Elusive Dawn (18 page)

"Secrets, ladies?"
Shane draped an arm around Robyn's shoulders and smiled down at her.

"We're plotting your downfall, of course," Kris supplied instantly.

"It's a little late for that." Shane grinned as he watched his friend take the hand of his own lady, and then he shook his head in mock sorrow. "You two ladies plotted far too well in the beginning. We've fallen about as far as we can fall."

"She plotted." Robyn sent a demure glance up at Shane. "I cast spells."

"You don't have to remind me of that, witch!" Shane chuckled softly. "I'll never be the same again."

"And aren't you glad-"

"Glad? What man happily welcomes insanity?" Shane retorted.

Eric interrupted as Robyn was playfully trying to strangle her favorite
dragonslayer
. "As much as I hate to put an end to this little scene," he said dryly, "I'm afraid I have to. Shane, Jordan's threatening dire things if you don't present yourself this afternoon. And since he
is
your biggest sponsor..."

"What's he afraid I'll do-run off with the car?"

"Ask him. I'm just passing the message along."

Shane sighed. "All right, then." He winked at Robyn. "Come along with me, witch. I'll introduce you."

"Like this?" She looked down at her jeans and casual top. "I'm not dressed to meet sponsors!"

"Nonsense.
You'll melt his crusty, money-grubbing little heart."

"Oh no.
You can't hide behind me. I'm not big enough!"

"You'll be all he'll see..." Shane purred.

As the week wore on, Robyn found that she was actually enjoying spending most of her time in the large open garage, smelling grease and oil and fuel, listening to men calling out to one another, and growing accustomed to the clank of tools and the roar of engines.

It had never occurred to Brian to ease her fear by exposing her to racing, by giving her a behind-the-scenes look at the sport. And Robyn had wanted no part of it then. But she was determined to learn now, and learn she did.

She sat in on strategy meetings with Shane, Eric, and the "foreman" of the pit crew, Sonny, who was middle-aged, stout, and had a
weatherbeaten
face and shrewd gray eyes. Silently, she listened as they discussed which drivers would likely be racing and what their habits were.

Shane put her behind the wheel of the T-Bird one day and had her drive once around the track by herself.
Vaguely worried that he was breaking a rule by having her do that, Robyn nonetheless found herself fascinated by this new perspective.
The audible power of the car made her a bit uneasy, but when it responded instantly to even her inexperienced hand, she relaxed and enjoyed the brief trip.

She met the representatives of various sponsors, learned the names of everyone in the pit crew, and was introduced to sports reporters as Shane's "lady."

Inevitably, "lady" stuck. Whenever Shane came back into the garage after being absent for some reason, his first words would be: "Where's my lady?" If Robyn wasn't immediately produced, he'd keep asking until somebody found her. After the track was nearly turned upside down one day-Robyn and Kris had gone for hamburgers and forgotten to tell anyone-Sonny made it his business always to know where Shane's lady was so he wouldn't be yelled at.

And the entire crew called her Lady as if it were her name.

"You'll always be Lady to them," Kris remarked once in amusement.

"I know. Isn't it sweet?"

Robyn was a bit puzzled, though, at the careful, respectful way the men treated her. Having been an Army brat, she knew very well that when groups of men worked together, there was always a great deal of good-natured roughness, swearing, and rather ribald teasing. That wouldn't have bothered her in the least.

Being wrapped in cotton wool did.

While Shane was in a meeting with track officials on Thursday morning, Robyn cornered Eric to demand what was going on. She found him seated behind a table that served as a makeshift desk, paying far more attention to the blonde in his lap than to the papers spread out before him.

"Excuse me?" Robyn said politely.

Eric, like Shane, was not easily embarrassed. He simply lifted his head, leisurely, and stared at Robyn. "Yes?" he queried with equally bland politeness.

"What's going on?" Robyn leaned her palms on the table and tactfully ignored the flush on her cousin's face. "Shorty nearly had a heart attack when he almost ran into me a minute ago. And Sonny hovers over me like a mother hen. Why am I being treated like I'm made of porcelain?"

Kris giggled, and Eric's lips twitched. "That's Shane's fault, I'm afraid," he confessed.

"What did Shane do?" Robyn asked blankly.

"Put the fear of God into them!" Kris laughed.

"I beg your pardon?" Robyn looked from one to the other.

"Shane had a talk with the men," Eric drawled, amusement in his light blue eyes. "The gist of which was that if any one of them hurt, frightened, embarrassed, or otherwise disturbed you, he would be quite displeased.
So displeased that he would very likely tie the offender to the rear bumper of his car and drive around the track a few thousand times."

Robyn found that her mouth was hanging open, and she hastily closed it. "Well, no wonder I'm being treated like a leper," she muttered. "Don't tell me they believed him?"

"I would have if I'd been in their shoes," Eric replied.

Torn between being warmed by Shane's concern and amused at the situation he had created, Robyn shook her head slowly. "It's got to stop. I'm going to be underfoot for a while at least, and they won't be able to get any work done if they're terrified of tripping over me."

"Sit in a corner." Kris suggested with a grin.

"Then I
would
be treated like porcelain." Robyn frowned thoughtfully. "No, I'll try something else." Without another word to the amused couple watching her, she turned and made her way back to the car.

She watched the activity for a while,
then
looked down at her shorts and sweatshirt with a faint grimace. Well, she wasn't exactly dressed for it, but she wasn't about to go on being treated like a delicate doll if she could help it. Pushing up the sleeves of her shirt, she set about making herself useful.

For the first hour or so, the men greeted her attempts with bemused wariness, but things rapidly loosened up when they discovered that she knew what she was doing. Amusement grew when she dropped a wrench and swore violently, and when she teased Shorty because he turned red every time she spoke to him.

By the time she had recalled several slightly off-color jokes from her Army days and busily replaced three spark plugs, she was well on her way to being everyone's kid sister.

"Hand me that wrench, Lady, will you?"

"Not that way, Lady-turn it to the left.
Yeah, like that."

"I'll toss you to see who goes for lunch. What do you mean, you'll flip the coin? I don't trust you. Shane probably gave you his two-headed quarter!"

"Your father was in the Army? I remember once..."

"No, Lady, Shane won't be mad because you sat on his hat. It was his fault for leaving it on the seat anyway."

"And then the General's wife..."

"Lady, toss me that filter, will you? I said
toss
it- don't sail it like a Frisbee!"

"No, Shorty doesn't mind getting oil in his eye. Tell Lady you don't mind getting oil in your eye, Shorty.
Shorty?
Of course he didn't drown. People don't drown in oil.
Shorty?"

"And she shoved him out the window because the General was coming, but the bedroom was on the second floor, so..."

"Lady, put your hair up under this cap. No, the sponsor won't mind. Besides, it never looked that good on Shane."

"The drive shaft's connected to the... Hey, Sonny, what's the drive shaft connected to?"

"Hell, you mean you don't know? Uh oh, we're all in trouble."

"... and he wanted to know how Joe had managed to break his leg on level ground right beneath the General's window..."

"Here, Lady, you can't lift that. Let me. Wait a minute-I can't lift it, either.
Shorty?
Shorty! Of course he's not hiding from you, Lady."

"... and the General never could understand why that pair of shoes under the bed didn't fit him."

"Paul, hand Lady that hose... Because her hands are smaller and she can get it into place better than I can."

"No, Shorty didn't mind that you stepped on his toes. He shouldn't have been standing there. You didn't mind, did you, Shorty?"

"Lady, take this rag and put it in your pocket; you shouldn't wipe your hands on your shirt. No pockets? Then... yeah, do that. You look like an Arab with it draped over your cap."

"...
so
this Captain walked in one day, and..."

"Here, I'll give you a boost. Crank her up and let's hear how she sounds."

"Of course there's no radio. This is a
race
car."

"... the base PX just didn't have what he wanted, so..."

"Lady, Shorty's eye isn't black. That's the oil from before. And he knows you didn't
mean
to hit him with your elbow. It was
all his
fault. It was all your fault, wasn't it, Shorty?"

"...
so
the Captain says..."

Kris wandered in sometime during the morning and watched with wide eyes, shaking her head when Robyn winked at her. She headed back toward Eric, apparently to report the changed attitude among the crew.

When Shane finally got back, Robyn was flat on her back on a wooden creeper underneath the car, helping Shorty.

"Where's my lady?"

She heard Shane's bellow and the answering rumble of male voices. She peered sideways and saw his feet stop beside her own.

"What
are
you doing under there?"

"How do you know it's me?" she asked loftily. "I could be somebody else."

Shane's foot nudged her bare ankle. "Nobody else has legs like these. Why are you trysting with Shorty under the car?"

"I'm not trysting. I'm ruining my nails."

Shane bent down to grasp her ankle, pulling her and the creeper out from under the car. He took the wrench out of her hand, pulled her to her feet, and sent the creeper rolling away with a thrust of his foot. Then he stared at her.

"Should I ask why you're wearing a cloth over your hat? Or why you're wearing
my
hat? Or why you have a smudge of grease on your nose?" His voice was solemn.

"No."

He sighed and pulled the cloth off her hat. Using the cloth to wipe the grease away, he said, "I seem to spend half my time either putting something on your nose or taking something off it. Why didn't you put on a pair of coveralls if you wanted to tinker?"

"Sonny found three pairs, and I got lost in all of them. Apparently, there aren't many small mechanics."

"Fancy that." He tossed the cloth aside and then pulled off the hat and tossed it aside, too. Abruptly serious, his emerald eyes searched hers intently. "Are you all right, honey?
Really all right?"

Robyn smiled and stood on tiptoe to link her arms around his neck. "I'm really all right," she confirmed softly. She smiled
sunnily
. "But I think Shorty wants to talk to you about a raise..."

As the qualifying laps scheduled for Saturday and Sunday drew near, tension increased noticeably among the men. Activity picked up around the track as all the cars arrived, and the place was hectic with noise and semi-organized confusion. Reporters multiplied in number, and flashbulbs began going off unexpectedly.

Robyn felt the growing tension but refused to let it get to her. The days and nights spent with Shane had given her something very precious to hold on to, and her determination to conquer her fear remained fixed in her mind.

She knew that Shane was watching her carefully, knew that he would instantly withdraw from the race if she showed any signs of the torturing fear. That she showed no signs had nothing to do with her ability to pretend; it was impossible to hide her feelings from him.

But somehow, she had gained strength from Shane and from their love. Knowing that he supported her fully, she was able to look at her fear, for the first time, rationally.

Why had she been so terrified of Brian's racing?
Because she had loved him, certainly.
But there had been more to it than that. From the very beginning, racing had possessed more of Brian than she had. It had been worse than his infidelity would have been. She could have fought another woman; she couldn't fight a car.

Because racing had possessed so much of Brian, she had convinced herself that it would take all of him. As she had gone with him from city to city, race to race, he had become more and more possessed with the determination to win every time. He had hungered for the Winston Cup, NASCAR's top award, the way another man might have hungered for the woman of his dreams.

And Robyn had grown more terrified.

A normal, reasonable fear of high speeds and danger, coupled with the memory of her father's death at the hands of a drunk driver, had grown into something all-consuming.

Safe in the haven of Shane's love, Robyn looked back on her fear with detached analytical interest.

What had frightened her the most? That Brian would be killed? Or that she was becoming a vague shadow by his side, unimportant, unneeded?
Lost in the wake of a speeding car.

Quiet fear, loneliness, resentment, jealousy, ignorance of the sport, hatred of it-all had twisted into terror. A terror she had been unable to fight, even to understand, because there had been no solid foundation to stand on. There had been no loving arms to hold her close at night, at morning, at mid-afternoon. No booming voice demanding to know where his lady was.

How much laughter had she shared with Brian? How many times had she awakened, cold and lonely, with nothing to hold but her growing fear? How many times had a quiet instinct deep inside her murmured that Brian would have been just as happy with another woman, just as pleased by another body in his bed?