“I s’pose you want me to make a speech now.” Travis’s voice startled her, and she spun around.
“That would be appropriate. Is Mr. Ambrose back yet?”
Travis’s forehead creased as he shook his head. “Maybe our little plan backfired with Olivia, huh?”
“Our little plan? I don’t think I was given the opportunity to have an opinion.”
“Well, yeah.”
The admission surprised her, and she waited for him to continue. A sense of anticipation closed over her like the musty odor that permeated the tiny, overstuffed room.
“It ain’t gonna be easy to top Bruce Springsteen and your snazzy little video,” he said. “Whaddya want me to say?”
He was asking her? “I’m sure you’ll know who to inspire and thank in this crowd.”
He cleared his throat and put his hands in and out of his pockets, then cracked a knuckle. “I do a lot better in the shop than on the stage. I’ll just throw some shit out and see if it sticks.”
She bit back a smile. “I’m sure it will stick nicely.” She turned toward the lights of the A/V board, just for something to look at other than his piercing green eyes.
He took a step closer, compelling her to look at him again. He started to rub the edge of his mustache with his thick fingers as he regarded her. “I was wonderin’,” he drawled. “When I’m heapin’ praise and suckin’ up to people I need to keep around, I guess you’d rather I didn’t mention your, ah, engagement.”
Because he was ashamed of the ploy, or trying to appease her? “You can keep it professional. Thank you for asking.”
“Don’t mention it.” He broke into the first grin she could remember. “To anybody.”
For one crazy second, she almost reached out to him. She wanted to touch his arm, his cheek. This man who was her father.
“I know I’ve been a little rough on you, missy.”
Celeste swallowed. This was probably the closest thing she’d get to an apology. “It’s okay,” she said.
He bit his lower lip, and she stared at it, amazed, once again, that the gesture was inherited and not learned. “You know,” he said softly, “I think the world of Beau. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
She frowned. “Are we talking about the same man? I don’t think he’s capable of being hurt.”
“Every man’s capable of being hurt,” he disagreed.
“Maybe you’re right, Travis. He could get hurt if some brutal fans can’t forgive him for an accident, or if he can’t shake this imaginary curse. But I don’t think he can be hurt by me.”
Unless she added to his troubles and refused to donate a kidney.
“Don’t underestimate yourself, missy. You ain’t his usual choice in women, and sometimes it’s the one that you least expect that bites you in the ass.”
The letter she’d read years ago flashed in her mind. I never dreamed a girl could be like you, Lisie.
“Is this the voice of experience talking?”
He scowled deep enough to make her wish she hadn’t asked. All he had to do was look intently at her, put two and two together, and she’d be explaining to this man that he was her father.
“It’s the voice of a man who’s spent enough time at the track to know a smart bet from a stupid one.”
Resentment rose like bile in her throat. “Is that what you think I am? A stupid bet?”
“Could be.”
“I’m not really engaged to him, for goodness’ sakes. You made up the whole thing.”
He narrowed his gaze and lowered his voice. “I know what I see when you two are in the same room. And believe me, I know what happens when you get electrocuted by what you think is the perfect woman.”
“What happens, Travis?”
“You get fried.”
The microphone squealed electronic feedback as the technician adjusted the volume. She stared at Travis, a new and completely foreign theory taking shape. For the first time in her life, she found herself wondering whose life had been destroyed in the aftermath of her own conception.
She had to know before she could give this man a chance at life. She had to know.
Celeste still hadn’t come back to the table. Beau made as much small talk as he could stomach, then sat through Travis’s usual halting but heartfelt speech, pleased that he remembered to thank Cece. He scanned the room again and wondered where the hell she was. During the applause, he slipped out to search the kitchen, backstage, and the halls of the Hospitality Center.
As a last resort, he stuck his head in the main bar, although he doubted he’d find her sipping a Cosmopolitan with the drivers’ wives.
“You lookin’ for your fiancée?” From a seat at the end of the bar, Harlan lifted his highball glass toward the front doors. “I saw her outside.”
Outside? Beau walked over and put a friendly arm on his shoulder. “You missed the speeches. Was that a strategic move on your part?”
Harlan’s dark eyebrows knotted, and he sipped his drink. “I’ve heard them before.”
He had to at least make an attempt at goodwill toward the sponsor. Even if Harlan was a backstabbing opportunist. “Is everything okay?”
“Just fine, Lansing.” Harlan knocked back the rest of his drink. “Olivia’s all taken care of. Don’t you have to do your usual track routine yet tonight?”
His tradition was well known among the team and their sponsors. “Yep. I wanted to take Celeste with me.” Shit. As soon as he said the wrong name, he wanted to bite his tongue. But Harlan didn’t seem to hear or care as he signaled the waiter for a refill.
“Hope you can get some rest tonight, Lightning,” he said over his shoulder. “We need a checkered flag tomorrow.”
“You got that right, my man.” Beau backed out of the bar. “See you later.”
He shoved open the double glass doors and glanced around the paved area in front of the Hospitality Center, where some of his teammates were sneaking cigars. None of them had seen Cece. He wandered around the side of the building, walking a path in the dark. Could she have gone back to the motor coach? The ladies’ room? With a sigh, he found the back door into the center and retraced his steps to the ballroom.
She was sitting at their table, talking to Tony Malone.
“Where have you been?” he demanded as he approached the table.
She lifted her brows. “Where have you been?”
“Uh-oh. Lovers’ quarrel.” Tony stood and grinned at Beau. “I’m outta here.”
“So are we,” Beau said decisively, looking at Celeste. “We have something very important to do.”
Tony pushed his chair in. “You better make it turn two, buddy. That’s where you’ll have problems tomorrow.”
Celeste frowned, obviously confused. “Make what turn two?”
“Don’t you know about his traditional walk the night before every race?” Tony asked. “I thought you were going to marry this guy.”
“We still have a few secrets,” Beau said quickly. “Want to keep a little mystery for the wedding night.”
“Well, it must be true love,” Tony said, a smile crinkling his baby face. “I’ve never known you to want company on your venture.”
“Nice to know I can still surprise you, dog.” Beau leaned over Celeste and checked out her high-heeled sandals. “We definitely need wheels to get us where we’re going tonight.”
“Thanks, Beau, but I better make sure everything is set here.”
The Pointer Sisters started singing “Jump!” and he whispered over the noise into her ear. “Everything is fine here. I need you.” He glanced at Tony. “Keep an eye on Travis. He might start to dance.”
Tony looked to the ceiling in mock horror. “God help us.”
Before she could get distracted, Beau led her out the main exit. He kept hearing his own voice saying “I need you” and tried to ignore the tightness it caused in his chest. Need was not a winning strategy.
Want usually worked, though. And hell, he wanted her
bad.
“I’ve got a golf cart waiting over here,” he said.
She hesitated and threw him a skeptical look. “Turn two is a mile away in the pitch dark. Why do you have to go there?”
“The night before every race, I go to the one spot on the track that’s giving me any trouble. I study it. I psych it out. I figure out how to beat the track. I race the track as much as I do the other cars,” he told her as they reached the golf cart. “I’ve got to know the track’s weaknesses and strengths. That’s how I beat it.”
“You’re nuts,” she muttered as he started the cart and they rolled toward the main access road that crossed the infield.
“I saw Harlan in the bar,” he told her. “He seemed okay. Not too much damage done.”
She nodded. “I talked to Travis a little.”
He gave her a questioning look. “And?”
“He was…nice.”
“That’s downright loving for Travis.”
A group of fans sitting outside a motor coach called his name. He waved and they mercifully let him go by without asking him to stop and sign anything. Of course, maybe they didn’t want his autograph anymore.
“He actually apologized for being such a bear to me,” she said, looking over at Beau. “That was a breakthrough.”
“Sure is.” Maybe she needed just a little push, he decided. “How ’bout you take that blood test when we get back to Daytona?”
She said nothing for a long time, the wheels of the golf cart bumping along the asphalt. Bursts of laughter and music from late-night parties on the infield broke the silence.
“It’s just a blood test, right?” she asked.
“Yep. Real simple. Just to see if you’re a match.”
“Would he have to know I took it?”
“No, it would be strictly confidential.”
“I suppose I could do that.”
A tremendous sense of relief washed over him, but he said nothing.
She dropped her head back and studied the stars. “It’s pretty here,” she said quietly. “I love the trees and mountains. It reminds me of Connecticut.”
“Yeah, Pocono’s a picturesque track. What’s it like where you grew up?”
“Expensive.” She smiled ruefully. “My parents live in a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion in Darien, surrounded by hills and stables and lots of other rich people.”
“What are they like?”
“The rich people?”
He laughed. “The rich parents.”
“My mother is very proper, lovely, and sweet.”
“Then you take after her.” He meant it as a compliment, but he saw the slight frown as soon as he said it. “Except for the eyes and the lip-biting thing,” he added with a grin.
“She’s very respected among the ladies who lunch and has the disposition of a saint.” She thought for a moment. “Most of the time. When my dad doesn’t drive her to the occasional martini in the middle of the afternoon.”
“How does he do that?” He slowed the cart, wanting to extend this time that she let her guard down.
“Oh, let’s see.” She sighed and held up her fingers to count. “Verbal abuse. Lying. Cheating. Threatening. And”—she held her thumb up for her last point—“with-holding funds when he gets particularly cross.”
His foot pressed the brake, bringing the cart to a complete stop. “Are you serious?”
“Won’t he make the perfect politician?” she asked with a bitter laugh.
“Why does she stay with him?”
“Ah.” She ran her hands through her hair and pulled it off her face. “The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. We’ve all been in some kind of denial for years. I’ve found no end of creative excuses for the man.” She let her hair drop and looked out over the infield. “After all, he’s had to raise a daughter who…wasn’t his.”
“How did you find out about Travis?”
“When I was fourteen I found a letter from Travis to my mother, talking about their child…and that legal document binding him to stay away.”
He couldn’t imagine the shock to her. “Why didn’t you confront your mother?”
“I guess I didn’t want to embarrass her. So I contented myself with clandestine research of Travis Chastaine.”
“Then you knew about me long before I knew about you.”
“Probably. I started by sneaking a peek at the sports pages, just to see his name. Just to have a connection to him.” Smoothing the fabric of her gown, she smiled wistfully. “Funny thing was, when something important happened, like when Chastaine won a race, the page would be missing from the paper. I’d have to dig into Mother’s secret place in the attic. And there it would be—neatly cut out and filed with all the others.”
His jaw dropped in surprise. “She’s followed his career that closely?”
“She did and so did I. Soon I found some cable stations running races—before it all got so popular and you could catch NASCAR on network TV. I would find reruns of races on Sunday nights, and once I got a computer I regularly visited the racing sites.”
“Wow.” No wonder she’d dropped her cup in horror when he showed up at the coffee shop, throwing her life into a tailspin.
“I always kept it from my father,” she said. “I didn’t want to embarrass either one of my parents, and from the way Dad treated me, I’d always assumed he knew the truth. But I was never sure. Either way, it seemed best never to upset him.”
“Why? I can’t imagine any kid having this information and not demanding to know the whole story. Especially you.”
“You’d have to live my life to understand,” she told him. “I love my parents. And my dad, well, he did marry a pregnant woman, give her lifelong security and a good name. So, like my mother, I forgave him a lot of sins. But now…”
“Now you feel differently since you’ve met Travis,” he said hopefully.
“To be honest, everything changed the day you showed up, but not because of Travis. I went to find Craig to…well, I knew I shouldn’t have accepted his engagement ring. I hadn’t had it twenty-four hours, and as soon as you left that day, I knew that I had to follow my heart and at least meet Travis. Free of other problems and issues.”
“What happened?”
“Craig was guarding the office where my father was…involved with a woman. I’ve always known about his infidelity, but this was right in my face. I couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.” He heard the resignation in her voice. “Anyway, it was exactly the incentive I needed. I stopped worrying about being disloyal, since he obviously didn’t concern himself with anything so mundane as loyalty. And I decided to meet Travis.”
Travis might be rough and a redneck, but her father was the real shit, Beau thought. “Did he treat you differently from his own children? Than your brothers?”
“Not outwardly, not publicly. I had everything a girl could want. Clothes and cars and horses and the coming-out party to end all. But no love. No joy. No butterfly kisses for Daddy’s little girl. Just subtle put-downs. I didn’t understand, of course, until I found that I didn’t come from pure blue-blooded Bennett stock. Then it made sense.”
“I don’t think it makes any sense,” he said harshly. “But it does explain your discarded fiancés and your hesitation to embrace another father.”
He reached over and pulled her close, and she folded into him, swallowing hard enough for him to know she was fighting tears. Tenderly he took her mouth, wanting to take away all the pain she’d grown up with and give her all the butterfly kisses that she’d missed. When they parted, she pulled back and looked away. “Let’s psych out your track instead of me for a while.”
“Okay.” He tapped the accelerator of the cart. “But be warned. I’ve never done this with anyone before.”
She inched a little closer to him. “Then why did you invite me?”
Beau leaned over and kissed her again. “You’ll see.”
Chapter
Seventeen
“They
say this track has so many inconsistencies, it had to be designed by committee,” Beau told her as he bent to pick up a stone.
“What inconsistencies?”
“It’s a ridiculous three-corner shape, but not a nice, balanced trioval like Talladega. Each turn has a different degree of banking, and not one of the three straightaways is the same length.”
Though she was listening, she was thinking about how it would feel to slip under his arm and press herself against the solid length of him. “Why is that a problem?”
He whipped the stone over the wall. “If you set up a chassis for a fourteen-degree first turn, it’ll be completely off in the third turn, which is only six. Gearing the transmission and rear-end combination is no easier than setting the springs and shocks.”
“No. I would imagine not.” She fought a little smile as she watched him in the moonlight. That stray lock had fallen right over his eyebrow, and his dark eyes burned as he talked about his sport.
“But it’s a great track for running five or six wide,” he added, digging the toe of his shoe into a crack in the track before he gave her a teasing wink. “You’re fascinated, I can tell.”
With you. “Don’t forget I’ve been a closet gearhead for years. I like it.”
“I like you,” he said, finally dropping his arm around her, just as she wanted.
She slowed her step. “Is this how you psych out the track?”
He took a few more steps along the cement wall, then paused and stood very still, his eyes closed. “Listen.”
She heard only the sounds of revelry on the infield, a few clashing boom boxes, the intermittent shout of a fan. The track was surrounded by forests and trees, offering up only the occasional hoot owl. This far out, the track was deserted.
“What are we listening for?” she whispered, afraid to drown out whatever it was and break his concentration with the track spirits.
“The spot.”
“What spot?”
Killer Curves Page 16
