by Fox, Sutton
“It looks like Jim’s busy for a few minutes. Can you run and get it?”
“Great idea. Watch my stuff.” Blake the cameraman started to walk with her, filming every step. She winked at him and smiled coyly. “Might I have a moment to myself?”
Blake laughed from behind his camera, “Sure, just don’t let anything happen without me.”
“I promise,” she yelled as she jogged quickly to her trailer.
Not even out of breath, Morgan made it back to the pit wall just in time to hear Butch issue instructions.
“Just like all the other challenges, lady and gentlemen, this one is straight up. You’ll each have ten warm up laps and then put down your three timed laps. The fastest average times win. Be sure to use all the safety gear the crew chiefs tell you to and listen to the spotter’s instructions on your radios.”
Butch looked at Jim, perched on the pit wall like a bantam rooster, then at the rest of them. “I’ll have a chance tonight at dinner to speak with the rest of you and get to know each of you a little better. Good luck and we’ll see you tonight.”
Morgan walked up behind Jim and smiled at Eric watching her from a few steps away. Word must have gotten around. The other guys were studiously looking any direction but at them, except for Blake. Camera whirring, he was glued to her heels.
“What’s the news Jim? Got any words of wisdom for the rest of us?”
Jim looked down his nose at her, no small feat since they were almost the same diminutive height. “Yeah, you need to get back into the kitchen. You’re wasting your time.” His attitude came across as just plain arrogant. The continuous sarcasm washed away any remorse she might have felt over what she was about to do.
Giving a short nod to Eric, she shrugged her shoulders at Jim, raised her eyebrows. “Thanks. Your disapproval means so much.” When would the cretin ever get over her refusal to date him?
Eric called out right on time, “Hey, Jim, got a minute?” When he turned to Eric, Morgan lifted the gloves out of Jim’s helmet and stuffed her little friend deep inside. She put his gloves back into the helmet and climbed quickly over the wall and headed toward the FASPRO truck waiting for its first contestant.
Sleek and shiny, painted the red and green of Cameron Motorsports, the truck silently called to her. She’d never driven this kind of racing vehicle before and she couldn’t wait. Since she’d drawn the lowest-numbered pill, she got to go first. She had to drive it, just had to.
Six hundred horsepower, two hundred less than her sprint car, and thirty-two hundred pounds, a little more than twice the weight. She knew it would be like trying to drive a brick through the air.
She stepped through the window and slid down into the seat. Moving methodically, she fastened her five point safety harness and head and neck restraint. Next, she took her gloves out of her helmet, put the radio earpieces into her ears and put on her helmet. She fastened it, and finally drew on her gloves.
Adrenaline slipped and slid through her body. A clutch of butterflies flitting around in her stomach made her feel at home. She looked over as much as she could, being all strapped in, to see Jack and Phil give her thumbs up.
Since sprint car drivers weren’t allowed to have radios, the voice in her ear surprised her the first time, “Ready, Morgan?”
“Ready.” The crewman fastened her window net and she flipped the switches to turn on the front-end fans, the ignition and then the starter. The engine roared to life and vibrated the seat beneath her.
“Okay, pull out onto the track and gradually pick up your speed.” The faceless voice directed her.
Morgan shifted into first gear—Mmm, the clutch was a little stiff—and brought the truck down pit road to the track entrance. She pulled onto the track headed into turn one. Faster and faster she drove, feathering the accelerator and brake with her foot through the turns. Second gear, she could feel the power of the engine through the slightest of vibrations in her hands on the wheel. Third gear. Raw horsepower made the seat quiver beneath her. And finally, fourth. One-hundred ten, one-hundred twenty, thirty, forty, fifty.
Even though the regular Cameron drivers Johnny Wilkins and Eddie Hanson had warmed up the trucks and run some laps, the track was still a little slippery. They’d set the truck up tight. It wanted to push up just a bit in the corners, but she could work with it. The challenge fed her.
Mind and machine melded. Walls, grandstands and people distorted and blended, nameless shapes, visions blurred by speed. Endorphins flooded her system as she roared around the track. She was born to do this. It was in her blood, in her bones.
Black asphalt called to her, made her soul sing. A yellow brick road she followed willingly to the checkered flag of Oz.
“Great lap, Morgan. Twenty-four point oh-three at one hundred fifty-two miles an hour, just two tenths off the track record. Way to show ’em up, lady!”
She’d never gone that fast in her life. The feel of it, the power she held in her hands, had wrapped around her. The experience was incredible. Her sprint car maybe did one-forty, tops. Hands shaking, stomach quivering, she felt humble and excited at the same time. “Thanks guys, thanks so much,” she whispered into the microphone they’d put into her helmet.
She had to win, not only for her father. Now, for herself.
*
Tires screamed, pieces of metal flew and parts went everywhere as Ryan McCarthy from Indianapolis, Indiana, backed the Cameron’s truck into the wall at one hundred and thirty miles an hour. Spinning around and around like a top, he fought to save it. Losing grip, it finally spun free.
Morgan’s laps were still the fastest, with only Jim O’Bannon left to go. Jack and Phil stood next to her at the wall.
Eric, Kyle and Bobby each had their lap times about a tenth or so slower than hers, respectively. She knew any twist of fate could have changed things. Thankfully fate had smiled on her today.
Ryan climbed out of the truck and waved to let them know he was okay. She felt good that fate was smiling on him too.
Jim O’Bannon was the last contestant to qualify. Butch and Lacey Cameron walked over to the wall to stand with them and watch. Morgan glanced around and noticed somehow drivers, crewmen and television people alike had all made their way to the pit wall, seemingly needing to do something there at precisely that moment.
She could see Jim strap himself in the seat, take his gloves out and put his helmet on his head. He struggled with it for a moment, then jerked it off and peered inside. An angry bellow came from the greenhouse area inside the truck, where he sat strapped in. His voice, loud and angry enough to capture everyone’s attention, made them all look.
“Dammit, Blade!” Jim’s voice roared; at the same time his hand shot out the driver’s side window.
It threw out a pink gel filled dildo with the words ‘You’re a dick’ written down the side in black magic marker.
Everyone laughed.
*
Dinner would be a fancy affair, catered at the racetrack, on the tower terrace in one of the VIP suites overlooking the oval. Morgan dressed carefully in what she called her good clothes. Snug little black dress, freshly shaved legs smoothed with shimmering lotion, and strappy black stilettos.
She plumped her cleavage into the halter neckline of her dress and smiled at the ladies in the mirror. There. Let the guys compete with these.
She combed her chin-length, mink-colored curls, and finally gave up. Her curly hair just had to have its own way. Mascara, eyeliner and murder-red lipstick completed her toilette.
Jack and Phil were hanging around outside, joking with Blake and Steve Gable, the director. When she stepped out the door, conversation stopped. They all stared at her.
She smoothed her dress, looked down at her shoes and then back at them. “What’s the matter, I have egg on my face or something?” Arms held out from her sides, she glared at them.
Jack smiled and winked at her. Phil coughed, and Blake was the first to recover his voice. “You—you just look di
fferent out of your fire suit, that’s all.” He peeked at her from around his camera, then snuck quickly back behind it, zooming in on her.
“That’s my girl.” Jack came up to hug her. He pulled a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Here, take this in case you need it.”
“Aw, Jack.” Genuinely touched, the familiar motion made her eyes water. She hugged him close for a moment, and stepped away. She took the handkerchief and tucked it into her bra.
“Yer daddy says to knock ’em dead.”
“Oh, you talked to him? When? How is he?”
“Yeah. Just a little while ago. He’s hangin’ in. This new stuff seems to be helping him feel better. Your momma sends hugs.”
“Thanks, Jack. Maybe he’ll be better when we get home.”
He looked at her, emotions swirling in his eyes. “Maybe so, little girl, maybe so.”
News of her father’s improved health raised her spirits. Excitement weaved its way through her supple muscles, making her feel strong and happy to be alive. With a broad wave to Jack and Phil, she turned to Steve and Blake. “Shall we go, gentlemen?”
*
China and crystal gleamed in the soft candlelight. Warm cherrywood tables, polished to a high shine, stood proudly decked with Longwood sterling flatware and fine cream linens.
Tyler ignored it. It wasn’t much different from dinner at his parents’ house. He’d grown up with wealth and privilege, so he tended to ignore the details. People were usually the focus of his attention.
He sensed a change in the air change the moment she entered the room. It felt as if the world inhaled, then, satisfied, released its breath. He could swear his heart stopped, for just a moment. Incredible. Having never seen her in anything but jeans or a fire suit, he stood there, speechless. By silent acknowledgement, every male head in the room turned toward the door.
He’d told himself all day he couldn’t afford any entanglements. Annie had to be his first priority. He’d make it so. When he saw Morgan walk in, every feeling he’d felt the night before came rushing back to swamp him.
Hunger, need, and desire fought for supremacy inside him. He didn’t want to recognize them, but they all fit. Willing or not, his feet led him to her, his body a supplicant, waiting to worship at the altar of Venus.
“Tyler, it’s good to see you.” With a laugh in her seductive voice, Morgan’s amaretto eyes sparkled with mischief. She held her hand out to him in a formal manner, as if meeting him after a long absence.
Two could play this game. He grasped her hand and pulled her in close to him, air kissing both her cheeks. “You’re in over your head,” he whispered softly in her ear. The sweet smell of roses muddled his thoughts. Maybe it was the roses, maybe it was the dress. Hell, he had no idea.
She stepped back and smiled a sultry smile at him. “Honey, you’re the one who looks like he’s drowning.”
“Morgan, it’s good to see you again.” Lacey Cameron, looking regal as always, gave him a nod. “Tyler, you too.” She took Morgan by the arm and moved her toward the waiting sponsors, but not before Morgan turned her head slightly and winked at him.
He thought about the phone conversation he’d had earlier in the day with his boss, Sam Hanover, President of Hanover Studios. It grated on him to have to bow to someone else’s wishes. Sam had cornered him about Morgan still being on the show and not being eliminated. Some guys had real issues with women.
Tyler watched her walk away, and noticed the reactions of most of the men in the room. Their eyes followed her every move. Graceful strides carried her smoothly toward a cluster of people who stood on the other side. Her high heels and the movement of her supple calves tickled something dark inside him and made it jerk its chain with hunger.
Gracious and kind, she shook hands and spoke softly to everyone Lacey introduced her to, eliciting a smile and warm welcome from everyone. Sure to compliment the women on their dresses, the men on some accomplishment or other. He’d never seen any of the high-class women he’d dated work a room with more charm and panache.
He’d laughed when Blake told him about the stunt Morgan had pulled this morning. He wished he’d been there to see it. What a woman, strong enough to give as good as she got.
*
Morgan sipped her glass of champagne, enjoying the bubbles as she looked out over the oval, lit up for the evening’s events leading up to the FASPRO Truck race tomorrow. The grandstands were half full and she could hear the muffled cheers of the fans watching a motorcycle stunt show on the front straightaway.
She couldn’t believe Jim had timed in faster than she had, by one-hundredth of a second. Crap. Instead of first place, it put her solidly in second. Kyle Spencer held on to third over Eric by one point. Bobby Harms from Austin, sat in fifth. After crashing the truck this morning, Ryan McCarthy had been invited back home to Indianapolis.
“Morgan, you did a fine job in the truck this morning.” Butch Cameron towered over her from well over six feet. He grinned at her, his gravelly voice full of humor. “Some stunt you pulled on Jim.” He laughed a big booming belly laugh. “It’s a wonder it didn’t throw him off his ride.”
“Thanks. I think.” She regarded him carefully, willing him to like her, yet at the same time not wanting to make it obvious she was trying too hard.
She noticed Tyler across the room, looking like prime beefcake in his dark silk suit. His tawny hair simply did her in. Every time she was close to him, she wanted to run her fingers through it. She could tell the other women thought so too. The way they kept coming over to him to introduce themselves.
He appeared to be deep in conversation with a silver-haired man she had met earlier. President of marketing for some food company, the name of which escaped her at the moment. Tyler chose that moment to gaze across the room. His azure eyes met hers and he raised his glass in salute. Her heart stuttered in its beats.
“Why would a lovely young woman like yourself want to spend all your time turning left and going in circles? Isn’t there a white picket fence in your future?” Butch asked curiously, dragging her out of her musings and back to the present.
With only slight hesitation she answered, “Because I have to, sir. I just have to.” She raised a clenched fist and did her best to let the passion she felt for racing shine through her eyes.
He stared at her for the briefest of moments, seeming to reach some sort of decision in his own mind. He nodded in agreement. “I see.” He waved at two middle-aged suits just entering the room. “Excuse me, won’t you, Morgan? It’s been a pleasure. You go enjoy your dinner. We’ll talk a bit more later on.” He strode briskly away.
“Well, that was certainly cryptic,” she muttered testily to herself. How would she ever make any inroads if she couldn’t get Butch to slow down long enough for conversation? For a moment she wondered if he’d heard something from Jim. Casting off the doubt, she figured she’d never know anyway.
Morgan stood tapping her toe and looked around the room. She spied her competitors bunched up in the corner with their pilsners near the crudités and hors d’oeuvres table, joking with each other and a few of the camera crew. Way to make an impression, guys.
Morgan’s eyes came to rest on the beautifully-coiffed Lacey Cameron, her blonde hair and model good looks only enhanced by the navy blue beaded sheath she wore.
She’d seemed friendly enough earlier as she’d introduced Morgan to their official sponsors, associate sponsors, and independent sponsors. Some of them Morgan knew by sight from television. Others left her with no clue. There were so many, she knew she’d never remember all their names or every product they represented. She’d damn sure make a supreme effort to learn them after they left the track. It couldn’t hurt.
Lacey stood with a long-limbed brunette and a tall red-head, all three laughing merrily, sipping from crystal flutes.
Well, Blade, it’s now or never.
She walked over, feigning confidence she didn’t really feel, hoping they wou
ldn’t shun her as women had so many times before over the years.
It usually boiled down to either the size of her chest or the racing. She could never quite figure out which. Most days, genetics being what they were, she didn’t have time to care.
She put on her best fan-friendly smile, “Ladies.” She looked each one in the eyes and nodded politely. “Mind if I join you?”
Chapter 11
“Morgan, you’re always welcome.” Lacey Cameron smiled warmly and gestured to the lovely redhead standing next to her. “This tardy arrival is my daughter, Julia. She’s usually away in New York, busy with her own marketing firm.” With a smile at her daughter, she added, “She’s managed to make time for her parents this week.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Morgan offered a firm handshake, while the name Julia Cameron tickled her memory.
Ah, she remembered watching one of those biography channels that did a story on the life of Butch Cameron. The one flaw in his perfect and successful life? No children. Julia was adopted, slated to be the heir of Cameron Motorsports. Wow, how’s that for winning the lottery?
“And you as well. This is my friend and business associate, Amy Shilling.”
Julia motioned to an anorexic brunette lounging, hipshot, in a flaming red, strapless number alongside her. From her considerable height, Amy looked down at Morgan, nodded regally and gave her a bored smile, not bothering to speak.
Jeez, the woman must be six-feet-four with heels. Morgan felt like an old VW Beetle parked next to a Ferrari Enzo. She did her best to squash the little spirals of irritation caused by Julia’s friend’s lack of manners.
Amy looked beyond her, hastily stood up straight and pulled her shoulders back, her eyes lighting with sudden interest.
A black-clad waiter approached and captured the group’s attention as he spoke to Lacey. “Madam, if you’d like to be seated, dinner will be served.”
