So he
hadn’t
misheard her. “You agreed to do
what?
”
Her smile widened, deepening the lines between her cheekbones and her nose, tiny dimples appearing near the corners of her mouth. It was a crooked smile, he noticed, the right side of her mouth lifting higher than the other.
“Talk to you about a job,” she said, tipping her head sideways, the red hair he’d always admired on TV looking even prettier in person.
“Now why’d you go and do that?” he asked, though he did so more to distract himself from her toned and tan stomach than anything else. That stomach was perfectly accentuated by an off-white swimsuit, a matching skirt hugging her waist. And just at the waistline—was that a belly button ring?
Rebecca Newman, widow of NASCAR legend Randy Newman, wore a
belly button ring?
He didn’t know whether to be shocked or intrigued.
“Look, Ms. Newman.” He stopped himself from running his fingers over his face a second time. “There’s no need to adhere to any bargain. I didn’t raise her to bribe people into doing what she wanted, and I don’t think it’d set a good example if you do what she asks.”
“Don’t you want to drive for me?”
Actually, what he wanted to do was quit stealing glances at her damn belly button ring. “I think you and I both know I’m not exactly qualified for the job.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked again because he just couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with her.
“Nope. Let’s sit down over there beneath the umbrella while we chat.”
“Ms. Newman, really, you don’t have to do this,” he said, a breeze kicking up and bringing with it the smell of water and pine. “You can tell Lindsey that you and I talked while she was gathering her things. Speaking of which, how much do I owe you for the swimsuit, ’cause I’m certain she didn’t pack one for her trip down here.”
“Call me Becca,” she said, tipping her head in the opposite direction. “And you’re right, she didn’t pack a bathing suit, I bought it for her on the way home from the shop, but you’re not reimbursing me and you’re not slipping away, either. I promised your daughter we’d chat and so we’ll chat.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Not really,” she said, taking a seat beneath a square umbrella, the water refracting light onto the underside and looking like a miniature Aurora Borealis. “Didn’t you used to drive the Silver Crown circuit?”
“Yeah. But only for a couple years.”
“A year and a half,” she corrected, and at the raised eyebrows he shot her she said, “I checked up on you.”
“Then you know how messed up that year and a half was.”
“No. What I know is that you almost won the championship your first full season doing the circuit. And that you almost won a Southeast Tour race last month, despite having limited time in the driver’s seat of a heavier car.”
“But I didn’t pull it off.”
“Because you lack experience. But you almost won that championship. Probably would have, too, if not for your ex-wife.”
He just about shot up from his chair. “Where the heck did you hear about
that?
”
“Relax,” she said with another smile. “Your daughter told me the story. Tough break,” she said. “Or should I say dirty pool on John Garreth’s part? I’ve heard he does whatever it takes to win.”
“No one forced my wife to sleep with him.”
“No, but if another driver had come on to me while Randy was alive, I’d have decked him.”
And there it was again—that brief hint of loss he saw lingering in her eyes.
You shouldn’t be checking out Randy Newman’s widow.
“Yeah, but you have class. My ex-wife didn’t.”
She seemed surprised, and then maybe flattered because he could have sworn she blushed. “Thanks,” she said. And then her eyes narrowed. “I think.”
“No. You do,” he said. “I could tell the moment I first saw you.”
“So why don’t you want to drive for me?”
“I never said I
didn’t
want to drive for you.”
“So…talk to me. Tell me why I should give you a shot.”
She was serious. “Look, Ms. Newman—”
“Becca,” she quickly corrected again.
“Becca,” he said, although it felt weird to call her that. “I would love a shot at driving for you, but the fact is, I can’t.”
“Because of Lindsey?”
“She’s my first priority.”
“She wants this for you.”
“She has no idea what being a professional race car driver entails.”
“She wants to find out.”
“It’s a pipe dream.”
“Maybe,” she said with another tilt of her head, red hair falling in thick waves over her right shoulder. “Maybe not.”
“If you’re about to offer me a job, save your breath.”
“Actually,” she said, “I’m not. What I’m about to offer you is seat time at next month’s time trials.”
He went speechless.
“They’re in Charlotte and Martinsville, so you’d have to travel a bit. And you’d have to compete with other drivers.” She smiled dryly. Insiders call it
The Variety Show,
but if you’re any good, you might get a chance at making a team, and not just
my
team but a Sanders race team, as well.”
Funny, as he sat there listening to her he could think of a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea—his job back home, Lindsey’s schooling, his age—and yet the main reason he didn’t want to do it had nothing to do with
any
of that.
He didn’t want to do it because if he failed, he’d end up looking like a fool in front of Rebecca Newman, and suddenly that just wouldn’t do.
CHAPTER TWO
HER DAD THOUGHT Rebecca Newman was hot.
Lindsey watched from the other side of the kitchen’s sliding glass door, staring at her dad in amazement as he said something to Rebecca Newman and then looked away, just like Tim Roseburg looked away from
her
whenever they made eye contact.
Brandy, her best friend, said Tim Roseburg had a crush on her.
Lindsey felt her brows lift so high it tugged at her hairline.
Ohmygosh,
she thought, bouncing up on her toes. If her dad thought Becca was hot, that would be so cool. Maybe he would ask her out. Maybe Becca would fall in love with him. Maybe they’d get married and they’d move to Mooresville and her dad would become a famous race car driver.
Or maybe not, watching as her dad shook his head, his expression grim.
It looked like they were arguing. Was he refusing to try out for Becca? She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, thinking,
Yup, that’s exactly what he was doing.
He’d used the same expression last year when she’d asked him for a cell phone.
Darn it. Now what?
She just knew her dad would kick butt at the tryouts. And she knew Becca would really like her dad if given half a chance. Brandy’s mom thought he was a hunk. Frankly, that grossed her out, but she had a feeling Brandy’s mom was right. Women always gawked at her dad. But her dad didn’t look at Brandy’s mom like he was looking at Becca now. Not even close.
He shook his head again and Lindsey realized she better do something quick. “I’m back,” she called after opening the door so fast, it banged against the dividing pane with a clunk. She winced and pulled the thing closed more slowly. When she turned back, both adults were staring at her.
Uh-oh.
“Hey, Dad, did Becca tell you she likes to fish? I couldn’t believe that when I heard it because I didn’t think there was a woman in the world who liked to fish. I know I sure don’t, and so when I heard that I thought you two should go out fishing together.”
Her dad’s frown turned into a glower.
“Or not,” she added.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Um, yeah. I suppose. But I thought maybe we could all sit down and have dinner….”
“I ate on the way here,” he said gruffly.
“Yeah, but I didn’t, and Becca told me her housekeeper makes these really great burritos—”
“We’ll get something on the way,” her dad said, standing, but he was so tall, he had to duck until he was away from the shelter of the umbrella.
“Ms. Newman, it was a pleasure meeting you. I’m just sorry it was under these circumstances.”
“But, Dad, Becca was going to talk to you about trying out for her team.”
“She did. I said no.”
She wanted to run to her dad and shake him. She wanted to grab him by the arms and make his teeth chatter. She wanted to…she wanted to give him a time out.
“But, Dad—”
“No buts. I said no and that’s that. Now, say goodbye to Ms. Newman.”
Lindsey couldn’t speak. She stood there for a full five seconds, waiting for her dad to change his mind. He didn’t and she knew better than to argue.
She sighed, saying, “Goodbye, Ms. Newman. Thank you for everything. I won’t
ever
forget seeing the shop. Or looking through your photos. Or eating lunch with—”
“Enough,” her dad said. “Time to go.”
Becca ignored Adam’s frown, stepping forward to say, “You’re welcome, Lindsey,” and then giving her a hair-nuzzling hug—wet, red strands and all. Lindsey wanted to cry. Becca Newman was so darn
nice.
“If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. Your dad has my home number.”
“Thank you,” she said over the lump in her throat.
Becca stared down at her for a moment longer, kind eyes looking sad. Then she flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned to Lindsey’s dad.
“Mr. Drake,” she said, “I really wish you’d reconsider about next month.”
“Sorry. We’ve imposed enough. C’mon,” he said to Lindsey.
“Maybe we can come back and watch the tryouts?” Lindsey said, bouncing up on her toes in excitement at
that
excellent suggestion. And maybe she could get her dad to change his mind before then….
“Sure,” Becca said at the same time her dad said, “No.”
Drat it all. Why couldn’t he make this easy? But even her next suggestion—that they should stay the night and go and tour Newman Motorsports tomorrow before they left—was met with a firm, “No.” Lindsey figured she better give up. Her dad had the same look on his face as he had when she’d tried backing his truck out of the driveway, crushing a few garbage cans along the way.
“Goodbye, Ms. Newman,” she said.
“Bye,” she replied softly.
But it wasn’t until they were out and into his battered truck that he let her have it. He didn’t yell. All he said was, “If you ever do something like this again, I swear, Lindsey, I’m sending you off to boarding school.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“And don’t try that ‘daddy’ stuff with me.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she said.
“And don’t, not for a minute, think that I’m interested in Becca Newman.”
Okay, that shocked her enough that she felt her mouth drop open.
“Close your mouth,” he said. “I saw right through you. You were trying to matchmake.”
“But, Dad, she’s really great.”
“She’s not my type.”
“Yes, she is. She likes to fish. And she owns a race team—”
“And that’s the most obvious reason why she and I would never work out. She’s rich. And famous. And I’m not, repeat,
not
going to
The Talent Show,
or whatever they call it. Becca Newman is in a class by herself, and I’m not. The two of us getting together would be about as likely as Spock falling for a human.”
“Who’s Spock?”
Her dad stared at her for a second, blinked once, then said, “That’s sad.”
“Why?”
“You don’t know who—?” Her dad shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, starting up the car.
Lindsey crossed her arms in front of her, mentally saying goodbye to Becca’s fancy house, mumbling under her breath, “Everything I went through, and he went and said no.”
“I heard that.”
“So?” she said in exasperation, sitting up again. “You’ve always taught me to never walk away from a challenge, and yet here you are doing it. What kind of example is that?”
He stared at her for another second before saying, “Clever.”
Lindsey felt hope spark within her.
“But it won’t work.”
She released a huff of irritation as she faced the windshield again, slamming her back against the battered leather seat so hard the springs squeaked.
“You’re not being fair,” she said.
“Not another word,” he warned.
“But—”