Winning It All

by Wendy Etherington

  When had her smile stopped working its magic on him? When had he stopped noticing how beautiful she was? How lucky he was to have her by his side?

  Of course if the obsessed way he looked through photo albums was any indication, Barb’s smile had never lost its true power over him.

  Darcy cleared her throat. “You know I don’t really have whips and chains, right?”

  Mitch laughed. “Too bad. We could have sent Lars over whenever he gets too full of himself.”

  “You could bring it up at the next strategy meeting.”

  “I think Bryan’s decided Lars is out of opportunities for helpful meetings.”

  “Yes, he has. It’s a good thing Lars has taken his advice.” She was silent for a moment, then she asked, “You sure there’s not more on your mind than Bryan?”

  They walked a bit farther, seeing groups of fans who were headed to and from the campgrounds, either to the hospitality tents where they themselves were going, or into the grandstands for qualifying, which was due to start in a few hours.

  Mitch steered Darcy away from the crowds. This was a private conversation.

  “You’re a very intuitive woman,” he said finally.

  “Are you worried about Rachel or Cade?”

  “No. My kids are happy and healthy. Including Bryan. You’ve been a real blessing to our family.”

  Her gaze darted to his briefly. “Thank you. All of you are special to me, too. Are you—”

  “I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake.”

  She didn’t seem at all fazed by his blurted confession. “With who? About what?”

  “My wife. My ex-wife,” he corrected and still felt the pain of saying it. “Barb.”

  “You’re not happy she’s dating that florist.”

  Visualizing that smarmy guy’s hand sliding along the lower part of Barb’s back, he clenched his jaw. “No.”

  “I don’t blame you. She’s a lovely woman, and he seems really interested in her.” When his surprise obviously showed on his face, she continued, “I get a lot of chances to stand back and observe people. Plus, I’m really good at reading faces. It helps when I need to know if I can physically push a client further or need to pull back.”

  “Or when you need to tell him he’s full of bull.”

  Her gaze darted to his. “Then, too.”

  When she didn’t elaborate, he said, “I appreciate honesty.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “This is like a conversation between a driver and a crew chief—I have to know where the car’s going off track if I’m going to finish the race anywhere near the front.”

  She nodded, then stopped, turning to face him. “Do you still love her?”

  He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He wasn’t a man who discussed his feelings easily, and yet Darcy seemed the perfect confessor. She was close to the family and knew all the players, but she could also be objective.

  “If you do love her,” Darcy went on, “I think you need to tell her. If you don’t…”

  “What?”

  “Stuff your jealousy. You left her. If you can’t be happy with her, she deserves to have someone who can.”

  “You’re very direct.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “It’s good in some ways, lousy in others. I’m sorry if I offended you, I—”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I can see why Bryan values you so much. And I don’t know what I feel exactly. But I know I don’t like that damn florist.”

  “Well, in my honest opinion…” She glanced at him, obviously looking for his approval, so he nodded. “You can’t go to Barbara and tell her that. For one, she’ll slam the door in your face. For another—”

  “I’ve lost the right to say anything.”

  “Yeah, I think you have.”

  They encountered more groups of fans heading toward the hospitality area. Inevitably, Mitch was recognized.

  Though he always enjoyed the fans, and appreciated everyone who remembered him, as more people gathered, he regretted not bringing one of the PR reps or crew members to help him move through the crowds.

  Concerned about Darcy, he looked around and was surprised to find her next to him still. She was so small, surrounded by fans shoving autograph books, hats and T-shirts over her head for him to sign.

  “Okay, folks,” she said in a loud voice. “Mr. Garrison needs to go now.”

  Then she grabbed his arm and started walking. The progress was slow at first, but either the sound of her authoritative voice or the sheer determination on her face had people moving out of her way.

  “Mr. Garrison has a commitment in the hospitality area,” she kept repeating as they worked their way through the pack. “Please check the GRI Web site for his appearance schedule. Thank you for your support.”

  Some of the fans moved with them, still babbling excitedly about the first race they saw, or explaining they, their dad or their aunt Mildred were huge fans. Mitch kept signing autographs, and Darcy kept them moving.

  When they reached the security gate to the hospitality village, several security people rushed forward to help with crowd control. Mitch signed some last-minute autographs, then followed a track volunteer to the tent where his appearance was scheduled.

  “Everyone’s so jacked up about you coming, Mr. Garrison,” the volunteer said as he led Mitch and Darcy into the back of the tent, to a blocked-off area behind the stage.

  Mitch nodded. “I was glad to do it. Nobody’s more vital to our communities than our firefighters.”

  “Firefighters?”

  At Darcy’s shocked tone, Mitch turned toward her. “Sure. That’s who I’m meeting with today. The track organized an appreciation—”

  He stopped as her face turned white. She swayed on her feet.

  Mitch grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

  “I—”

  Her eyes were wide, the pupils unnaturally dilated as she stared out at the rows of chairs and the men and women starting to file into the tent.

  “Darcy?”

  The sound of her name was barely out of his mouth when she crumpled at his feet.

  He braced his hand underneath her neck at the last second, preventing her from hitting her head on the ground. The quick reflexes he’d had all his life apparently hadn’t deserted him completely.

  As Mitch knelt beside her, grateful the stage blocked the audience’s view of them, the volunteer gaped. “Oh, boy. I don’t—What should I—What’s wrong with—”

  “I don’t know.” And before the guy could ask any more questions Mitch didn’t have the answers to, he said quickly, “You have a tent full of firefighters, most of them probably paramedics, too. Go find one.”

  The volunteer’s eyes darted from Mitch to Darcy, then to the gathering of event attendees only a few feet away. “M-my brother-in-law’s out there somewhere,” the volunteer said, his voice shaking.

  “Find him.”

  As the volunteer rushed off, a spark of panic surged through Mitch. What had happened to her? Why had she fainted?

  Before he could do anything more than grasp Darcy’s hand in his, a woman knelt next to them. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Though his mind was racing and his heart pounding, he noted she wore a chef’s jacket. Part of the catering staff, no doubt.

  “Ice?” he suggested. “A cool washcloth maybe? I think she just fainted.”

  Though why she’d passed out so suddenly, he had no idea. Darcy was the healthiest person he knew.

  “On my way,” the caterer said, leaping to her feet and striding away.

  Mitch stared down into Darcy’s pale face and willed her to open her eyes. “Darcy?” He patted her cheeks gently. “Darcy, it’s—”

  “What happened?”

  As a young man with light brown hair dropped beside Darcy, Mitch leaned back. “She fainted.”

  The man, presumably the volunteer’s brother-in-law and a firefighter-medic, pulled back Dar
cy’s eyelids, then slid his fingers around her wrist, while looking at his watch. “Did she hit her head when she fell?”

  “No, I caught her.”

  “Is she on drugs? Any kind of medication?”

  “Not that I know of.” He considered the question more thoroughly. “She doesn’t take illegal drugs. She’s a nutritionist and rehabilitation trainer.”

  “When did she last eat?”

  “I don’t know. She usually has lunch with the team, though. That couldn’t have been more than half an hour ago.”

  I need to call Bryan.

  The thought zipped through Mitch’s mind as the medic continued to take Darcy’s vital signs and assess her condition.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, lurching to his feet and drawing his cell phone out of his pocket.

  His fingers froze on the keys. Bryan was most likely working in the garage. He wouldn’t answer his cell phone. Ditto for Sam or any of the other team members.

  Rachel. Or Parker. Better yet, both.

  He dialed Rachel first. She picked up before the first ring was over. “Hey, Dad, how’s—”

  “How quickly can you get to Bryan?”

  “Last time I saw him, he and Sam were in Cade’s garage stall. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Get him and bring him to the hospitality village. Darcy fainted.”

  There was a shocked gasp, then she said, “We’ll be right there. I’m heading toward Bryan now. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I asked her to come with me to an event honoring firefighters and the next thing I know, she’s—”

  “Dad,” Rachel interrupted quietly.

  “What? Maybe she didn’t eat lunch. She’s always cooking, but I assume she eats, too. Did you see her? What—”

  “Dad. Her husband was a firefighter, and he was killed in the line of duty two years ago.”

  “Oh. Oh, man.” Mitch’s heart contracted. Regret crashed over him. “I knew she was a widow. That’s all. I didn’t know….”

  “It’s okay. Hang on.”

  He heard muffled conversation, drowned out once by a revving engine, then Rachel was back. “Bryan and I are coming. Is anybody giving her medical attention?”

  “I’m in a tent full of firefighters, honey. I got that much handled.”

  “Good. And don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  Mitch signed off, then closed the phone, looking back at the medic and Darcy, lying so pale and still on the concrete floor.

  What have I done?

  BRYAN CALLED on every cell of self-control he possessed and stifled the urge to burst into the hospitality village and shout at, curse or pummel the first person he saw.

  He clenched and unclenched his hands as he and Rachel rushed along the back side of the tents, dodging catering staff with trays, carts and trash bags.

  No one questioned their presence and everybody—obviously noting Bryan’s coldly determined stride—got out of their way.

  When they reached the tent, a nervous-looking volunteer approached them. “Right this way, Mr. Garrison.”

  “A woman in a golf cart is going to pull up here any second,” he said briskly, trying to focus on the things he could control and not on what he couldn’t. Like Darcy unconscious on the floor. “Make sure she has a clear space to park until we come out.”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  Then, as the volunteer laid his hand on the tent flap, Bryan heard her voice.

  “I told you, I’m fine. I have things to do, so—”

  “Ma’am, you’re sitting right here until your pulse rate is lower,” answered an unfamiliar male voice.

  The medic Dad had found, no doubt.

  “My pulse rate would go down if you people would stop prodding me and let me get up,” Darcy said, her voice rising in both volume and annoyance.

  Bryan always heard doctors were the worst patients, but he’d bet PTs could give them some stiff competition. But angry and frustrated was much better than pale and passed out as far as he was concerned.

  When the volunteer looked at him questioningly, Bryan held up his hand. He needed a second to let his heart settle back into its normal place in his chest. For the last ten minutes, it had clawed its way to his throat.

  “Bryan will be here any minute,” his dad said in a soothing tone from inside the tent.

  “What’s he going to do?” Darcy asked scathingly. “You two are already holding both my hands.”

  “I think I finally see the side of her that whipped you into shape,” Rachel said quietly from behind Bryan.

  “She’s tough.”

  “But probably embarrassed. I know I would be. Let’s get her out of here.”

  “Dad still has his appearance to get through. You stay here with him. He’s shaken more than she is, I’m sure.”

  A golf cart pulled up beside them. Huntington Hotels’ PR rep Emily Proctor was behind the wheel. “Is everything all right, sir?”

  “I think so,” Bryan said, relieved—and not for the first time—by the efficiency of Parker’s staff. “I’ll be back in a second.” He pushed back the tent flap.

  Darcy sat on the floor with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. His dad hovered on one side and the medic on the other.

  “I think she needs a little air,” Bryan said.

  Her gaze darted to his, then she bowed her head. “I can’t believe they called you.”

  Crossing to her, he knelt beside her as his dad moved out of the way. He caught her chin in his hand and turned her face from side to side. He noted the golden sparks in her eyes—ones that only seemed to appear when she was ticked off or aroused. “You look pretty steady to me.”

  “Pulse just spiked,” the medic pointed out, still holding her wrist.

  Darcy flushed, and Bryan assumed he was the cause of her sudden rise in heart rate. The idea made him smile.

  “I’ll make sure it comes down,” he said to the medic. “One of the docs will see her this afternoon.”

  The medic frowned. “She needs to drink her juice.”

  Darcy shook her head. “Too much sugar.”

  “Low blood sugar is probably the reason you passed out in the first place,” the medic argued.

  Darcy glared at him. “No, it’s not. I told you, I had a perfectly balanced meal less than an hour ago. Now, go away.”

  Bryan grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet before she clobbered the guy. “I’ll take charge of her,” he said to the medic. “Thank you for your help.”

  Shrugging, the medic rose. “You sure she’s not a doctor?”

  As Bryan led her out of the tent, he accepted the tossed-out advice from his sister and his father with a nod. Darcy’s pain certainly wasn’t physical, though he’d taken steps to make sure his instincts were true.

  He’d complimented her often on the graceful way she’d handled the troubles in her past, but, looking back, he realized maybe she’d appeared to handle things too well. He wore the chip of resentment from his past—his divorce, the accident—on his shoulder for all to see. Darcy had tried to bury hers along with her husband.

  Neither of their grand plans had worked so well.

  When she saw the golf cart, she halted. “I can walk.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Sensing she’d been pushed to the point of total retreat, he plucked her off her feet and set her in the front seat. “Right now, though, you’ll like riding.”

  “Let’s go, Emily,” he said once he’d settled on the bench in the back.

  Emily took off.

  The ride to the motor home lot was silent among the occupants of the cart. A couple of people called to Bryan, but he simply waved. He had a situation on his hands that was much more serious than the perfect balance of a race car.

  The fact that he ranked Darcy above racing was more telling than any long-winded self-evaluation he could think of.

  And pretty damn scary.

  “Did you make the phone call?” he asked Emily as she pulled the c
art to a halt beside his motor home.

  “Yes, sir. ETA less than ten minutes.”

  “Thanks. And we appreciate the ride.”

  Darcy gave Emily a sincere thank-you, then rushed inside the motor home without even glancing in his direction.

  O-kay.

  He’d been ornery toward her plenty of times. He supposed it was time to return the favor.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said the moment he opened the door.

  “I wasn’t going to ask you about it.” He settled on the sofa. “You can give the doc all the details when he gets here.”

  Standing in front of him, she planted her hands on her hips. “No doctors.”

  “Too late. He’s already on his way.”

  “I guess that’s who Emily called.”

  “It is. Have a seat.”

  “No.”

  “You might as well relax ’til he gets here.”

  “No.”

  He wanted to drag her down to the sofa. He wanted to hold her and assure her everything was going to be all right. He wanted to hold her and calm himself. But coddling had only made her mad.

  Thankfully, the doctor arrived.

  Darcy sat through his brief exam without complaint. She answered his questions, and, within a few minutes, he pronounced her healthy.

  “You probably just got overheated,” he said, offering her a lollipop, which she took with a scowl.

  Bryan thanked him for his time, and after he closed the door behind the doctor, he turned to see Darcy tapping her foot in annoyance.

  “I’ve never fainted in my life,” she said.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he said, careful to keep his tone casual as he returned to his place on the sofa. “I passed out after racing dirt cars when I was a kid a couple of times.”

  “That’s passed out, not fainting. Overexertion, heat exhaustion, blah, blah.” She raised her arms, then let them drop in a gesture of complete frustration. “I fainted. Like some weak-minded, weak-kneed female.”

  “But you are female.”

  She waggled her finger at him. “Don’t debate word choice with me, Bryan Garrison. You know what I mean.”

  “But—” He stopped. Let her rant. If somebody tried to tell him he’d fainted, he’d probably slug them. “Fine. I know what you mean.”