Checkered Past

by Abby Gaines

  The same Trent who right now was looking at Chad speculatively.

  Chad said, “We don’t want—” he wasn’t sure he could say her name without giving himself away “—the sponsor to think you’re harassing her.”

  That was unfair and they both knew it.

  “I get that you’re stressed, bro,” Trent said, “so I’ll let that go.”

  “Thanks,” Chad muttered. Maybe he should step outside and try Brianna’s cell phone again—he’d left her a message earlier, but her phone had been switched off. He needed to tell her that no one in his family knew about their…previous acquaintance.

  “Hello?” A voice—her voice—came from the doorway of the hauler.

  Too late. Relief that she wasn’t lying mangled at the side of the interstate and panic—he’d failed dismally to prepare himself for her arrival—surged through Chad. The saliva drained from his mouth; sweat broke out on his palms. He maneuvered out from the table’s built-in seating, bumping his knee as he went.

  Trent stood, too.

  “Stay here,” Chad barked.

  His brother raised his eyebrows, but for once in his life, did as he was told.

  Brushing his hands against his jeans, Chad moved out into the galley-style body of the hauler.

  And saw his wife.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAD HAD THOUGHT he knew every detail of her face. But she was more beautiful than he remembered. He’d underestimated the sleek sheen of her chestnut hair, forgotten how her hair framed her face and heightened the delicacy of her features, the slimness of her neck. He’d sold short the tempting fullness of her lips.

  The avoid-thinking-about-Brianna strategy he’d adopted the past two years meant he hadn’t considered the possibility of her seeing other men. One look at her, and he was convinced she was here because she was getting married again and wanted that divorce. Dammit, he should have thought about it! Stupid! If he ever had to sell Matheson Racing, he could join North Carolina Zoo as an ostrich.

  He tugged at his collar as he started forward; three steps narrowed the distance between them to nothing. He wanted to confront her about the guy she planned to marry, tell her she couldn’t…

  Get a grip. This is about the team, not about me.

  “Brianna.” Croaky—he sounded like a schoolboy whose voice was breaking. Chad cleared his throat, tried again. “Hi, I’m Chad Matheson.”

  With that, he told her how he planned to play this. He stuck out a hand, invited her cooperation.

  “Pleased to meet you, Chad,” she said slowly. She put her hand in his. The feel of her fingers…his memory hadn’t lied about this, about the way her touch could reach to his core.

  She glanced down, and he realized he’d forgotten to shake. He got it over with, reclaimed his hand, and with it his senses.

  “Glad you could make it up here today,” he said briskly. “The team is looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Me first.” Trent spoke from behind him. Chad was thankful neither he nor Brianna had said anything incriminating.

  Trent introduced himself and shook Brianna’s hand. He made a real effort, Chad saw, to tone down his megawatt charm, but with limited success.

  Chad said, “Trent, I need to brief Brianna on a couple of things. Why don’t you go tell the team to start up, and we’ll be out shortly.”

  Trent proved extraordinarily cooperative once again, managing to leave with only one killer grin at Brianna, which she barely returned. Chad didn’t want to think about how relieved he was at that. He ushered her into the office and closed the door firmly behind them.

  They were alone.

  BRIANNA COULD hardly reconcile the man who stood before her, his face all harsh planes, his eyes hooded and cool, with the tender, almost playful man who had loved her so well in Las Vegas.

  This Chad’s mouth didn’t appear to be made for kissing, for exploring her, for murmuring words of love with a kind of surprised, hesitant pleasure that told her he wasn’t used to saying such things.

  This Chad’s broad shoulders and powerful physique intimidated rather than protected. And the voice that could thrill her senses merely by reading the weather forecast…today, it held no more inflection than if he’d been talking to a stranger.

  “Chad,” she said helplessly.

  The stiffness of his stance eased, made him look more familiar.

  “Thanks for not giving anything away,” he said. “No one around here knows we’re married.”

  “So…we still are?” She’d wondered if he’d applied for the divorce and somehow the notification hadn’t caught up with her. She hadn’t wanted to contact him and ask.

  He made a dashing movement with his hand. “I know I said I’d organize the divorce,” he said defensively. “I’ve been busy.”

  Their marriage had never been at the top of his priority list. His excuse—busy—confirmed all the suspicions she’d had that horrible morning after their wedding. That she, that they as a couple, were not his priority.

  Unfortunately the reminder didn’t stop her from noticing the blue of his eyes or the little lines at the corners of his mouth that hadn’t been there two years ago. She tore her gaze away, glanced around the cramped office—couldn’t they have built it bigger so she wouldn’t have to stand so close to him?

  “It was quite a shock to hear you were coming.”

  “For me, too.” Brianna’s knees shook with the strain of keeping her upright; she slid uninvited into the seat that wrapped around the table.

  “Your hair’s a little shorter,” he said.

  It was, a very little.

  “Haircut,” she murmured inanely. One of the reasons she’d fallen in love with Chad was that he paid close attention to everything about her. It had made her feel she mattered.

  “It looks nice.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  Brianna always thought of him as being in complete control of himself and his situation. The realization he felt as awkward as she did cheered her.

  She rubbed her neck—it was getting sore from looking up at him. “You seem…taller.”

  He huffed a tense laugh and sat down on the other side of the table. “I’m still the same.” After a moment he added, “Height.”

  Did that mean he’d changed in some other way?

  “Chad,” she said, “I know we need to talk about work. But can I just say…I didn’t choose to get involved in Getaway’s sponsorship, but now that I’m here, I hope we can talk about what happened.”

  His face blanked. “I can’t see how that will help us get our jobs done.”

  “I need closure,” she said.

  His eyebrows lifted at her tone, more demanding than before. She’d known what she wanted back then, but had been unsure of whether her desire for an open, sharing relationship was reasonable. Now she knew for certain she wouldn’t accept less. And she wouldn’t let Chad off the hook about helping her find closure. She had to move on.

  He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Maybe we can talk after you’ve completed your assessment. Things are frantic around here just now.”

  As if to prove his words, someone rapped on the office door. A man stuck his head around. He nodded at Brianna and said, “We’re ready to roll, Chad.”

  “Be right out,” Chad replied. When the man left, he said to Brianna, “That’s Dave Harmon, Zack’s crew chief.” He straightened the papers on the desk into a neat stack. “Brianna, this isn’t an easy situation. I think it’s important to keep it strictly business.”

  Of course he did!

  “Fine,” she said coolly. “I won’t push it for now. There’s plenty of time—for the next little while, I’m not going anywhere.” She wondered if things would have turned out differently if she’d said that—I’m not going anywhere—two years ago, when he’d given her all the reasons he couldn’t be the husband she wanted.

  He eyed her warily, uncertain, apparently, of her mood. Then he leaned back, relaxed a little. “How about I
tell you about the team and about Zack’s plans for the season?”

  By the time they made it outside twenty minutes later, the two Matheson Racing cars were heading out along pit road. Chad introduced Brianna to Dave Harmon, an enormous man with hands the size of hubcaps, and to Trent’s crew chief, the relatively slight—though probably still a good two hundred pounds—Rod Sutton. Both men got right back to work after a quick greeting.

  “And this is Lori Garland—” Chad beckoned to the only other woman in the pits “—who owns this race track.”

  Lori Garland was a bit shorter than Brianna. Her hair was a similar color, though more reddish, but her eyes were green. She shook Brianna’s hand. “Welcome to Halesboro. If there’s anything you need that you can’t find, let me know.” She turned a dazzling smile on Chad. “That goes for you, too. Your wish is my command.” Her tone was joking, but Brianna sensed she meant it. Had Chad already found closure by seeing other women?

  “Thanks, Lori,” Chad said.

  The woman touched her hair, as if to make sure she was looking her best for him, then excused herself to go check on the pit crew.

  “She seems anxious to please.” Brianna didn’t quite manage to leach the acid from her tone.

  He sent her a puzzled look.

  “She was flirting with you.” And my palm is itching to slap her. She clasped her hands behind her back.

  Chad blinked. “No, she wasn’t.”

  “‘Your wish is my command,’” Brianna simpered.

  His puzzlement gave way to a slow smile that reminded her so forcibly of Las Vegas that a lump formed in her throat.

  “This track has had some financial troubles,” he said, his smile getting wider by the second. “Lori’s desperate for teams to use it as a practice venue, so she takes a very personal interest in making sure there are no problems.”

  “Oh.” Brianna sucked in her cheeks. “I see. Poor woman.” Could we do that again without me acting like a jealous wife?

  Speculation glinted in Chad’s eyes. “Would you mind if she flirted with me?”

  “Not at all,” she lied. “Uh, is your father here today?”

  His smile faded. “Dad had a heart attack back in November—he’s not supposed to travel too far.”

  “Chad, that’s awful.” She reached out a hand to touch him…and found herself holding a pair of binoculars he’d passed to her.

  “He had bypass surgery. He’ll be fine. Use these to watch the cars,” he said, closing down any discussion of his father’s health.

  Brianna pressed her lips together as she trained the binoculars on the object of her visit, Zack’s No. 548 car. Unlike Trent’s No. 429, which had every available inch covered in sponsor logos, the electric-blue No. 548 was bare in the most important places—the hood and the rear panels.

  A few seconds later, the cars roared past the pits. Brianna had only ever watched NASCAR on TV. Obviously you got a different perspective at the track, but it seemed to her the two brothers were driving closer to each other than necessary. Since Trent was out in front, Zack had to be the aggressor.

  Chad thought so, too, because his voice had a grim edge when he said into his headset, “Pull back, Zack.”

  No. 548 might have pulled back a tiny bit, but Brianna didn’t think so.

  “Would you describe Zack as a disciplined driver?” she asked. Her father’s instructions had been quite clear: no loose cannons. For once, she agreed with him. A NASCAR sponsorship was a huge financial commitment, and Getaway should make it as safe a bet as possible. They needed a driver who could be trusted to do the right thing at the right time, whether it was driving responsibly or talking up his sponsor in a media interview.

  “The guys get excited being out in their new cars for the first time,” Chad said. She noticed he hadn’t answered her question.

  Ten minutes later, on a clear stretch of track, Zack crashed his car into the wall. It spun around twice, hit the wall again, then flipped tail over tip before landing back on four wheels, with some interesting dents in the panelwork.

  Zack’s crew chief cursed. Several team members climbed aboard a golf cart and headed across the infield toward the No. 548 car.

  “What happened there?” Brianna asked.

  A muscle jumped in Chad’s jaw. “That’s what I want to know.” He peered through his binoculars. “Zack’s out of the car, he’s fine.” His tone suggested that unless the car’s brakes had failed, making the crash unavoidable, Zack wouldn’t be fine for long.

  Trent rolled into the pits, his car still intact. He clambered out the window and pulled off his helmet. “That guy is crazy, Chad. He won’t let go of his stupid grudge.” He saw Brianna and shut up.

  Before she could say, “Don’t mind me,” the golf cart arrived back with Zack aboard.

  Ignoring Chad and Brianna, he went straight for Trent.

  “You idiot.” Zack grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “You nearly lost control going too fast into Turn Four. You could have knocked me out.”

  Trent shrugged him off. “I didn’t need to knock you out—you’re more than able to wreck your own car.”

  “That happened because I was busy avoiding you.” Zack stepped so close to Trent he gave the phrase “in your face” new meaning. “Watch it, little brother.”

  Trent’s chin jutted forward. “I’ll be watching, all right. I’ll watch you lose every race this season.”

  Zack’s hand formed a fist.

  “Enough!” Chad roared the single word. His brothers broke apart, but there was still a solid wall of anger between them. “Trent, I want you back out in that car for another fifty laps, and if you don’t fix that fishtail you’ve got going into the corners, you’ll have me to answer to.” He turned to Zack. “As for you, get yourself to the doctor and have him check you out. Assuming he says there’s still a brain somewhere in that head of yours, you’ll be pulling shifts at the workshop until we have another car ready. There’s a price to pay when you hit the wall.”

  Brianna observed the rigidity in Chad’s spine, the tightness of his jaw. This must be the kind of team-related pressure he’d talked about when they split up. She said lightly, “I thought hitting the wall was an occupational hazard in NASCAR.”

  “Not if you’re doing it right,” he growled.

  Zack started to argue, but Chad spoke over him, his voice now controlled. “Zack, I’d like to introduce you to Brianna Hudson, head of NASCAR sponsorship at Getaway Resorts.”

  Zack’s dawning horror as he computed the impression he’d made on his potential sponsor was almost funny. He groaned, closed his eyes. Brianna felt sorry for him, even though the crash and the ensuing argument had been his fault.

  Zack opened his eyes and stuck out a hand. “I apologize that you had to see me at my worst. Can we start over?”

  She shook his hand. “You promise that’s your worst?”

  He broke into a grin that transformed his face, made him look more like Chad. “Promise.”

  “What about him?” Brianna glanced at Chad. “Have I seen Chad at his worst?”

  She heard Chad’s indrawn breath.

  Zack’s lips twitched. “Chad’s all bark—at least, he doesn’t bite often.”

  At the thought of Chad biting…or nipping…Brianna lost her cool. She felt color creeping over her collarbones, and up her neck.

  CHAD COULD HAVE strangled his bratty brothers. Zack and Trent couldn’t have made a worse impression—how the heck was Getaway Resorts supposed to see them as a unified team if the two drivers were at each other’s throats?

  And what was with Brianna’s sudden blush? How come Zack was smiling wider than he had since he’d come back to Charlotte?

  When Brianna had walked into the hauler at lunchtime, Chad had thought she was the same as before, only more beautiful. Now he realized she was more outspoken, her wit sharper. She was harder to read.

  A man could like those things, could find them a challenge.

  Finding a sponsor fo
r Zack was all the challenge he could handle, he reminded himself. Brianna was questioning Zack now about his decision to return to NASCAR Sprint Cup Series racing, and Zack appeared to be handling it okay. He was still smiling at her.

  Chad took a step closer to Brianna. If Trent’s smile was a potent weapon, Zack’s was even more so, simply because it was rarely bestowed and somehow the recipient always sensed that.

  Zack’s more reticent nature might have meant he didn’t have as many women after him as Chad and Trent had had in the past, but those who did pursue him stuck like glue.

  Something shifted in Chad’s chest, like tectonic plates grinding together beneath the earth’s surface.

  “Time you got going, Zack.” The words came out like the kind of peremptory command he could see Brianna didn’t care for. Her eyebrows lowered in a frown. It made her look cute, dammit, and at the same time made him feel he had to explain himself to Zack, or to her.

  This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted his wife working with him. You couldn’t be the boss of a team like Matheson Racing, of two drivers as strong-willed as Trent and Zack, without being willing and able to bruise egos and run over sensitivities.

  Zack said, “I’m just telling Brianna about—”

  “Now,” Chad said.

  Zack gave a mock salute—which ordinarily would have made Chad laugh—and went to join his team in the garage.

  “You’ll have to excuse my brothers,” Chad said to Brianna. “They’re both extremely competitive, which helps make them great drivers. But it doesn’t always make them easy to get along with.”

  She nodded. He wished she’d say something.

  Like I missed you.

  With an inward groan, he canceled the thought. He should have known he’d feel an instant attraction to Brianna again; he should have had his defenses in place.

  Thankfully it was never too late to get a grip.

  “Let’s head back to the hauler and discuss how you plan to do your evaluation.” Let’s not discuss our marriage. Then he remembered how claustrophobic the hauler had been, the two of them in that office. “On second thought, let’s walk.” He glanced at her long-sleeved, mint-green top, at the light jacket she’d pulled over it. Chad dragged off his Matheson Racing polar fleece, draped it over her shoulders. “You’ll need this out there.”