Hard to Resist

by Jean Brashear

  Dixon’s face creased in a grin. “Well, that’s interesting, actually.” If anything his smile grew wider. “She’s a yoga instructor, apparently.”

  Ryder blinked. “Yoga?”

  Dixon shrugged. “She grew up in California. What can I say?”

  Oh, great. Just great. Estranged daughter from la-la land, a freakin’ yoga instructor. Could this day get any better?

  “I think I’m speechless.” He rose.

  Dixon had the sense of humor to chuckle. “I hear you. Her mother was not a fan of racing, you know.” Yet he was filled with cheer. “I’m counting on you to help me show her how great my world is. I want her free to roam anywhere in the operation and make herself right at home.”

  Ryder opened his mouth then immediately shut it. Aside from safety issues—which were considerable—the likelihood that this flake from the Left Coast would find any of Fulcrum remotely interesting didn’t seem high to him.

  But that would be to the good. Maybe she could just go twist herself into a pretzel or whatever in a vacant corner or the conference room or…somewhere. Anywhere he didn’t have to add her to the list of his daily duties, one that seemed endless already.

  “How soon will she arrive?”

  “She’s finishing up at some fancy resort in Santa Fe today. I’m sending the plane for her in the morning.”

  Holy crap. Dixon was serious. He wouldn’t send a whole plane for one person unless that person was important…really important. Well, surely she’d want to rest up, get acquainted with her dad the first few days, so maybe he’d be free of her until after Pocono, if he were lucky. “I’ll look forward to meeting her. Now I’d better go see what Marcus is carping about on the new body for Bristol.”

  Dixon clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. “I appreciate this, Ryder. It means a lot to me for her to like this place and what I do. She’s my only child.”

  The vulnerability in the older man’s eyes got to Ryder more than he wanted it to. He wasn’t used to Dixon being emotional about anything. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “I know you will. You always do, and I’m grateful.”

  But not grateful enough to give this duty to Hugo Murphy, Fulcrum’s other crew chief. Though the very thought made Ryder grin. Hugo was an excellent crew chief and actually a good guy, but he was crusty as hell and would likely scare Dixon’s cupcake of a daughter right out of town before she ever got past Hugo’s bluster.

  Ryder was pondering what on earth he would do to entertain a yoga instructor in the land of gearheads, when one of the mechanics came charging down the hall toward him. “Ryder, the cylinder honing machine just broke, right in the middle of getting next week’s engine ready.”

  The last thing they had the budget for was replacing an expensive piece of equipment, but this one was crucial. “How bad?”

  Words tumbled in a rush as they picked up their pace down the hall.

  I’ll think about the cupcake tomorrow, Ryder decided. I’m all out of time now.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HAILEY STILL COULDN’T believe she’d been flown to Charlotte on a private jet. She dealt with wealthy people often, yes, but she herself lived quite modestly, and she preferred things that way. Her mother had constantly criticized her father for spending money on race cars instead of on them, but from what Hailey could tell, her dad had sent child support like clockwork. He’d also sent birthday and Christmas gifts, even if they’d often been out of touch with her age or interests.

  What he had failed to do was be present or even to call.

  But that’s the past, she reminded herself. This is about the present moment. “Be here now” was her mantra. Despite her nerves over seeing her father again, she was resolute about maintaining that attitude.

  When she stepped off the plane, the humidity slapped her first, followed by the heat. “Wow.”

  The pilot smiled. “Welcome to the South, Ms. Rogers.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  He grinned. “Takes some getting used to. I’ll get your bag. You go on ahead. Ryder’s waiting just over there.”

  “Ryder?”

  “He’s one of your dad’s crew chiefs. I’m actually surprised he’s here. He’s a really busy man.”

  And why isn’t my father here if he’s so eager to see me? Deep breath. Be here now. “Then I’d better hurry up, I suppose.” She took her bag from the pilot and started across the tarmac toward the tall, dark-haired man telegraphing his impatience over the yards between them.

  WHOA, RYDER WAS thinking. She’s a looker. Slim and graceful, with legs a mile long and white-blond hair in a braid that reached her hips, Hailey Rogers had inherited none of her features from her father, that much he could tell. Damn. He hadn’t been prepared for her to be gorgeous.

  Her steps slowed as she approached, and he remembered his manners at last. “Ms. Rogers, I’m Ryder McGraw. Your dad couldn’t be here, though he wanted to. We had a sponsor drop in unannounced, and especially in this economy, you don’t leave a sponsor hanging. He’s sure sorry, though.”

  “Is he?” Pale blue eyes revealed her skepticism.

  He reached for her bag. “I swear it. Your visit is important to him. He’s a good man.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” She averted her face and fell into step with him.

  Miss Iceberg, not a cupcake, apparently. “He’s nervous about seeing you.” Then Ryder wanted to kick himself. What the devil was he thinking, revealing Dixon’s vulnerability to the princess?

  But Miss Iceberg glanced at him, and ice wasn’t what he saw at all. More like—oh, hell, was she going to cry?

  Why had he agreed to come get her, no matter how much he owed Dixon? His lists had lists, and he had to fly out to Pocono tomorrow.

  “Look, Ms. Rogers…” But even as he was speaking, she was straightening her shoulders, and the bad moment had passed.

  “So what does a crew chief do?” she asked.

  Ryder breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to console her after all, and he began to explain.

  HAILEY TRIED TO LISTEN as Ryder McGraw went through a dizzying litany of terms she would never in a million years remember, but all she could think was that this was a mistake.

  She should never have come. And staying a whole month was clearly impossible. “—other questions?”

  She blinked. “Pardon me?”

  He speared her with those unbelievably green eyes—mossy green, Pacific Northwest forest-green—and she had to work very hard to hear his words. “Do you have any other questions?”

  “No—no, thank you.” But then she glanced around her. “On second thought, is there an organic grocery in town? Or a farmers’ market?”

  “I have no idea.” He glanced over at her. “So you really are from California, aren’t you?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Broad shoulders shrugged. “Nothing, only…uh, I’m guessing that barbecue for lunch wouldn’t be a good idea?”

  She gasped and slapped one hand to her chest before she saw the challenge in his eyes. “I haven’t eaten meat since I graduated from high school, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He nodded. “Yep.” Then he chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” But his brow furrowed. “I’m supposed to take you to lunch while Dixon wines and dines the sponsor. I’m trying to figure if Sheila could scare up something for a vegetarian or vegan or whatever you are. She serves one hell of a meat loaf over at Maudie’s Down Home Diner, and her baby back ribs are impressive, too.”

  Hailey resisted a shudder. “I have granola in my bag. I’ll be fine.”

  “No one can survive on granola, Ms. Rogers.”

  “Hailey,” she corrected. “And you’ve never eaten my granola.”

  Dark brows winged upward. “You make your own?”

  “I do. Commercial varieties are loaded with sugar and preservatives.”

  He really did have the most beautiful smile—if o
nly his amusement wasn’t directed at her. “And we wouldn’t want that, right?”

  “What you put in your body and how you care for it determines the quality of your life.”

  “My body feels pretty happy after a good sausage-and-rib dinner—with a side of potato salad, maybe some banana pudding for dessert.”

  She had a sense that partly he was simply fencing with her, but there was a definite element of seriousness, too. “You have no idea what you’re doing to yourself or how much better you could feel.”

  “I’m a busy man, Ms. Rogers.” Pointedly he ignored her request to use her given name. “I don’t have time for touchy-feely foolishness. We’re here,” he continued before she could argue. “I guess granola it is.”

  She emerged from the company car and grabbed her suitcase before he could. “Thank you for the ride,” she said in a prim tone she hardly recognized.

  Then she strode ahead of him into the side door emblazoned with Fulcrum Racing’s logo.

  Breathe. You can leave anytime you want. Just…breathe.

  A curvy brunette approached. “Sue Ellen, this is Dixon’s daughter,” he said. “If you’d make her at home, I’d appreciate it.”

  Sue Ellen flashed a smile that revealed dimples. “Sure thing, Ryder.” She grabbed a stack of message slips. “Here are the calls you missed.”

  “Thanks,” he said with a sigh. He turned to Hailey. “Welcome to NASCAR, Ms. Rogers.” He tipped an imaginary hat and strode off.

  “Is that man gorgeous or what?” the receptionist said. “Too bad all he ever does is work.”

  Hailey forced a smile. Maybe you could cook him a…a hog or something and cheer him up. But instead, she simply asked, “Is there somewhere I could freshen up?”

  “Oh, absolutely, sugar. Follow me!”

  WHEN SHE EMERGED, Hailey was smoothing on an aroma-therapy lotion named Calm Breezes. She headed back in the direction she recalled, spotting racing photos along the wall. She stopped before one of them and saw her father standing with a man in some kind of racing suit, trophy held high between them. Her father looked so happy.

  She tried to imagine herself there beside him. All her life she’d heard about how rough racing people were, about the noise and the fumes, but never once had her mother focused on this part—how jubilant everyone was, the twenty or thirty people lined up behind the driver and her father, cheering. “Sweetheart. Hailey.”

  She jolted and turned.

  And there he was, an older version she hardly recognized. The man she remembered had sandy hair, not gray, and he’d been lean and energetic. This man’s shoulders were more rounded, his posture less straight, his jaw not so firm.

  But the blue eyes she’d inherited from him were smiling the way she’d have given anything to see them so many, many days and nights of her childhood.

  “Daddy—” She started forward but brought herself up short when she realized someone was with him. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Brandon Granger,” her father said, “this is my daughter, Hailey. Hailey, Brandon is the president of Secure Communications, sponsor of Jeb Stallworth’s car. You met Ryder, right?”

  She nodded and held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Brandon Granger, much younger—better looking, too, in a preppy sort of way—than she’d expected when she’d heard her father was entertaining a sponsor, shook hers with a firm grip. “Your father tells me you’re from California.”

  “Originally. I’ve been teaching in Santa Fe a lot over the last year.”

  “Love Santa Fe. The people, the culture. The food.” He rolled his eyes in an expression of bliss. “I envy you the time there.”

  “It’s amazing, all right.”

  “Maybe we should get together while you’re here, compare notes.” A decidedly interested gleam lit his gaze.

  I don’t think I’ll be here long, she would have said a few minutes earlier, but this man was evidence that the South wasn’t filled with Neanderthals like Ryder McGraw.

  She cast a quick glance at her father to see if this would be a problem. He only smiled proudly and nodded. “I’d enjoy that,” she responded.

  Finally, Brandon let go of her hand. “Well, I understand you two haven’t seen each other in a while, so I’ll run along. Dixon, you’ve got one fine crew chief in Ryder. I’m feeling good about the next few years.”

  “Ryder has the brightest future in NASCAR. Jeb’s delighted to be working with him,” her father responded.

  “See you on Saturday, then.”

  “You’re coming to the race, after all?”

  The sponsor cast a quick glance at Hailey, then back. “I’ll make time.”

  Her father’s face was wreathed in a pleased smile. “See you this weekend.”

  Brandon Granger departed, leaving Hailey and her father standing a mere two feet apart, but suddenly the distance felt like miles and just as awkward.

  “He seems nice,” she said to fill the silence.

  “Hailey—” Her father halted.

  She looked at him then, shocked to see his eyes suspiciously bright. “Yes?”

  He opened his arms. “I am so sorry, sweetheart. I thought I was doing the right thing, letting you get on with your life, but I missed you so much. Can you ever forgive me?”

  When she hesitated, his arms started to lower.

  “Oh, Daddy, I missed you, too,” Hailey said.

  And moved into the embrace she’d waited half a lifetime for.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RYDER, WHY DON’T YOU join us? Dixon had asked the question the day before, as he was showing Hailey around the shop.

  If Ryder hadn’t seen the nerves in his boss’s eyes, he would have tried harder to get out of the tour. He didn’t have time, but Dixon knew that, so he must have really felt the need for Ryder’s presence.

  The tour had been almost comical. Granola Girl was trying, he had to admit, but if she’d been dumped out of a plane onto the surface of Mars, she couldn’t have been farther outside her comfort zone. She didn’t hear the sweet music of a well-tuned engine, instead, she wanted to know if they’d read any studies on the effects of noise on human hearing.

  Like he wasn’t a stickler for ear protection, in the shop or at the track.

  She studied the pit crew and interrogated their trainer about stretching techniques, then started grilling them on their diets.

  As if he weren’t concerned about their health already. A team could only perform as well as its pit crew did.

  When Dixon had said he’d take her to breakfast at Maudie’s—which every race shop in Mooresville knew was the best breakfast in America—she’d wrinkled her nose, glanced over at Ryder and offered to cook for Dixon instead.

  Ryder shuddered. God knows what his boss had been forced to eat this morning. Scrambled tofu with alfalfa? Wheat straw with ground acorns or some other such torture?

  He’d had a fine breakfast at Maudie’s himself—eggs, ham, grits and biscuits fit to die for. That Sheila Trueblood’s cook Al had a real knack in the kitchen.

  An undertow of laughter in the shop dragged Ryder from his laptop screen. He glanced out the window of his office to the shop floor to see his men huddled in animated conversation and then, one by one, they headed for the back of the shop to peer out of a cracked-open back door.

  All work had stopped. He rose to see what was going on. As he approached, the group scattered.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  Merriment danced in the eyes of Ray Levinson, one of Fulcrum’s engine specialists. “Words don’t do it justice. You’d better look for yourself.”

  Ryder’s brow furrowed, but he followed Ray over to the back door.

  “Damn, but that girl’s got some legs on her,” said one mechanic in tones of reverence.

  “Those legs aren’t all that could stop a man’s heart,” said the parts guy who peered over his shoulder.

  Ryder had the sinking feeling he didn’t need to look to know who they wer
e talking about. “Guys?” he said mildly even as he simmered. “Everyone got their work done?”

  The two men jumped as like scalded cats. “Oh, hey, Ryder. We were just—”

  “No harm meant, Ryder, it’s only—”

  They stumbled over each other in their haste to get out of his way.

  He simply stood there with one eyebrow arched, arms folded across his chest.

  In a half second, both were gone, yet Ryder didn’t move from where he was.

  “Wanna look, boss?” asked Ray.

  “I really don’t think so,” he replied. “But I guess I have to.”

  “Don’t blame the boys. Any red-blooded man would have a hard time ignoring a sight like that.”

  Ryder stepped forward and peered outside.

  Then closed his eyes and counted to ten. Opened them again.

  She was still there. Hailey, in some tank top and exercise pants that clung to her every curve in a manner guaranteed to make a grown man break into a cold sweat. Yes, the guys were right—her legs were a mile long. Her behind was taut and rounded and pure temptation to a man’s hands as she bent over at the waist, feet together and knees locked, damn near laying her elbows on the ground.

  What a man could do with a woman that flexible…

  But she was doing it in front of his pit crew, and challenging them to follow her lead.

  They’d all be crippled by midmorning.

  Hell. Ryder slapped the door frame and strode outside, already opening his mouth to bark at her—

  When he saw his team owner standing in the shade, a wide grin on his face. As Ryder approached, Dixon spoke. “Isn’t she something? I’ve never seen anything like her.”

  Count to twenty this time, Ryder lectured himself. “Yeah, amazing,” he finally answered. And was, he had to admit, impressed when she moved down to her mat with her legs spread in a wide V, her torso bent forward, flat on the ground. “But the guys are going to wind up with torn muscles and strained ligaments.”