by Gina Wilkins
At least no one but her had to know about the kisses she had shared with famous NASCAR driver Jake Hinson.
“YOU’RE THE BEST, dude. You’ll get ’em next year.”
Jake smiled and handed the young man an autographed photograph. “Thanks, man.”
A beaming grandfather with his shy grandson stepped up to the table where Jake sat signing autographs for employees of his newest secondary sponsor, Durfee Oil. “He’s a big fan of yours,” the older man said, nudging the boy, who looked to be six or seven years old. “Tell him, Rob.”
The boy hid his face in his grandfather’s side.
Chuckling, Jake signed a photograph and Jake Hinson ball cap for the duo, then reached for an eight-by-ten glossy from a young woman with long blond hair and blatantly displayed cleavage. “I can’t wait to see you racing again,” she purred, leaning forward a little as he scrawled his name on the photo. “You are so amazing on the track.”
“I’ll be back next week,” Jake assured her, handing her the glossy.
She delayed taking it just long enough to make sure he looked up at her. Moistening her already damp, glittering red lips, she murmured, “I’ll bet you’re pretty amazing off the track, too.”
He laughed, gave her a wink and turned to the next fan in line.
“Jake,” one of the photographers who often accompanied him to such events muttered shortly afterward, “did you get her number?”
Stretching his cramped fingers as he walked away from the table, Jake asked absently, “Whose number?”
“The blonde. You know, the one with the nice, um, headlights? She was sending you signals even a blind guy couldn’t miss.”
“Oh, her. Yeah, she was good-looking, wasn’t she? But no, I didn’t get her number.”
“No? What’s the matter, Hinson? You slipping or something?”
“Just busy,” Jake replied with a shrug. “You know, getting ready to finish the season.”
Shouldering his bag, the photographer nodded. “Guess you do have to concentrate on racing again now, don’t you? Good luck in Charlotte, okay? See you around, Jake.”
“Yeah, see you, Tim.”
A tall, slender redhead waited for Jake at the limo, her ever present organizer in her perfectly manicured hands. “We’ve got to go back to the office and look at those proofs and then you have dinner tonight with Wade, Mr. Woodrow, Mr. Vaughan and Mr. Durfee. You’ll barely have time to change, but you don’t want to be late. You know how Mr. Vaughan is about both punctuality and personal grooming.”
Jake chuckled wryly. His main sponsor was straight out of the previous century when it came to some things. He liked neckties neatly knotted, shirts tucked into pants and shoes highly polished. Old-fashioned courtesies were important to him, and he maintained tight control of the business his grandfather had founded.
His high-profile sponsorship in the fast-moving and freewheeling world of NASCAR racing had been an educational—and very profitable—experience for him. Jake had even seen him wearing a Vaughan Tool–Woodrow Racing polo shirt the day before.
He glanced at his watch. “I really need to work a telephone call in there sometime.”
“Good luck finding time,” Pam replied absently, her elegant fingers already tapping on her BlackBerry. “Maybe after dinner. Unless you want to make it now.”
Because he didn’t want to talk to Stacy with Pam and a driver listening in, Jake shook his head and opened the file Pam had handed him to look over for his schedule the next day.
He found his thoughts drifting back to the autograph session, and the blonde who had worked so hard to get his attention. She had been pretty, he recalled. Looked like the type who’d be a lot of fun. Outgoing, open, uninhibited. Available. And yet…
His mind filled with images of a very different woman. Slender, dark haired, reserved, somewhat guarded. Her smiles were a bit harder to coax, but well worth the effort. Her laughter less frequent, but so sweet when it came. Stacy wasn’t the type he’d thought he’d fall for but, boy, had he ever. Thoughts of her continued to haunt him even almost a week after he’d last seen her.
He wanted to hear her voice. Badly enough that he reached for his phone despite the lack of privacy.
“Hi, this is Stacy,” he heard a moment later. “Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
He should be more careful what he wished for, he thought ironically. He’d wanted to hear her voice, but not recorded on a message service. “Hi, it’s Jake,” he said. “I’m going to be tied up this afternoon and part of the evening, but I’ll try calling you again later, okay?”
She had left the cabin a couple of days before and was back at her apartment in Little Rock. Having never seen her in her ordinary life, he couldn’t picture her there. He had no idea where she was or whom she was seeing or why she couldn’t answer her cell phone. And it bugged him, he realized, snapping his phone closed.
“That girl again?” Pam spoke without looking up from her tiny screen.
Jake slid his phone into its holder. “Yeah.”
“Still talking to her every day?”
“When I can.”
“Busy time for you.”
“I know.”
“You’re spreading yourself pretty thin for the rest of the season. Especially with the new sponsor deal.”
“I’m aware of that. You don’t have to worry about me fulfilling my responsibilities, Pam.”
She lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. He rarely got cross with her, despite her tendency to keep him on schedule through firm insistence. After all, that was why he kept her around. As his PR rep and personal assistant, she was pretty much indispensable to him, and she knew it. The fact that he allowed his annoyance with her to show now probably told her more than he intended about his emotional turmoil when it came to Stacy.
“All right,” she said mildly. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.”
“No problem. I’m sure it’s difficult getting back into the swing after being away for a few weeks. We can put a few things off a little longer if you want, tell everyone that you need a little more time to recuperate.”
“No,” he said immediately. “There’s no need for that. Get me back in the action, Pam. I’ll find time for personal matters when I’ve got a few spare minutes.”
“It will slow down at the end of November,” she reminded him. “Maybe you’ll have time during the off-season to see your new, um, friend.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” But that was still another six weeks away, minimum. And he really didn’t want to wait that long to see Stacy again.
STACY RETURNED to her apartment the Monday night after she and Jake parted and tossed her purse on the bar that separated her living room from her kitchen. Her apartment was so small that the bar was just inside the front door. Her living room wasn’t really large enough for a full-size couch, so she used a love seat and two small wingback chairs with a large ottoman for a coffee table and a couple of hinge-top, square wicker baskets for end tables.
There wasn’t room for a full-size dining table, so she had tucked a tall pub table and two chairs into a corner. The pint-size kitchen held a small refrigerator, a four-burner stove with a too-small oven, a dishwasher and just enough countertop to hold her microwave. She had to keep her toaster and coffeemaker in the pantry, pulling them out only when she needed them.
Walking into the bedroom, she scooted around the end of the full-size oak bed that filled up most of the floor space and stepped into the blessedly roomy walk-in closet to strip out of her clothes and don comfortable pajamas and a robe. Her plans for the remainder of the evening included a cup of hot tea, some good music and a mystery novel.
Oscar was curled up in his doggie bed, looking as though he, too, planned a lazy evening at home. She would take him and the “poop scoop” out in the grassy commons behind her ground-floor apartment just before bedtime, but for now he looked content, she decided, moving to fill her te
akettle with cold water.
There were times when she would have loved a larger apartment—especially a larger kitchen—but she had chosen instead to pick a safe neighborhood and put what little extra money she had into savings. She didn’t make a lot as a freelance editor, but she paid her rent and her bills and had a little left over to stash away for the small house or condo she hoped to own eventually. A very little. At the rate she was going, she figured she ought to be a home owner about the same time she filed for Social Security.
Sighing, she carried her steaming teacup around the bar and settled on one end of the cushy love seat. She was probably going to look for another job soon. Teaching, most likely. Working her own hours at home had been nice, but she really needed to earn a bit more money. Benefits. It wasn’t as if she were independently wealthy and could afford to keep coasting on a fun, but low-paying job.
Her cell phone rang and she reached for it, already knowing whose number she would see on the ID screen. Jake had called every day since he’d left Arkansas. When she couldn’t take the call for some reason, he left a message and then called back later.
She wasn’t sure why he kept calling, but she always enjoyed the conversations. He told her everything about his life—so much more exciting and fast paced than her own—and he always left her smiling when the calls ended. Until the smiles faded into wistfulness….
“Hello, Jake.”
“Hi, gorgeous. How’s your day been?”
“Routine. A couple of meetings at the office. Dinner with my friend Mindy.” Who had grilled her endlessly about her brief friendship with the famous race car driver. Mindy was a casual race fan, watching with her husband when he was in town on Sunday afternoons, and she had recognized Jake’s full name immediately. She’d even known a few details about him that Stacy had missed in her research.
“Sounds nice.”
“It was pleasant. Andrew got the package you sent him, by the way. He was absolutely thrilled. That’s the most I’ve seen him smile in years. Nick’s having him write thank-you notes to you and Scott Rivers, but I wanted to thank you personally, too.”
“It was my pleasure. I guess Andrew was pleased by the race results yesterday.” He had last talked to her on Sunday morning, before the race began.
“Yes. Nick and I watched with him. We all cheered when Scott won the race. Your teammates have been very successful this season, haven’t they?”
“Yeah. They have.” Though Jake sounded pleased, the slightest hint of regret in his tone told her that he was too keenly aware of all he had missed during the past eight weeks.
“Pete finished well in your car,” she offered, hoping to cheer him up again. “He was in the top twenty, wasn’t he? Andrew told me that’s a good thing for your owner.”
Her ruse worked. Jake’s tone was a bit brighter when he responded. “Yeah. He finished fourteenth. He’d have liked to round out his substitution with a top-ten finish, but he was satisfied with where he ended up. He’ll be back in NASCAR NEXTEL Cup racing in a year or two, and he’ll do fine.”
“I guess you’re looking forward to being back in your car Saturday night.”
“Oh, yeah. We’re working just about around the clock to get everything ready.”
“I’ll be cheering for you.”
“I’d like to be able to hear that.”
She laughed a little. “Sorry. I’m not sure I can cheer that loudly.”
“You could if you were wearing a headset. And watching from the pit box.”
Frowning, she shook her head in confusion. “I don’t—”
He broke in with a slight laugh. “Sorry, I’m not being very clear. How would you like to join me here for the race this weekend? I’ll fly you here, make all the arrangements for you, make sure you have a good time.”
He had caught her completely off guard. They’d never even discussed the possibility of her joining him for the race, which was less than a week away.
“Oh, I—”
“I know it’s short notice,” he said apologetically. “I thought at first that maybe it would be best if you didn’t come this weekend. I mean, I’ll be pretty busy and I didn’t want you to feel neglected or anything—but I would really love to have you here for my first race back.”
Panic flooded her at the thought of being there in the middle of all that commotion. “I don’t know, Jake. I’ve never been to a race before. I wouldn’t know what to do. How to act.”
He chuckled. “It isn’t that hard. You do what you want and you act like yourself. You’ll get along fine.”
She remembered the Internet gossip about the women who had accompanied drivers to various races and she almost shuddered. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
“Ready for what? Watching a race in person?”
“Watching a race as your guest,” she corrected him.
“It’s no big deal. I’ve had guests at the races before.”
“I’m sure you have.” She didn’t intend to sound quite so cool. She hoped he didn’t read that the wrong way.
Instead, he just laughed. “Friends, Stacy. I’ve had friends at the races before. Tell you what. Why don’t you bring Andrew? We’ll show him a great time, let him meet Scott—it will be fun.”
Oh, now, that was unfair. He had to realize what a trip like that would mean to Andrew. And just how hard it would be for her to turn it down knowing that, herself. “I—”
“I miss you,” he said quietly, stopping her words unspoken.
And that was even more unfair. Because she missed him, too. Entirely too much, considering how brief their time together had been.
“Andrew would be thrilled by the opportunity you’re offering,” she said after a rather lengthy pause.
“Then take me up on it. I want to see you, Stacy.”
A little thrill went through her, but she forced herself to stay in control of her voice. “You’re pretty accustomed to getting what you want, aren’t you?”
“Usually,” he admitted. “Not every time.”
It always got to her, that little hint of sadness in his voice when he thought of his friend Eric. And she always knew.
“I’ll come,” she said abruptly. “Mostly for Andrew. He’s never been to a race, and this would be a dream come true for him. But I would like to ask for a couple of favors.”
“Which are?”
“Keep us in the background. I don’t want to be paraded as one of Jake Hinson’s lady friends.”
“Hey, I resent that. I don’t date that much—especially during race season. Who’s got the time?”
Which only made it more gossip worthy when he did see someone, she thought with a frown.
“What’s your other request?”
“I, um, I’m just coming as a friend, okay? I mean, that’s probably all you have in mind, anyway, but I don’t want anyone to think…well, you know.”
“You don’t want anyone to think that I’m deeply attracted to you?” he asked blandly. “That I can’t stop thinking about you even when I’m crazy busy? That I wake up in the middle of the night remembering how it felt to kiss you? Okay, I’ll try to keep it secret.”
Her face burned by the time he finished speaking. Her heart raced like Jake’s Number 82 car. “You, uh…”
“Will Andrew be able to take a day off from school Friday? If so, I can fly you here in the morning so he can watch us practice in the afternoon.”
He was hardly letting her complete a sentence during this call—not that she was doing that great a job of being coherent. Struggling to clear her mind, she said, “Yes, I think we can arrange for him to have Friday off.”
“Great. I’ll send the plane for you early Friday morning. You and Andrew can stay in my motor home at the track to give him the full experience.”
He was sending a plane? She’d thought they would fly commercial. “Where will you stay?”
“My house is less than an hour’s drive from the track. I’ll be fine.”
�
�I don’t know. This sounds like a very expensive trip. I mean, a private plane and—”
“Stacy. I can afford it,” he told her gently. “Don’t worry about that, okay?”
There were several things she could accomplish with this trip, she assured herself when they disconnected a short while later, plans in place. She could take Andrew to a race, earning herself heroine status in his life for a while, and maybe having a positive influence on the negative attitude he’d had lately. She could find out if Jake’s interest in her was fleeting or really as serious as he implied. And she would discover for herself just how daunting a potential relationship with a famous NASCAR driver could be.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“OH, MAN,” Andrew breathed. “This is so freaking cool.”
Stacy could barely hear him. Loud would have been the first adjective that came to her mind to describe her initial impression of the racetrack. Crowded would have been the second.
Even on the day of practice, the infield was packed with motor homes and the grassy common areas surrounding the stands were crowded with big semitrailers holding licensed merchandise. Crew members swarmed like ants around the colorful cars lined up in the garage stalls. Engines roared from every stall, making even the ground beneath her feet feel as though it vibrated with the thunderous rumble. Lined up by the garages were the team haulers, painted in every color of the rainbow, hydraulic lifts raised to provide shade for the back openings.
People bustled everywhere, insiders and spectators alike. They all seemed to know exactly where they wanted to be and what they wanted to do—unlike Stacy, who was feeling a bit overwhelmed.
Andrew also looked overwhelmed, but in a different way from his aunt. His freckled face beaming beneath the sandy hair he’d agreed to have trimmed for the trip, he tried to take in everything at once. “Oh, man, it’s Scott Rivers’ hauler. Parked right there by the garage. See, it’s the one painted red and black with his sponsor’s name, Witt Hardware. You think Scott’s in there?”
