Race To The Altar

It had also taken skill as a driver, which Rick obviously had. He and Mack were longtime friends from a small town in Georgia. They had formed the team and run the short tracks all over the Southeast. Rick had won several local championships, made a name for himself and now he had been given a chance to run with the hot dogs.

Liz made a face to recall her humiliation in the press box. Though sorely tempted, she’d not said a word to Rick and spent little time in the garage, instead focusing on the press kits and getting them distributed, as well as trying to line up publicity for him.

She had approached him only when she needed to talk to him about something specific—like the autographing he’d done earlier in the week at a nearby mall. She had been quite impressed at the crowd he’d drawn. He was obviously popular with his fans, and she hoped to make him even more so and win new ones.

She read in his bio again about his degree from Georgia Tech in automotive engineering. He had probably commanded a high salary in that field before giving it up to go into racing full-time.

She took out the color photos from the press kit. She especially liked the one of Rick beside the race car. He made wonderful pictures, his dark, rugged good looks coming through on camera.

As always, Liz found herself wondering about his personal life and what he would be doing on a day others were with their families. Someone so handsome was bound to be in a relationship, which would explain his ambivalence to the beautiful young women who flocked around him at every opportunity. If so, it was an admirable trait. She liked loyalty in a man…something she, unfortunately, had yet to experience.

But she did not envy Rick’s girlfriend his archaic views toward women. Maybe she never showed up at the track because he made it clear he thought it was no place for females. Probably he kept her in what he considered her place—at home.

That would never work for Liz. But it didn’t matter. She was hoping if all went well, Jeff would move her on up the ladder to bigger accounts. So it wasn’t as if she would have to remain Rick’s PR rep for the duration of his sponsorship with Big Boy’s Pizza.

She wondered about her own schedule. The next race was in Rockingham, North Carolina, in only a week. Qualifying would begin midweek, which gave her just a few days to return to Charlotte and settle into her new apartment. She’d rented it on the Internet and hoped it would be okay. It really made no difference, though, because with a thirty-four-race schedule to follow, she’d hardly be home long enough to unpack, do her laundry, then throw everything back in her suitcase.

A glance at the clock told her she still had plenty of time to get dressed for lunch. Still, a long, soaking bath would be nice.

She was about to step into the tub when the phone rang. It was Rick, and he sounded annoyed.

“I need your help.”

She went into her public relations mode, sounding cordial but all business. “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

“Meet me in the parking lot. We need to get to the track right away. I’ll drive.”

“But—”

He hung up before she could begin firing questions, such as how long did he need her…and for what? Maybe she should have told him earlier about her luncheon appointment with his sponsor, and then he would’ve known she didn’t have time to ride out to the track.

She tried to call his room, but there was no answer, which meant he was on his way to his car. She had managed to get a room at the same motel as the team for convenience sake. Now she wondered if that had been a smart idea.

She yanked on her sneakers and hurried downstairs. She wasn’t thrilled over anyone seeing her dressed as she was, but she was in a hurry to let Rick know he had to find someone else.

Pushing through the doors to the outside, she saw him parked at the curb, the car’s engine running.

She opened the passenger door and leaned in. “Listen, I can’t go,” she began. “I forgot to tell you—”

And that was all she had time to say before he reached to grab her arm and pull her in. “Sorry, but there’s nobody else. The guys are at the beach.”

“But I can’t go. I’ve got an important lunch date.”

He squealed tires leaving the parking lot. “Your boyfriend can wait.”

“It’s not with a boyfriend.” Liz was having a hard time getting her seat belt fastened as he hurtled through traffic. “And I wish you’d slow down. You’re going to get a ticket.”

“Sorry.” He eased back on the gas. “I’m just in a hurry to get to the track and get started.”

“Doing what? And by the way, the lunch date is with your sponsor. The VIPs are coming in, as well as my boss from New York, and—”

“Your boss can handle it. Isn’t your job to help me?”

“Yes, in PR matters, but I can’t think of anything going on at the track you need me for.”

“It’s not PR. And I hate asking you to do it, but it’s got to be done, and I can’t trust anybody but you.”

“Sounds real James Bond,” she said, annoyed, “but I still need to make that appointment on time.” If he needed help, and she could provide it, she supposed that was part of her job. After all, if he was stressed, it could not only affect his driving but the persona he presented to the public as well. “How long will it take?”

“Don’t know yet. Don’t even know if it’s going to be necessary, but I can’t risk not checking it out.”

“Well, can’t you tell me what it’s about?”

“It’s about the team maybe getting fined anywhere from twenty-five to fifty thousand dollars.”

Liz nearly choked on a gasp. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Afraid not. There have been a lot of violations lately, and somebody just called to tip me off that NASCAR is going to do some surprise inspections of fuel tanks late this afternoon. I need to make sure ours is okay.”

“Well…well, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Everybody is supposed to run the same kind of fuel, bought at the track. But there’s always somebody trying to find a way to cheat.”

Liz flashed him a look of disgust. “Like you were obviously planning to do, and now you’re scared you’ll get caught.”

“Not exactly. Mack was telling me somebody has come up with an oxygen enhancer. It’s an improper additive. We didn’t plan to use it, but Mack did say he got hold of some and thought about testing it out in practice just for the fun of it, to see if it worked. Nothing wrong there, but—” he paused for emphasis “—if it’s still in there when NASCAR does a check, they aren’t going to believe we never intended to use it for the race. So I need to make sure everything is okay.”

“By doing what?”

“By draining the fuel out and putting the right kind back in.”

“And what do you need me for?” Liz didn’t like being a part of it.

“To keep an eye out for any NASCAR officials roaming in the garage till I can get rid of it. But it may not be in there. Mack might have been running his mouth. Who knows? But I can’t take any chances.”

“Well, he never should have put it in there to start with, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” Though it was not in her job description, Liz knew when she saw Mack she’d say something to him about even toying with anything illegal. The sponsor would be furious if the team were caught and fined.

“Okay, so maybe we do need to check, but I’m not dressed for this,” she grumbled.

Rick was pleased she wasn’t. That would add to her misery. It was a hot day, even for Daytona in February, and the humidity was so thick you could almost slice it. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some overalls in the truck. You can wear those.”

“As hot as it is? I’ll die.”

“Can’t be helped. They’d never let you through the garage gate wearing shorts, even if you do have a pass.” He stole a look at her legs. Nice and shapely. And if he ran his hand across her thighs, her skin would probably feel like satin—

Perspiration beaded his forehead, and he knew it was not from the heat outside.

“Overalls.” Liz sank down in the seat looking as if she wished she were anywhere but there. “I hope this won’t take long.”