They were in the back room of Cade’s hauler, which was used as a combination office, meeting room and locker room. Especially at a track where the drivers didn’t have their motor homes, they relied on the transporters—which hauled the cars and equipment from race to race every week—as a refuge from the chaos of press, fans and other competitors in the garage area.
With qualifying underway, the teams were occupied, so she’d finally had an opportunity to talk to Parker and Rachel and apologize for her outburst with Joe Baker the day before. They had no problem with her unprofessional comments, and, thankfully, didn’t even see them as unprofessional. Like Cade and Isabel, they seemed to consider her defense of GRI as a test of loyalty she’d passed. They were thrilled to have her on their side.
And, for the first time in a long time, she also felt like part of a team. The firefighters her husband worked with always had family cookouts and camping trips, and they had bonded in the joys and dangers of the profession. She’d never expected to find that comradery again.
“He was smiling,” Rachel repeated.
“I admit we were concerned about your ability to deal with Bryan,” Parker added, wordily translating Rachel’s disbelief. “He can be temperamental at times.”
Darcy was all too familiar with Bryan’s irritability. His “Steel” nickname was well-earned. “It’s understandable. He’s been through a lot.”
“Sure,” Rachel said. “But shouldn’t he be over all that stuff by now? It’s been four years.”
Dousing her own surge of temper, Darcy carefully set her cup back in her saucer—the china was fine and no doubt expensive. “No. In fact, he may never get over all that stuff.”
Rachel’s face flushed. “Sorry. That was pretty insensitive. I’m just—”
“You’re happy and impatient for him to be, too.” Darcy knew Rachel wanted the best for her brother; she was simply unsure how to help him.
It was this kind of conflict that made Darcy think remaining an outsider would be best for her client. She could be loyal to the Garrisons and cheer for them above every other NASCAR team, but it was essential she maintain a bit of distance.
Though she was failing at that goal miserably.
“Losing your wife and your life’s ambition in one sweep is pretty traumatic,” Parker said quietly.
Rachel’s gaze darted to her husband’s. “What would you do if I left you?”
“Pine remorsefully the rest of my miserable life.”
Rachel grinned. “You bet your ass you would.”
As cute as these two were, Darcy had her own agenda to push. “About Bryan…”
“This is why she’s good,” Parker said, lifting his coffee cup in a toast. “She relentlessly keeps you on task.”
“He’s making progress,” Darcy continued, accepting Parker’s compliment with a nod. “But there’s a long way to go. I’ve convinced him to get on board with my program somewhat, but he has no idea what’s coming.”
Her expression gleeful, Rachel leaned forward. “Can I please, please watch when he does realize what he’s in for?”
Darcy couldn’t think of a single response to that zealous idea.
“Darling, please,” Parker managed with a wince.
Rachel shrugged. “Hey, you guys weren’t around when big brother was building firecrackers and putting them under my bed in the middle of the night.”
Darcy reminded herself they were a family, not just a business. They were supposed to be both, of course, but she’d bet ninety-five percent of their conflicts came from merging those two opposing goals. “Bryan’s making progress,” she repeated, “but I think he could benefit from some emotional counseling.”
Both Rachel and Parker shook their heads. “He won’t go,” Rachel said. “We’ve tried for years.”
Darcy had anticipated this response, though she’d still felt compelled to make sure Bryan’s family understood the scope of his recovery. “Then the best I can offer is physical strength and confidence. For a man like him, that’s most of the battle.”
Rachel and Parker exchanged a look. “We have full confidence in you,” Parker said. “And, frankly, we’re not all that concerned about him at the moment,” Parker began.
“We know it’ll take time with Bryan,” Rachel said.
Parker leaned forward. “But we wanted to meet today to find out not only how he was doing, but how you were handling everything.”
“I’m handling everything just fine,” Darcy said automatically. It was a defensive response to the panicked idea that she wasn’t fine at all, the reply she gave to everybody who had been concerned about her emotional state over the last year. But Rachel and Parker weren’t talking about her grieving process, they were simply being kind. “You really don’t need to worry about me. I’ve handled difficult clients before.”
Rachel scowled. “So, he’s difficult.”
“He’s…” Darcy could hardly say he hadn’t been difficult, but neither could she deny the encouraging moments. She and Bryan had turned a corner this morning. They’d drawn closer, become a team. That bond was as essential in her business as it was in racing.
And just as precarious.
“I think we’ve come to an understanding,” she said finally, meeting both Parker’s and Rachel’s gazes in turn, hoping they’d drop the subject and let her handle Bryan on her own terms for the next few weeks. As much as the growing bond between her and her client made her uncomfortable on a personal level, they had to work out their issues one-on-one. Interference by his family would only strengthen Bryan’s defensive walls.
“As Rachel pointed out, it will take some time,” Parker said, rising. He’d apparently picked up on Darcy’s reticence. “In the meantime, there are sponsors to be coddled.”
Rachel sent him an amused look. “Does that include you?”
“Naturally.”
The door swung open, and a male voice filled the small room. “We need to make sure—” A man with sandy hair sprinkled with gray stopped just over the threshold. “Sorry. We didn’t know anybody was in here.”
Bryan Garrison walked into the room a moment later.
Though she’d seen him that morning, then at lunchtime, Darcy’s breath caught. He’d changed into black pants and a pressed white shirt with the GRI logo stitched over the pocket. He’d shifted from just-one-of-the-guys into big-time-team-owner mode.
Embarrassingly, big-time-hottie mode for her.
She wished she could tell him how he dominated a room. Whether he was a driver, ex-driver, owner…whatever. Even if he pushed a broom, he’d command attention. In a T-shirt and worn jeans, he was dangerous and sexy. In more polished clothes, he made her head spin.
“Darcy?” Parker asked, stepping in front of her, making her realize he’d probably called her name more than once.
She resisted the urge to lean around him and look at Bryan a little longer. “Hmm?”
Parker laid his hand in the center of her back and urged her toward the sandy-haired man who’d walked in ahead of Bryan. “I wanted to introduce you to Cade’s crew chief, Sam Benefield.”
“Hi, Sam,” Darcy echoed automatically, shaking his hand. “I hear you guys are on track to win a championship this year.”
Sam shook her hand, then scowled at Parker. “What’ve you been tellin’ people? It’s race two of thirty-six, and you’re talking championships? You tryin’ to jinx us?”
“Sam’s pleased to meet you, as well,” Parker said to her. “He’s just a bit superstitious.”
Sam’s already lined brow furrowed deeper. “And with good reason.”
“Oh, good grief, Sam,” Rachel said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Sam’s gaze flew to Parker. “You still have the lucky penny, don’t you?”
Parker rolled his eyes, but he reached into his pants pocket, then opened his palm so everybody could see the shiny penny lying in his palm. “It’s getting a bit silly, don’t you think?”
“No,” Sam, Rache
l and Bryan said at the same time.
“I’ve been carrying around this penny since last year,” Parker explained to Darcy. “Everybody thinks it’s good luck for Cade.”
Her gaze slid to each person’s in turn. All of them looked resolute except Parker, who seemed embarrassed. “Has Cade done well since then?” she asked.
“Yes, but—”
Darcy quickly grabbed Parker’s hand, curling his fingers around the penny. “Then hold it tight. Karma’s a serious deal. Don’t mess with universal balance.”
“Ha!” Sam bobbed his head in a decisive nod. “Universal balance, no less. I told ya’ll.”
“Would it be all right with you guys if Sam and I actually had our meeting now?” Bryan asked, glancing at his watch. “Our schedule’s a bit tight.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’re planning to balance the universe at this moment, of course.”
To Darcy’s surprise, Parker and Rachel immediately hustled out. She followed more slowly, still intrigued by the concept of the lucky penny, still a bit dazzled by Bryan and his crisp, white shirt.
She turned at the doorway, unable to resist the urge to comment, “You guys are pretty cute.”
As she walked out of the hauler, she nodded to crew members she passed and reflected on a memory, one where she smiled as her husband walked out the door in his white uniform shirt.
Unbidden, tears filled her eyes. Guilt and a sharp stab of betrayal followed. She ruthlessly swallowed all the unwanted emotions in one gulp.
Would she ever be able to enjoy being attracted to an interesting, compelling man—even if the desire was for a client and could go nowhere?
Would she ever heal? Was her work with Bryan helping him but hurting her?
All her friends told her things would get better. Hour by hour, then day by day, everybody—friends, family, experts—told her she’d eventually be able to move on.
When? she wanted to scream. When would that happen?
Just as she stepped outside, someone grabbed her arm. Even before he’d briskly urged her to the tiny area between the GRI hauler and the one next to it, she’d sensed Bryan.
“Cute, huh?” he asked, scowling down at her.
Even as her attraction to him flared to life, the guilt remained. She forced herself to smile. “I had no idea you were so superstitious.”
The scowl turned dangerous. “I’m not. Sam is.”
“It’s not anything to be embarrassed about.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
Her smile widened. “Sure you are.” She tapped his cheek. “Your face is red.”
He stepped back. The flush deepened. “No, it isn’t.”
“The great Bryan Garrison isn’t susceptible to normal human emotions?”
“No.”
Though she felt silly, touching him only to have him step back, she nodded. “Oh, right. Steel.”
“Look…” He glanced away and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “I know we’re doing all this yoga and deep breathing stuff, and it’s working fine. I’m on board. Treadmill walking, Downward Dog and revenge.”
“You remembered a pose. I’m so proud.”
His gaze, dark gray and seemingly impenetrable, slid to hers. “You’re not telling anybody, are you?”
“About walking, posing or vengeance?”
“Any of it.”
“None of it.” She wanted to touch him again, maybe even hold his hand and hopefully watch some of the anxiety drain from his expression. But having already experienced his retreat, she wasn’t about to push herself forward again, even in a friendly, trying-to-forget-her-dead-husband way. “We’re bonded like a doctor and patient,” she said to assure him of her discretion. “What we do together is private.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized how provocative they sounded. “I mean, personal.” Good grief, that doesn’t sound much better. “Not anybody’s business but yours.”
“I got what you meant.” He cocked his head. “You wanna keep digging?”
She imagined the hole where she was standing—representing the muddy area between client and friend—was already pretty deep and thick. “No, thanks.”
“I just don’t want you to talk in too much detail about the…unconventional aspects of our training.”
She nodded. “You have to protect your tough-guy rep.”
“Exactly.”
“Your secret is safe with me. You were pretty great this morning, by the way. The glowing smile was a nice touch. It totally threw your family off balance. Unlike your business, there’s not a lot of entertaining moments in mine. But that was one for the books.”
The satisfaction was plain on Bryan’s face. “Did you see how Isabel couldn’t even drink her coffee? The woman lives on caffeine.”
“Speechless Cade was my personal favorite.”
“Even Parker seemed surprised. Believe me, it’s hard to throw him for a loop.”
“I bet.”
“Bryan, let’s go!” someone called from the hauler.
“Be right there,” Bryan called back, never budging his gaze from Darcy’s. “What’s for dinner?”
“Tofu surprise,” she said as she backed away.
His pleasant expression vanished. “You’re not serious.”
“Probably not. Maybe you’ll be surprised when it isn’t tofu.”
“You’re not so bad after all, Darcy Butler.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’M GONNA KILL HER.”
Staring at the contents of his refrigerator in disbelief, Bryan vowed a new vengeance—on Darcy’s head.
He saw skim milk, water bottles, eggs, sliced turkey, low-fat cheese—what was the point of cheese without plenty of fat?—fresh fruit and vegetables, lettuce, tomatoes, alfalfa sprouts and something called hummus. No bacon. No premade hamburger patties. No salami. No beer. No Go! The energy drink was one of Cade’s primary sponsors. How could Bryan invite their business executives to his motor home and not offer them their own product?
It was humiliating. It was crazy.
It was unacceptable.
He scoured the cabinets and found the same drastic change. No chips. No boxes of macaroni and cheese or instant, flavored rice. In fact, there was nothing but whole-wheat pasta, almonds and rice cakes.
Rice cakes, for pity’s sake.
He paced his motor home, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong, where he’d failed to explain to Darcy that his rehab wasn’t prison. That he needed real food, not rabbit nibbles. Plus, with all the freakin’ exercise—and the torturous stretching—she had him doing, he’d already lost six pounds. He’d drop the last fourteen in no time. There was no need for drastic measures.
Rice cakes and alfalfa.
No damn way.
They’d cruised along the last several weeks, from California and Las Vegas to Atlanta and Bristol, with all the GRI teams doing well. Arriving in Martinsville, VA, Cade was third in points, Shawn tenth, and the combination of last year’s champion Kevin Reiner and their new driver, Lars Heiman, were twelfth.
He and Darcy had found a rhythm to their exercise and meal routine. She dragged him to the treadmill in the morning. She grilled food at lunch, provided snacks during the day, then consulted with the chef at the hotels or made him simple meals at night that met her nutrition requirements. It hadn’t all been steamed fish and tasteless vegetables. Either just before or after dinner, they went through the yoga, at which he was improving.
His knee felt better. He slept easier. He was stronger. With this being an East Coast race and his motor home kitchen readily available, he’d been looking forward to finding out just how good a cook Darcy really was.
Parker had been bragging about her fettuccine Bolognese and shrimp with pesto sauce. Isabel went on and on about Darcy’s advice and tips, which had given Isabel’s Quest for Cooking Perfect Italian an extra kick. Even the office manager at GRI—whose Latino roots ran as deep as the racing tradition of red hot dogs at the
Martinsville snack booths—bragged about Darcy’s fresh salsa and chicken with yellow rice and black beans.
Where was his Bolognese? Where was his chicken and rice?
A knock at the door jolted him from his vengeful thoughts. Whoever was unlucky enough to need to see him now wasn’t going to go away happy.
It was Darcy.
Dressed in the now-familiar fitted yoga clothes—this time in pale pink—she held a covered platter high in one hand. “I brought—” She stopped, her gaze roving his face. “The rice cakes were a joke. They taste a little like cardboard, don’t you think?”
He was so pleased she didn’t pretend the fridge and cabinet ambush wasn’t traumatic and unwarranted, he nearly smiled.
But stopped himself just in time.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no idea. I’ve never eaten them and never will.”
She shrugged, then scooted past him, setting her platter on the counter before ducking into the fridge. “Some of my clients like them. But I think you’ll prefer the hummus and veggies.”
“What about the alfalfa sprouts?”
She glanced back at him. “I don’t see how you can dip those in hummus.”
“I mean, what are they doing in my fridge?”
“I’ll add them to salads. They’re very good for—”
“No.”
She straightened. Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean no?”
“I mean, no alfalfa sprouts. No rice cakes. I have a line, and you’ve crossed it. Get rid of them.”
She said nothing. Instead, she pulled a bunch of broccoli and a yellow pepper from the fridge. Setting both on the counter, she began to chop. “Exercise has only a minor role in weight loss.”
“Then what the hell am I doing it for?”
As if she hadn’t heard him, she continued, “You need to control your caloric intake. You also need to lower your cholesterol.”
“You’re supposed to be treating my knee injury,” he returned just as sharply. “The weight loss thing somehow got added.”
“Part of the revenge, right? To get your ex-wife’s attention?”
“Well…” He didn’t want to get her attention all that much—except for her to briefly notice that she’d made a huge mistake by dumping him. It’s not like he wanted her back. He wouldn’t ever take her back. All the great times they’d shared had been obliterated by divorce papers arriving a week after she’d moved in with Chance Baker.
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