In the Groove (23 page)

"You were in Illinois?"

"Yeah. And it was fun. Pouring sugar down that engine. Putting ether in a few tires. Even tried to get you to rear-end someone, but that didn't work."

She struggled to free her hand and throw him off, but Peter just shoved her into the floor even harder.

"And it worked, too." He was starting to pant. "Look who's here."

He tried to kiss her again, but to be honest, Sarah had had enough. Using a move Cece had taught her shortly after the Stalker Fan incident, Sarah bucked her body, bringing one of her legs around and in between Peter's, then twisting her own body so she was on top.

Pete cried out in shock.

And before Sarah could stop herself, she drew back her fist and punched him in the nose.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

He was having a shitty race.

Things had gone to hell right from the get-go, Lance cutting a tire on the tenth lap. He'd been a lap down until he'd gotten the free pass a few laps later. That had put him back on the lead lap, but his car was looser than a three-wheeled go-kart and he was having a hell of a time holding on.

"We need a pit stop," he told Allen.

"I know, I know," Allen said. "I keep praying to the pit stop gods, but they ain't listening."

"Well then break out the anti-crash fairy dust because at this rate,
I
might wreck."

They rounded turn two, Talladega's Union 76 sign flashing by. Dan Harris was coming up behind him, Lance glad he wasn't the only one having a shitty day. But Dan was still holding a grudge, and so as he came up on his rear, he tensed up.

Bam!

Oh, shit. Payback was a bitch.

The car began to lift. Through the grace of God and maybe a few caution fairies, he didn't go slideways. Dan whipped around him, Lance catching a wave out of the corner of his eye.

Okay, so now they were even. The death of Dan's best super speedway car had been avenged.

"May I now pronounce you man and wife," Lance murmured, because now the two of them could go back to being buddies on and off the track.

"Excuse me," a voice said inside his head. "You cheatin' on me out there?"

Lance shook his head a bit, thinking he'd really lost it. That had sounded like Sarah.

"I mean really, Lance. If you were having an affair with another driver, you should have told me."

He almost slammed on the brakes. He almost wrecked his car. Again. Instead he held on for dear life, watching the entrance to pit road zoom by and turning his head a bit to see if he could catch a glimpse of—

"Sarah?" he asked.

"What's the matter? My hair not big enough for you to spot from inside that car?"

He almost laughed. Hell, maybe he did laugh. He didn't know. All he knew was that suddenly he felt as if he were on top of the world.

"Hell, honey. I thought maybe you'd like a threesome."

"Nah," she said. "I don't do boy-boy-girl."

"Ahem," Allen said. "Might I remind the two of you that we're being scanned by NASCAR?"

"Ah hell, Allen," Terry, Lance's spotter said. "Don't make 'em be quiet. It was just getting good. Now. What were you saying about girl-girl-boy?"

"Actually," Sarah said. "I was about to tell Lance that there's only one man for me."

Resisting the urge to pull his car down pit road, get out, and snatch her up in his arms, Lance gripped the steering wheel.

"What did you say?" he asked.

There was a momentary pause and then, "I love you," she said softly. "And I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, only to snap them open a half second later because Terry was yelling something in bis ears.

"Caution, caution, caution," he was saying. "Go high, Lance. High and stay in the groove."

A cloud of smoke loomed before him. Lance could briefly see spinning cars, debris and flames. And then he was clear. He banged the steering wheel.

"Now," he said to Sarah, and also as a way of letting his team know he'd made it through. "What were you saying?"

"She said she's not saying anything else unless you win this race," Allen said. "And since I hate to disappoint a lady, we're putting a pound of air in the right rear. A round in the back and half pound of pressure out of the front left. Copy that everyone?"

Echoes of "copy that" rang out.

"Well, since Sarah's not talking to me anymore maybe you can send her back to the hauler to get the kitchen sink? Couldn't hurt."

"Copy that," Allen said although laughter tinged her voice. "She's on her way."

"Thirty-two hundred RPMs, Lance," his spotter said. "We're right after the number seventy-two car."

"Copy that," Lance said, growing tense as he entered pit road.

But then he saw her. She stood near the front of his pit box, out of everyone's way and yet close enough to the wall that he could glimpse her smiling face. Heck, she even waved.

"Go, go, go," Allen said less than fourteen seconds later. And then, "Good stop, guys. Great job. Lance, let me know how she feels."

"Hey now, Allen," Lance said. "You know I never kiss and tell."

Silence. Lance thought maybe Allen wouldn't play along. But then he said. "Sorry. I was talking to Sarah. She told me she'll kiss and tell, and that you like it hard on the outside and soft on the inside—"

"Hey," Lance said.

"With icing on top," Allen finished, laughter in his voice. "But not the dot sprinkles. You like the little hot-dog-shaped ones."

Lance knew that anyone who was listening in was no doubt laughing, and that put a smile on his face, too. Damn. He hadn't felt this good in a race car since... well, since the last time Sarah was around.

"Getting ready to go green," Terry said. "Stand by."

Lance stomped on it the moment he heard, "Green, green, green," the rear tires biting down on the track and launching forward like a bat out of hell. He knew he had bottom end. That had never been the problem. The problem was when he got to the top end of speed, he couldn't hold on to it.

Until now.

He knew going into that first turn that things were better. His back end didn't break free for the first time in what felt like fifty laps (and probably was). And when he threw it deep into the corner, he was able to hold on to it

"Better or worse?" Allen asked.

"Better," Lance replied when he came out of turn two. "Much,
much
better."

"Let me know if it stays better," Allen said.

And that was the next test. Would the setup go away? Or would the car only get better?

By turn four he figured he was just a bit tight, the front end of his car wanting to head straight for the wall. But it wasn't bad-tight, and he had a feeling as his tires wore down that tightness would loosen up and in the meantime he was passing cars.

"Damn," Lance said, the smile on his face so big, he knew his cheeks would hurt by the end of the race.

"What's the matter?" Allen asked, sounding grave.

"Nothing," Lance said. "I'm just having fun."

"Ten-four," Allen said, and Lance could hear the smile in his voice.

But the best moment for Lance came when he was able to pass Todd as if he were standing still. They raced each other cleanly, as they always did, Lance taking the top line even though he knew Todd might drift up and into him. He didn't, and when Lance ended up in front, he lifted his hand and gave a wave.

"Uh, Lance?" Allen said a few minutes later after he'd managed to pick off a couple more cars. "NASCAR wants to know if you put some of Sarah's cookies in the fuel tank."

"Tell them no, but that that's a good idea. I'll be sure and do that next weekend."

They pitted one more time under a green flag but by then Allen knew which direction they needed to go. When Lance shot off pit road, he knew he had a rocket.

One. Two. Three laps and he was sitting in the top five with forty laps to go.

Suddenly, a win looked possible.

A caution with twenty laps to go helped him pick off another few cars. His crew got him out so fast, he was second off pit road.

Second.

A win might be only a few laps away.

"Hey, Lance," Sarah said, Lance swinging his car back and forth to warm up the tires.

"Ee-yesss?" he drawled, thinking that he really didn't care if he won the race or not. All right, maybe he did, but the truth was he already felt like a winner.

He had Sarah atop his pit box.

"You know those cookies you love so much?"

"Ee-yess," he said.

"Well, if you don't pass that car, you'll never bite into one of them again."

"That sounds suspiciously like a threat."

"It is," she said, deadpan.

Lance laughed. "Well alrighty, then."

Two minutes later they waved the green flag, Lance putting the number twelve car in his sights. "So sorry to do this," he said as he came up on the car's back end. "But I'm left with no choice."

They went into the turn, Lance swinging up as if he were taking the high groove, only to fake left at the last moment, his fresh tires shooting him past the twelve car as if he were standing still.

"Now that's more like it," Sarah said.

Lance was still grinning as he took the checkered flag, but he didn't burn the tires in front of the grandstands. Oh, no, he went straight to the winner's circle, just about beating his crew and the network TV cameras and... Sarah.

She was there, hanging back a bit as if afraid to join the crowd. So he dropped the window net, disconnected his steering wheel and slid out of the car.

People screamed and cheered—the fans, his crew, perfect strangers. Lance didn't really hear them. All he heard was the beating of his own heart as he pulled her to him, inhaling her vanilla scent and burying his face in the crook of her neck. Cookies. She always smelled like cookies.

"You're here," he said.

"I'm here," she echoed. "Thanks to a Sanders Racing helicopter ride and a terrifying trip in Courtney's rental car."

"And you're shaking like a leaf."

"Must have been the drive over." But they both knew that wasn't why.

"There's no need to be scared."

"I know that," she said, meeting his eyes. "I was just so afraid you'd be mad at me. I've been dodging your calls for so many weeks."

"But you're here now."

"I should have been here weeks ago. I've been such a fool," she admitted. "All this time I've been preaching about how you can't be afraid of losing and suddenly I realized I needed to heed my own advice."

Lance's hands squeezed her shoulders, emotions nearly overcoming him: relief, gratitude and most of all, joy.

"Does this mean you're through running away?"

"It does."

"Thank God."

He pulled her to him. Someone began to shower the two of them with something. Sarah cried out Lance laughed, the two of them hiding in each other's arms.

"Careful of my cookie," he said, pulling out a bedraggled bag from his firesuit pocket.

"What the heck is that?" Sarah asked, having to yell over the sound of applause.

"It's one of the first cookies," he said. "I was worried you wouldn't bake me any more, so I kept this one on hand."

"Oh, Lance," she said, smiling and laughing. "You can toss that thing away. I'll bake you new ones later."

"Not going to cut it," he teased, pulling her toward him again. "I'm going to want these puppies every week."

"Every week, then," she said, having to swallow rapidly.

"For the rest of our lives," he added.

And there went the tears, falling down her cheeks despite Sarah's best effort. "For the rest of our lives," she echoed.

"And a weekly performance of 'Wheels on the Bus,' " he said.

Laughter bubbled up, forcing its ways past her tear-clogged throat. "Well, now, that might be a deal breaker—"

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she said. Sarah knew that hundreds of people were probably watching them, but she didn't care. At that moment she realized they could be watched by hundreds of thousands of people and it wouldn't matter, because it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

"Then what are we going to do?" he asked.

"Kiss me," she said, "and maybe I'll change my mind."

One of the network TV cameras swung toward them right then. Sarah didn't care. She hoped the whole world saw Lance Cooper bend down and do something she hoped he did every day for the rest of their lives—kiss her senseless.

And at home, a hundred miles away, Sylvia Tingle clapped and cried. "Atta girl, Sarah. Show all those hussies at home that Lance Cooper is officially off the market. O-F-F."

And then she collapsed back into her chair, breaking out into sobs the moment her rear connected with the worn and tattered fabric. "She's gonna live happily ever after," she told the empty room. "My baby's gonna have the fairy tale."

And as it turned out... she did.