Slide Job (Cameron Motorsports)

by Fox, Sutton

  Lynn sat there watching her expectantly, with the strangest expression on her face.

  “Of all the arrogant miscreants, I had to get lucky and find one who knew my name.”

  “Really? What did he say?” Funny, Lynn sounded more than curious, she sounded concerned.

  Morgan pressed hard on the gas pedal, urging the old wreck to pick up enough speed to roll them back onto the highway.

  “He rattled off some bull about being able to kick me off the show for leaving the track and not following the rules. Whoever he was, I think he was having delusions of grandeur.”

  “No, Morgan, he wasn’t.”

  “What do you mean ‘he wasn’t’? How would you know?”

  “Because I recognized him. Remember that gossip mag I was telling you about, at the grocery store?”

  “Yeah, what does that have to do with the here and now?”

  Lynn looked at her seriously, her voice rising with excitement. “He’s Tyler Dalton.”

  Well, crap.

  Chapter 5

  The intense gray sky thundered its release, dashing out bolts of white lightning and a barrage of water. It didn’t rain much in Denver. Except on Saturday nights in the summer, when it was time to race. Today wasn’t Saturday; it was Monday, and the weather fit her somber mood perfectly.

  “We’ll be in North Carolina to watch you win the prize. Don’t you worry about that.” Carter Blade spoke, with barely a glimmer of his old authority, his voice whisper soft and tired. “Nobody can drive a car like my best girl.”

  His brave smile pierced her heart, the same smile he’d had for as long as she could remember. It was the rest of him that belonged to a stranger. The whites of his eyes were yellowish, his skin jaundiced.

  Last night, her mom had shared the latest news. The tumors were starting to spread from his pancreas to his liver. Both her mom and dad seemed to have high hopes for the clinical trial coming up. Their faith humbled her; how they cleaved to each other and became stronger because of it.

  Snuggled under blankets to ward off his constant chill, he appeared thinner than she’d ever seen him. Conjuring even a ghost of a smile took all of her willpower.

  Morgan knelt on a dark green corduroy floor pillow, one of many her mother kept piled around the house for any stray crewmembers who might need to stay the night. She drew close to the battered recliner, where he now spent most of his days, and rested her head on her father’s knee. He stroked her hair as she faced him. She closed her eyes at the soothing touch, inhaling the scent of his favorite Old Spice aftershave.

  She spoke softly, wanting this moment to last forever. “That would be great, Dad. I can’t tell you what it would mean to me to have you and Mom there.” She wondered how he would make it, looking so exhausted after just one day spent traveling to Kansas and back.

  “I want you to give this your best shot. This is an opportunity that could change your life. The sky’s the limit for you, if you can win this thing.”

  Spoken like a true parent. She reached for his hand, holding it tightly, fighting off the tears. Who was comforting whom? She snuffled, her nose starting to run. A rustling noise made her open her eyes to him holding a tissue out to her with his free hand.

  “I mean it, Morgan. I want you to have a chance at a better life than I was able to give you.”

  “There is nothing wrong with the life you gave me.” I can’t face this right now. “I’ll think about it, wait.” She wiped her nose and crushed the tissue into the pocket of her jacket. She felt relieved and comforted, glad some things never changed. “I’ll win, and you get well. How’s that?”

  “As you wish.” The old movie line made her smile. He’d said it to her and her mom for years. Every time one of them wanted something, he’d just smile, say those words, and work his butt off to provide it. She’d always been able to count on her dad. Other than Jack, he was the most dependable man she knew.

  Her gaze traveled slowly around the familiar room as if seeing it for the first time. Furniture her mother had carefully purchased after months of research on fabric wear. Still comfortable after all these years, even if the pale mauve and green prints were hopelessly outdated. Two walls, covered almost floor to ceiling with framed family photos—some posed, some candid. Almost all showed smiling, happy people.

  Spotless mauve carpet covered the floor, worn-down footpaths marking the doorways to other rooms in the single story home. A big screen television dominated the third wall, a Father’s Day gift from her and Damon two years ago. She couldn’t remember how many walks and driveways Damon had shoveled over the winter to earn his part of the money.

  The four of them and several stray crewmembers had shared many bowls of popcorn, lounging around the room, watching movies on the big screen. During the off-season, it seemed to have become a regular activity.

  “I won’t be gone long, only three days in Charlotte for the screen test. I’ll come back here for the rig and crew, and then we’ll have to be off to Nebraska. I think its South Carolina, Georgia next, and then somewhere in Tennessee. I’m not really sure, but I’ll have my cell. I’ll let you know.”

  “That’s great. Keep in touch. I’ve got another clinical trial starting next week. Some new cocktail they’ve mixed up for me. By the time you get home, I may be good as new.”

  Her mother came bustling into the living room, the soul of efficiency, carrying a tray loaded with food and medication. “Here’s your lunch, honey, and your pills. I’m gonna run Morgan out to Centennial Airport and I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be fine, Sheila. Don’t hover so much. I’ll eat a bit and take a nap.”

  Morgan got slowly to her feet and leaned over to kiss her dad goodbye. “You take care of yourself. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” She hugged him close, then looked around the room one last time.

  As if blinders were pulled from her eyes, she realized with utter clarity it wasn’t about the worn furniture or butt ugly carpet. It was about the feeling.

  Home.

  Loving warmth and a hearty welcome were always available here. Clarity brought on by age and experience revealed the cozy nest of love her mom and dad worked to feather.

  Family. No wonder people were always hanging around.

  Usually she couldn’t wait to leave. Could hardly wait to get over the next hill, to the next track. This time felt different. She wanted to settle in and ask her parents how they’d done it, created a household so alive and vital. A place people wanted to stay.

  A sense of foreboding gripped her. She knew things were changing. Her dad always told her, if things ain’t changin’, you ain’t livin’. Morgan knew he was right, but hated it. If she ran down the hall into her old room and hid under the bed, would that stop it? She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want more change.

  “Don’t you worry about me. Your momma’s rubbin’ off on you. You go kick their butts, bring home the prize and we’ll celebrate.”

  “Okay, Dad. As you wish.” Through teary eyes, she smiled her bravest smile, grabbed her suitcase and headed out the door, into the pouring rain.

  *

  The sun-bathed windows of Cameron Motorsports shimmered in iridescent silver, three-stories high. Surrounded by acres of abundant, emerald green grass, the building was ivory with smooth rounded corners, long as a city block, chic enough to hold its own against any modern office park facility.

  Three flags waved in the courtyard breeze: Old Glory, the checkered flag and the green, white and red colors of the Cameron team. Graduated pots of flowing red and white flowers flanked the shiny double glass doors of the entrance.

  The limousine driver hurried around to open her door, and Morgan bit her lip to keep her jaw from hanging open. This was for real. Somebody pinch me. She stepped out, and the sweet smell of honeysuckle tickled her nose while humid warmth wrapped sticky fingers around her.

  She couldn’t believe she was actually here. Cameron Motorsports. The chrome door handle felt cool and solid in her
hand, and the door made a soft swooshing sound as she pulled it open. Wow. It looked far more lush and imposing than it did on TV. A pretty, perky blonde receptionist sat behind a sleek, black, onyx desk. Batting three for three so far.

  Smiling, the receptionist glanced at her flat-panel monitor, and then back up. “Hello, Ms. Blade. How was your flight?”

  “It was fine, thank you.” Fine was an understatement for the private jet that had arrived to sweep her away. Now she totally got it—Alice and the whole falling down the rabbit hole thing.

  “If you’ll follow me, you can join the other contestants in the conference room. Mr. Cameron will be with you shortly.”

  The conference room was the largest she’d ever been in. The long mahogany table would seat twenty easily. Rich mahogany paneling blanketed the walls. It highlighted the chairs covered in hunter green damask, lining both sides of the table. Matching armchairs waited at each end. Floor-to-ceiling windows flowed down one side of the room overlooking the shop area, which was filled with sparkling race cars, a beehive of activity.

  Most of the other contestants sat around the table. She recognized them from the race in Kansas. Kyle Spencer, Bobby Harms and Eric Wilson sat on the near side. George Macon, P.J. Carrier and Ryan McCarthy sat on the other. The only one missing was Jim O’Bannon, an irritation she could happily live without.

  “Hey, Blade, how’s it goin’?” Kyle smiled shyly and got up to pull out a chair for her.

  She sat down next to him and grinned. Maybe chivalry wasn’t totally dead. “Not too bad, how about you?” He was cute, in a boy-next-door sort of way.

  The door swung open and Butch Cameron appeared, large as life, big voice booming. “Welcome to Cameron Motorsports.”

  He was followed by a tall, elegantly groomed blonde Morgan recognized as his wife, Lacey.

  Jim O’Bannon brought up the rear, smiling his sleazy, charming smile at Mrs. Cameron, rudely talking over Butch to apologize for being stuck in traffic and arriving late. Moron. It would have been fine if he’d never showed up at all.

  “Although there will only be one winner, I want each of you to know how good you are. There were over seventeen hundred applicants and we’ve narrowed it down to you. You’ve each got what it takes, no matter the outcome.”

  Butch reminded her of a modern day John Wayne. He was maybe six-four, with a barrel chest. A good two-hundred-ninety pounds, salt and pepper hair, and a veritable giant of a man. She remembered being amazed as a young girl, the first time she’d watched him climb out of a race car on television. He was no less intimidating in person.

  The door opened again, interrupting whatever Butch had been about to say. Tyler walked in, dressed for business this time, no jeans in sight. His clothes looked classy, and fit like they were made for him, right down to another pair of expensive shoes.

  Morgan’s mind stuttered to a halt. He turned, looked directly into her eyes and smiled. “Good morning all, sorry I’m late. The camera crews are all set up, the sponsors have arrived, and the judges are assembled. When we finish here, we can head on over to the studio and begin filming the commercial spots.”

  She smiled and nodded blankly in his direction. Criminy, he looked good. Her palms started to sweat with nerves. She grasped both hands together in her lap and leaned back in her seat. He didn’t look mad; if anything, he looked amused. Amused she could handle. She’d handle it the same way all the guys she knew handled things. She’d just ignore the issue of her flipping him off, and maybe it would go away. Hey, most of the time it worked for them.

  Forty minutes later, they were being led down one dazzling white-tiled hallway after another, deep into the inner workings of the building. People thought working on racecars was dirty work. Ha! She trembled with excitement just thinking about it. This place was clean enough to eat off the floor.

  They passed what looked like office after office, each one sporting a windowed door. When she peeked inside, the rooms were spotless, brightly lit with stainless steel counters, engines in parts and on stands, busy men bent over working on them, no grease in sight.

  “Wow, check it out,” Eric whispered in awe. “There must be twenty rooms!”

  “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Kyle spoke, just as softly, and then elbowed her. “Look at that!”

  She turned to see row after row of completed engines sitting in lines, like shoes, waiting to be worn or discarded. She knew what her sprint car engines cost and had a pretty good idea what these cost. The enormity of it all staggered her. Her mind whirled with calculations. She could run her dad’s operation for a couple years, just on these engines alone.

  “Here we are, everyone. Careful now, don’t trip over the cables.” Tyler interrupted her musing, holding the studio door open and placing his hand lightly on the small of her back. “Are you ready for all of this?” He spoke quietly, to her alone.

  Normally, being touched by a man without her approval sent her temper skyrocketing into overdrive. Instead, his touch caused a shivery thrill to shimmer its way up her spine. She didn’t recall having this reaction to any man, even Josh, the one she’d sworn to love the rest of her life. Filled with wonder, like a child at Christmas, she grinned at him. “Oh yeah, I’m ready.”

  Beige panels arched like swerving “s”s—baffles for sound control—slithered across the ceiling as she entered the production room. She could only imagine having her own production facility on premises. Wow. Warm, milk chocolate walls, covered with some sort of fabric, stood guard, waiting quietly for the players. The film crew positioned themselves behind their cameras, patient hunters searching endlessly for the best screen shots.

  She stared into the cameras, just like she always did. They didn’t frighten her. A female in a male sport always drew attention. She’d been dealing with it all her life.

  Tyler stood next to Steve Gable, the director, just out of camera shot, watching her. His blue eyes were focused on her with the same intensity as the camera lenses. Heat pooled below her belly, sinuous and warm. She could see him say something to Steve, then walk toward her.

  “We need to make a slight adjustment to your suit.” He reached for the zipper on her jacket, pulling it down just a little more, to reveal a hint of cleavage. “You should use every tool at your disposal, don’t you think?” He smiled at her, his eyes filled with affectionate laughter, simply coaching a student in ways of the theatre.

  She couldn’t think with him that close. The warm smell of cinnamon teased her nose, inviting her to take a bite. She lifted her brown eyes to his, blocked from the room’s view by his height. He stared down at her intently, reaching out again to brush invisible lint off her jacket, caressing her shoulder softly at the same time. The heat from his hand was electric. It fired all her senses to life.

  “Places, everyone.” Steve’s voice jerked her back to reality.

  Tyler turned abruptly and took his place, back behind the cameraman, seemingly unaware of his effect on her.

  The urge to touch him paramount, Morgan imagined herself stroking her hand over his chest. Instead, she ran her hand along the roofline of the red Dodge Viper, sitting as a prop behind her. Fingers splayed, sliding silkily, drawn slowly back towards her body. She turned to the camera and let the heat wash over her, wave after wave. She purred. “I use synthetic motor oil in my car. Shouldn’t you?”

  “Hey! That’s cheating!” Jim O’Bannon pointed his finger at Morgan. “She can’t do that.” He scowled at her, his face a cold mask, vicious in its intensity. Pacing angrily, he demanded recognition that never came.

  Butch and Lacey, along with Steve and Tyler, looked at each other, grinned, and said in unison, “Do what?”

  Lacey murmured in a low voice, just loud enough for Morgan to hear. “She could sell anything with that look. Unless the judges are deaf and blind, we’ve got our winner for this round.”

  Butch agreed. “Honey, she reminds me of you, in your modeling days, only shorter. That girl just oozes sex and she doe
sn’t even know it.”

  Kyle Spencer from Davenport, Iowa, was up next. Morgan watched from the sidelines while he gave the camera his best Midwestern farm boy grin, and nailed his lines on the first try.

  Bobby Harms, live from Austin, Texas, made her smile with his kidding around. She thought he didn’t do a half-bad job with the commercial either.

  George Macon, out of Pahrump, Nevada—a terrific racer but terribly shy—couldn’t remember his lines and couldn’t bring himself to look at anything but his own shoes.

  He looked so forlorn, Morgan couldn’t help herself. Without thinking, she stepped into camera range. “It’ll be okay, George. Do you want me to help you out? I’d be happy to practice with you a few moments. Let’s get some coffee.”

  “Cut!” Steve’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp as a knife. “Take five, everybody.”

  Morgan jumped at the sound of his voice, and realized what she’d done. She smiled guiltily at Steve. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  He just smiled back at her and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s past break time anyway.”

  After the break, everyone took their places again. George looked at Morgan, and she gave him an encouraging grin. “Go for it, George. You can do it. Just focus, like we talked about.”

  When he was finished, she smiled at Tyler. “He did a much better job this time.”

  “Do you always help out your competition?” he queried, one brow raised.

  Without thinking, she answered, “Of course. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, isn’t it?”

  His eyes narrowed when she glanced at him. He looked at his watch. “I have to get to a sponsor meeting and meet with the judges. I’ll try to catch up to you later. You did a great job today.”

  “Thanks.” She stared after him, open-mouthed, and watched him walk away from her. Again. She found it hard to believe he hadn’t criticized her for using sex appeal in her ad, or brought up the roadside fiasco. She had a feeling this man was a whole different animal than any she’d met before.