by Gina Wilkins
WITH THE RACE just over two-thirds completed, Jake was running very well. He had led several laps, and was currently in fourth. Andrew had gotten hungry—as the teenager so often was—so he and Stacy and Lisa had raided the hauler kitchen for sodas and sandwiches that had been set out for the team. They brought the food back up to the top of the hauler for a picnic under the artificial lights, which were bright enough to pretty much block out the stars.
Andrew never removed his headset during the kitchen raid. Stacy and Lisa left theirs behind for a while, but put them back on after they’d eaten, both to hear Wade and Jake talk and to dull some of the engine roar. Conversation was pretty much impossible during the race, though Lisa and Stacy managed to shout a few comments at each other.
Stacy thoroughly enjoyed listening to the exchanges through her headset. It was interesting to hear the way Arnie, the spotter, guided Jake around the track, avoiding other cars and problem areas with the skill of an air-traffic controller. They had developed their own shorthand for directions, in addition to the traditional “low” and “high” designations. More than once during the evening, Arnie kept Jake from being collected in wrecks, guiding him through clouds of smoke that had Jake pretty much driving blind through the melee. Stacy had to watch those near misses from behind her hands, holding her breath until Jake was clear and safe.
Wade kept Jake informed about how the race was progressing as a whole. How fast other drivers were going, Jake’s own lap times and track position. They talked about wedge and track bar adjustments, about fuel mileage and pit strategies and tire wear, much of which she didn’t understand. They joked around a bit, mostly on Jake’s part, since Wade tended to be pretty serious while he was working.
She lifted her head when she heard her own name through the headset.
“Is Stacy doing okay?” Jake asked Wade. “Has she had anything to eat?”
“I think so.” Wade turned on the pit box to glance up their way, nodding toward her and Lisa before looking back at the track. “She’s wearing a headset.”
“Hi, Stacy,” Jake said. “You don’t have to answer. Just wanted to remind you to be sure and ask J.R. if you or Andrew need anything at all, okay? Arnie, where’s the Number 56 car? Is he still coming up behind me?”
The conversation in the headsets turned to business again. Stacy noticed that Lisa had grimaced in response to Jake’s comments. Pulling off the headset, she asked, “What?”
Lisa hesitated, then shrugged. “Jake lets it slip his mind sometimes that the airwaves are always being monitored. By NASCAR, the media, the fans. Sometimes he starts talking and he forgets it isn’t just Wade and Arnie and him having a conversation.”
Stacy bit her lip as she became aware of what Lisa was telling her. Jake had just mentioned her by name over the radio, expressing concern for her well-being during a race. And though she had managed to remain in the background thus far during the weekend, she had just been thrust front and center, if Lisa’s concerns were legitimate.
Andrew was grinning at her from across the hauler. She gave him a rather sickly smile in response. Sure, he thought it was great that Jake was thinking about them out on the track, but then he didn’t have to worry about the potential fallout.
So maybe she was overreacting. Maybe no one would think twice about his asking about a guest at the race. He had mentioned Andrew, after all, and she’d made a point of pushing Andrew forward. Jake tended to talk a lot while he was driving, keeping up a running, almost stream-of-consciousness commentary. Much of what he’d said had been inconsequential, teasing or complaining. She couldn’t imagine that anyone would make too much out of his mention of one random name.
A few laps later, she noticed a trackside reporter standing beside J.R. down on the ground. The reporter had been by a couple of times earlier to shove a microphone into Wade’s face and ask about track and pit strategies and how it felt to have Jake back in the car. She assumed that as the race drew closer to an end and Jake moved steadily toward the front, sitting in second place now, the reporter was back to ask for more comments.
Her stomach sank when J.R. turned with an obliging smile and pointed toward the top of the hauler. Right to where she sat.
Lisa groaned loudly. “J.R. has the common sense of a turnip,” she proclaimed in disgust.
Wade saw what was going on and made a quick summoning motion to J.R., who excused himself to the reporter and moved toward the pit box. Wade leaned down and spoke a few terse words into J.R.’s ear, after which J.R. disappeared into the hauler, not to emerge again.
Glancing apologetically up at Stacy, Wade went back to work.
“Wade really does run the whole show down there, doesn’t he?” Stacy asked Lisa, leaning close to be heard.
Lisa nodded. “He’s definitely accustomed to being in charge,” she said. “I have to remind him every once in a while that I’m not a member of the team.”
Maybe bossiness was a trait of people in the sport, Stacy mused, leaning back in her chair again. A refusal to take no for an answer. It served them well in their careers, but it could be a definite drawback in a relationship.
Watching as the reporter drifted to the next pit, she tried to assure herself that everything was still okay. The reporter had simply wanted to identify the Stacy Jake had referred to. Surely J.R. had said, if asked, that Stacy and Andrew were just friends of Jake’s who were there to watch the race. Since Jake and Stacy had been extremely circumspect in front of everyone, J.R. probably really did believe that this weekend was more about Andrew than Stacy. She hoped.
With three laps to go, Jake was still in second place, but closing fast on first. The entire crowd of spectators were on their feet, screaming for their personal favorites to win. Andrew practically jumped up and down as he cheered Jake on. Caught up in the excitement, Stacy and Lisa stood close together, eyes locked on the purple Number 82 car as if intense concentration on their part could push Jake to the front.
He almost made the pass in Turn 3. But then the frontrunner blocked frantically, taking up as much track as possible as he approached the checkered flag. Jake crossed the finish line only a heartbeat behind the other car, taking second place.
Andrew looked disappointed, but Wade and the rest of the crew seemed satisfied with the strong finish. Jake was back, they were all saying in the headsets. Still a contender, still a force to be reckoned with. His performance today had left no doubt of that.
Jake didn’t seem to mind the loss too badly. In fact, he kept saying how much fun that had been, chasing down the leader and almost taking him. “I’m back, baby,” he said, satisfaction in his voice, the comment addressed to anyone who happened to be listening.
Stacy’s throat tightened as she realized just how happy he was to be back in his car, back in contention. Nothing in Jake’s life would ever compete with his love of racing, she thought somberly. Any woman who became involved with him should understand that from the start.
JAKE FACED a barrage of postrace interviews, everyone wanting to know how it had felt to be back, whether he was pleased with his finish, if during the race he had experienced any aftereffects from his injuries. He assured everyone that he was fine, that he’d had a great time battling for the lead at the end, that a second-place finish for his first race in eight weeks was satisfying, though he’d have rather had the win.
He skillfully worked his sponsors into every interview, thanking them for their support, thanking the fans for the flood of e-mails and cards and letters he’d received after his accident, thanking his owner and his team for their unwavering loyalty. He thanked Pete for filling in for him and doing a great job of it, stating each time that he was sure Pete would be back in NASCAR NEXTEL Cup racing soon with a full-time ride of his own.
He braced himself when he was approached by a reporter who specialized in NASCAR gossip, and who’d been trying for a couple of years to find out more about Jake’s very private personal life. He was still annoyed with himself for mentioni
ng Stacy’s name during the race. Sometimes his mouth jumped ahead of his brain when he was out there on the track for all those hours of laps. He’d just wanted to make sure she was having a good time, and he’d blurted it out before he’d thought about anyone else who might find the comment intriguing.
“How are you doing, Jake?” the reporter, Melanie Main, asked with rather cloying sympathy. “Was it difficult getting back into the swing of things so late in the season?”
“It felt like I was never gone,” he replied, keeping his smile steady and bland.
“Everyone worried about you when you just disappeared the way you did a few weeks ago.”
“I took some time away to rest and recuperate, but I’m back in peak shape now.”
“I know it must have been horrible for you, losing a longtime friend and being so badly injured yourself. Where did you find the strength to deal with those challenges?”
Losing Eric had been more than a “challenge,” Jake thought in annoyance. And a great deal more tragic than his own loss of a few races or a chance at a championship.
“Eric was a good friend,” he said quietly. “I’d known him since junior high. He’ll be greatly missed by his family and his friends, but we know he’d have wanted us to stay strong and go on with our lives. I’m starting a scholarship fund for his two young sons—the details will be on my Web site soon.”
His attempt to lead the conversation into a new direction wasn’t particularly successful. Rather than following up on the scholarship-fund announcement, Melanie said, “You mentioned someone named Stacy during the race. Is she someone who’s helped you through the past few weeks?”
“Stacy’s a friend,” he said lightly. “She’s here with her nephew, who’s a big fan of the Woodrow Racing team. This was his first race, and we’ve made sure he’s had the full experience.”
Pam appeared at his elbow then, speaking with her usual air of brisk authority. “Sorry to cut this short, but you have some people waiting to speak with you, Jake.”
“Okay, thanks, Pam. Melanie, it was nice to see you, as always.”
“I’d love a longer interview with you soon.”
“Give me a call,” Pam said smoothly, guiding Jake away. “We’ll see if we can set something up.”
As soon as she was sure they were out of hearing, she added beneath her breath, “But, gee, I think your schedule is completely filled for the foreseeable future.”
“If anyone asks you about Stacy…”
Pam nodded with the resignation of having handled sticky PR situations for Jake before. “A casual friend, here to show her nephew a good time.”
“Thanks. Don’t know what I was thinking out there.”
Pam gave him a look that showed she knew exactly what he’d been thinking.
He cleared his throat and headed for the hauler.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WITH A RARE SUNDAY OFF, Jake took advantage of the extra time to spend with Stacy before she had to leave early that evening. Of course, Andrew was with them all day, but he liked Andrew well enough. And as long as Stacy was there, Jake wasn’t complaining.
They visited the shop, which was unusually quiet on this off Sunday. But there was always some activity in the shop, seven days a week, and today was no exception. Andrew was fascinated by seeing cars in every stage of development from a few welded bars to a completed, painted and decaled race car, ready for the cameras. The room full of completed purple-and-silver Number 82 cars, each one slightly modified for a specific race, struck him almost speechless.
Leaving the shop, Jake drove them to his house. He reminded them on the way that he hadn’t yet decorated, but he still wanted them to see the place.
Or rather, he wanted to see Stacy there.
“Jake, it’s beautiful,” she said when he drove through the decorative gates of his security fencing to reveal the sprawling white estate with the lake visible behind it. “Just beautiful.”
His breath left him in response to her reaction. He hadn’t even realized until then that he’d been holding it. “Thank you. I’ve got to admit, I think so, too.”
It still amazed him at times that a guy who had grown up in cheap rented rooms could afford a place like this by the time he was thirty. He loved the spreading lawn and all the sparkling glass from dozens of windows. He got great pleasure out of the big kitchen with its travertine floor and quartz countertops and top-of-the-line appliances he rarely used. The big, open dining room and formal living room, both featuring gleaming wood floors and glittering chandeliers. The home office paneled in rich pecan with built-in cabinets and desks for his computer equipment. The media room with stadium seating, a wall-sized viewing screen, discreetly hidden sound system. The five bedrooms, only one of which was decorated as of yet.
Andrew wasn’t quite as impressed with the house as he’d been with the shop, but he said he liked the place, especially the media room. Stacy, on the other hand, seemed to genuinely love Jake’s home, chatting eagerly with him about his plans for furnishing and decorating, complimenting the choices he had made so far.
Standing in the middle of his bedroom, which he’d had done in a tropical theme in shades of green and sand with splashes of red, she turned to him with a bright smile. “This is perfect,” she said, motioning toward the huge window that looked over the lake. “It’s like being in the islands somewhere.”
“That’s what I had in mind,” he agreed. “I’d like to use different themes in all the bedrooms because I like several different decorating styles, but tropical was my first choice for my room.”
Andrew stood at the window, looking out at the dock and the boat garage, the outdoor kitchen and dining area and the natural-shaped swimming pool with a rock waterfall at one end and a hot tub at the other. “Looks like you could have a lot of fun here,” he commented.
“I don’t get to spend a lot of time here,” Jake admitted, “and the time I do have off is in the middle of the winter, but I take advantage of the chances I have to spend at home.”
As he’d been doing the day of his accident, he remembered. He and Eric had cooked steaks on the grill for lunch and had then gone out in the boat for a tour of the lake. Jake had been laughing at something Eric said when they’d been broadsided by the boat that had come out of nowhere. Even now, he wondered if he should have reacted faster or somehow differently. If he could have avoided the accident. If he’d only been more on the ball.
No matter how often everyone assured him that there had been nothing he could have done differently, he thought he would always feel vaguely guilty whenever he remembered that day.
ANDREW WENT OUTSIDE to explore while Jake and Stacy moved back into the kitchen. Jake had arranged to have a late lunch waiting for them. A big bowl of cold shrimp-and-pasta salad sat in the fridge along with several side dishes, requiring nothing more than uncovering them and setting them out to serve.
“This kitchen is amazing,” Stacy said, running a hand admiringly over the gold-flecked green quartz countertop.
“Thanks. I’m afraid most of the cabinets are empty and the pantry’s pretty sparse. I’ve only bought the basics of kitchenware so far. I’ve got my eye on a fancy new espresso maker. And my dishes are sort of mismatched right now. I haven’t had time to pick a style.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t hired a decorator to come in and take care of all that for you. You could have every room furnished and equipped within a couple of months.”
“Everyone says that,” he admitted. “And I probably should just hire someone. Considering my schedule and at the rate I’ve been going, I might still be living in empty rooms when I’m ready for retirement. But I kind of like the idea of doing it all myself, you know? Using stuff I chose on my own because I liked it, not because some design-school graduate said it was in style.”
“I can understand that.” She picked up a large wooden bowl he’d found in a craft shop in Arizona, and in which he usually kept a selection of fresh fruit. “It’s
nice to feel a personal attachment to the things that surround you every day.”
“Exactly,” he said, glad she seemed to comprehend. “My mother and I lived in so many cheap furnished apartments. We never had much of anything that was really our own or that we had chosen for ourselves. Having someone else decorate this place for me, even if the stuff would be a lot nicer than anything I ever had as a kid, would still feel to me like living with someone else’s things.”
She studied his face for a moment, and he wondered if he’d said too much. He hadn’t been trying for sympathy, just explaining honestly why he had been resistant to hiring a decorator.
“That makes perfect sense,” she said after a pause. And then she turned to continue setting out their lunch.
Those few words were enough to make him believe that she really did understand. That was just one of the things about Stacy that drew him to her; he had always felt free to be himself with her. He’d never felt the need to retreat behind the public persona he had carefully developed during the past few years. Never felt compelled to hide his fears or doubts or insecurities. Somehow, she got him—even though he suspected she didn’t quite realize that herself.
He knew she still had her doubts about him. About them. She worried about his obsession with racing, about his life in the spotlight, about whether he would grow bored with her and move on to the next woman. The first two issues were legitimate enough; the racing life wasn’t an easy one and a woman should be very sure she was prepared for that before getting involved with a race car driver.
As for the latter—he intended to do whatever it took to convince her that he’d known almost from the beginning that she was the one woman he’d been waiting for his entire life. That she was the first to make him feel like this, and would be the last, if he had his way.
He had never needed a string of beauties to boost his ego or make him feel more like a man. But he needed Stacy to make his life feel complete. He didn’t require any more time to be certain of his feelings for her. He had known without a doubt when he had seen her waiting at the hauler after last night’s race.