Race To The Altar

But, focused as he was on his career, he ignored all the women he came into contact with, from groupies to fans to beauty queens.

But not this one.

He wanted her.

Badly.

And he could never have her.

Therefore, she had to go.

And the way to do that, he decided as he headed for the drivers’ lounge and the showers, was to find a way to make her quit.

He figured it shouldn’t be too hard. After all, she didn’t look like the type who could take the extreme heat at certain tracks during the year, or the dirt and noise for very long.

Besides, it was hard living like gypsies, traveling to a different track almost every week. The NASCAR schedule currently consisted of thirty-four races, and sometimes a few got rained out. That meant running the next clear day, then heading for the next track right away.

One day he hoped to be successful enough to afford his own plane to travel the schedule like the hot dogs—a nickname given to the top drivers. Or at least a fancy motor home that could be used at the track.

If he could win the rookie-of-the-year title, good things were sure to follow. Other big sponsorships would come in, and there would be money for better engines, better parts. He could really be competitive, maybe even one day win the big one—the NASCAR championship. Then he could write his own ticket and never have to worry about money again. After all, there was not only money to be won but endorsements and his share of sales of licensed products bearing the likeness of him and the car.

For the time being, he and Mack were owners but knew—and hoped—success would bring a real team owner, or that they would be taken on by a sponsor fielding several teams. Life would be a whole lot easier. As things were, they worked on the car themselves at a rented garage just outside Charlotte, North Carolina, the acknowledged hub of the stock car racing world.

Rick had wanted to race since he was a kid. Now, with no family except a sister up north he seldom saw, he was truly on his own and really didn’t mind being a kind of gypsy. Sure, one day he’d like to be married and settle down, but everything had to happen according to plan. He could not let anything get in his way, especially a beautiful redhead that made him want to kiss her till they were both breathless.

He quickened his pace toward the lounge, because right then a cold shower was what he needed more than anything else.

Later he would figure out how to make Liz Mallory quit.

Because he’d be doing both of them a favor.

“I’m just real sorry things happened like they did,” Mack said to Liz while they were waiting for Rick. “He’s really a nice guy.”

“Till it comes to women at a racetrack,” Liz said. “And he has got to stop thinking that every woman who approaches him wants to go out with him. There are plenty of genuine female race fans who aren’t romantically interested in the drivers, though I realize it must be hard for someone as egotistical as Rick to believe that.

“And I mean it when I say he’s got to be polite to everyone,” she added firmly.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that. Maybe you were coming on too strong, because you wanted to find out as much as you could about Rick and about the team. Ever think about that?”

She hadn’t, but, now that she did, allowed that perhaps Mack had a point. After all, Rick had been working, and she’d tripped over him, causing him to bump his head. No doubt, that had put him in a bad mood. Then she hadn’t gone away when he told her to. “Okay.” She managed a smile. “I’ll agree maybe I came on too strong and let it go.”

“Good. And welcome to the team. Things will be okay, and we’ll all enjoy working together.”

“All set?” Pete called from where he was standing with the camera ready. “The light is good, so I hope he’ll hurry up.”

Suddenly Liz remembered to ask Mack, “Did the new uniforms arrive?”

“Yeah. For the whole crew, too. I have to tell you, we’re going to look good tomorrow. Those are sharp outfits.”

Moments passed. Liz kept glancing at her watch. They were still okay for time but would not be for long.

The noise in the garage area was deafening as drivers pulled off the track. Practice was over. Soon it would be time for the meeting.

“I’m taking everyone out to dinner tonight,” Liz told Mack once things quieted down so he could hear. “It will give us a chance to get to know one another.”

Mack frowned. “Well, that’s nice of you, Liz, but have you told Rick? I mean, he and I are partners and we’ve been the ones to foot most of the bills since we started the team. It’s always been sort of traditional that we take the guys out for steaks the night before qualifying. I don’t think they’d like to change to pizza.

“Oh, not that they don’t like pizza,” he added quickly, eyes worriedly searching Liz’s face in hopes he hadn’t said the wrong thing. “Especially Big Boy’s. That’s one of the reasons we were so tickled when they offered sponsorship, because it’s always been our favorite, and…” He drifted into silence, obviously embarrassed for going on so.

Liz understood and cheerily assured, “Hey, I understand. And there’s no rule that says every time I take the team out we go for pizza. I’ve got an expense account, and steaks work for me. The only thing I’ll change about your tradition is paying the bill. How’s that?”

Mack said it was fine, but Liz knew it wasn’t, because she could tell Rick hadn’t wanted her tagging along. Well, that was just too bad. He was going to have to get used to having her around, as well as her calling the shots on lots of things from now on.

Gingerly she suggested, “Mack, I think you and I should get together for a meeting, just the two of us, and go over a few things. I realize this isn’t a big operation, like Hendrick Motorsports and the Pettys and a lot of others, so there’s not a team manager to really run things. But I can make things a lot smoother by taking care of motel and travel arrangements, in addition to overseeing the budget for expenses connected with team operations in general.”

“And you don’t want Rick to sit in?”

“Not this time. Let’s you and I talk first. I’d really like to go over the budget with you, too, because while I’m sure the sponsors appreciate you cutting corners to stretch the money, there are some things I’m sure they won’t like you skimping on.”

Liz was unaware she could be heard by the crew working on the car next to Rick’s. Not that they were purposely eavesdropping. They were just enjoying a little eye candy in the garage. Like Rick, they could not help but notice and appreciate the way her suit hugged her generous curves.

Concerned over what she had just said, Mack demanded, “Like what? Show me where I’ve skimped on anything.”

“Those tires.” She pointed. “Maybe they aren’t about to blow like you said the old ones were, but I still say they don’t look any better. The tread is completely gone, and—”

Liz was drowned out by a sudden explosion of laughter.

For a few seconds, Mack laughed, too, then, seeing the look on Liz’s face, took her arm and led her away.

“What…what was that all about?” she stammered when they were out of earshot of the others. “What did I say that was so funny?”

“Liz, I need to explain about the tires. They don’t have any tread, because NASCAR doesn’t race in the rain.”

“You mean they never have tread?”

“No. But you couldn’t be expected to know that. And don’t pay any attention to those hyenas laughing about it. You’re a rookie when it comes to racing. But I’ll try to help you learn along the way. Just ask me anything you want to know.”

“Like I asked Rick?” she countered tightly.

“What do you mean?”

“I asked him why the tires on his car didn’t have any tread, and he said it was because they were worn-out.”

She could tell Mack was biting back a grin, which made her all the madder.

“Damn him,” she cursed between clenched teeth. “He knew I’d make a fool of myself with that.”

“No. In all fairness, I doubt he planned it that way. Remember. He didn’t know who you were then. He was just annoyed you were there so he was being a smart aleck.”

Liz supposed that was true but still felt deeply humiliated and vowed to find a way to get him back.

“Here he comes,” Mack said. “Raise hell with him later if you want to, but let’s get these photos over with so he can get to the meeting.”

“By all means,” she said sweetly, turning in the direction of the drivers’ lounge.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Rick was probably the best-looking thing she’d seen since her last Mel Gibson movie. There was only one word to describe him—hunk.

The uniform was formfitting. And what a form he had, she mused, swallowing a sigh. He had not zipped the suit all the way, and dark hairs on his superb chest were provocatively revealed. His narrow waist emphasized great buns, and his relaxed stride was like that of a jungle animal, lazy after feeding yet ready to spring at any moment.

He reached Liz and Mack, his hair still damp from the shower. Liz clenched her fists against the ache to touch it, run her fingers through it. Her gaze dropped to his partially exposed chest, and she felt a stirring of desire to explore there, as well.

“Well, are we ready?”

He spoke curtly, impatiently, which dissipated the spellbound moment for Liz. “Yes, let’s get on with it.”

She turned and walked toward Pete, wishing all the while the sponsor had chosen a married driver…or, at least, one who didn’t heat her blood every time she got near him.

Chapter Three

The restaurant was located right on the beach. Liz tipped the maître d’ to give them a window table for a sweeping view of the ocean.

“Wow, this sure beats that greasy spoon we’re used to,” Benny Dyson, a crew member said. “The food was good, but choice seats there looked out on the swamp and the alligators.”

Rick’s jaw knotted. “Buckeye Joe’s has the best steaks in Daytona, and you know it, Benny.” Liz was in the ladies’ room, and he seized the chance to grouse. “We’ll be lucky to get anything besides caviar and roast duck at a place like this.”

Mack was scanning the menu. “I don’t know about that. They’ve got a sixteen-ounce T-bone that sounds good if she doesn’t mind me ordering something that costs almost thirty bucks.”

“Caviar is good,” Benny said innocently. “I think you ought to lighten up on the babe, Rick. She seems nice, and footing the bill to feed us is even nicer.”

“Let me tell you something.” Rick picked up his fork and shook it at him. “She’s not the one paying. The sponsor is. And I’d rather see thirty bucks spent on the race car.”

“Rick, I agree with Benny,” Mack said. “Lighten up. Buying us dinner is part of the package. Enjoy it.” He turned to Benny. “And if I were you, I’d strike the word babe from my vocabulary. She’s got a name. She expects you to use it.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll watch it. Say, Rick, how come you don’t like her?”

Mack reached for a hot roll a waiter had set on the table, along with a pat of honey butter. “Ah, you know how he feels about women in racing. They get on his nerves.”

“They’re bad luck,” Rick said, not about to divulge his real feelings. “Big Boy’s could just as easily have sent a man to do the PR.”

“But they didn’t,” Mack pointed out. “They sent Liz. And like I’ve been telling you all evening, forget how you two rubbed each other the wrong way. We’ve got a qualifying race to run tomorrow, and you need to focus.”

Oh, he was focusing, all right, Rick thought furiously as he watched Liz approach.

But not on the race.

Mack had told him how humiliated she had been about the tires, and he figured on embarrassing her again. Hopefully she would then have second thoughts.

Maybe, he brooded, he wouldn’t be so opposed to having her around if she weren’t so good-looking. She had gone to her motel from the track, meeting them at the restaurant. She’d happily shared the news her lost luggage had been found and delivered. So she had changed from her business suit into a blue and white pants outfit. The top was scooped low enough to be sexy but still in good taste, and her tiny waist emphasized the rest of her.

She was not wearing her hair in the austere bun; instead it hung softly around her face.

He was glad she had put Mack between them. That made it easier to ignore her…or try to, anyway.

Mack leaped up to pull out her chair. “We were just saying what a nice place this is, Liz. Be sure to tell the VIPs at Big Boy’s we appreciate it.”

She gave everyone at the table a sweeping smile, even Rick. “You can tell them yourselves next Sunday. I had a message waiting at the motel saying Gary Staley, the CEO, is flying a crowd in for the race.”

“So we get to meet them in person,” Mack said. “We’ve only talked on the phone.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve got to make reservations somewhere special for dinner Saturday night, and—”

Benny laughingly interrupted to remark, “Well, how much nicer can it get than this?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a wink, then continued, “I’ll also arrange garage passes for them before the race, and—”

“Hold it.”

All eyes turned on Rick.

“The last thing we need right before a race is a bunch of people getting in the way and asking stupid questions.”

Mack cried, “Hey, wait a minute, Rick. We’re talking about the people footing the bill for you to try to win the rookie title.”

“Which won’t happen if I’ve got to worry with them,” Rick argued. “PR reps for other teams handle the VIPs themselves. They don’t bring them around the driver right before a race.”

“Well, I don’t intend to do that,” Liz defended. “I don’t want them to get in your way, either. So I’ll remedy the situation by keeping them a good distance away, and I will answer their questions.”

“You?” Rick scoffed.

“Sure.”

“You don’t know beans about racing, Liz.”

Mack groaned. “Here we go again. I thought you two called a truce.”

“We have,” Liz said sweetly. “We’re just talking, Mack. We aren’t arguing.”

“Well, you’ve got a week,” Rick said smugly. “Maybe you can learn enough to carry on an intelligent conversation, or fake it, at least.”

A waiter came and took their orders. Liz emphasized they should all have whatever they wanted, regardless of the cost.

After he left, she turned to Rick. “I won’t have to fake it. And I don’t have to take a crash course. I know enough about your car to explain it to them.”

“Yeah? Well, let’s hear it.” Rick leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t have to do anything to humiliate her. He would let her do it herself.

Liz wriggled in her seat, as though eager to show off her knowledge. Then, propping her chin on coyly laced fingers, she began. “Well, I know that the toilet facilities in race cars are being studied by NASA, because they’re thinking about using the same system for the astronauts.”

Benny choked on a bite of roll.

Two of the other crew members, having just sipped their beers, sprayed the table.

Mack cried, “Liz, no—”

She ignored him. “I also know about that little button on the dash that sends a signal to a big computer somewhere to make it fair for everybody to start their cars at the same time.”

“Oh, man.” Benny reached for his water glass, still coughing and choking.

The others reached for their beer, struggling with the hilarity of it all.

Mack grabbed Liz’s wrist. “Hey, you’re just clowning around, right? You don’t really believe all that?”

Making her eyes wide with innocence, Liz replied, “Why, of course I do. I had a very good teacher.”

Mack looked accusingly at Rick, who had been listening stone-faced and silent. “Did you tell her all that crap? I heard about the tires. Jeez, Rick…”

Liz had wasted no time once she got to her motel room unpacking the books she had bought on racing. Scolding herself for not finding the time to do so earlier, she had located information on the construction of race cars and devoured every word.

She relished the astonished look that came over Rick’s face with each word she spoke. “The typical Winston Cup car weighs thirty-four hundred pounds and has a seven- to seven-hundred-fifty-horsepower engine that drives the rear wheels through a four-speed transmission. Top speed is 220 miles an hour. The roll cage inside the car is made of 150 feet of steel tubing to protect the driver. There are no doors, no passenger seat, and no speedometer. The tires have an extra layer of rubber to try to guard against a flat. They’re fortified by a belt network that was designed to keep their shape under extreme stress.”

She paused to sip her wine, reveling in the moment, then continued. “There are two eleven-gallon rubber gas tanks encased in steel for safety, but fuel economy would be a nightmare for the ordinary street car. Race cars only get five miles to the gallon, and, of course, they use a special kind of fuel that is much more expensive than regular gas.”

A hush had fallen over the table.

Rick was the first to break it, not about to let her get the best of him, merely because she’d managed to speed-read some technical stuff before dinner. “Well, now, Liz, that’s real impressive. Maybe with all that information to share, you can keep the bigwigs out of my way.”

“I intend to. But I’m sure they’d like to hear about the toilet facilities. I thought maybe you could explain that to them.”

Mack shook his head. “What in heck did you tell her, Rick?”

The waiter appeared with stuffed shrimp appetizers for everyone. Rick helped himself before flippantly responding. “She can’t take a joke. Or maybe she doesn’t know enough about what’s going on to realize it’s a joke. She asked about that hole in the seat. I made up a story about how it’s the way drivers use the bathroom during a race.”

“When actually,” Liz corrected, “it’s where the driver’s shoulder harness connects. You were just teasing, I know.” She flashed her sweetest smile at Rick, but her eyes were cold. “But enough funny stuff. From now on I would appreciate it if you would tell me the truth when I ask you a technical question, okay?”

Rick gave a curt nod of assent and bristled to think how she might have won the lap but would never finish the race.

Not if he could help it.

Mack breezed into the motel’s coffee shop and went to where Liz was waiting in a booth.

“Is Rick coming?” she asked. She had scheduled a breakfast meeting to go over a few things, and, since the night before, she had arranged for Rick to be a guest on a popular local talk show for that evening.

Mack signaled the waitress for coffee. “He’s taking a shower. He said he’d skip breakfast and head to the track. He wants to get started checking the car out before the races today.”

“Well, I need to tell him about a radio show I’ve got him scheduled to be on tonight.”

Mack’s eyes widened. “The one called Pit Stop?”

She nodded.

“Oh, man, that’s great. During Speed Weeks, it’s broadcast from one of the hottest nightclubs on the beach. He’ll get a lot of exposure.”

“I know. So will you please call him on a house phone and tell him I need to meet with him now?”

Mack frowned. “Liz, he said he’d rather me deal with you, so I’ll tell him about it when I get to the track. I’m sorry, but that’s just how he is.”

“Well, it’s not how I am, and he’s got plenty of time. It’s only seven o’clock. He can be at the track by eight. Now if you don’t want to call him, Mack, I will.”

She started to get up, but Mack waved her to stay seated. “I’ll do it. But I can’t understand why you and I can’t handle everything and leave him out of it.”

“That’s just the point. He is everything. He is the focus of my job. I’ve also arranged an interview for him with an Atlanta journalist. Big Boy’s has sixteen restaurants in the Atlanta area. They’ll be thrilled to see a story about Rick in the paper. I need to tell him what time to meet the writer and where.

“Your job, Mack,” she politely reminded, “is to take care of the car. I plan to ease a lot of your burdens over managing the team to give you more time to do that. Now please get Rick down here so we can discuss all this and get it over with so you can do your job, and I can do mine. Okay?”

Mack made the call and returned to say Rick was on his way. “He’s grumbling, but he’ll be okay.”

Liz couldn’t care less.

About ten minutes later, Rick all but threw himself into the other side of the booth next to Mack. “All right, what’s so important it can’t wait?”

Liz handed him a schedule for the week that she had prepared. “I just wanted a quiet moment to go over all this with the two of you.”

Mack, reading over Rick’s shoulder, said, “This is all PR stuff—appearances at the mall to sign autographs, stuff like that. What has it got to do with me?”

She explained how she needed Mack to know Rick’s schedule so he wouldn’t have him practicing or working on the car at those times. “I’ve checked the track schedule, and I’ve made sure there won’t be any conflicts as far as what he needs to do there. I want you to coordinate with me.”

“Great. No problem.” Mack looked up to see Benny waving from the door. “Gotta go. See you guys later.”

“We’ll have dinner again later in the week,” Liz said.

“Afraid not. My wife’s driving in from Charlotte today and bringing the kids. We’ve got an efficiency, so she’ll be doing some cooking.”

“Well, maybe she can join us,” Liz said. “I’d like to meet her. In fact, I’d like to meet the families of the entire crew. I want us to be like a family, all working together to win and make Rick a star.”

Mack gave her a little salute and left them.

Rick reached for the coffee Mack hadn’t had time to drink. “I knew he was going to duck out and leave me with all this.”

“All what?” Liz said, troubled that he continued to resent her at every turn. “I just want to make sure you understand about the show tonight, what time you need to be there, and—”

“The show,” he scoffed, staring down at the schedule. “Now I know some drivers who aren’t rookies that haven’t been able to get on there. Pit Stop features the biggies, not the little guys like me. But—” he paused to give his most mocking grin “—I guess that’s an advantage to having a female PR person, right?”

“Wrong.” Liz was fast getting her dander up. She knew what he was implying and didn’t like it.

“Then how did you arrange it? Tell me. I’d like to hear. Exactly how did you manage within twenty-four hours of arriving in Daytona to get me on that show tonight?”

“I met Jimmy Barnes, the host, at a party last night.”

“A party. After you left us at the restaurant, you went to a party.”

“That’s right. The invitation was in my press package. I was introduced to Jimmy, and I told him about you and the new sponsorship, and he said great, he’d like to have you on his show tonight. Simple as that.”

Rick knew it wasn’t that simple at all. Jimmy Barnes had been turned on by Liz like any normal man would be, and he’d let her wheedle him into putting him on the show. Maybe some drivers would consider that an advantage—having a sexy female pave the way for them—but not Rick.

Still, he knew better than to gripe about it. He did need the exposure. And he wanted it badly. That’s how other sponsors became interested in a driver.

“Well, that’s nice, Liz. I’ll look forward to it.”

Something in his voice raised suspicion that he wasn’t all that pleased, but not about the show. He probably thought she had flirted with Jimmy Barnes to get him on there. But she hadn’t.

One of the things Liz adhered to was her personal rule that she would not use womanly guile to open doors. Yes, she would try to dress nicely, but she would be all business. If anyone got any ideas, she set them straight. And that was how she intended to conduct herself in the racing world.