A NASCAR Holiday 2: Miracle SeasonSeason of DreamsTaking ControlThe Natural

by Pamela Britton

  “Thanks,” he said. “Uh, how are the wedding plans going?”

  “Trent’s dad wants us to wait until he’s fully recovered from his heart attack.” She grinned. “Let’s talk about something much more interesting—how was your car today?”

  “We had a few problems.” Then—maybe because she projected that you-can-tell-me-anything shrink persona—he added, “But it wasn’t all the car’s fault.”

  “Hmm.” She nodded sympathetically.

  A classic shrink response, Danny assumed. Funny how it made him want to talk. “I was pretty burned up about coming second in the Cup again this season,” he said. “It’s hit my confidence harder than I like to think. The new season hasn’t started yet, but already it’s like I’ve lost that feeling that I can win.”

  “I see.” She sounded interested.

  “You realize that’s not true,” he deadpanned. “I’m saying this so you’ll pass it on to Trent and he’ll be lulled into a false sense of security.”

  Her frank blue gaze met his. “Sure. And because I don’t want Trent to be fooled by your little act, I won’t tell him.”

  Danny nodded, gave her a faint smile. “I find myself thinking, what if I can’t get out there and win again? Last season was my best ever—what if that’s as good as I get?” An attitude like that could become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Kelly frowned. “First up, if there’s anything you’ve let slide—your diet, your race preparation, fitness…make sure you have plans in place to fix it.”

  “Uh-huh.” He had all that in hand—he’d hoped for something a little more inspiring.

  “What I’m going to say now sounds a bit airy-fairy, but it works. You need to surround yourself with cues that remind you you’re a race driver and a winner.”

  “Cues,” he repeated doubtfully.

  “Where do you keep your race trophies?” she asked.

  “In the cupboard under the stairs. A few in the basement.”

  She chuckled. “Dust those suckers off and put them all around the house. Every room, even the bathroom.” She grinned at his expression. “And the photos, ribbons, banners, everything. Put it all on display. Every time you look around, you’ll see you’re a winner.”

  “You think that’ll work?”

  “I think it’ll help.” Someone brushed past her and Kelly stumbled; Danny helped right her. “The same goes for the people you’re with. Get rid of everything and everyone that reminds you of failure. Surround yourself with people who can attest you’re a winner, who think of you that way.”

  “Does Trent do all this stuff?” he asked, curious.

  “Trent’s problem,” she said drily, “has never been one of too little confidence.”

  Danny laughed, and realized he felt better. “Thanks, Kelly.”

  “We’ve only scratched the surface,” she said, “Too bad you’re the competition, because I could do you a lot of good.”

  Trent called her over to him, and she left Danny to mull over her advice. Getting his trophies out of the cupboard would be easy. It might feel dumb, but he could do it. Then he had to surround himself with people who thought he was a winner….

  Hugh and Marj did, or they wouldn’t have given him a ride in the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series. The team was fine, too, barring their understandable frustration today.

  Madison came back into the room, drawing his attention the way she always did. Danny found himself thinking about her all the time—that couldn’t be good.

  Did Madison think of him as a winner? She did, Danny realized, but that wasn’t what she wanted to see. She liked to dig deep to find the “regular guy,” the part of himself he’d put under wraps for the duration of his career in the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series.

  For the first time, he understood she was right to say they shouldn’t date, not even for a few weeks. Maybe his other relationships had lacked depth, but those women dated him because he was a winner and they knew that was the most important thing.

  Madison would probably say something else was most important. Like taking time to play with the dog. Like cozy Sunday lunches. Like Christmas.

  He couldn’t go on seeing her.

  Danny was shocked to realize he might not have the willpower to give her up. This had gone way too far.

  He’d have to rely on her willpower instead.

  “TRENT MATHESON IS A JERK,” Madison declared as their flight took off back to Charlotte.

  Danny’s driving had improved in the latter part of the day, but ever since he’d got out of the car he’d been quiet and distant, and Madison wondered if he was still worried about his performance. Her announcement got his attention.

  “Trent’s okay,” he said, surprised.

  “The guy’s engaged to be married, and he was all but hitting on me.”

  Danny smiled, and the crease that had furrowed his brow the last hour smoothed out. “Trent’s like that with every woman—except Kelly. That surface charm deflects anyone from getting any deeper with him.”

  “I wouldn’t want a fiancé who told other women they’re cute,” Madison said.

  Danny gave her a brooding look. “You want a regular guy.”

  “That’s right.” She wondered if a NASCAR driver could be a regular guy. At least, this particular NASCAR driver. Because the more time she spent with Danny, the more she wanted to date him. And not just for a few weeks. Out of duty to her emotional safety, she kept telling herself that was stupid—but she’d stopped listening.

  She laced her fingers between Danny’s on the armrest between their seats. His fingers tightened around hers; his strength coursed into her. With Danny, she felt as if anything was possible.

  Then he pulled his hand out, looked down at his fingers as he straightened them. “The potential sponsor didn’t rate my driving today.”

  No wonder Danny wasn’t himself. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If he got to know you he’d soon see—”

  “Before you start taking on my problems as well as those of every stray dog or cat,” he said abruptly, “I should tell you who the sponsor is.”

  The atmosphere in the airplane was suddenly charged with static tension.

  “Who is it?” Madison said warily.

  His eyes met hers, defiant in a way she didn’t understand. “Poochy Packs.”

  “The dog cookie people?” She’d seen their distinctive purple packaging in pet stores and specialist pet bakeries.

  “Uh-huh. Can you believe people are crazy enough to buy cookies for their dogs?”

  She ignored that. “Did Poochy Packs get interested because you own a dog?”

  “They got interested,” he said deliberately, “before I owned a dog. Right after that photo shoot at your clinic.”

  The cabin felt suddenly airless; Madison half expected to see an oxygen mask drop down in front of her. “That’s—that’s why you adopted Buster.”

  He nodded. “I knew I’d have a better chance of convincing Poochy Packs to come on board.”

  She thought about how he’d convinced her to let him have Buster. “Not because you were lonely…or hurting.”

  “Loneliness isn’t a big deal for me—I’m best when I’m on my own.”

  Madison felt hollow inside at the thought that Danny’s kindness to Buster had been purely so he could attract money to his NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series campaign. Other things started to add up. “That photographer in the park… You knew he’d be there.”

  “Yep. Sandra, my PR rep, tipped him off.”

  “Why did you take me with you that day?”

  He hesitated. “I thought it would look more natural than me being there on my own.”

  “And you brought Buster to Kentucky to impress the Poochy Packs guy.”

  He nodded.

  “And me?”

  For a moment she thought he was going to reveal some other awful advantage her presence had afforded him. But he said gruffly, “I wanted you with me.”

  “I don’t believe you.” The ache in Ma
dison’s chest spread right through her. “You’re not fit to own a dog, you’re not fit to date me.”

  Danny didn’t reply.

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  His gaze slid away. “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about me. I want you to know what matters most to me.”

  The rest of the flight passed in a silence that had Buster confused, anxiously licking first Danny’s hand, then Madison’s.

  Danny must have guessed the direction of her thoughts, her hopes about him, Madison realized. As they passed through thick clouds that buffeted the little aircraft, her pain receded, to be replaced by a pervasive numbness. Right now it might feel as if Danny had run her over with his NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series car, but in her mangled heart Madison knew he’d done her a favor.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THANKS TO the strong headwinds that slowed their flight, Madison was late for her evening shift at the clinic.

  Danny, courteous as ever, escorted her inside, despite her assertion that he didn’t have to. Roger had filled in for her until she arrived, and he was in a filthy mood, despite the fact she’d called to say she’d be late. When he started bandying about words like carelessness and lack of commitment, Madison snapped.

  “Cut it out, Roger, you know I do more shifts than anyone. If it wasn’t for me you might have to lift a finger around here more often.” She sensed Danny’s surprise, then his silent approval in the way he shifted closer to her. But she was mad at him, too; she didn’t give a damn what he thought.

  “And what’s more,” she told Roger, “I can’t work Christmas Day. I’ve done it the last two years. It’s someone else’s turn.”

  Roger turned puce. “I need staff I can rely on. I’m surprised at your irresponsible attitude, given you think you should be attending the clinic management course in February.”

  Madison gulped. Was she willing to risk him pulling her off the course if she didn’t work Christmas? Maybe she could work if she asked Mom to serve a late meal and—

  Then Danny’s arm landed around her shoulder, in a gesture that was supportive, protective, empowering. She wanted to throw it off; she didn’t.

  “It’s my fault Madison can’t work Christmas,” he said. “I want to have Christmas with her and her mom.”

  Madison felt her jaw drop, and hauled it back into line. He was saying it to help her with Roger, because he felt guilty about using her and Buster.

  Roger paused, but not for long. “That’s all very well, but I have a business to run here. I can’t have my people—”

  “Then make sure you run it like a business,” Danny said, his voice so hard that Madison was startled into looking at him. “A businessman wouldn’t pull Madison off that management course, any more than he’d expect her to work Christmas three years running.”

  “It was never my intention to pull Madison off the course,” Roger said stiffly. “I suppose I can find someone else to work Christmas Day.”

  “That’s good news,” Danny said calmly. He dropped a brief kiss on Madison’s lips. It had none of the warmth or tenderness in it she’d come to expect, and she knew it was for Roger’s benefit.

  “I’ll pick you up at six Friday night,” he said. At her evident confusion, he added, “For the SouthMax Christmas party. You agreed to come with me.”

  “You’ve got to be—” She stopped, aware Roger was still there.

  “Six o’clock.” The hard purpose in Danny’s eyes told her he meant it.

  ON FRIDAY, Danny picked Madison up from her condo at six sharp. She opened the door to him wearing the new dress she’d bought over a week ago, right after he’d invited her to the party. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d left her at the clinic on Tuesday.

  “Wow.” As he presented her with a corsage, a beautiful white gardenia, his eyes traveled over the turquoise halter-neck dress that molded to her curves and ended in a flirty swish above her knees. “I, uh, didn’t expect you to be ready.”

  She suspected he’d thought he might have to forcibly drag her to the party after the way he’d behaved.

  “Oh, I’m ready.” She’d been doing a lot of thinking since she last saw him.

  He took the purse she extended to him, held it while she pinned the corsage to her dress.

  She waited until they were in the truck before she spoke again. “Those things you said on the flight back from Kentucky…that was to show me you can’t be the kind of guy I want, right? You can’t be a regular guy?”

  “It was all true.” He started the engine, pulled out into the traffic.

  “Then why are you taking me to the party tonight, rather than some supermodel who thinks you’re nothing more than a NASCAR star?”

  For a moment, he said nothing. Then, reluctantly, he growled, “Because no matter that there’s no future for us, we’re not done yet.” He glanced over his shoulder as he changed lanes. Their eyes clashed for a brief moment. “Why are you coming to the party when you’re mad at me?”

  “Because,” she said, “no matter that you’ve been using me from the get-go, we’re not done yet.”

  His mouth curved in a puzzled smile. “Why do I get the feeling you mean something different from what I mean?”

  She opted for an oblique approach. “I went to see Mom yesterday and told her that if Dad comes home for Christmas, she can count me out.”

  “Whoa.” Danny braked sharply for a red light. “What did she say to that?”

  “She was surprised,” Madison admitted. “But my sisters were there, and they jumped in on my side. Turns out Mom only lets Dad come home for Christmas because she thinks we need to see him. She knows he’s bad for her. She said she’ll call Dad and tell him to make his own arrangements. My sisters and I will catch up with him after Christmas.”

  “That’s great,” Danny said. “Well done.”

  “I have you to thank for making me so mad that I finally decided to stand up for what I want—with Roger and with Mom. And now, I’m going to stand up to you.”

  There was a pause while he passed a delivery van double-parked in the road. Then he cautiously asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve figured out why you decided to have Christmas with me.”

  He turned to look at her, his dark eyes intense. “Why is that?”

  “Because you don’t have anywhere else to go. You don’t want to be alone, and you’re relying on my feeling sorry for you, so you can use me again.” Just the thought of Danny spending the holiday alone had her softening.

  “Is that right?” His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  Madison swallowed, drew on every scrap of courage she possessed to make her stand. “I’m going to use your using me. I’m giving you until Christmas to figure out that in your heart you want a different kind of relationship.”

  “I don’t,” he said, alarmed.

  “You don’t yet,” she corrected, praying this wouldn’t backfire.

  “You’re overreacting to this whole Christmas thing. There’s no way I’m going to change my mind.”

  “We’ll see,” she said with a stubbornness she didn’t feel. “I really…like you, Danny. I don’t want to fall in love with you unless I think you’re going to feel the same. You have four days to figure out where this thing is going.”

  As tactics went, it felt dangerous—like trying to hold on to a wounded animal long enough to get a tranquilizing shot into it, without getting your hand bitten off.

  Danny didn’t say another word. After a couple of minutes he started to whistle. When Madison recognized the tune, her heart sank.

  “Road to Nowhere.”

  MADISON LIKED Hugh and Marj Naylor the moment she met them. Hugh had a British reserve about him, but it didn’t conceal his innate kindness. Marj was a North Carolina gal, her graciousness and warmth combining to give her an unassuming air, despite what Madison guessed must be considerable wealth.

  Regardless of her trepidation about Danny, Madison had fun at the party. T
he team were such nice folks, the band played rock’n’roll versions of Christmas songs and there was plenty of dancing. Danny was obviously well liked by everyone, even if he wasn’t as extroverted as some of the others.

  He spent most of the evening at Madison’s side, and she saw that as some kind of triumph, given the way she’d scared him on the journey here.

  Around eleven, when Danny had been dragged away to meet the wife of one of the over-the-wall guys, a portly man introduced himself to Madison as Bob Haldane from Poochy Packs.

  “You’re thinking about sponsoring Danny,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said doubtfully. “Though things didn’t go so well in Kentucky the other day. There are a couple of other drivers I’m interested in.”

  Madison remembered Danny saying another associate sponsor would bring the extra money that might make the difference between him winning the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series title and being, once again, an also-ran. The extra money that might help him achieve his dream.

  “Anyone can have a bad day, but if you talk to Danny you’ll discover he’s an amazing guy with a focus I don’t believe any other driver can match,” she said.

  Haldane puffed out his cheeks and humphed.

  “When Danny brought Buster into my clinic, it was obvious he knew nothing about dogs,” Madison said. “But he did a wonderful job of calming Buster, and he’s turned into a great dog owner—he’s a natural.”

  It was a good choice of words. Haldane glanced at Danny, still chatting to his teammate’s wife. “Hmm,” he said.

  Madison tried not to roll her eyes. This guy was a man of even fewer words than Danny—they were a perfect match. What she’d said about Danny as a dog owner was true, if she overlooked his motivation. But the real proof of how well he’d done could be seen in Buster’s affection for Danny.

  “Poochy Packs is the class act in dog cookies,” she told Haldane. “Danny Cruise is a class act on the track and off.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her vehemence. More moderately, she said, “I’m sure Buster would love Poochy Packs cookies.” She realized that was the wrong tack. “I mean, I’m sure he already does love them.”