In the Groove (18 page)

That way be dragons.

She wished she had the courage to slay them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

She slept like the dead.

It was probably the best sleep she'd had in weeks. In fact, she slept so peacefully, her sleep shirt didn't ride up her middle and her matching dark-blue pants hadn't twisted themselves around the back. And as she stretched her arms, yawning, Sarah admitted that she and hotels didn't get along. The bed she'd slept in was heavenly (not hard), the room was gorgeous (and the windows actually opened) and as she lay there, muted sunlight drifting in through a window to her right, it was nice to know nobody would be knocking on her door yelling "Housekeeping!"

A child giggled.

It was such a familiar sound, one so dearly missed in recent weeks, that Sarah padded to the nearest window, pulling aside a gauzy floral curtain in time to hear a black-haired little boy laugh again. The child played on the grass between the nanny quarters and the house, a cocker spaniel licking his face like he was a boy-flavored dog treat.

Sarah smiled. It was such a perfectly beautiful scene to wake up to after the hustle and bustle of the racetrack that she could have stared at the boy and his dog all day.

"Stop it," she heard the boy giggle, hands and legs flailing as he tried to ward off the dog. "Stop it"

"He's happy to see you," a woman said, amusement tingeing her words.

Sarah changed the angle of her head, spying a woman who stood near the home's elegant front door, arms crossed, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Mommy," said the boy. "Help."

Which made the woman laugh and then clap her hands and call out, "Clifford," as she walked toward her son.

Sarah drew back from the window too late—the woman caught Sarah's eyes. "Hey there," she called out, bending down and picking up the silky-coated dog. "Good morning."

Sarah smiled, horribly embarrassed that she'd been caught snooping on her hostess and her son.

"Come on up from the grass, Randy," the woman said, helping her son to stand, the cocker spaniel still trying its darnedest to lick the boy's face, pink tongue fully extended in the child's direction.

"But, Mommy. Want to play with Fifford."

"Clifford will be here when you get back. You've woken up our guest and we should let her get some sleep."

"Oh, no," Sarah called, going to the door and opening it before she checked her appearance.

Smart, Sarah, you probably look like a bag lady. Way to make a first impression.

But to be honest, she was more worried about Cece Sanders thinking she'd woken her.

"I was already up," Sarah said, tugging down her sleep shirt just in case. "I was just lying in bed."

"Randy didn't wake you?"

Sarah could see now that Cecelia Sanders was one of those stunningly gorgeous women that didn't need makeup to help her be pretty. Even with her hair pulled back tightly and wearing a pink T-shirt and plain old blue jeans she looked good; like one of those high fashion models posed to look "casual" although there was probably nothing "casual" about the price of her clothes.

"No," Sarah said, trying not to feel envious. If God had wanted her to be a skinny blonde, she'd have been born skinny and blond. Wasn't much point in being jealous of the woman in front of her, especially not when she smiled in such a warm and friendly way, and when she had a squirming dog in one hand (who'd transferred his attention to
her
face by now) and a writhing child by the other hand, writhing because the little boy had spotted
her
now and it was obvious he wanted to go see the new stranger.

"Mama, go," he said, reaching his arms out to Sarah.

"It's okay," Sarah said. "I love children."

The blonde held her eyes for a second, Sarah getting the impression that she'd just been scanned as thoroughly as a pack of Twinkies at a checkout counter. The woman let the little boy go, and Randy raced toward her as if they'd known each other their entire lives.

"Hey, little guy," Sarah said, kneeling down so she could greet him at eye-level. Oh, how she missed her kindergartners.

"Hair," the little boy said, pointing.

Sarah laughed. "Lots of hair," she said, going nose to nose with the boy. "And you have biiiig eyes."

It was the child's turn to laugh. Sarah glanced up again. Cecelia had a slight smile on her face, her head tilted as she watched the two of them.

"Do you mind if I pick him up?" Sarah asked.

"No. Go ahead."

So Sarah scooped Randy up, balancing him on her hip and little minding that her hair appeared to be Randy's latest pull toy.

"Careful," his mom said.

"No, it's okay," Sarah replied. "I'm used to it." She spun Randy around, the little boy smiling when she stopped.

Cecelia watched her, saying, "You're good with kids," after a few more spins.

"I used to be a kindergarten teacher."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Sarah admitted, and no doubt Cece Sanders could see the sadness in her eyes. "I miss it."

"I bet you do," the woman said.

It turned out that Cece (as she liked to be called) was on her way to drop off Clifford (so named in honor of the big red dog) at the groomer's and then do some shopping and Sarah didn't know who was more surprised, Cece or Sarah, when an offer was extended for Sarah to join them.

"I know it might seem kind of strange," Cece said. "We just met, but Randy seems to like you and I could sure use the help. He's a handful and my back can get sore from time to time."

"Your back?"

"I was injured a few years ago," she said. "And it still hurts every so often."

Sarah felt like a fool. She'd known that Cece Sanders had been an FBI agent before marrying Blain. Sarah had read about how she'd been injured in the line of duty. Actually, she'd been injured at the track. Sarah had just forgotten.

"Well, okay then," Sarah said. "Sure, I'd love to go. I really appreciate you letting me stay here and so
any
time I can help you out, you just let me know."

Cece smiled, her gaze so warm Sarah found herself thinking she must have a kind soul. Generosity of spirit all but poured from her eyes.

"Thanks," she said. "I may take you up on that."

So a half hour later they set off, Sarah trying not to gawk at the banana-yellow Hummer Cece Sanders drove. "Safest vehicle on the road," she said, backing out of a palatial garage. "And this one has armor plating."

"Seriously?" Sarah asked.

"Seriously," Cece said with a smile.

They lapsed into silence. Sarah found herself wondering how she'd gotten from teaching kindergarten in California to driving through some of the prettiest country Sarah had ever seen while inside a banana-yellow Hummer. It seemed a bit surreal, actually, and yet... nice.

"So you're Lance's girlfriend," Cece said, darting Randy, who was sitting in his car seat behind them, a glance in the rearview mirror.

"Who told you that?" Sarah asked.

"Becca."

Ah. Well, that explained that. "I'm not his girlfriend."

"You're not?" Cece asked. "Randy, don't put your thumb in your mouth, baby, it'll give you crooked teeth."

"I'm not," Sarah said. "I never really was."

"Never
really?
What does that mean?"

And just like that the story came pouring out. Well, most of the story, anyway. She left out the part about her and Lance spending the night together, but Cece seemed to know.

"And so I was surprised when he showed up yesterday. I thought Sal was arranging for a rental car."

"I'm not surprised he showed up," Cece said. "Lance is that way. I've never met a man with a bigger heart. Well, aside from my husband, Blain."

"Your husband seems like a nice man."

"He is," Cece said. "I think men who've had it tough as a child either end up as total jerks or total princes."

"Did Lance and Blain have it tough?"

"Yeah, but in totally different ways. Blain grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, but that spoon was provided by a workaholic father who was never around. Lance grew up in a home where his father was
always
around—because he was always drunk."

"You're kidding."

Cece shook her head. "Nope. Lance went to work at fourteen in order to help the family make ends meet."

"You're kidding."

"Yup. Local auto mechanic gave him a job sweeping floors. The guy had a son that raced quarter midgets, but he grew out of them. One day he decided to put Lance in one of his kid's old cars and the rest, as they say, is history."

Lance had grown up poor. Sarah had no idea why the realization left her reeling.

"He's worked hard to get to where he is today, and everybody at my husband's shop knows it. That's why it was great to see him win that race. I understand we have you to thank for that, too. Special cookies or something?"

Was there nothing the woman didn't know? Sarah found herself laughing nonetheless. "That's what Lance claims, but I'm not convinced my secret voodoo cookies had anything to do with his winning."

"Well, you and
I
know that, but the men won't think that. They get weird about things like that."

"So I've heard."

"So why don't you bake Lance a batch of cookies for the race this weekend and I'll take them to him?"

"Are you going?"

"Yeah. I usually attend the races that are on the east coast. It's not a long flight and so if Randy gets fussy it's usually not a problem. Except Randy was sick weekend before last, so I stayed home from Daytona."

That explained why Sarah hadn't seen her before Chicago.

"So," Cece said as she flicked on her blinkers and made a right-hand turn. "Will you do it? Will you bake the team cookies?"

Sarah smiled and then shook her head. "I'll do it." But, she sternly told herself, she was doing it for the Sanderses,
not
Lance.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

He came in second.

Sarah watched the race from the nanny quarters after refusing Cece's offer of a ride to the track— she didn't have the courage to face Lance. Besides, the motor coach was still broken and so she could legitimately claim she had no business being at the track, although Cece didn't appear to buy it.

Cece and Blain got back right as the sun set, the Carolina sky fading from purple to blue to gray.

"Can you believe it?" Cece asked. Sarah felt touched and surprised that Cece had come to see her before, going inside her own home, Blain holding Randy in his arms. And even after her plane flight and long day, Cece looked more glamorous than Sarah could ever hope to look in rhinestone encrusted jeans and a gauzy silk top that exactly matched the green in Cece's eyes.

"Your cookies worked."

"Worked," Randy echoed enthusiastically, trying to wiggle out of his father's arms.

"It's okay. You can let 'er rip," Sarah told Blain.

They'd been gone three days, Sarah taking over household duties, something they'd offered to pay her for but that Sarah refused. Oddly enough, Lance was still paying her.

"Sair-ah," Randy said, reaching for her with his arms.

"I swear," Cece said. "I wish you'd quit working for Lance and come be our nanny." It was an idea that had been mentioned before. "Blain and I talked about it again and since you refused us the last time, we've decided we'd offer you double whatever Lance is paying you, plus we'll provide room and board."

"Oh my gosh," Sarah said, giving Randy an exaggerated look of surprise which made him laugh, although inside she was doing anything but laughing. She should jump on the offer, she really should.

But she didn't.

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

"Don't think too long," Blain said. "We'd really love to have you. Cece says you've been a big help."

Sarah caught Cece's eyes. Blain's wife studied her closely; too closely.

"You think about it," the woman said. "And in the meantime, you keep baking those cookies." She lifted her hands in the air, doing a little dance. "We came in second, came in second, sec-ond."

Sarah smiled as well. How could she not? She'd felt a spurt of elation, too, when she'd watched Lance cross the start/finish line. Second. It wasn't a win, but it was close enough.

"Oh, and before I forget," Cece said. "Tomorrow is Little Racer Day at the Huntersville Mall. I'd really love for you to go because it's a special event held just for kids and it's so much fun watching them meet the drivers. Their joy is contagious. Lance will be there, too," she said before Sarah could ask. "I know things might be awkward between you, but you have to face him sooner or later. Heck, you're still technically employed by him."

Face Lance? Tomorrow?

Sooner or later it would have to happen, she admitted, but after watching Lance grin into the camera that afternoon, she wasn't so certain she was ready. She'd been unable to tear her eyes away from him, unable to stop herself from feeling elated and happy and overjoyed that he'd come in second. But most of all, she'd had to squelch a nearly irresistible urge to pick up the phone and call him.

"I'll go," she said, even though a little voice inside her head told her it was more than likely, a bad,
bad
idea.

"Great," Cece said. "I'm so glad. So, we'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah," Cece said. "Sure."

It would all be over tomorrow. She knew deep in her heart that she had to accept the Sanderses' offer of a job. Working for Lance had to come to an end. Especially since she'd started to fall in love with him.

The next day was so overcast and gray, and the air so thick and warm, that Sarah knew thunderstorms were on their way. The central coast of California was arid and dry, so it still surprised her to hear the distant boom of thunder, cumulus clouds with atomic-looking tops mushrooming into the upper atmosphere. It was, Sarah decided, the perfect day to quit a job.

Cece drove, Randy strapped in the back seat, and Sarah was treated to a blow-by-blow account of the race, something that she knew she'd be forced to listen to time and again. Of course, her job with Cece might be temporary, too, something Sarah had already made clear. Teaching was her first love. Life in the fast lane had only ever been a temporary pit stop—she gave herself a mental pat on the back for that appropriate metaphor.

The mall was packed, at least judging by the parking lot. Of course, that might be because the mall was always packed, but Sarah somehow doubted it. There were an awful lot of vehicles sporting their favorite driver's car number, the surest sign of a race fan.

"Ready?" Cece asked after they'd transferred Randy to a stroller, a middle-aged man doing a double take when he caught sight of her. That was to be expected given that Sarah felt like a gawky teenager next to the prom queen. But when someone else did a double take near the entrance to the mall, Sarah started to doubt that it was just Cece's looks. She had a feeling Cece Sanders had been recognized.

"Is Blain coming?"

"He said he'd meet us here," Cece said, smiling at someone who called out her name as if they knew her. Cece waved.

"Do you know that person?" Sarah asked.

"No."

They were stopped every ten feet, perfect strangers and their children chitchatting with Cece as if they'd known her her entire life. Cece just took it all in stride, slowly making her way toward the center court where the Little Racers event was being held.

There were hundreds, literally
hundreds
of children around, their parents holding their hands or pushing them in strollers. It was a single-story mall with brightly lit neon signs reflecting off the polished floor. The center court was actually an atrium nestled between four major department stores. Lush plants spread their foliage toward a glass ceiling, the air thick with humanity and the dark chocolate smell of freshly watered plants. When they finally made it through the thick crowd, Sarah realized this wasn't an autographing like she'd thought it would be. This was more like a schoolroom.

Numerous awnings had been erected over craft tables, and children were sitting around with their favorite drivers while they made cutout cars with construction paper, or decorated T-shirts with paint pens. Parents stood around the perimeter observing, huge smiles on their faces as they watched their children laugh and interact with some of the world's most famous stock car drivers.

It made Sarah misty-eyed. She was just so touched that not one, not two, but at least twenty drivers had taken the time out of their busy schedules to do this. Or maybe it was the way joy seemed to emanate from the food court, like a happy cloud that hovered over the place. Or maybe it was the sight of Lance, tongue tucked between his teeth, as he tried—not very successfully—to thread a bead, a small girl staring up at him with an unblinking stare, hero worship in her eyes.

"Kind of gets you right here," Cece said, thumping her chest with her fist.

"Yeah, it kinda does."

"And there's Rebecca," Cece said, waving to the redhead who was as chicly dressed as Cece. "C'mon. Let's go on in and help."

"Wait. Is that okay? I mean, I'm not anyone famous."

"Pssh," Cece scoffed. "Who said you need to be famous to make some kid's day? C'mon."

So they entered, a security guard letting them through once he recognized Cece. Hundreds of eyes watched their progress between craft booths, Sarah telling herself to ignore Lance, but like Lot's wife, unable to stop herself from taking a peek—just one little peek.

He stared at her. Sarah felt as if she'd been painted red, a bright, neon cerise that she was certain everyone around the perimeter could see. The little girl who'd been watching him tugged at his arm and he looked away, but not before he nodded at Sarah as if to say, "Hey."

With the ice broken, Sarah began to relax. Cece put Sarah to work, although not in the way Sarah had anticipated, that being to watch Randy. No, Cece put her to work painting wooden cars, with Todd Peters her "driver," and six little kids helping out. Sarah had met Todd only a few times before, so she was flattered when he said, "Hey, Sarah. Bring any cookies?"

With a laugh and a shake of her head, Sarah helped kids decorate toy stock cars. Boys and girls alike visited Todd's table, although the girls tended to glue sparkly beads on their cars rather than stick with traditional paint schemes. By the time the event was almost over, Sarah knew she had just about as much paint on her skin as the little cars had on their bodies.

"And so then what'd you do?" a little boy asked her, dipping his brush in the black paint so he could put the finishing touches on his tires. Todd was off signing autographs for the kids who hadn't gotten the chance to visit his table and so Sarah was all alone with her "kids," each of whom had her autograph and Todd's on the bottom of his toy.

"I closed my eyes," she said, concentrating on her own car, which she was painting pink. "I couldn't watch. It was too scary."

"So then how'd you see what happened?" a little girl asked. Her car was pink, too—Sarah had been touched.

"Well," Sarah said, remembering back to that long-ago day in Lance's motor coach when she'd watched him qualify. "I only closed them for a moment. And when I opened them back up again, the car was okay. Lance had brought it under control."

"And you think it was the cookies that helped?" another boy asked.

"Oh, I know it was the cookies," Sarah said, "because Lance told me afterward that after he bobbled that lap, he flipped up his visor, reached for one of my famous cookies and popped it in his mouth. And you know what happened then?"

"What?" asked another little girl, gray eyes wide, awe in her voice.

"He drove his fastest lap ever at that track."

"Wow," someone said, Sarah wasn't sure who. She was concentrating on painting a tiny number twenty-six on the side of her car.

"Lance told me he plans to grind some of those cookies up and put them in his fuel. You know, he got second last weekend. I haven't talked to him about it, but I wonder if that's what he did and that's why his car went so fast."

"My dad says Lance Cooper is all washed up."

Sarah looked up, a child of about eight years meeting her gaze with all the seriousness of a twenty-year-old race fan.

"He's a big Todd Peters fan," the child explained.

"Oh," Sarah said. "I see. Well, you tell your father that Lance Cooper is not washed up. You tell your father that I've seen Lance Cooper do things with a race car that would make Dale Earnhardt envious." Well, okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration since she'd never even seen the famous Earnhardt drive. "You tell your father that Lance Cooper is going to blow the socks off the competition in the coming weeks, and not just because of my cookies, either, but because he's one of the best drivers out there, not to mention one of the nicest men on Earth."

Silence greeted her words. Well, okay, maybe not silence, one little girl with blond pigtails let out a few, "Ah hums," that were supposed to sound like coughs.

Then Sarah knew. She just knew.

"He's standing behind me, isn't he?" she asked
sotto voce.

The little girl with the fake cough nodded.

"That's what I thought."

"Well, don't let me stop you," Lance said, coming around to stand next to her. "I want to hear more about how great I am."

Which made all the kids laugh and Sarah want to sink beneath the table. But then Lance bent down, Sarah's eyes all but bugging when he swiped a bit of paint off her nose, drawing back just a bit when he'd finished to stare into her eyes.

"Hey, Sarah," he said softly.

She was a goner. No doubt about it. As she stared into his eyes, her heart went as gooey as the acrylic ringing the sticky paint bottles.

"Hey, Lance," she said.

"Are you his girlfriend?" one of the little girls asked.

"I'm—"

"Yes," Lance said, cutting her off. "And since Todd has abandoned you, I thought I'd come on over and join you guys."

"Cool," said the girl with pigtails. "You can sign my car, too."

"I don't know," Lance said. "If I sign it after Todd's signed it, the car might combust."

"But your girlfriend signed it, too, and so I'm sure it'll be all right."

Which made Lance and Sarah both laugh.

From that point on, Sarah could only watch as Lance interacted with the kids at the table. Their gazes would meet from time to time, Sarah's whole body going still. She felt all funny inside, like she'd just gotten off a Disneyland ride, one that made her disoriented and unable to determine which way to the exit.

"Well," Cece said, Randy in her arms and clutching a string of beads that Sarah now realized was the lanyard portion of a credential holder. "Are you ready to go?" she asked Sarah, giving Lance a quick wink.

"Well, I—"

"I'll take her home," Lance said.

Sarah felt her breath catch. She knew instantly that if she didn't want things to go forward with Lance, now was the time to say something.

She kept quiet.