A NASCAR Holiday 2: Miracle SeasonSeason of DreamsTaking ControlThe Natural

by Pamela Britton

  “This is kind of neat,” Maggie whispered to Mike as Brian led the way. “I mean, you might have the power to change this kid’s life.”

  “Maybe,” Mike said, giving her hand a squeeze.

  And then she smiled.

  Mike just about tripped and fell. It was the first genuine smile he’d had from her and it transformed her face. She went from cute to gorgeous in a split second, her blue eyes seeming to light up the space around them.

  “I hope he’s as good as your friend thinks he’ll be,” Maggie said.

  “Me, too.”

  He was. It didn’t take Mike long to realize that the kid had the goods. Watsonville was a short track, but Jerry outclassed the competition by a mile. He had nearly four car lengths on his nearest competitor after only a single lap, and when it came time for his heat race, he won it handily.

  “I’ve seen enough,” Mike said a short while later, pulling the headset Jerry’s team had lent him off his head. Maggie did the same.

  “That’s it?” Maggie asked. “You watch him circle around a few times and you can tell if he’s good or not?”

  “No,” Mike said. “There’s more to it than that. I wanted to hear him on the radio. See how he communicates with his team. How much knowledge he has about his car’s setup. If he’s calm and cool or loud and obnoxious. The last thing we need to do is to hire ourselves a headache driver.”

  “But don’t you want to see him win a race?”

  “No. Jerry already has solid wins under his belt. He was last year’s NASCAR Whelen All-American Series champion. Blain just wanted me to see him in person, judge for myself what he might be like to work with.”

  “And do you like him?”

  “He’ll be getting a call from Blain by the end of the week.”

  “Neat,” Maggie said, smiling at him again. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I watch?”

  She was really excited for the kid. Obviously, she thrived on other people’s happiness—why else would she do what she did for a living? What a unique way to live a life. And how amazing that she’d rather do that—bring people joy—than earn a six-figure salary. Indi had mentioned that working for Miracles was an incredible job, but that it was one that didn’t pay well.

  “Let’s go,” he said, resisting the urge to grab Maggie’s hand again. The truth was that he needed to watch himself. He was starting to like Maggie, something that wasn’t good given the fact that her type was strictly taboo. But there was more to it than that. Three, four months he’d be back in NASCAR again, and one of the main reasons why he’d never gotten deeply involved with a woman in the past was because life on the road was no place to raise a family.

  Maggie was the type of woman a guy would want to have kids with.

  That realization had him drawing up short, had him running a hand through his hair and darting her a glance.

  Not his type, he reminded himself.

  But it dawned on him then that she was not his type for a reason. The flashy ones weren’t the ones you settled down with. Those women had no depth. More than likely, Maggie had layers of depth he’d probably never seen before, and it scared him.

  “We’ll head home right after I talk to Jerry,” he said, more to himself than her.

  “Okay.”

  “Did you need to call your daughter?”

  “No, no. I spoke to her while you were inside the rig talking to Jerry. She’s heading off to her movie.”

  He nodded. Maggie fiddled with the headset she’d worn while Jerry had practiced.

  Mike Morgan had held her hand.

  Maggie stared straight ahead, trying to pretend that walking next to him was no big deal. It was still light out, although sunset was less than an hour away. People kept staring at them as they headed back to the pits. Out on the pavement she could hear a new set of cars circling the track, the sound of their engines pitched high and then low depending on whether they were leaving or entering the corner.

  It was obvious that word had spread that Mike Morgan was around. Teams stopped working as they passed by, a few cameras flashing along the way. Maggie had been around celebrities before, but this was the first time one had actually taken time to chat with the people who stopped him. She really liked that. Really liked him. It was ridiculous. Foolish. She barely knew him.

  Yet she felt as smitten as the time she’d fallen head over heels for Brooke’s father.

  And look where that got you.

  She’d been pregnant at seventeen, delivering Brooke two months after high school graduation. Alone. Brooke’s father had left town, ostensibly to go to college, but he’d never been back. Brooke was lucky to get a birthday card from him. And child support? Hah.

  She struggled to make ends meet. But she did it. I’m not going to sleep with the man, she told herself. I just want to stare at him so that when our time together is over, I can remember what it was like to feel young and carefree and maybe just a little bit special for the first time in a long, long time.

  They reached Jerry’s rig at last and Maggie’s admiration for Mike reached new heights as he broke the news. Jerry just about jumped into Mike’s arms, but Mike didn’t look perturbed. Oh, no. He shared Jerry’s excitement, his grin as big as the one he wore in Winner’s Circle.

  “Is this how it feels when you grant the wish of a Miracles child?” he asked her, the two of them watching as Jerry’s team laughed and cried along with the driver.

  “It is,” she said, getting teary-eyed herself. Jerry’s father had just been told the good news and the man was holding on to his son and bawling.

  “I see now why you do it.”

  “Yup,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “There’s no better job in the world.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LATER, QUITE A BIT LATER actually, because Jerry’s dad insisted they raise a glass of sports drink in Jerry’s honor, they set off for home. Maggie fought back a surge of disappointment as they pulled away from the track. Her time with Mike was nearly at an end. Less than an hour from now she’d be back at home in the Bay Area.

  “Looks like the fog’s staying away from the coast,” Mike observed.

  She’d explained on their way to the beach that late fall was the best time of year to visit the coast. Although Christmas was right around the corner, you wouldn’t know it by the California weather. For whatever reason, the fog tended to stay away from the shoreline, whereas any other time of year, they’d have been socked in by now.

  “Yeah, it’ll probably be a beautiful sunset.”

  “You want to head back to the beach?” he asked.

  “Oh! No. I didn’t mean to sound—” Like a silly fool with fantasies of romantic strolls on the beach. “Like I wanted to do that.”

  “No, of course not,” he said, shooting her a smile.

  He had a great smile.

  “We could have spent more time there earlier, but I wanted to meet Jerry before he went out on the track. Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back.”

  “No. I really shouldn’t. Brooke—”

  “Call her.”

  “I’m not sure I can get hold of her,” Maggie said. “She might be at her movie….”

  “Call her,” he said again.

  She pretended not to hear him.

  He handed her his cell phone. “What’s the number?”

  She knew that if she kept arguing it might look strange so she shook her head at his cell phone and pulled out her own instead. Of course Brooke squealed with delight when Maggie told her that her mom might stay out later than expected.

  “Cool. I’ll just spend the night at Patty’s, then,” Brooke said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “It’ll make it easier, Mom.”

  Easier to do what? “We won’t be back that late,” Maggie insisted.

  “So, call me if it’s an early night. Otherwise, I’m spending the night.”

  Just who was parenting whom?


  “I’ll call you on my way home,” Maggie said.

  “Have fun, Mom. Don’t blow it.”

  Don’t blow what? Surely her daughter wasn’t inferring…

  Maggie glanced at Mike. No way could she clarify the matter with Mike sitting right next to her. “I’ll call you later,” Maggie insisted.

  “Have fun.”

  They were just going to the beach.

  But you’re hoping that’ll lead to more.

  All right. Fine. Maybe she was. But that was just a fantasy because it’d been so long—so very, very long—since she’d had any action in that department. But what was she thinking? Mike wasn’t even interested in her that way. She’d been around enough professional athletes to know they preferred their women on the showy side. Cripes. When most men found out she had a kid, they ran for the hills. If Mike was interested, it would have to be because he was desperate.

  She then had a moment of panic strike because what if he was desperate enough to make a play for her? What if she couldn’t resist him? What if he saw her naked?

  She had cellulite.

  And a baby belly.

  And legs she might have forgotten to shave last night.

  Nope. No way. She couldn’t allow him to see her naked.

  In your dreams would he see you naked.

  She glanced over at him. It was a face that was at once familiar and yet strange. On television she’d never noticed how squared off the back of his jaw was. Or that he had a bit of a bump in the middle of his nose. Was that from his recent accident or had it always been there? His chin was square, too. And his eyes. She’d always been enamored of his eyes, and looking at him from the side they appeared almost translucent, as clear as the curve of a marble.

  “What did Brooke say?” Mike asked.

  “She said to call her on our way home.”

  He nodded.

  Maggie squirmed. This was bad. The guy had her just about hyperventilating. But if she were honest with herself, it had less to do with his good looks than the way his smile reached his eyes. Or the way he’d taken her hand earlier. Or the look on his face when he’d told Jerry he wanted him to drive his race truck.

  They seemed to reach the beach in record time, Maggie’s shallow breath growing even more shallow as Mike pulled into a public parking spot. This time of day the lot was nearly deserted, the beachgoers having left along with the light. But it wasn’t completely dark yet. The sun hung low on the horizon, the fog that hovered far offshore turned the color of mercury, and above that a sky so blue it seemed almost purple.

  “Now this,” Mike said as he came around her side of the car. “This is what I call a sunset.”

  He took her hand.

  Maggie’s whole body seemed to freeze, and then melt, the sensation so surprising and bizarre it was all she could do to think. “Yeah, it is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He held her hand again. Held her hand.

  He glanced down at her, and everything seemed to fade away—the beach, the roar of the ocean, the breeze that kicked up off the sand and brought the smell of brine to her nose.

  She blushed, had to look away.

  “Let’s go down to the water,” he said, tugging on her hand.

  He hadn’t let her go.

  It took a second or two for her feet to move when she ordered them to. Mike glanced back, as if worried she might not follow. She almost didn’t because something told her that if she went where he led, she might end up in a place she had no business going. Not with Mike Morgan, famous race car driver.

  How about Mike Morgan, the man?

  Yes, she admitted to herself. She liked Mike Morgan the man. More than liked him.

  She took a first, tentative step forward.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head. How could she be cold when every nerve in her body seemed to be on fire?

  He guided her to the edge of the parking lot. Beach grass framed the parking area. In between tall tufts, narrow pathways wound down to the ocean. Overhead, a gull cried out; Maggie started at the sound.

  She was nervous. On edge. Maybe a little scared.

  He’s not going to make a pass at you, Maggie. What have you got to be worried about?

  “Let’s take our shoes off,” he said.

  He let go of her hand. The whole time she took off her shoes, she was conscious of him doing the same. When she glanced up to see where he was in the process, his rear end was facing her.

  Oh, my. That was definitely something the TV didn’t show.

  “Ready?” he asked a moment later.

  “Yes,” she said, squishing her toes into the sand. It felt good. Like a cold pumice scrub.

  “What did you do before you worked for Miracles?”

  “I was an administrative assistant. That’s how I got in with Miracles. I was hired to help out, but then there were some personnel changes and before I knew it, I was in charge.”

  “Do you travel a lot?”

  He hadn’t taken her hand again, and even though Maggie told herself that was good, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Maybe that look she’d seen earlier had just been wishful thinking.

  “I travel some, but it’s hard with Brooke.”

  She glanced up at him, trying to gauge why he wanted to know. Was he curious if she ever made it to North Carolina? Did the thought of her having a daughter put him off?

  She could tell nothing by his face.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Do you travel a lot?”

  “I do,” was all he said.

  They’d made it to the shore, the foamy outline of a long-gone wave zigzagging across the sand.

  He stopped suddenly. Maggie did likewise, but she was frozen solid—unable to look him in the eye or even turn to him.

  “This is crazy,” she thought she heard him mumble.

  “What’s crazy?” she asked, the roar of the ocean no louder than the booming in her ears.

  “You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  She nearly choked on a gulp of air. “Feel what?” she asked softly.

  He took her hand again. She stared down at their entwined fingers, thinking that this was surely a dream.

  “We’re attracted to each other, aren’t we?”

  And there it was, how she felt for him out in the open. The shock was that he felt the same way.

  “Mike,” she said, though his name came out sounding like a moan of distress.

  At last she mustered the courage to look him in the eye.

  “Would it help to know that I’m dying to kiss you?”

  She gasped, searching his eyes, because he had to be kidding. He couldn’t seriously want to kiss her. Plain Jane Maggie. Mother of one.

  He lowered his head.

  “I’ve been dying to do this for at least an hour. Maybe two,” he said.

  “Do what?” she asked absently, even though she knew.

  “Do this,” he said softly, his mouth capturing her own. And it was so much better than her fantasies. And, yes, she’d fantasized about this. Women across the country had fantasized about what it might be like to kiss him. That should have given her momentary pause. But it didn’t. Oh, no. Because at this moment, during these seconds—however long they lasted—he was hers and hers alone.

  Big hands grasped her waist, pulled her to him, up against him.

  Yes.

  The word echoed in her head. Yes, yes, yes. He tasted sweet—like the grape sports drink they’d drunk earlier. He felt rock hard, the sides she’d suddenly clutched sculpted in a way that made her want to slide her fingers over the breadth of him. So she did.

  He pulled her even closer, deepened the kiss.

  She fell off the edge of the earth.

  “Mike,” she murmured. “I don’t think… I’m not sure…”

  “I am,” he answered softly. “I’m very, very sure.”

  She leaned toward him because there was no sense in denying it. She didn’t want it to stop. Ever
. What she wanted was him. And why shouldn’t she have him? Why couldn’t she do something impulsive for once? He might leave in the morning, but at least she’d have the memory of tonight to keep her warm.

  He pulled her closer, kissed the side of her neck, and the scruffy feel of his chin against her flesh had her leaning her head back and moaning the words, “Let’s go back to my place.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHE’D SLEPT WITH Mike Morgan.

  Maggie lay in bed and replayed every frenetic moment of the previous night. The mad rush home. The near-crazy way he’d driven over Highway 17. The way she’d almost broken the lock on her door because she’d been in such a hurry to get inside.

  He stirred. She glanced over at him. It was Sunday morning. Brooke would be at Patty’s for most of the morning. If Maggie wanted to, she could wake Mike, perhaps entice him into kissing her again.

  Instead, she stared.

  He was so good-looking, even in the morning half light. His salt-and-pepper hair looked more silver, his skin more pale than tan. He had a wide forehead, she noticed. And thick, masculine brows. Not bushy, she quickly amended. Just masculine. She marveled that he lay in bed beside her. No longer did she think of him as Mike Morgan, race car driver. Now he was simply Mike.

  She lay back in bed. Well, collapsed, really. Although that wasn’t really true, either. She sort of wilted because every muscle in her body had been given a workout that made her body ache and her face burn as she recalled every marvelous thing he’d done to her.

  “You’re smiling.”

  Her eyes sprang open. “You’re awake?” she asked, instantly rolling to face him.

  “I am,” he said, sleep still clinging to the edge of his smile.

  “Do you want some breakfast?” she asked.

  “No,” he said with a shake of his head, glancing at her digital clock. “I’ll get a bite to eat on my way to the airport.”

  Ah, yes. The airport. He was leaving this morning.

  Reality hit her like a cold ocean wave.

  Last night had been incredible, marvelous, unbelievable, but now the morning had come and Cinderella’s coach had turned back to a pumpkin.