by Dora Hiers
“Did you see it?”
“Mason?” The race hadn’t been over that long. Wasn’t he still in his car?
She glanced back at the television. The cars had already disappeared from the track. Wow, that was quick.
“Yeah. It’s me. Did you watch the race?”
“Actually, my friend is over—”
“Ouch. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll catch you later.” He sounded disappointed.
“No. Don’t go. Please.”
“I’m not interrupting?”
“No. I was just going to say that I caught the last couple of laps. Congratulations on winning. I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you. I wish you were here.” His tone warmed her, sending tickles of awareness to dance up and down her arms.
So did she. Now. But then, if she had been there, she wouldn’t have enjoyed watching him race. Would she?
“Sorry, Remi, but I have to go now. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Right. Tuesday.
As if.
His world consisted of fame and fortune, a direct conflict with her private and secluded domain.
“Sure. Thanks for calling, Mason. Catch you later.” Although he had disconnected, the phone clung to her ear, as if it had a mind of its own. She finally slipped it back in the cradle.
“Mason called. Girl, this is serious.” Jillian’s voice sounded close.
“S-s-serious?” Remi angled over a shoulder and met Jillian’s solemn face. “What do you mean?”
Her friend’s sandy eyebrows narrowed. She waved her palms in the air then gestured toward the television. “He hasn’t even made it to the winner’s circle yet, and he stopped to call you. That is so sweet.”
“What makes that serious?”
“He cares enough to call.” Jillian dipped her head and let out a long-suffering sigh. When she looked up, a giant teardrop trickled down her cheek. “You are important enough for him to want to talk to you, to let you know that he was okay.”
Remi reached out and tugged her best friend into a hug. “I’m sorry.”
Why didn’t her brother come home? Then he’d see how much his family loved him, how much Jillian still loved him, how she’d waited for him, even after all these years.
“Carson will come home, Jillian.” Eventually. Please, God?
There she was, talking to God again. Would He ever be inclined to answer her prayers with a yes?
Jillian blinked, her long lashes dappled with tears. “Savor this new thing that’s developing between you and Mason, Remi. Appreciate the simple gesture of his phone call.”
She would if she could, but there wasn’t a “new thing” with her and Mason. It wasn’t possible. Not with his career and the swarming media that went along with the public spotlight.
No thanks.
Anything between them was just friendship, plain and simple. Nothing more.
Still. She couldn’t stop her heart from doing a little victory dance.
****
Mason slithered through the car’s slim opening, just in time for the spray of thirty bottles of diet cola, his sponsor and favorite cold drink, to soak him.
Laughing, he wiped his face with a dry towel, thoroughly invigorated from his very abbreviated conversation with Remi, when he’d convinced Charlie to hold the phone to his ear through the car window. What he wouldn’t have given for her to be here, to see the checkered flag wave over his car as he crossed the finish line.
Maybe next time.
Hands clapped his shoulders and bodies jostled him to the center of the celebratory circle. Someone jabbed a microphone in front of his face, the reporter attached to it peering at him from the side. Cameras flashed and clicked. His crew laughed and chatted behind him. One of Mason’s drivers stopped to shake his hand and offer congratulations.
Mason loved being in victory lane, enjoyed the camaraderie, the spotlight for his team, the adrenaline that pumped through his veins with a win after a hard-fought race.
And winning meant more money for his church and the foundation. More funds to allow him to assist charitable organizations that protected and cared for helpless animals. Organizations like Remi’s.
Various news teams hurled what seemed like hundreds of questions at him. He answered the questions, smiling and posing for the team pictures. Finally, he broke free from the celebration and made his way to the RV. Time to change and head for home.
The farther he walked, the calmer the night became. He breathed in the quiet, allowing it to settle over his tense shoulders, to recharge his spirit. Thank You for the win tonight, Father.
Footsteps pounded heavy on the pavement behind him. He angled his head around and found Ken, his spotter, jogging. He slowed his pace until Ken caught up with him.
“Great racing tonight, Mason.” Ken clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Thanks, man. Couldn’t have done it without you.” With the aid of the overhead lamps, Mason made out the heavy smudges above Ken’s cheeks, the defeat etching his eyes and mouth. “I have to say, though, for a win, you look pretty dismal.”
Ken’s huge sigh rattled through the quiet space. “Cindy served me with divorce papers yesterday.” His voice broke, a sharp contrast to the celebratory laughter they left behind. No wonder he’d been anxious to get away from the crowd.
“Ouch. I’m sorry.” He understood all too well how the pain and guilt from a failing marriage ripped a man apart. Especially a man in this business.
“Yeah. Me, too.” Ken’s shoulders slumped as if burdened with a heavy weight. The man shuffled along, kicking pebbles with the tip of his steel-toed boot. “It was hard enough to see the kids before. Now I’ll never see them.”
Yeah. Mason could see how that would be tough. They reached his RV, and Goliath barked a welcome from inside the camper.
Mason turned to face his spotter, but more than that, his friend. “Divorce is painful. No two ways about it.”
Ken looked up. His gaze met Mason’s. Understanding dawned. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, but I’m in a better place now. God still works miracles. Do you want some time off to see if you can repair the damage before it’s too late?”
Respect flowed across Ken’s face. “I’m not sure that it’s not too late, but I’m willing to try. Thank you.”
Mason nodded and plunked a hand on Ken’s shoulder. “No problem. We’ll get somebody to fill in for you in the meantime. Take as much time as you need.”
Ken walked away, his spine a little straighter, a little more bounce in his steps. From the other direction a man and woman drew closer. The woman’s voice rose in anger. Her hands slashed through the air as she stomped ahead of the man, disgust in her wrinkled nose, the snarl of her lips, and the furrows in her forehead.
Lisa and Salinger.
A knot pitted in Mason’s gut. He swiveled and pushed open the door to the RV.
He hadn’t been able to save his own marriage. The very least he could do was give Ken some space to save his. And maybe extend a small amount of grace to Salinger by refusing to witness Lisa’s verbal lashing. He closed the door, muffling his ex-wife’s hateful words.
Keeping a solid marriage in this business was tough. They were on the road more than they were home. Hanging out with the guys was easier than knowing what to do with a soft, emotional female.
His brain told him that he shouldn’t even be thinking about seeing Remi again, should just give up the temptation to visit the sanctuary.
But his heart whispered something totally different.
8
Mason refilled his coffee mug and dumped in a packet of sweetener, hoping the caffeine would fire up his system so he could get caught up with paperwork and go home for the night.
He tossed the plastic stick in the trash and exited the break room, heading down the now dim hall to his office. Footsteps slapped the tile behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Hey, boss.” Charlie, his crew chie
f, sounded weary. The season was starting to take its toll on everybody.
“Charlie.”
“Got a second?”
“Sure. Come on in.” Mason stepped into his office, the lamp glowing on his desk the only light. Goliath poked his head up from his usual spot on the rug, and then he plopped it back down with a heavy sigh.
Mason could relate.
Charlie sank into the leather chair in front of Mason’s desk and rolled his shoulders. “Long day.”
“Yeah.” It would be an even longer night if he hoped to make it out to the sanctuary tomorrow. No amount of brain scolding could convince his heart not to go.
Remi’s sweet spirit and shy manner drew him like a checkered flag. Interacting with all the precious animals was icing on the cake.
“That’s a great thing you’re doing for Ken.”
Mason nodded. So long as it was in his power to help, he would.
“I hope the time off helps and they can get back together,” Charlie drawled.
“Me too.”
“I plan to put Shane in his place temporarily. Any objections?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Shane will do a good job.”
“Well, I wanted to make sure you were good with it.” Charlie stood and walked to the door. His fingers curled around the knob.
He should probably give his crew chief advance notice in case Remi ever decided to accept his invitation. “Hey, Charlie.”
Charlie angled over a shoulder, his eyebrows arched.
“I’m hoping one of these days you’ll have a guest sitting with you on the box.”
“Wow! That’s news. When were you planning on spilling those beans?” Charlie turned back around and folded his arms, nudging a shoulder against the door jam.
“Nothing to spill, yet. Just wanted to make sure you have an extra seat available on the off chance I can talk her into coming.”
Charlie scoffed. “Off chance? What woman would turn down that invitation?”
Mason sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I know of one who has on several occasions already.”
Charlie tried to hide his surprise behind a cough, but it didn’t work.
Mason frowned. His jaw clenched.
“Not a problem, boss. I’ll take care of it.” Charlie recovered well. “Is this the same gal you couldn’t wait to call yesterday?”
“Yeah. Remi Lambright.”
“Remi Lambright?” Charlie’s arms unbuckled, and he heaved himself away from the door. “As in the golfer’s daughter?”
The golfer’s daughter? That was news to him. She hadn’t mentioned that anyone in her family golfed.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Can’t say I ever keep up with golf. Are you referring to her mom or dad?”
“Her dad, Connor Lambright. But I’m sure it can’t be his daughter.” Worry mottled his crew chief’s neck and cheeks. Worse than during the race that Mason had been forced to watch from the box, after suffering a mild concussion from a wreck the week before.
“Why couldn’t she be his daughter?”
“Sorry, boss.” Charlie held up his arm and pointedly glanced at his watch. “Just remembered something the little lady asked me to do on my way home. Gotta go.” He practically scrambled through the door, his legs barely keeping up with his torso and arms.
Mason’s eyebrows fused together. He tapped out a rhythm on the chair’s arm. What just happened there? What hadn’t Charlie wanted to tell him?
He scooted forward and typed the golfer’s name in the computer’s search engine. Scanned the highlights. After several minutes, he stopped reading. Leather rustled in the silent office as he sank back in the folds of the chair.
This was Remi’s father? The man who, after a very public divorce, committed suicide? The media had jumped all over that, blaming his wife for the horrendous fall of the golfing legend, the golden boy of the sport.
The golfer’s wife? Remi’s mother.
No wonder Remi didn’t trust him or want him anywhere near the sanctuary. Why would she? He lived in the public arena, in the face of glaring media spotlight, the very people who’d emotionally crucified her mother and caused tremendous pain for her family. On the heels of an already horrifying loss.
Mason blew out a sigh, his thumb tapping out an agitated rhythm on the chair arm. Now that he knew the identity of Remi’s father and details of his death, gaining her trust, wooing her respect, might be tougher than he thought.
He took a sip of the coffee, wincing as the nearly cold taste snagged in his throat. How could he get her to trust him? To not despise him or the attention that came along with being connected to a racecar driver?
If he was even to run this race, to have any hopes of seeing the green flag wave over his wooing of Remi, he’d have to come up with a creative strategy. What, though?
Ideas flitted through his brain. He bolted from the chair and opened the side door that led outdoors. “Goliath, you might want to go outside and take care of business. We’re going to be here for a while.”
9
Remi finished scrubbing and turned off the spigot. She straightened and found herself staring up Jumbo’s oversized nostrils. His lips separated, revealing big, lopsided bottom teeth.
“You crazy old softie.” Remi stroked the llama’s neck. “You get under Mason’s skin, you know that? Why can’t you stop spitting at him?”
“What would be the fun in that?”
The voice, warm and husky and oh so close, startled her. She whipped around.
Mason! He came. Just like he said he would!
Her heart jigged and jagged. The cantankerous organ refused to settle back to its normal pace.
Mason unlocked the gate and stepped inside. Goliath rushed over to her, his tail whipping back and forth so fast it lifted the back half of his torso. She waited until he sat like a good boy then bent down and rubbed behind his ears. “Hey, sweet thing. How are you this morning?”
“Tired, but as you can see, happy to be back here with all his friends.”
Did that mean Mason was happy to be here, too? With her? Remi smiled, joy filling her deep inside, soul-level, at his sweet words.
Remi stretched to her full height, taking in Mason’s appearance. Yeah, he had some dark smudges above his cheekbones, and he hadn’t shaved in days, but he looked absolutely scrumptious in boots and his well-worn jeans and flannel shirt.
Goliath ambled off to sniff and reacquaint himself with the llamas, while Mason stepped close. He halted in front of her. His scent, a mixture of spice and woods and the cool outdoors, enveloped her, superseding the familiar animal smells. Except now, his scent was as familiar, as comforting, as the animals.
Fear snaked through her veins.
He carried success and fame well. For now. But that could change. She’d do best to remember that.
“I missed you.” His soft words settled over her like a warm blanket on a frigid winter evening. But instead of calming her nerves, they spiked.
She licked her parched lips. How should she respond? She’d missed him like crazy, but she wasn’t going to admit that.
A slow smile spread across his face, as if he already knew that. “I hope you don’t mind that I—”
Tires crunched in the gravel parking lot. From the sounds of it, a bunch of tires. What was going on?
She angled around him to peer at the long line of trucks snaking the length of her drive. One by one, they squeezed in whatever open space would fit their rigs. When the lot filled, they parked in even rows on the grass. Her jaw dropped.
“—rounded up some volunteers.”
“Some volunteers? It looks like the entire population of Harrison, North Carolina, showed up.” She blinked. Maybe it was a nightmare. She flicked her eyelids open as still more vehicles piled in.
She hugged arms around her middle as panic set in. What was she going to do with this many people on the property? She’d never be able to get her truck out of the jammed yard and parking area.
A horse! Her eyes darted to the pasture where the four recent newbies grazed. No, they were still too skittish to attempt escape, and she refused to risk injury to them.
She’d have to get to the barn. Saddle Pocono. She could hide out at Jillian’s place until all these…people disappeared. Picturing the crowd, her heart stuttered, almost stopped, and sweat slicked her palms. She took a step, wobbled.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Mason grasped her arm, gently holding her in place.
“Mason, I—” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
Vehicle doors closed. Laughter and animated chatter. Footsteps on gravel.
Like an ominous cloud, they were all heading her way. There was sure to be a reporter in that swarming mass of humanity.
“Relax, Remi. These are all my friends. They’re not here to hurt you. They only want to help.” Velvety eyes sought hers, warming the icy chill that had settled deep in her very core.
“Help?” How could they help? Her experience had proven the bigger the crowd, the heavier the emotional punch they walloped. With their stares, hushed whispers and pointed fingers.
“They’re going to make some repairs. To the fencing. To the barn. There are some qualified builders in the crowd, and once you give them the go ahead, they’ll make those changes you’ve been dreaming about to your house.”
Mason had organized all of this for her? How could he be so nice to her after she’d ordered him off her property and told him not to come back? A huge glob of emotion caught in her throat, but this time it wasn’t fear.
Nope. Not fear.
More like resolve. Determination.
She was sliding down the perilous slope toward love, but she needed to put the skids out. There was no way she would allow herself to fall in love with Mason. Not a racecar driver. Not any sports figure for that matter.
But it sure would help if he didn’t keep doing things like this.
She shook her head. She must be dreaming. Miracles like this didn’t happen in real life. Not hers, anyway. God, is this Your doing?
“Mason, I appreciate—”
“Good. Come on. Let me introduce you to some of my friends.” His arm slipped around her waist, warming her with a strength and confidence she wouldn’t have otherwise.
