, it would be hard to settle. Even if, sometimes, she craved to be somewhere called home.
“You’ll have to come by Matheson Racing,” Zack said. “Have Dad show you around. He started the team thirty years ago, back when he was racing himself, so as tour guides go he’s pretty inspiring.” His cheery tone seemed forced. Gaby—his girlfriend?—gave him an encouraging smile. “Thanks, son.” Brady sounded surprised at the compliment. He turned to Amber. “I’d be happy to show you around the team headquarters.”
“Uh, I’m not sure what my plans are.” As if she would be so frantically busy in this town where she no longer knew anyone that she wouldn’t have time to visit the team. Still, it was more polite than, No way am I setting foot in that place.
The conversation moved on; Amber was content to observe.
Julie-Anne started gathering empty plates. “I’ll serve dessert.”
Brady stood. “I’ll help you, sweetheart.”
Amber leaped to her feet. “I’ll help, Mom.”
Julie-Anne looked from her husband to her daughter. Amber had the ridiculous urge to put up her hand and beg, Pick me. This time, pick me.
“It won’t need three of us,” Julie-Anne said. “Amber, I’d love it if you could help.”
Amber couldn’t help shooting a look of triumph at Brady as she followed her mom to the kitchen. Childish, she scolded herself.
“Darling, you’re coping wonderfully,” Julie-Anne said as she pulled the peach cobbler, Amber’s childhood favorite, from the oven. “I know the Matheson men can be overwhelming when you get them all in one room.”
“Any more testosterone and I’d be in danger of growing hairs on my chest,” Amber agreed.
A tiny joke, but Julie-Anne laughed more heartily than it warranted. “So…what do you think?” she asked.
She meant of Brady, but Amber chose a wider interpretation. “Zack seems harmless,” she said.
Julie-Anne blinked. “Zack? You’re right, he’s a sweetie, though not everyone is smart enough to see that.”
“Trent…it’s hard to believe that much charm could be genuine.” Amber’s father had apparently been a real charmer himself, when it suited him.
Julie-Anne didn’t appear to get the parallel. Her eyes softened. “Sweetie, you’re a cynic. Trent’s a doll, through and through.” She reached out and touched Amber’s cheek. Amber jerked away, even though she wanted to stay there and enjoy the caress. Julie-Anne’s expression turned hurt.
“Chad seems competent,” Amber hurried on. “He’s very like Brady.” In manner, as well as looks. Chad wasn’t gruff, like Brady, but she’d bet he and his dad shared a lot of attitudes. Chad’s wife, Brianna, appeared besotted with him—and vice versa—but they hadn’t been together long.
Julie-Anne obviously sensed the unspoken criticism, because her voice cooled as she said, “Chad is very like his father. Which is the highest compliment I can pay.”
Amber began counting plates out from the cupboard that her mom had indicated and then moved on to the opinion her mom was really waiting for. “Brady seems…strong.”
The sigh Julie-Anne let out sounded more like an infatuated sixteen-year-old than a middle-aged woman. “He’s like a rock.”
Amber frowned. “Immovable?”
“Dependable,” Julie-Anne said. “Reliable, protective. If Brady seems offhand with you, it’s because he’s protecting me.”
“What does he think I’m going to do?” Amber demanded, stung.
“Nothing,” Julie-Anne soothed her. “It’s just, he knows you haven’t been back in a while, and he’s worried about whether we’ll all get along.”
Amber pffed as she set out the plates on the counter. More likely, Brady was worried someone might se
e through his loving-husband act. She clamped down on the uncharitable thought. Maybe Brady was a loving husband. Maybe.
“Give him the benefit of the doubt.” As if she’d read Amber’s mind, Julie-Anne turned pleading. “Be happy for me.”
Because my happiness was so important to you? So important that you abandoned me? Amber quashed the bitter accusation. Now wasn’t the time to have that argument. She doubted there ever would be a time, if she wanted any kind of relationship with her mother.
It doesn’t matter that she chose my father over me, I don’t care. She repeated the mantra that had sustained her through the lonely years, gradually creating a protective shell around her.
“Brady is nothing like Billy,” Julie-Anne said quietly. “I promise.”
“They both drove race cars.” Then Amber burst out, “I can’t believe you’re back in this world, after everything that happened.”
Julie-Anne pulled a serving spoon from a drawer. “I love racing, and I have a lot of friends in the sport. You used to love it, too.”
Amber shuddered. “But he—”
“NASCAR didn’t make your father what he was,” Julie-Anne interrupted. “If anything, it gave him a reason to be a better man.”
They were never going to agree on that. Amber switched tactics. “You don’t look happy.”
“I don’t—?” Julie-Anne gaped. “Sweetheart, I adore Brady, he’s made me happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Apart from when you were born,” she added. Too late.
She dug a serving spoon into the cobbler. Steam rose from the golden dessert.
“You can’t expect me to just accept your judgment of him,” Amber said.
Her mom paused, spoon in the air. “Why not?”
“Mom, you made a huge mistake the first time around.”
“And therefore every decision I make must be equally faulty?” Julie-Anne’s eyes flashed. “It’s been eleven years since Billy died, and you’ll notice I didn’t exactly rush in to another relationship. What I have with Brady—”
“He swept you off your feet,” Amber said.
To her surprise, her mom laughed. “He did no such thing. You’ve never seen a man try harder to avoid falling in love.”
Which was even worse, Amber thought. “I just want to be sure you’re happy.”
Julie-Anne’s shoulders eased. “I am. Trust me. And accept my marriage.”
How about Amber hops on the next plane back to Katmandu, instead? The usual wanderlust didn’t kick in at the prospect. Instead she found herself saying, “I’ll try.”
From the dining room, she heard one of her stepbrothers make a reference to last week’s race, and immediately, loud, assertive voices weighed in with their opinions. Amber wrapped her arms around herself.
“And I hope you can eventually get over your downer on NASCAR,” Julie-Anne said. “It’s a big part of my life, Amber.”
Amber jerked a nod.
“I want you to visit the team headquarters,” Julie-Anne said. “See for yourself, it’s just a place where people work. Decent people, whose families matter to them.”
“Mom, I don’t want to go there.”
Her mother’s expression turned stern. “I know it’ll be hard for you, Amber, but I’m your mother, and if I tell you to get yourself to that team headquarters that’s exactly what you’ll do.”
Amber’s instinctive, conflicting reactions both made her feel about ten years old. Flounce from the room, or latch on to that maternal order as if she had no choice.
Brady stuck his head around the doorway. “Everything okay?”
He’s keeping tabs on her, just like Billy did. Amber shivered, despite the heat of the kitchen. Her mom would never see the similarity between Brady and Billy unless Amber showed her the truth. She needed to catch Brady unawares, when he wasn’t putting on a social face. Anyone could play Mr. Nice Guy for a couple of hours at a stretch.
She swallowed her trepidation and said, “Brady, I need to earn some money while I’m back in town. Any chance you can find me something to do at that engine company of yours?”
Brady looked dismayed. “Uh, sure.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a sunny smile. The engine company had to be less intimidating than the team headquarters. And it would keep her closer to her stepfather. I’m on to you.
Brady took the first of the dessert bowls from Julie-Anne and carried them to the dining room.
“Thank you, sweetie,” Julie-Anne said to Amber. “That was a good thing to do.”
Amber shrugged.
“We should talk about Billy,” Julie-Anne said. “Soon.” She touched Amber’s arm, and once more, Amber moved away.
“I don’t want to even hear his name,” she said.
Julie-Anne looked as if she would argue. Then she raised her hands in surrender.
And no wonder. Because she couldn’t come out of any conversation about Billy Blake without looking like a mother who hadn’t loved her daughter enough.
SOMETHING AS PERSONAL AS charm school demanded a strictly impersonal locale. The Matheson Racing headquarters wasn’t suitable, because someone was bound to figure out what they were up to. So Gaby asked the Getaway Hotel in Charlotte to provide a room she and Zack could use.
She had meant a meeting space. But when they arrived at the hotel, they were given the key to a room on one of the bedroom floors.
“The business center is fully occupied,” the receptionist said. “But the room we’ve given you has a table and chairs.”
Which was fine. All Gaby had to do was ignore the king-size bed. Zack wandered the space, apparently unfazed by the six-foot expanse of duvet.
“Not a bad room,” he said. Maybe because she’d helped him deflect a couple of arguments during yesterday’s dinner at Brady’s house, Zack had turned up on time, and his face didn’t bear its usual guarded demeanor.
Gaby was more nervous than her pupil, thanks to the bedroom factor. I’m just tired. Last night, after that dinner at Brady’s, she’d actually dreamed about Zack. Though it had been fleeting, just a few seconds of REM action, she hadn’t been able to put it out of her mind.
“Are you okay?” Zack had noticed her fidgeting.
“We need more air in here.” She fanned her face as she checked the thermostat. She turned the temperature down, and heard the whir of air-conditioning. “Do you want a coffee?”
“Let’s just get this over with.” Zack sat on the end of the bed.
“Not there.” Her sharp tone drew a curious glance from him. “Over here.” She indicated the round table near the window, flanked by two velvet-upholstered chairs.
Zack obediently relocated; Gaby took the chair opposite. She straightened her notepad on the table in front of her.
“Now Woman suggests several criteria for readers to consider when they vote for the Bachelor of the Year,” she began. “I plan to cover each of those criteria in our training, plus we’ll do some role-playing to prepare for some of the public events related to the contest.”
Zack shuddered.
“First up, your appearance,” she said.
His eyebrows lifted. “There’s something wrong with my appearance? You said I’m a hottie.”
Was he ever going to let her forget that?
“It’s not about looks, it’s about presentation.” Gaby scanned him and couldn’t fault his well-cut hair, which looked a little lighter than usual, thanks to the sun streaming in the tinted hotel room window. Nor was there any problem with the breadth of his shoulders, or the slate-colored polo shirt that deepened the color of his eyes.
“Your hands need attention,” she said.
Zack looked down at his fingers as if he’d never seen them before. “What’s wrong with them?”
“You’ve obviously been in the workshop.” Most NASCAR Sprint Cup Series drivers never worked on their race car. That’s what they had highly specialized teams for. But Zack, she knew, took a hands-on interest, literally. The worse his results, the more en
gine oil made its way on to his hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with my hands.” He shoved them in her direction. “Take a look.”
At first glance, they were clean, but something suggested he’d handled an engine in recent times.
Gaby took his right hand in hers. Mistake. The slight pressure of his fingers branded her palm, and when her thumb brushed his, sensation feathered all the way up her arm.
“There.” The word came out a half gasp. Carefully, she pointed to Zack’s index finger. “Engine oil around the cuticle.”
“Around the what?”
She ran a fingernail over the offending area. He jerked away. “No one—” he cleared his throat “—no-one will see that without a microscope.”
“It doesn’t matter if people can’t specifically see oil, it’s the overall impression that counts. In a tough competition like Bachelor of the Year, where you have a bunch of guys determined to win, details matter.” She sat back. “Women appreciate clean hands. You should wear gloves in the workshop.”
He gaped. “You’re kidding.”
“Latex disposables will do the job.”
“I can’t wear gloves in the workshop.”
“You’re scared the other boys will laugh at you?” she taunted.
“I’m not scared,” he snapped.
“Good, then gloves it is. I’ll bring a box in on Monday.”
Zack glared at her.
“I notice you often wear jeans,” she said.
“There’s no engine oil on my jeans,” he said ominously.
“I’m sure you’re right.” No way was she about to inspect them! “But some of the bachelor contest events will call for more sartorial style.”
“I’m a race car driver, not a Ken doll.”
“No one would ever mistake you for a Ken doll,” she said. Nope, Zack Matheson was all living, breathing, redblooded man. “If you don’t have other clothes, I can arrange for a selection—”
“I have other clothes,” he growled.
“Excellent, I’ll look forward to seeing them.” Gaby’s knees were close to meltdown—she was proud that none of her nerves showed in her voice. Something about working for Zack toughened her up, and she liked it.