A NASCAR Holiday 2: Miracle SeasonSeason of DreamsTaking ControlThe Natural

by Pamela Britton

  “This is a good opportunity for you, Tom,” she added more seriously, her dark brown eyes focused intently on his scowling face. “You need this sort of warm and fuzzy thing right now. The PR blitz you’ve been on since the end of the season has shown some results in increasing your positive name recognition, but this, the ‘Spend Christmas with a Champion’ contest, has been the most successful promotion we’ve run yet. That ad photo we ran of you propped in your doorway in your jeans, with your arms crossed over a V-neck, green sweater and that sexy smile on your face? Pure gold. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s plastered on walls and computer screens all across the country.”

  Slightly embarrassed, he pushed a hand through his crisp brown hair, which she had insisted he have trimmed for the holidays. “Now you’re just trying to sweet-talk me into a better mood.”

  She laughed. “True. But I’m also being honest. Heck, I use that photo for my own desktop wallpaper.”

  He cleared his throat, having no clue how to respond to that.

  “Anyway,” she continued, taking pity on him, “the contest was a great success for both you and RightTime Realty. You came off looking like a warm, accessible guy willing to open his house to a fan family at Christmas, and it was a great way to kick off RightTime’s theme for the new year, ‘RightTime Realty welcomes you home.’ It’s a win-win situation for all of us.”

  He didn’t have the heart to argue further. This contest had, after all, been Melissa’s idea from the start. Bypassing his usual public relations team, she had conceived the Christmas contest while he’d been in the midst of trying to salvage what was left of his season.

  He had been too distracted to pay a lot of attention to the details, and by the time the season was over, it had been too late to stop her. Ads had already gone out soliciting entries from fans to share a big Christmas dinner with their immediate family and Tom in Tom’s beautiful West Virginia mountain home. The winner also received a five-thousand-dollar cash award and several other prizes in the form of Christmas gifts for the family, an appealing prospect that had drawn tens of thousands of entries.

  Melissa’s mother, Nancy Hampton, the president of RightTime Realty, had been quite pleased with the campaign, as had Tom’s owner, Philip Shaw. Both had been aware that his increasingly difficult image wasn’t exactly the best face to present to the potential customers of a national home realty company. Showing him in his own home, at Christmas—they’d thought that was a stroke of genius on Melissa’s part. Tom had endured some ribbing for that “sexy” photo Melissa had raved about, but he could tell that lots of people thought the contest was a way to salvage the reputation that seemed to be slipping out of his control.

  While he was pleased for Melissa’s sake that she was getting so much praise for the contest, it wasn’t her home that was about to be invaded by strangers. She’d known when she came up with the plan that his privacy was one thing he was almost obsessive about. He had never been what anyone would call a sociable type, and he didn’t host dinner parties.

  Had she really thought this would be good for his professional image, or was it all about her looking good in her job? Or was the truth, perhaps, that she didn’t know him as well as she should after dating for almost two years?

  “I need you to hold one end of this garland,” she said over her shoulder, standing in front of the mantel again. “I’ll do the draping and tacking.”

  He rose reluctantly to his feet, moving closer to take one end of the evergreen garland from her. “There’s about an inch of space over in that corner that isn’t covered in Christmas decorations.”

  She gave him a look that told him she knew he was being sarcastic, but she said only, “I’ll get to it after we finish here.”

  “Yeah, I figured,” he muttered.

  So how well did she know him, really? Sure, they’d been dating for a while, but they hadn’t shared that much time together, overall. He spent a minimum of thirty-six weekends a year at race tracks all over the country, while she had been concentrating on her own career. Having just celebrated her thirtieth birthday, she planned to take over the presidency of RightTime Realty when her mother retired in ten years, and she was intent on accomplishing as much as she could in her current position before moving up.

  When they were together, it was great, but it seemed like those times were getting further and further apart. He’d found himself missing her more during those separations lately, especially toward the end of the season when his luck had been so rotten. There had been many times when he’d wished Melissa had been waiting for him rather than a barrage of reporters hoping for a newsworthy moment from him. Like a flash of temper. An injudicious comment. An unguarded expression.

  Sure, he’d had his team waiting to bolster his spirits. His crew chief, his pit crew, the people behind the scenes. All of them good friends, loyal supporters and yet…he had still missed Melissa. Not that he’d ever told her in so many words, of course. He didn’t want to come across as too demanding. Too insensitive to her own career obligations.

  So, what did they do when they finally had a few hours to spend together? He stood by while she turned his treasured private refuge into a glittering setting for a publicity stunt, preparing to be invaded on Christmas Day by a Midwestern family he’d never met.

  Which made him wonder if perhaps Melissa wasn’t quite as lonely for him as he’d been for her. If she was beginning to see him as just another part of her job—or had maybe thought of him that way all along.

  And then he wondered if he had allowed his third lousy season to sour his attitude about everything in his life, including a great relationship with a beautiful, bright, non-clingy woman who still believed he had a shot at another Championship. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to ruin that, too—and then what would he have left in his life?

  AFTER ANOTHER HOUR of decorating—and pretty much bullying Tom into helping her—Melissa stepped back to admire her handiwork. The place looked great. Festive. It did not look like a “tag sale at the North Pole.”

  Tom had a lovely home. Unlike the drivers who chose to live in lakeside or golf-course community mansions, Tom had chosen to build on a secluded mountainside. The house was a sprawling two-story with a rustic theme—lots of open beams and wood trim and big windows to make the most of the sweeping vistas outside. He’d had it professionally decorated, more for soothing comfort than for cutting-edge style. His colors were earth tones, with heavy wood furnishings covered in leather and nubby fabrics. Numerous throw pillows looked inviting, rather than fussy, and knickknacks were kept to a minimum, so that the very nice pieces he had collected in his travels were well showcased.

  This was where he recharged on those extremely rare days when he had no professional obligations. He could be himself here, with no microphones shoved in his ruggedly handsome face, no hungry fans clamoring for his autograph, no owner or sponsor or crew chief making demands on his time. Next to being behind the wheel of a powerful car screaming around a racetrack, this was where he was the happiest, the most relaxed. So, even though she’d known how much he would resist it, she’d thought this would be an ideal place for the Christmas promotion to take place.

  She wanted the rest of the world to see him as she knew he could be—warm, pleasant, funny, even charming. He needed that boost in the public eye, needed to feel popular and admired again. She had thought this was just the place for him to chill out enough to handle the event without the frustration and defensiveness he’d shown during the past few months.

  Now she was beginning to wonder if she’d made a big mistake. His mood seemed to be getting worse instead of better, and she worried about how warm and inviting he was going to be when the guests and camera crew descended on them tomorrow. Couldn’t he see that the success of this project was as important to him as it was to her?

  “You have to admit the house looks beautiful,” she said, turning to face him with a hint of challenge in her voice.

  He studied the garlands a
nd ribbons, the wreaths and candles and baubles that covered so much of his big living room. A huge, perfectly decorated Christmas tree stood in the center of the wall of windows, framed by the backdrop of the winter-blued West Virginia hills.

  “It looks good,” he admitted. “A little more elaborate than I would have expected, but not over-the-top.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment and say thank you,” she answered a bit drily. Tired now, she pushed a strand of hair out of her face and picked up an empty box to carry to the storage closet where she had stashed the others. “That’s pretty much all we can do today. Everything else, like the food and gifts, should arrive tomorrow morning. The LeMays are due at one tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What kind of family wants to spend Christmas with strangers?” he asked, not for the first time. “I understand the appeal of the money and the prizes, but giving up Christmas at home—well, that just seems strange even to me. And my family never had particularly great Christmases together.”

  “Debra LeMay claims to be your biggest fan,” Melissa reminded him, returning from the closet. “She’s thrilled at the thought of spending Christmas with you. I guess they’re doing their family things back in Missouri today, since we’re flying them into Charleston early tomorrow morning and then driving them straight here.”

  “Still just seems weird to me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  It always surprised her how bemused Tom could be by the idea that he had fans who were willing to go to almost any lengths to meet him. He’d told her that he couldn’t imagine why anyone would stand in line in a cold rain for more than five hours just to get his autograph, and yet he’d had a crowd do just that for an appearance at a Michigan car dealership last year.

  He appreciated his fans’ support, but he couldn’t imagine why they would find him particularly interesting off the track. He did his best to give them exciting races to watch, but he considered his personal life to be private. Irrelevant to his skills as a race car driver. He just couldn’t get into the celebrity thing, he’d said.

  She looked at him, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed and wariness in his navy-blue eyes, and she worried again that tomorrow’s event was going to be a PR disaster. She had less than twenty-four hours to get Tom into a jolly holiday mood—and that might be the biggest challenge she had faced yet.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MELISSA WAS STILL obsessing about the decorations when Tom went into the kitchen to make dinner, telling her he would rather cook than look at one more glittery bauble. She had kept her decorating out of the kitchen for the most part, though he noticed immediately that she’d hung a couple of Christmas-themed tea towels on hooks and set a large porcelain Santa Claus cookie jar on the work island.

  At least she had filled it with cookies, he thought, pulling out what appeared to be a homemade sugar cookie cut out in the shape of a bell and decorated with green crystals. He munched on the cookie while he assembled the ingredients for a meal, deciding it made a very nice appetizer.

  Since Melissa had already set up the dining room for the big Christmas meal tomorrow, he laid plates and flatware on the table in the bow-shaped breakfast nook. It was already dark outside, obscuring the view of the mountains, so he drew the drapes and lit a couple of candles in simple glass holders in the center of the table.

  Melissa enjoyed romantic little touches like that, he mused, adding a bud vase with a single red rose to the tableau. He had bought the rose at the same time he’d purchased chased the ingredients for this meal, and had stashed it in the fridge to keep it fresh. He didn’t know if she’d already seen it or not, but he figured she would like the gesture anyway.

  She wandered into the kitchen just as he set the last item on the table.

  “I was just about to call you,” he said. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Already?” She looked at the table and smiled. “It looks lovely.”

  “So do you.” He reached out to snag a hand in the back of her thick auburn hair and draw her mouth to his for a long, very thorough kiss.

  She emerged flushed and laughing, her hair tumbled appealingly around her face. “What was that for?”

  “Because you look good in my kitchen.”

  “Then maybe I should spend more time here.”

  “Maybe you should.” He held her chair for her. “I grilled a couple of steaks. Salad and fresh vegetables on the side. And I picked up a bottle of your favorite merlot.”

  Her smile made him glad he’d made the effort. “I’m touched that you went to so much trouble for me.”

  “It wasn’t any trouble. I used the electric grill for the steaks and the electric wok for the veggies. The salad came in a bag and the bread from the supermarket bakery. Couldn’t be easier.”

  She laughed. “You’re supposed to tell me you slaved for hours over the meal. But it doesn’t matter. I appreciate it, anyway.”

  “It’s been a while since we had an evening to ourselves. I thought we should make the most of it.”

  “Absolutely. And it’s Christmas Eve. That makes it special, too.”

  “Of course.” He sliced into his steak, noting with some pride that he’d managed to cook it exactly the way he liked it. A nice medium rare.

  She must have heard something in his voice that he didn’t intend to reveal. “You’re not a big fan of Christmas, are you? I noticed last year that you never really got into the spirit of the holidays, but I figured it was because you weren’t happy with the way your season had just ended. I guess this season was even worse, in your opinion. Is that why you’re not feeling festive, or are you still just dreading the media thing tomorrow?”

  He swallowed the bite of steak and reached for his wineglass. “Let’s just say Christmas is not my favorite holiday.”

  “No good family memories?”

  He and Melissa hadn’t talked about his family much. His choice, admittedly, since he didn’t like to dwell on the past and usually changed the subject when she tried to get details. Hearing distant echoes of fighting and tears, he shook his head, both as an answer and an attempt to clear the unpleasant memories. “Not many.”

  Her expression went soft. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve told you my family wasn’t the happiest in the world. My folks divorced when I was twelve, and should have done so years earlier. Holidays seemed to bring out the worst in them—maybe because they were forced to spend too much time together then. Now my dad and stepmother spend Christmas in Utah with her daughter and grandchildren, and my mother likes to take a cruise at Christmas—at my expense—with some of her girlfriends. We send gifts through the mail, and see each other in passing sometime during the holidays. It’s all very civil and calm, the best solution for everyone.”

  He didn’t like the pity he saw in her eyes then, so he abruptly changed the subject. “I’m surprised your family didn’t object to your spending Christmas working instead of with them. I know they think the contest was good PR for the company, but didn’t they want you to leave the supervision to someone else so you could be home for the holiday?”

  “I told them I need to be here. This project was my baby, after all, and I want to make sure everything goes the way I planned. Besides,” she added, “I want to spend Christmas with you.”

  “Me and some strange family neither of us have ever met,” he muttered.

  She gave him a chiding look, but didn’t bother to argue about the importance of the contest again. Instead, she said, “Mother and Daddy are so pleased that you’re joining us for our belated family Christmas the day after tomorrow. And I am, too.”

  Melissa had talked him into that, also. When he had suggested he didn’t want to intrude on her family’s holiday celebration, she had reminded him that they’d been dating long enough that he was almost a member of the family. He’d spent time with her parents before, of course, mostly at business-related events. But there was something very different, and intrinsically uncomfortable, about the idea of sharin
g a Christmas celebration with them.

  So much of his and Melissa’s relationship had revolved around business, he mused, eating without speaking for a few minutes. It was how they’d met, how they’d gotten acquainted, what they’d spent most of their time discussing during the past two years.

  What would happen if things went sour with the sponsorship? If RightTime Realty decided they couldn’t continue to justify the exorbitant expenses of sponsoring a NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series car? Or if they decided that he was no longer the person they wanted as their representative in NASCAR? After all, they had signed a reigning champion, and that had probably outweighed his weaknesses in the natural charisma area. Now, he was increasingly referred to as a “former” champion.

  If his alliance with RightTime Realty ended, would his relationship with Melissa follow suit? And was there any way to ask that question without either insulting her or scaring her away? He hadn’t had enough experience with long-term relationships to know how to go on from here.

  “Tom?” She was looking at him oddly now, as if something in his expression puzzled her. “You are still planning to join my family, aren’t you?”

  “If you still want me to after tomorrow,” he said, and tried to smile to make it a joke.

  She smiled in return, but as he turned his attention back to the meal that had lost some of its flavor for him, he noticed that her eyes looked more worried than amused.

  THOUGH MELISSA INSISTED she should clean the kitchen since Tom had cooked, he stayed to help. He had a handy habit of cleaning as he went, so there was very little to do. Within a few minutes, they had all evidence of the delicious meal cleared away. They left the kitchen spotless, and ready to be invaded by the caterer who would serve the Christmas meal tomorrow. She didn’t mention that, of course, since Tom had made it quite clear that he didn’t want to think about tomorrow until he absolutely had to.