He’d had to park his truck after taking Jason out, not because he’d been ordered to do so—NASCAR had asked the two of them to appear at their trailer after the race—but because it was wrecked too badly to continue.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Adam.”
“He deserved it, Becca.”
“You could have been hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.
To his surprise, she let him touch her—but only for a split second. When the sliding glass door opened, she pulled back, quickly glancing toward the front of the hauler where a crew member entered with an armful of brake duct vents.
“You were lucky this time,” she said softly, crossing her arms in front of her. “Next time you pull a stunt like that you might not walk away.”
“There won’t be a next time, Becca,” he said softly. “I promise.”
“There better not be. I realize the truck was wrecked beyond repair, but at least some parts might have been salvagable. Now I have nothing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” she said. “As it stands, NASCAR might take your license away. You’re driving on a
provisional
basis. They could pull your permit just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And if they do that you won’t race again until next year.”
“So? I don’t care if I have to wait a few months.”
“But
I
do,” she said, and suddenly her exhaustion looked more pronounced. “I’m running a business here, one that needs a victory in order to help bolster confidence in its investors.”
“You have investors?”
“I was speaking figuratively,” she said, swiping her hand through her hair, the look in her green eyes tinged with fatigue—and something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. “What I meant were my sponsors. They need a win in order to help generate some publicity. Publicity means TV time and that’s why they put their name on the hood of my truck. Positive TV time, not you smashing the front of your truck—one with
their
logo on it—into the side of someone else’s truck.”
He gave her a smile. “But you gotta admit, the fans loved it.”
“You can wipe that smile off your face, Adam, because it’s not going to make me feel any better about what happened. If NASCAR suspends you, I’ll have to terminate your contract.”
“Would you really do that?”
“I might,” she said softly. “I
would,
” she corrected, “because I wouldn’t have a choice. I need this team to succeed, and I can’t afford to let my personal feelings enter into it.”
“It just about killed you to watch me out there, didn’t it?”
He watched her swallow, watched her mouth open and close before she said, “I’ve watched a hundred men drive around a track before.”
“But not since Randy have you cared about one.”
She looked away, shook her head. “Don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t do this, Adam.”
“Don’t do what?” he asked, moving close to her again because he knew what he’d said was true. “Don’t tell you how much I care for you?”
She met his gaze again, only suddenly something changed in her eyes. “Don’t put yourself in the same category as Randy.”
That hurt, but she’d meant it to. “I’m
not
Randy,” he said. “I’m Adam Drake. Randy is dead.”
She nodded, saying, “I know exactly who you are. And that’s the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that you should focus on driving a race truck. Nothing more.”
“Hi, Becca.”
They both turned. “Hey, Lindsey,” she said.
Lindsey glanced between the two. “Umm, hi. I, uh, hope I’m not interrupting.”
“We’re finished,” Becca said. “I’m going to meet with NASCAR now,” she called out over her shoulder, stopping by the entrance, her hand on the glass door. “You’d better hurry. They don’t appreciate being made to wait.”
A cool breeze that smelled like oil and solvent slipped inside the trailer as Becca stepped outside.
“Boy, she’s mad.”
“That she is,” Adam said, frustration causing him to run his hands through his hair.
“Did you two break up?”
“Lindsey, it’d be hard to break up when we’re not even a couple.”
“But you should be together, Dad. She’s a great person.”
As if he didn’t know that. He held up a hand. “Lindsey, please, let’s not talk about this now.”
“Okay,” she said, “even though it might help if we talked about it—”
“Lindsey—”
“Okay, okay,” she said holding up a hand. And then her face brightened. “That was a great race, Dad. The way you took out Jason Ingle. Awe. Some. Everyone in the suite was cheering you on.”
“Thanks,” he said, opening his arms when she moved toward him.
“Don’t be worried about NASCAR,” she said as she hugged him. “Nobody blames you for taking Jason out.”
“I know,” Adam said.
“And don’t be worried about Becca. She’ll come around.”
“Lindsey, I’m not worried about Becca. I was just thinking about my meeting with NASCAR and how I better get over there.”
John came up behind him then, the crew chief motioning him toward the entrance of the hauler. “Don’t you have a meeting to go to?”
“I do,” Adam said, stepping back and ruffling Lindsey’s hair. “Keep an eye on her, will you?”
“Will do,” John said.
“Don’t go far from the hauler,” Adam ordered.
“I won’t,” Lindsey said after a roll of her eyes.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Okay,”
Lindsey said impatiently, waving him away. “Jeesh,” she muttered.
“What were they talking about?” John said, lowering his voice as he glanced toward the entrance. “Brent said Adam and Becca were arguing.”
“They were,” Lindsey said.
“That’s not good,” another crew member said, having entered the big rig right after her dad had left, a pair of headers in his hands.
“No,” Lindsey said. “It’s not. And it makes me think a 911 is in order.”
The two guys stared down at her with amused looks on their faces, but Lindsey was used to grown-ups looking at her like that.
“You know,” her dad’s crew chief said. “I really pity your father.”
“And Ms. Newman,” the other guy added.
“Why would you feel sorry for them?” Lindsey asked. “Once I get the two of them together they’ll realize how perfect they are for each other. Until then, I’m going to keep doing what I can to help them along.”
“
That’s
why I feel sorry for them,” John said. “Because I have a feeling they have no idea what they’re up against.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LINDSEY ACTED that night, not that her dad knew what was going on. Oh, no. All he heard when he walked into the hauler after getting a polite but tersely worded warning from NASCAR was, “Lindsey’s gone.”
Adam paused, the glass door gliding to a smooth shut behind him. “Gone?” he asked John. “What do you mean gone?”
“She disappeared right after you left for your meeting. Said she’d be right back and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
John shook his head, not looking him in the eye, Adam assumed out of guilt. “I thought she was running to the bathroom, but we’ve been so busy packing up, I didn’t bother to ask if that’s where she was going for sure.”
“Maybe she’s still there,” Adam muttered.
“Maybe,” John said.
But something was up. The look on John’s face was one he recognized from years of putting up with Lindsey’s antics. Not to mention, there was something hovering around the edges of the other crew member’s mouth, something that looked suspiciously like laughter.
“What’s going on?” Adam asked John, giving his crew chief a look that would have put the fear of God into Lindsey—had she been around.
“Nothing,” his crew chief said with a small shrug.
“Bull,” Adam said. “My daughter’s up to something and you’re in on it. Spill.”
John looked above Adam’s head, to the left of Adam’s ear, anywhere but at Adam. But then he said, “All right. Fine.” Guilt hovered in his eyes. “I was supposed to stall, to give her time to get away, but I can’t do that to you. Here,” he said, pulling out a piece of paper. “She wanted me to give this to you.”
Adam looked between John and the piece of paper for a second before snatching the thing away. “Dad” was written on the front, the A in the shape of a heart.
Nice try, kid.
Okay, so I know you really like Becca Newman. Maybe not love, but that could happen if you stop dilly-dallying around. So I say go for it. She’s perfect for you. Plus I think she needs you. I was watching her during the race through a pair of binoculars. Dad, she looked really freaked. You should get her alone and try and figure out what’s wrong. But I know you won’t while I’m around and so I’m spending the night in Blain and Cece Sanders’ motorcoach. (They have an XBox!) I know, I know. I should have asked your permission, and Cece won’t let me stay unless I do that. And so I’m going to write her cell phone number down at the bottom. Call her and tell her it’s okay, all right, Dad? You
need
to do this. If you wait too long, I have a feeling it might be too late. Go, Dad. Go, go, go. I’ll be cheering you from the stands (or Cece’s motorcoach) just like I always do.
Love,
Lin
Adam scanned the number down below, Cece having jotted a line down next to it:
She’ll be fine. Go to Becca. Like Lindsey says (and you have a very bright daughter!), Becca needs you. I think something’s wrong, but I don’t know what. She won’t talk to me. Maybe you’ll have better luck. And in case you’re wondering, she doesn’t have a motorcoach. She’s staying at the Giraldi Hotel. Cece.
And so there it was. A conspiracy. One he appeared to be hip deep in.
“Mrs. Sanders told me it’d be all right to let Lindsey go with her. I hope you’re not pissed.”
Adam scanned his emotions. He wasn’t exactly mad. Maybe a little peeved, because if his daughter had told him what she’d planned he would have told her exactly what was wrong with Becca Newman.
She was still in love with her dead husband.
“No, I’m not mad,” he said.
Becca came in behind them, not even looking him in the eye as she passed. John’s brows hiked up like a drawbridge. Adam shook his head. Their meeting with NASCAR hadn’t gone all that well. And while Adam hadn’t been suspended, he’d been put on probation. Becca had been fined, and as she’d confessed on their way back—in clipped vowels—it was money she could ill afford.
Shit.
The only good news was that Becca had promised to fire Jason. That made things barely more tolerable.
He swiped a hand over his face. John kept staring at him. Behind and around them the crew continued to pack things up as they prepared to leave. The aisle continued to grow more and more crowded with toolboxes, tire carriers and other items that didn’t fit into the dark gray cabinets. Any minute now Becca would come out of the lounge with her stuff, nod goodbye to him and take off for her rental car.
And that’s exactly what happened. She stepped around a tool cart, around a spare tranny and over some brake duct tubing, never making eye contact as she shuffled by him and a few other crew members. “Good job, guys,” she said, smiling in the direction of a tire changer. “See you next week.”
And that was that. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, slid open the door and slipped outside.
“Well?” John asked, his blue crew uniform looking rumpled.
Adam glanced toward the glass doors, the light from inside the hauler casting a silver sheen on top of the glass and making it impossible to see outside.
“Damn it,” he said.
“Go,” John said.
When Adam looked back, it wasn’t just John staring at him with raised eyebrows, the other guys staring, too. “What, does everybody know what’s going on?”
“Yup,” John said. “Might not be obvious to you, but it’s obvious to us. Becca Newman needs someone like you, Adam, someone who’s not afraid to confront Randy’s memory.”
“And it wouldn’t bug any of you guys if we got together?”
“Are you kidding?” John asked. “We’ll all be jealous as hell, but glad for Ms. Newman. She’s an amazing lady.”
Funny how those words struck him. He’d thought to himself that he’d like to be with Becca Newman, but until that moment he hadn’t realized how much. He shook his head, wondering how it was that he could care so much about a woman he’d only just met.
Because it was like John said—she was pretty incredible.
“Guess I’ll be on my way,” Adam said.