by Abby Gaines
“He gave you your first Cup ride. He backed you when no one else would, like you told that reporter.”
“Were you there today when Gil said my job was hanging by a thread? When he told you to stay out of my business? How can you defend him?”
“I’m not defending him. Gil’s acting like a jerk. That doesn’t mean you don’t owe him your loyalty.”
Eli clutched his head. “This is NASCAR, not the Boy Scouts. There’s no code of honor or fidelity pledge.”
“I bet there is,” she retorted. “Besides, Gil cares about you. That’s why you two are fighting.”
“Cares…are you kidding?” Eli jammed the key into the ignition. “NASCAR might run high on emotions, but it’s not sentimental. I’ve had a good run at Double S, but nothing lasts forever.”
“Loyalty matters,” she said stubbornly. “Loyalty to more than yourself. Gil wants what’s best for you, as well as the team. He wants you to get your act together. Far as I can see, not many other people in your life care that much.”
He flinched, but came back fighting. “Dixon cares about my future. He thinks I’m a champion in the making. And those guys at Fulcrum have a great time.”
“That’s important,” she said sarcastically.
Why on earth had he expected her to understand, when she couldn’t even grasp something as simple as It’s over?
Eli started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. “A smart driver is always lining up the next move in his career, just like he is on the track.” He hesitated. “Just like he is with women.” He’d forgotten to check out the talent tonight, he had so much on his mind, but he wasn’t about to admit that.
She drew in a sharp breath, but he refused to feel guilty.
“Tomorrow I’m going to call Dixon and accept that ride. You and I—” he jabbed a finger at her “—are finished.”
JEN SPENT THE ENTIRE flight home, and the limo journey Eli had arranged to the farm, dissecting her new relationship.
Her one-sided relationship.
Despite her brave declaration to Eli that she was his real girlfriend and she wasn’t going anywhere, reiterated even as he shoved her through the departure gate with obvious delight that he was rid of her, it was getting harder to convince herself she could make this work.
Yet she was certain she saw a deep longing inside Eli for someone who wouldn’t leave, who would stick by him no matter what.
I could be that woman.
It was way too soon to think like that, of course. They barely knew each other. But that didn’t stop her mind racing ahead, painting scenarios that involved a wedding and babies.
Maybe he was right: she was nuts.
When she arrived at the farm, the front door opened without its familiar squeak. The guy Eli hired to help Granddad must have oiled it. “I’m home,” she called.
“In the kitchen.” Her grandfather’s voice was strangely flat.
Jennifer’s heart sped up. “Granddad?” She ran down the hallway. “Are you okay?”
She found him sitting at the kitchen table, a newspaper spread out in front of him. The National Echo.
She slowed her pace. “Since when do you buy that paper?”
He grunted. “Dennis Crane brought it over this morning. Thought I should see what a display my granddaughter is making of herself.” He crumpled the page. “It made me feel sick.”
“I—it can’t be that bad.” She and Eli had been kissing, that’s all.
Carlton shoved the newspaper across the table. Jennifer sank into a seat. Two photos, one of her and Eli kissing. Okay, so his hands were on her butt rather possessively, but that wasn’t too shocking.
The other photo was the one the guy had taken after they’d sprung apart. Eli looked annoyed, but very much in control of himself. Jennifer looked…a wreck. Her dress was lopsided, her hair disheveled, her mouth agape as if her brain had fallen out during that kiss.
“You look like a floozy,” Carlton snapped.
“Anyone can take a bad photo,” she said, trying not to cry.
“Your grandmother and I didn’t raise you to chase after NASCAR drivers.”
“He’s a good man,” Jennifer protested, her loyalty to Eli surging despite her own doubts. “Look how he arranged for help for you.”
“Because he wants to get into your pants!” The crudeness from a man who valued propriety shocked her. “Sweetheart, you don’t watch NASCAR, so you don’t know what I do about this guy,” her grandfather said, more gently. “He grew up moving from pillar to post, he dates a different woman every week, he has a job you have to be downright crazy to do, no matter how much I enjoy watching those races.”
She did know all that, and it didn’t make any difference. Nor did it make a difference that the Internet search she’d carried out on his name had thrown up a dozen pictures of him kissing a dozen different women. Everyone had a past, so she couldn’t hold that against him.
“Inside, he’s a good man,” she said again. Yet that photo summed up their relationship perfectly. Eli detached, in control, confident. Her eager, floundering, desperate.
“He doesn’t know how to be a good man—leastways, not good enough for you,” Carlton said. “I never thought you’d forget every blamed lesson you were ever taught.”
Lessons not to make the kind of poor choices her parents had. Choices that had taken them away from home and ultimately from her.
“I admit Eli might look…flighty.” She chose the word over more damning alternatives: unreliable, womanizing. “But every man settles down when he finds the right woman.”
Her grandfather snorted. Which saved Jennifer the trouble. Even she could hear how pathetic she sounded, making excuses for a twenty-eight-year-old man who might never grow up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NOTHING LIKE A MORNING spent mucking out the chicken house to remind a girl that glamour is fleeting. By the time Jennifer arrived at work at eleven o’clock on Monday, her dreams had all but evaporated with the dew.
Why had she thought Eli could ever be serious about her? she wondered as she gave a family from Houston a tour of the track.
Then, at noon, his flowers arrived—an enormous bunch, some sort of lilies, exotically perfumed. Conscious of Bob Coffman’s amused scrutiny, she pulled the card out of the little envelope.
“Sorry about the Echo,” the message read.
So it wasn’t exactly undying devotion. But he’d thought of her, known she’d be upset. Foolish hope glimmered. Maybe they weren’t “finished.”
Jen waited until she had some privacy, later in the day, to call Eli. “Thanks for the flowers…they’re beautiful.”
“They were Gil’s idea,” he said flatly.
“Oh.” She quashed a pang of disappointment. And for the first time noticed he hadn’t even put his name on the card. “Thank Gil for me, then. I have to admit I was horrified by those photos.”
“Which just goes to show you’re not the right girlfriend for me,” he said. “That kind of press coverage is all part of the package. The women I usually date love seeing themselves in the media.”
Which was enough to have her battle-ready again. “The women you usually date are disposable. I’m not.”
He muttered something that might have been a curse.
“I’ve had a lot of flak from my grandfather about this,” she said. “He must have given me two thousand reasons why I shouldn’t date you.”
“Smart man,” Eli said. “And we’re not dating. Though we do still have a business relationship—Gil expects to see you in Atlanta this weekend.”
“I defended you,” she told him calmly, ignoring his talk of business.
A short silence. “Who asked you to do that?” he said, with almost boyish defiance.
“Next time you send flowers,” she said tartly, “make it your idea.” She hung up on him.
Then she wondered, if Eli and Gil were still talking, did that mean he hadn’t called Dixon Rogers yet? Or just that he hadn
’t told Gil?
ON TUESDAY, Eli sent team T-shirts and caps. “For the race at Atlanta,” the card said. The size was perfect, the style more fitted than Jen normally wore. She had to admit, as she checked out her reflection in the bathroom mirror at work, the emerald-green color suited her.
She called Eli. “Whose idea was the clothing?”
“Mine,” he admitted reluctantly. “But only because you’ll need it for the race. I had the receptionist choose it—she’s about your size.”
In other words, Jen was interchangeable with any other women who happened to be at hand. But there was that note of defiance in his voice again, as if he was testing her.
“Not good enough,” she said. “You’re my boyfriend.”
“I’m not your boyfriend,” he growled.
“Why can’t you be like an ordinary guy and buy me a personal, well-thought-out gift?” she asked.
This time, he hung up on her.
ELI COULDN’T BELIEVE a scrap of a girl like Jen was causing him so much grief. None of the women he dated questioned his gifts. If she thought he was about to spend some of his precious time choosing presents for her because she was his girlfriend, she was dreaming!
The only explanation for why he found himself looking at earrings in a jewelry store in Charlotte on Wednesday morning was that he appreciated the opportunity to argue with her.
He hadn’t realized how hard it was keeping his carefree smile permanently in place until he’d let it slip with Jen. He relished the chance to gripe, to grumble, to fire insults.
I sound like her grandfather, he thought, appalled. Yeah, well, maybe people shouldn’t wait until old age to say what they really thought. Jen certainly didn’t.
Not that he was about to let go of what Jen would call his cover. He would keep up his happy-go-lucky persona with everyone else, and enjoy his conversations with her to the max.
Shame she couldn’t get it out of her head that they should have a serious relationship. If he thought for a moment she could keep it casual, he’d take her to bed, make love to her all night. Then start all over again the next day, because one night wouldn’t be enough to do all the things he wanted to—
Whoa! No way were he and Jen going near a bedroom. He’d have her feisty old grandfather coming after him with a rifle. Putting a bullet through his heart and plucking him like a chicken.
He’d have Jen expecting a ring on her finger.
Jen wasn’t the kind of girl to fool around with. Bad, bad idea.
Eli inspected a pair of gold earrings, each drop comprising two gold balls, one on top of the other. He imagined them dangling from her little ears, saw them in his mind’s eye next to the curve of her neck.
“I’ll take these,” he told the assistant, and gave delivery instructions.
JEN CALLED THURSDAY morning while Eli was in his office at home. He was startled at how his chest warmed to see her number on his cell phone. He kicked back in his chair, feet up on the desk, ready to receive her thanks.
“You really are an idiot,” she said.
Dammit! His feet crashed to the floor. “I chose those earrings myself,” he yelled. “I wrote the damn card myself.” Okay, so maybe the message—Thinking of you—hadn’t been that inspiring…
“I don’t have pierced ears,” she said. “You weren’t thinking of me at all.”
Eli found himself gaping at the phone. “Every woman I know has pierced ears.”
“When will you learn that I’m not like the other women you’ve dated? You need to lift your game, Eli,” she said haughtily.
Her turn to hang up.
Any other woman would be swooning with gratitude to have this much attention from him, whether she had pierced ears or not!
Eli tossed the cell phone onto the desk. It landed with a thud—the back fell off and the battery came out.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that about Jen’s ears. A real boyfriend ought to be ashamed of himself. I’m not her boyfriend.
He slapped the phone back together. Maybe he should buy her a necklace… She had a neck, didn’t she? A damn stiff neck with a damn stubborn chin on top of it.
Eli brooded as he stared down at his phone. Tomorrow morning they would head to Atlanta for the race. Gil’s PA had arranged flights for Jen. Eli was looking forward to seeing her. To arguing with her and being every bit as blunt as she is.
He wondered if she was so annoyed about the earrings she wouldn’t turn up.
She would. She’d said she would and one thing about his Jen—she’s not my Jen—she stuck with her promises. All that garbage about loyalty and so on.
Eli hoped she wasn’t still trying to defend him to her grandfather, but he bet she was. He wondered if her loyalties were torn. Carlton was pretty special to her…
Eli thumbed the directory key on his phone and scrolled down to Kent Grosso’s number.
AT EIGHT-THIRTY Friday morning, Jen finished mucking out the coop. She stripped off her gloves and washed her hands under the hose tap before heading inside—where she found Eli in the kitchen, pouring coffee from the pot she’d made earlier. Another man was there, too—handsome, but not as good-looking as Eli.
She dropped the gloves she’d planned to dump in the utility room.
“Morning, chickadee,” Eli said.
“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“Your grandfather opened the door. Then he went to get dressed.” He winked at her. “I wasn’t expecting him to let me over the doorstep, but when he saw who I had with me…” He grinned at his companion.
“And you are?” Jen demanded.
The other man smiled. “My name’s Kent Grosso, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Kent Grosso? Granddad’s favorite driver? Jen subsided into a seat at the table. “Why?” she asked Eli, her tone a whole lot less belligerent.
He shrugged. “Kent owed me a favor after I supported him in the draft at ’Dega.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Eli sighed, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. “Damned if I know. Maybe it’ll get your grandfather off your back about those photos. He might even think I’m a decent guy.”
And why, exactly, did he want Granddad to think he was a decent guy? Jen swallowed the bubble of hope and said acerbically, “More likely Kent will show you up.”
Eli laughed. “Yeah, he does that. But it’ll be the other way around out on the track.”
Kent, a former NASCAR Sprint Cup Series champion, snorted.
“Shouldn’t you be in Atlanta?” Jen asked.
Eli shrugged. “So long as we get there by eleven we’ll be okay. We came in Kent’s plane, so we’re flexible. You can fly with us.”
Her grandfather walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes as if he couldn’t quite believe Kent was here, in his kitchen. The light in his face, his almost reverential expression, warmed Jen’s heart.
She’d asked for a personal, well-thought-out gift, and Eli had done this for her.
“Mr. Ashby,” Eli said, “I have to confess to an ulterior motive in bringing Kent here today.”
“You’re after my granddaughter,” Carlton accused.
“No, sir.”
Ouch.
“I’m after you giving her an easier ride,” Eli said. “Your granddaughter is a woman of high integrity. She doesn’t deserve to have you giving her trouble over her connection with me.”
Right then, she forgave him for saying he wasn’t after her.
Her grandfather fixed her with a gimlet stare. “That what she told you?”
“Of course not,” Eli said. “She has nothing but good things to say about you, for some reason.”
Jen gasped. Her grandfather barked a laugh. Kent folded his arms and watched the proceedings with interest.
“I suggest you trust Jen to do the right thing, the way you raised her,” Eli said.
Carlton grunted. “Not always easy for a girl when there’s a rapscallion like you t
urning her head.”
“Jen’s the strongest woman I know,” Eli assured him.
He really believed that?
Eli held out a hand to Jen. “Let’s go feed the chickens or something, let Kent and your granddad talk.”
As they left the kitchen, she heard Granddad say, “Tell me about that time at Daytona when Justin Murphy put you into the wall on Turn Three.”
Outside, they walked around to the front of the house. The sky seemed bluer than it had five minutes ago, the grass greener, the sun brighter. Could being with Eli do that? Yes.
“Was today’s gift good enough?” Eli asked.
She stopped. “It was perfect. Thank you.”
His eyes darkened as he took her in his arms.
His kiss, wonderful though it was, wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts clamoring in her head.
I love Eli. I’m in love with him.
It didn’t make a lick of sense for a girl who was looking for an ordinary man to love Eli Ward.
But Jen did. She loved his outrageous NASCAR driver persona and his quiet, decent core. She loved his instinctive sensitivity to others’ needs, the way he’d talked to the people at the charity gala, brought Kent to see her grandfather and intervened to make sure Granddad didn’t give her a hard time. She loved that he called her on her conservative attitudes and sparked arguments that heightened her senses. She loved his sense of fun, his keen intelligence, his kisses… She loved him, and that was that.
Now she just had to convince him to love her back.
BY FRIDAY NIGHT, Eli had qualified third for Sunday’s race in Atlanta, which had the whole team excited. Jen had hugged her feelings to herself all day, not wanting to break his concentration. Astute as he was, he’d looked at her once or twice with concern. “What’s up, chickadee?” he asked at one stage. He looked so wary, she assured him everything was fine.
On Saturday, she and Eli were invited to Dean and Patsy Grosso’s motor home for lunch, along with Kent and his wife, Tanya. The Grossos, Kent’s parents and owners of Cargill-Grosso Racing, had heard about their son’s visit to the chicken farm. They asked lots of interested questions about Jen and her grandfather.
