by Roz Lee
* * * *
“Good afternoon,” Caro greeted the gathering. Dell turned at the sound of her voice and surprise socked him in the gut. This was the Carolina Hawkins he remembered – except her hair was swept up in one of those fancy knots again, exposing the long, graceful lines of her neck. Gone was the pristine lady of the manor. In her place stood the grease-smeared hellion who had shown him how a carburetor worked when she was all of eight.
A chorus of male voices returned her greeting. Dell noted a few stepped forward to shake her hand, while the majority hung back. Dell moved to the back of the group and leaned his shoulders against the hauler, watching. Her Hawkins Racing coveralls were smeared with grease, but her small-boned hands were clean. Not a single golden strand of hair was out of place. The coveralls hid her womanly shape as his eyes traveled down the length of her legs to her feet. Red-tipped toes peeked from beneath the hem. Tiny beige straps crisscrossed her foot above her toes. He couldn't help but smile at the odd mix of class and sass.
She took a minute to recognize the newest member of the pit crew – a kid named Trent who came onboard to replace a tire carrier who did something to his ankle. Dell tuned the explanation out, content to watch her when she wasn't watching him.
As she moved from one man to the other, exchanging small talk and wishing them a safe trip and a win, Dell listened for anything that would tell him who this woman was. Was she the Caro he knew as a kid? Or was she Carolina, the princess in the ivory office?
She finally made her way to him. Dell pushed himself aside from the hauler and straightened.
“Dell,” she offered her hand.
“Caro,” he said as he folded her small hand in his bigger one. Her grip was firm and warm, not a hint of nerves, though he sensed some in her voice when she said his name.
“I hear you're driving with the crew.”
“It's not far. Besides, I want to be there early.” And he wanted to get to know them better. He'd only had a few hours with them this week. Most of his time had been spent playing the PR game – interviews, photo sessions, and making nice with his new sponsors. A good crew could make or break you, and their performance could be anywhere from lousy to outstanding, depending upon their opinion of the driver. If a few hours on the road with them could help win them over, he was willing to go along.
“I'll see you on Thursday, then.” Dell raised an eyebrow in question.
“I like to be there for practice. There isn't much time to get the car as good as it can be,” she said, as if that were her explanation. Before he could ask her what she meant, she moved to the front of the group and raised her hand above her head. All eyes turned her way and everyone grew quiet.
“Be careful,” she said. “We're fortunate to have an experienced Cup driver on our team now, so let's give him our support. I think we have a winning team. I believe in each and every one of you.” She waved her hand. “I'll see you on Thursday.”
Dell accepted a ride with the crew chief. If he remembered right, Russell was a childhood friend of Stewart Hawkins, and part of Hawkins Racing from the beginning. If anyone knew Caro, Russell did.
“What do you think of the new owner?” he asked.
Russell didn't take his eyes off the road, and for the longest time, Dell didn't think the man was going to speak at all. When he did, Dell was almost sorry he'd asked.
“She needs to get married and have a bunch of kids, and get the hell out of the garage and the business. Ain't no place for a woman.”
Dell flinched, but chided himself for his stupidity. He should have known Russell would hold the same opinion as his friend, Caro's father.
“Stewart knew what he was about. Sent the girl away.”
“She's not a girl anymore,” Dell said.
Russell shook his head. “Anyone with eyes can see that. And trust me, you ain't the first to notice.”
“I didn't think I was.”
“The only mistake Stewart ever made was leavin' the business to that slip of a girl. I'm tellin' you, she ain't got no business runnin' a race team. She's gonna to drive it into the ground, you mark my words.”
“I don't know – she seems to know what she's doing.”
“She don't know shit. She hired you, didn't she?”
Dell didn't know what to say to that, so he turned his attention to the road. He had no idea if hiring him was a good thing for Hawkins Racing. He hadn't even considered that aspect when Caro offered him the ride. All he was thinking about was himself. He lived to drive and driving kept him alive. He couldn't let anything else enter into the equation. That's not how he worked.
They rode in silence for a while before Russell spoke up. “Your daddy was a good man.” Dell held his tongue. How could he forget Russell knew his father too? “Had a good head on his shoulders. Hell of a good driver too.”
Dell had heard it all before. Most of the racing world held the same opinion, and he'd given up on trying to change it. It seemed everyone but him knew the Caudell Wayne that Russell spoke of. Personally, Dell had never met that version of his father.
“He said you'd never make a decent Cup driver, and he was right. You got off to a good start, but it musta been beginner's luck. Always thought the other drivers cut you some slack your first season, because you were Caudell's son. After that, you had to earn your spot, and you ain't done it yet.”
At last, something he could argue. “I've done alright.”
“If you call wreckin' alright. I've seen demolition derbies with less damage than you do on a racetrack.”
“They aren't all my fault.”
“Don't matter whose fault it is, the result's the same. Scrap metal ain't a trophy.”
Silence filled the truck cab again. Dell wasn't used to defending his driving. Ever since his last argument with his dad, he'd left the topic of his driving skill to the commentators, and done his best to ignore them at the same time. His avoidance skills weren't in question. They were trophy quality, all the way.
“How's the crew?” he asked.
“They know their stuff. Might not be the best in the business, but they're okay.” Dell had worked with less skilled crews. “Biggest problem is, she's got some of 'em pussy-whipped. That darn fool woman comes in the garage wearin' those coveralls, tellin' 'em what to do.” Dell turned his head so Russell wouldn't see him roll his eyes as the crew chief went off on another misogynist rant. “Woman don't know her place. I blame that on Stewart. He sent her away alright, but he sent her up north. Filled her head with all that liberal women's lib shit.”
Dell picked up on the only part of Russell's tirade that was pertinent. “What does Caro tell them to do?”
“Everything from engine adjustments to bitchin' about keepin' the tools in order. I'm tellin' you, the woman don't know her place,” he repeated.
Dell didn't know anything about women's lib, but he did know what century it was. “Does she know what she's talking about, with the engine adjustments?”
“Hell no! She's a woman.”
“Are the mechanics taking her advice?” Getting useful information out of Russell was harder than finding gold in a coalmine.
“Some.”
He'd done a bit of research on Hawkins Racing in the last week, and no one was arguing about the quality of their engines. “You're still building your own engines?”
“One of the few,” Russell said with pride. A good engine builder could make a fortune building and selling to other teams, but as far as he knew, Hawkins wasn't selling to anyone else. He wondered why, but he wasn't going to ask Russell. He'd bet his next trophy the answer would place the blame on Caro.
Dell mulled that over. He wondered how much input Caro actually had when it came to the engines. Unlike Russell, he didn't dismiss her knowledge because of her gender. The Caro he remembered had a good, basic knowledge of a racecar when she was ten, and if she'd spent the last decade increasing her knowledge, she might know what she was talking about. He'd find out soon enough.
> When Dell didn't respond, Russell continued. “I don't know why she brought you on, and I don't give a damn why you came. I suspect it had somethin' to do with the skirt in the office, but as much as I hate the idea of a woman in this business, I like that girl. I've known Carolina all her life, and so help me, if you hurt her…well, I'll kill you myself.”
Dell turned to watch the landscape speed by and let a smile lift his lips. The old codger might have his backward ways when it came to women, but he was loyal to a fault.
“Point taken,” he said.
* * * *
Dell drove the car into the stall allotted to Hawkins Racing and killed the engine. The practice run was one of the worst he'd ever had. The car had a shimmy on the right side and was so loose, he almost spun out on the first turn before he figured out how to control it through the others. He pulled his helmet off and climbed out of the car. The crew had the hood up and their heads together under it before his feet hit the floor.
A familiar voice caught his attention. “Chet, adjust the track bar. Raymond and Pete, see where the shimmy is coming from.” Dell strolled around to the front of the car and looked under the hood. Today, her hair was in a high ponytail that brushed her right shoulder, partially obscuring her face. She was elbow-deep in the engine compartment.
“Hey, what's up?” he asked.
She answered without looking up. “Not much. Just checking something. We had a shimmy like you reported once before. Someone left a bolt out of the mounting block. It's a simple fix, if that's what's wrong.” She pulled her arm out and stood, brushing a stray lock from her face with her forearm. “All present and accounted for. We'll have to look elsewhere.”
“It felt like it was in the wheel,” he said.
“Like I said, just checking all the possibilities.”
“Got it,” Chet called from under the car. “We'll have to change out the shock on this side, but then she's good to go.”
Caro praised Chet and Pete for solving the problem so quickly and turned to go. Dell caught up with her before she reached the hauler. “Hey, wait up,” he called.
She continued on, only stopping when she wrapped her hand around the door latch. “The car should be ready to go in a few minutes. See if you can get her back on the track as soon as possible.”
“Will do, boss. I was wondering… would you like to get a burger with me tonight?”
“You go ahead without me, Dell. I've got a lot to do tonight.” She opened the door, but stopped and turned half-around. “I'm sorry. Race weekends are busy for me. Maybe next week?” she asked.
Dell nodded. “Next week then.”
He made a few more practice runs before calling it a day. He had a few hours to himself, a few hours too many. He caught a ride to the hotel and cleaned up before heading out to one of the local bars. With only qualifying tomorrow, and the race on Sunday, one beer wouldn't hurt.
The place was packed with race fans and Dell kept his baseball cap on, pulled low over his brow. He found a table in the corner and settled in. A waitress took his order and he put his feet up on the extra chair, leaning back with the bill of his cap pulled over his eyes. Conversation was lively all around him. Two couples occupied the table to his left; their conversation divided along gender lines. Dell tuned out the female talk about the best diapers and zeroed in on the men's conversation. He listened as they speculated on whether Everhart would finally win a race this season or go down as the driver with the longest losing streak in Cup history. Dell mentally cast his vote for the history books, but remained silent.
His meal arrived and he took his time, savoring the excellent burger. The table on his right emptied, only to be grabbed up again by a group of men with mouths as big as their beer bellies. Dell tried to tune them out, but he would have needed noise-proof headphones to do it. Between the four of them, they had an opinion on every aspect of racing, none of which were based on any version of reality Dell knew of. He finished his burger, signaled the waitress for his check and was about to leave when their conversation turned interesting.
“How about that Sadie Hawkins?” one of them asked as the rest guffawed and contributed more inappropriate comments about the woman.
“Heard she was shagging the crew chief,” one said.
“That old man? Naw, I heard that's how she got Dell.” another said. “I'll bet he's driving more than her car.” They all laughed at the remark, adding a number of lewd comments that resulted in more laughter. Dell sat back and listened briefly. He didn't care what people said about him, hell, it had all been said a dozen times: but when it came to Caro, he didn't like what he was hearing. These people didn't know her. They just didn't want a woman invading what they perceived as their territory.
“Maybe he'll knock her up and send the little woman home where she belongs.”
“If he doesn't, someone else will. I bet she spreads those legs of hers for anybody with a dick.”
Dell had heard enough. He rose from his seat, removed his cap and held it tightly with both hands to keep from belting one, or all of them. Two steps brought him to their table.
“Excuse me,” he said. Four faces turned to him. He waited until they recognized him and realized they'd been talking about his new boss and him. “I don't care what you say about me personally, but the lady in question doesn't deserve to be talked about that way. I'd appreciate you minding your own business.”
Dell slipped his cap back on and left, congratulating himself on getting out before he did something that would get him suspended from racing – again. NASCAR frowned on drivers punching out the fans, though in Dell's opinion, the sport could use a few less fans like those.
CHAPTER FIVE
Caro gasped, but refused to look away. Everything had been going smooth, up until now. Now, all she could do was sit atop the war wagon and watch helplessly as her racecar spun down the track, sliding completely out of control through the narrow strip of grass between the track and the inside wall on turn three. When it came to a halt, it was facing backwards.
She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer that Dell was all right – even if he deserved to die for that last stunt. He'd passed the 28 car without incident. Why he slid in front of him like he did was beyond comprehension. Getting bumped and spun out was what he deserved.
“You okay?” Russell asked Dell.
Her headset crackled. Dell's voice met her ears. “I'm alive.” Caro sighed in relief. “Car's okay, I think. Restarting now.”
She watched in disbelief as Dell spun the car around in place, and roared back onto the track. He was several laps behind now, but he drove with the determination of someone defending his first place status.
“You've got grass in the grill. Bring it in,” Russell ordered.
“Not yet. I'll pit with everyone else, unless we have another problem,” Dell answered.
“What's with him?” Russell asked Caro. “Doesn't he know he's done for?”
“I don't know,” Caro said. “He's lucky no one hit him on the spinout.”
“Skill, not luck. He steered the car out of the way before he lost control in the grass.”
“You think?”
“I know. He spun halfway down the back straightaway and into turn three and the caution flag never came out. That took skill.”
Caro shrugged. Skill or no skill, Hawkins Racing wasn't going to get a win today, and they didn't garner any favors with the other drivers either. For the first time since she came up with the idea to hire Dell, she began to wonder if she made a mistake. The man could drive a racecar – no one would dispute that – except maybe Dell's father. She didn't know all the details, but she did know the two of them didn't see eye-to-eye when it came to racing.
Twenty laps later, and they were done. Dell lowered the net on the driver's side window and Caro let out a pent-up breath. He was alive. She was going to kill him.
The car was a total loss. They'd be lucky to salvage any part of it. As Dell climbed into the back of the amb
ulance – standard procedure following a crash – Caro mentally calculated what the loss of the car would do to their bottom line. The prognosis wasn't good. They'd have no choice but to use the backup car for next week's race in Arizona, and they'd have to work around the clock to build another one. That meant money out the door. Money they couldn't afford.
* * * *
Dell cursed as he pulled himself up and out of the car. He managed to make up the laps he'd lost on the spinout, and was inching his way up on the lead lap when disaster struck. He couldn't say exactly what happened – someone ahead of him spun out, crashed into someone else, then all hell broke loose. He looked around at the carnage. At least a dozen cars were beyond driving, his included. This wasn't the way he wanted his first race with Hawkins to end, but some things couldn't be helped.
After being checked out at the track's medical center and pronounced sound, Dell made his way back to the hauler. Caro stood with her back to him, supervising the repacking of their equipment. Dell took a moment to admire the way she filled out her fire suit. She was a paradox, all business in her team gear, but the ponytail threaded through the loop in her cap made her look fragile, and feminine. Dell's palms itched to curl around the fall of hair and tug her against him. He'd never wanted to get his hands on an ass in a fire suit before, and he shouldn't be thinking about it now.
“Caro,” he said. She turned to face him. Dell was so surprised at the genuine concern on her face, he wanted to hug her.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I'm fine. The car took most of the impact,” he said, glancing at the heap of twisted metal the crew was getting ready to load into the top rack for the return trip.
“So it seems,” she said. “Come with me.” Dell followed her to the lounge at the front of the hauler where she evicted Russell, with instructions to leave them alone. Once Russell closed the door behind him, Caro turned to Dell. All her earlier concern for his physical being was gone from her face, replaced by red-hot anger.