by Gina Wilkins
Truckloads of T-shirts, hats, jackets and other officially licensed memorabilia were available at every race. Woodrow Racing sent out several trucks every week packed to capacity with assorted merchandise bearing the faces of Jake, Ronnie, Mike and Scott. Thousands of items changed hands even as she walked through the rows, eager fans perfectly willing to part with their money in exchange for a souvenir to show their dedication to their favorite drivers.
It seemed that almost all the fans wore their allegiance on their clothing. Driver images, sponsor logos, car numbers—few seemed to be neutral. Lisa felt a bit conspicuous in her plain yellow T-shirt and jeans. Oddly enough, she didn’t even own a shirt with a driver’s picture on it. She thought it would feel strange to have Jake’s face, handsome as it was, emblazoned across her chest.
Two young women, perhaps in their late teens, undeniably sisters, passed her on the crowded pathway. They wore Scott Rivers T-shirts and baseballs caps and clutched glossy hero cards bearing the young driver’s image, biography and racing statistics in their hands.
“Can you believe we got his autograph?” one of them said with a sigh.
“I know. He was like two feet from us. And he was so hot!”
“Even better than on TV. And that smile…”
Their gusty sighs lingered behind them as they walked on, disappearing into the crowd.
Lisa shook her head with a smile. Scott was twenty-two years old, still struggling with the remnants of teenage acne, barely out of braces. He had a great deal of promise as an up-and-coming driver, showing an impressive maturity on the track, but the last time she had seen him in person he’d been playing with a remote control dune buggy in the garage, running it under everyone’s feet and laughing like a bratty middle school kid. Hard for her to think of him as a “hero.”
The August heat was stifling, but it didn’t seem to be having much effect on the good moods of the fans who were killing time before the start of the race. Most had dressed—or underdressed—for the weather, and a majority wore a hat of some sort against the relentless sun.
Deciding that was a pretty good idea since her face was already starting to tingle despite the sunscreen she’d donned that morning, Lisa bought a purple-and-silver Jake Hinson baseball cap. She didn’t put it on yet, but she would as soon as she moved out of the souvenir area. And yes, she probably could have found a cap for free back in the hauler, but it was kind of fun to shop at the track along with the other fans.
She was standing at one of the back tents, perusing a stack of T-shirts bearing the official race logo, when someone grabbed her arm in a tight grip.
She gasped and tried to jerk away, prepared to scream for help if necessary. Fear turned to surprise, which turned to anger when she realized that it was Wade holding her arm, his expression grim beneath his sponsor cap and aviator-style sunglasses.
“Wade! You scared me half to death. Are you trying to give me a heart attack this weekend?”
“I’m trying to remind you that you’re putting yourself at risk every time you wander out of the restricted areas of the track,” he answered her grimly. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Arnie told me he’d seen you wander off this way. You were completely oblivious to anyone around you just now. I was able to walk right up and grab your arm without you even noticing that I was nearby.”
She sighed. “It’s precisely because I’m surrounded by people that I feel safe enough here. Who would try anything with thousands of witnesses around like this?”
“Now you’re just being naive.”
“Don’t you have things you should be doing?”
“Hundreds of things. I certainly don’t have time to be chasing you all over the track.”
“Then why are you? I can watch out for myself.”
“Oh, yeah. You’ve done such a great job of that so far.”
She shook her head in exasperation at his confrontational attitude. “Why are you acting this way?”
“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you!” he snapped. “Because some psycho wants to hurt you and it’s driving me crazy that you’re so cavalier about that. Because you mean entirely too much to me—and I don’t know how to deal with that and still do my job today.”
Stunned into silence, Lisa stared up at him. Only then did she become aware of all the people around them, some of them having come to a stop to gape openly at them. Someone lifted a camera and took a picture of crew chief “Ice” McClellan having a very public—and uncharacteristically emotional—spat with a woman.
Her cheeks went hot. Wade’s turned suspiciously dark beneath his glasses. She saw his chagrin at having lost control even that briefly.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” he muttered, tugging the brim of his cap lower over his face. “Could you at least stay by the hauler during the race?”
She nodded.
Wade turned on one heel, waiting only for her to fall into step beside him before heading back to the hauler so quickly it was all she could do to keep up with him. She didn’t protest. It was going to be a while before she could find her voice again.
HAVING BEEN THE OBJECT of too much attention already, Lisa stayed in the hauler during most of the race, watching televised coverage. The announcers kept up a lively commentary, speculating about Jake’s chances of pulling off back-to-back wins, talking about how well Woodrow Racing had performed during the season so far, giving kudos to Woody as owner and the drivers and crew chiefs for the outstanding jobs they had done. Especially Wade, whose gutsy calls and intense focus made him one of the most respected crew chiefs currently in the business.
They alluded to that single-minded focus after a reporter tried to stick a mic into Wade’s face during the early part of the race and got a string of monosyllabic responses to her perky questions. “Doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to talk,” one of the announcers said with a chuckle.
“Nope. He’s concentrating on getting the Number 82 car back into Victory Lane,” his cohort said cheerfully. “Uh-oh, looks like trouble in Turn Three.”
The cameras panned to a car spinning on the track while the others swerved frantically to avoid him. Not a Woodrow car, Lisa noted automatically, though her attention was only marginally on the race. She kept thinking about the words Wade had said to her earlier.
Because you mean entirely too much to me—and I don’t know how to deal with that and still do my job today.
It was as close as he had come yet to telling her he still had feelings for her. Strong feelings, if the expression on his usually inscrutable face had been any indication. And he had acknowledged that those feelings, in addition to his concern for her safety, were making it hard for him to concentrate on his work. Something else she had never expected him to admit.
She stared blankly at the screen, aware that people came in and out of the hauler during the race, some of them looking at her oddly, but acknowledging them with no more than distant nods.
You mean entirely too much to me. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but from Wade, was it possible that it meant the same thing? And if it did, well, then what? Even if she loved him, too—and that was a question she couldn’t examine too closely just then since she suspected she already knew the answer—what did that mean for either of them?
“I’m telling you, folks, this guy wants a win.” One of the announcers hooted, and Lisa turned her attention back to the screen. She straightened on the black leather couch, watching as Jake steadily advanced through the pack, passing one car after another with an almost reckless ferocity that made the announcers marvel at his sheer determination.
“He’s putting it all out there,” one of them said. “He’s not playing it safe and just trying to stay in the points chase.”
One of the others laughed. “Jake Hinson doesn’t know how to play it safe. It’s all or nothing for that guy. You can bet his crew chief is telling him to calm down, be patient, keep the big picture in mind.”
Wishing she had acc
epted the headphones someone had offered her earlier, Lisa jumped to her feet. Everyone else was outside now, watching the conclusion of the race. She wanted to be with the rest of the team.
Her Jake Hinson cap in place, she hovered at the edge of the pit, watching with the pit crew. Tension gripped all of them, their body language indicating that each one of them was mentally urging Jake on.
Someone slipped a set of headphones on over her cap. Looking around gratefully, she smiled at J.R., then listened to the chatter in her ears.
The spotter shouting instructions, “Clear low, clear low, go!”
Jake shouting back, “Where’s Ronnie? Has he got my back?”
And then Wade, calm, reassuring, “You’re doing great, Jake. Stay cool. Stay clean. You can do this.”
No one could have possibly known from listening to that smooth, composed voice that Wade had recently had a near-meltdown of his own, Lisa marveled. He was a little too good at tamping down his emotions when he had to. Better than she was, obviously, she thought, glancing up at him as he sat high on the pit box, the undisputed leader of this team.
He wanted this win. The hunger was written in every line of his lean, taut body. Maybe he could hide all his other emotions, but he couldn’t hide that. This was when Wade was happiest, the most fulfilled. This was what guided his every waking moment, she mused thoughtfully. He wanted this win. And the win after that. He wanted the championship. And another after that.
Wade was a racer, as was her father, and Jake and all the crew members surrounding her in their purple and silver uniforms and all the crews in the other pits, equally invested in their drivers’ performance on the track. It was a culture of its own, and few outsiders would ever fully understand it. As for herself—well, she felt as though she existed somewhere in the middle, not fully belonging to either the racing or the non-racing world.
Maybe that was because she had never really committed to either option.
With Ronnie on his back bumper, Jake sped around the third place car. And then dropped low and took the lead. The crew erupted into cheers. J.R. grabbed Lisa and spun her around, setting her back on her feet laughing and breathless. He shouted something to her, but there was entirely too much noise for her to hear anything except the voices in her headset.
The last lap had everyone in the stands on their feet. Jake and Ronnie battled for the lead—teammates and friends, but still competitors, both of them wanting to be the first to cross that finish line. They crossed it almost side-by-side, though Jake had just enough lead to make it official. He had won his second race in two weeks. And the hardworking, dedicated crew that had played a huge part in getting him there went wild in celebration.
Jake was able to show off this time, spinning circles and burning his tires so that a huge cloud of acrid smoke enveloped the car and then drifted into the stands. His jackman and tire carriers performed a happy dance in the pit that ended with them in a heap on the ground, slapping each other’s helmets and generally making fools of themselves. Other crew members leapt nimbly over them as they dashed toward Victory Lane.
Wade climbed down from the pit box, a look of quiet satisfaction on his face. He spotted her standing there and he went still, reaching up slowly to remove his headset. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark glasses, but she knew they were locked with hers. And she was afraid that her eyes were all too revealing as she moved toward him.
“Congratulations,” she said when she got close enough for him to hear her over the din.
“Thanks.”
“I guess you’d better go join your driver. He’s got some bricks to kiss, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. You’ll be here?”
She nodded toward the hauler. “I’ll be here.”
He started to move away. Aware of the eyes watching them, Lisa reached out to catch his sleeve. “Wade.”
He looked down at her again. “Yeah?”
Getting up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips across his. It was an apology, of sorts, for worrying him earlier. A reiteration, in a way, that she really was happy for his win. That she knew how much it meant to him.
Wade swept her into his arms, kissing her with an intensity that curled her toes in her sneakers. If brains could do burnouts, there would be smoke coming out of her ears, she thought dazedly, her arms around his neck.
He released her as abruptly as he’d grabbed her, lingering only long enough to make sure she was steady on her feet before bolting away to celebrate with his team.
“Wow.” The reporter who had tried unsuccessfully to draw Wade into a conversation earlier stood nearby, a look of astonishment on her carefully madeup face. She held her microphone at her side while her cameraman stood behind her, camera perched on his broad shoulder. “Who’d have thought Ice McClellan could kiss like that?”
Quickly recovering her professionalism, she tilted her head questioningly at Lisa. “Mind if I ask who you are?”
Lisa was already walking toward the hauler, with J.R. moving to get between her and the intrusive camera. “Just a friend,” she said over her shoulder.
She figured it was as good a description as any. For now.
LISA GOT A CALL WHILE SHE was waiting in the hauler for Wade to finish with his post-win responsibilities. Seeing Davida’s number on the screen, she took the call.
“Great race, wasn’t it?” Davida asked cheerfully. “Two wins in two weeks. You must be a good-luck charm for the team.”
A couple of crew members had mentioned something like that when she’d come back into the hauler. One had gone as far as to half-seriously suggest that she should never miss another race.
Because she had no interest in serving as anyone’s good-luck charm, Lisa said simply, “The crew did an amazing job getting the car in great shape and Jake did a fantastic job driving it to the front.”
“Spoken like a true representative of the team,” Davida teased. “Anyway, congratulations on the Woodrow Racing first and second finish. Now I have some good news for you from here.”
Lisa sat up straighter on the couch. “What news?”
“Jesse Norris was recaptured this morning. He’s back behind bars, under heavy security. He’s being charged with several counts of assault and attempted murder, among other things. He won’t be bothering you again.”
Feeling relief flood through her, Lisa murmured, “That is good news.”
“No kidding. After that scary message you received, you must feel like celebrating to know he’s back in custody. I know the atmosphere in the office is going to be a lot more relaxed tomorrow. I just talked to Joe Engler, by the way. He’s making a fast recovery and hopes to be back at work in a few weeks.”
“I’m glad to hear that, too.”
“So, anyway, even though I’m sure you’ll want to take the rest of your vacation, it must be good to know that you can come back any time you want to, right?”
“Um, yeah. Right.”
“I’ll let you go. I know you’re still at the track and you’re probably really busy. I just couldn’t wait to tell you the news. I wanted to be the first,” she admitted.
“Thanks, Davida. You really took a load off my mind.” And now Wade could relax about her safety, she thought as she disconnected the call. There was no need for her to even travel with the team to the next race.
She sank back into the couch cushions, trying to decide exactly how she felt about that.
“YOU’VE BEEN AWFULLY quiet this evening,” Wade commented, glancing away from the road ahead long enough to study what he could see of Lisa’s expression in the darkened car. “Tired?”
“A little.”
He would have thought she would be in a better mood tonight. Jake had won the race and Jesse Norris was back behind bars. While he figured the latter was a great deal more important to her than the former, she had seemed pleased earlier by Jake’s win.
As for himself, there was no question. As happy as he was about the win, he was much more satisfied with t
he knowledge that the jerk who had tried to hurt Lisa wouldn’t be seeing daylight again for a very, very long time.
And yet…
“So,” he said, looking intently forward as he guided the car toward her parents’ neighborhood. “Are you going to tell your folks about Norris now?”
“Maybe. I haven’t really decided.”
“You know, we’ll be in New York this next weekend. A road race. Totally different from the two races you’ve seen so far. Jake doesn’t have a prayer of winning it, but I think you’d find it interesting.”
She gave a little laugh. “What makes you think he can’t win?”
“Experience. Jake always struggles on the road courses. If he finishes in the top ten we’ll be happy.”
“Then, I hope he does.”
“Yeah. Me, too. So…you want to go? If you don’t want to stay in the motor home, you could always use your dad’s suite—now that you don’t have to worry about Norris showing up.”
“I’ll…I’ll think about it, okay?”
He tightened his hands around the steering wheel. This was even more awkward than he had expected. Their first private conversation since he’d blurted that stupid, public admission that he cared about her.
He still couldn’t believe he’d said those things. Not like that, anyway. He’d still been trying to come to terms, himself, with his feelings for her. He hadn’t been ready to discuss them with her. Certainly not in the middle of a race crowd less than an hour before the green flag fell.
Maybe he’d been hoping that she would pretend he’d never said it. Or that she would have written it off to the heat of the moment. Or maybe he’d hoped that she would say something similar back to him. She hadn’t.
She hadn’t said much at all to him since they’d left Indiana, other than to inform him that Norris had been recaptured.
He wished he was better with words. Yeah, sure, he knew how to talk to the media, how to lead his team, how to calm his driver. But when it came to finding out if Lisa was going to leave him again, he didn’t even know where to begin.
He stopped at the gate of the Woodrow estate and keyed in the security code. The massive gates slid smoothly open, allowing him to drive through.
