Slide Job (Cameron Motorsports) (4 page)

She briefly contemplated what life would be like as an only child and looked at her knight in shining armor.

Standing on one leg, cursing a blue streak in his deep southern-fried voice and trying to peel a soggy wet sock off of his other foot, he scowled.

She laughed.

Chapter 4

She laughed so hard her sides ached. Bent over at the waist, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m so sorry.” She hiccupped out a breath, standing upright.

He stood there, six feet of gorgeous, irritated man. Hopping back and forth from foot to foot. Why was he doing that? Uh oh.
The sun-baked pavement had to be really hot on his bare feet.

“Come on.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the trailer, running the few steps it took to get there. His hand felt warm and firm, wrapped protectively around her smaller one. She let go of it at the open door and stepped up inside the hot shadowed interior.

Without the chassis inside, it looked like a big empty shoebox on wheels, dusty black and white linoleum floor, with tools and open shelves across the front. He stepped in right behind her, light as a cat.

The early evening wind whipped across the plains and blew the smell of cinnamon into the open doorway with them. Why couldn’t he smell like old sneakers?

“You didn’t burn your feet, did you?” Morgan dug into one of the open crates on the shelf and handed him a cylinder of baby wipes. “This should help clean them up until we can get you to a bathroom.” The trailer vibrated with the passing of another semi.

She pushed a very large tire with a polished aluminum rim onto its side and slid it through a shaft of fading sunlight in his direction. “Have a seat.”

He sat gingerly on the edge of the tire and opened the top of the wipes.

She pulled one out, knelt down and reached for his foot.

“
What
are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning the gas off your feet.”

He swung his foot out of her reach, slanting to the side. “Oh no, you are not. I can clean my own damn feet.” He still sounded pissed. ”Do you always go around washing strange men’s feet?” He took off his sunglasses with his free hand and pocketed them in one smooth swipe. Light angled through the doorway revealing vivid blue eyes, narrowed in speculation.

“Jeez. I said I was sorry. Here.” She dropped the wipe, and stood back up. “Get the gas off them, now. It’s not good for your skin.”

She folded her arms under her breasts, leaned against the shelving and watched him cleanse one foot and then the other. His feet were long and lean, well proportioned, just like the rest of him.

“On the four-one-one, I don’t
ever
wash any man’s feet. I screwed up, and was trying to make amends.” She wouldn’t deny the strange urge she had to touch him, but his feet?
Eewww!
She’d been out in the sun too long.

The crew was waiting for her back at the restaurant, along with her parents. She didn’t really have time to waste on this guy, even if he was hot. “If you’re finished, tell me where you keep your extra pair of shoes and I’ll get them out of your car for you.”

“How do you know I have extra shoes?” He looked at her like she’d sprouted two heads.

This would teach her to check the gas tank. Nothing like having inane conversation with strangers on the side of the road to brighten your day.

“Well, call out the FBI. You don’t look like Kansas, and you sure don’t sound like Kansas. It’s just a lucky guess on my part.” She shrugged her shoulders, and turned to reach into another crate.

She handed him a Sharpie marker and a notebook she’d dug out. “While you’re waiting, if you jot down your name and address I’ll send you the replacement cost for your shoes and socks.”

“My shoes are in the gym bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat.”

Morgan stepped quickly out of the trailer, glad to put some distance between her and… well, hell. She didn’t want distance. She wanted to wrap herself in that warm cinnamon smell, and purr. What was up with that? She hadn’t reacted this way to a guy in as long as she could remember. Morgan shivered, having a visceral response to his scent, much stronger than any she’d experienced before. It felt as if her hormones were racing along in high gear, compelling her to leave common sense far behind.

The sun hung, pale red now, low in the western sky, the last of its warm fingers caressing her skin as she moved toward his shiny silver car. Acres of ripe sunflowers stood in rows next to the highway with yellow heads bowed, ready for the long hot day to slither into a peaceful cool night.

She breathed deeply, enjoying the warm fresh air. She loved sunsets. Everywhere she traveled, they were different. Each held its own beauty. She never tired of looking at them.

The gym bag lay on the floor, right where he’d said it would be. On the seat, his cell phone rang on top of a briefcase.

Morgan looked at it, debating whether or not to answer. The name
Annie
appeared on the display, and the chirping stopped. It was a good thing. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with someone else’s girlfriend. Still feeling guilty for the gas incident, she grabbed the phone along with his running shoes and headed back to the trailer.

“Here are your shoes.” She handed them to him through the open doorway. “Your phone was ringing, so I brought that too.” Could she be any more accommodating? Sheesh.

Morgan watched him check the name on the phone and smile. The man calmed down immediately. It was like watching ruffled feathers settle. Wow. If only she could have that effect on a guy. He pressed a button on the phone and looked at her.

“Thanks. I’ll be done in a second.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She left him sitting on the tire and walked toward the truck. Some knight in shining armor he turned out to be. One phone call and she was history. She grabbed the funnel along with the gas can and trudged around to the other side. Where, hopefully, there would be a gas tank.

Lynn leaned over from the passenger seat to roll down the window. “Is everything okay back there? He looked pretty upset.”

“Oh, it’s just super. I poured gas all over his shoes and now he’s talking to his girlfriend on the phone.” Why that irritated her, she had no idea. He had every right to be upset. “Just hang right there, I’ll finish up here and we’ll be on our way.”

She didn’t need rescuing, anyway. But damn it, couldn’t she
want
to be rescued? By a rich, good-looking guy?

*

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Tyler clicked off the phone and slipped it in his pocket. He walked around to the front of the trailer just in time to see Morgan twist the gas cap on the driver’s side. He didn’t care if she’d overheard his conversation.

She picked up the can and funnel and walked around toward him.

He reached out to take them from her and she shrugged him off.

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

He followed her as she practically stomped to the trailer to put the stuff away. What the heck was she upset about? It wasn’t like he’d ruined
her
three-hundred-dollar shoes. If she wanted to be upset, he might as well help her out.

“Where were you going?”

She looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean where was I going?”

“Where were you going when you ran out of gas?” He repeated the question patiently, like he was talking to a child.

“I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”

“It’s my business, all right. You weren’t supposed to leave the racetrack and here you are, gallivanting all over the countryside, doing who-knows-what. You did read a copy of the contest rules?”

Her jaw dropped and her lovely brown eyes went even wider. He had the most potent urge to taste those lips, stroke her jaw, to see how quickly he could turn the surprise to passion. She was so slight he could probably pick her up with one arm. The energy of arousal growled, unwelcome, inside him, like a lion scenting his mate.

“Contest rules? Just who the hell are you?”

He watched her shoulders stiffen with suspicion, which only made her breasts more prominent. Her nipples hardened in the breeze, presenting themselves proudly for his inspection. His fingers itched to reach for the tiny points, to stroke and fondle.

Down, boy. He thought he’d left his straining libido in California. Go figure. This wasn’t the time or place to be stupid. He’d been there and done that already.

“While we’re on the subject, why are you shutting out the camera crew? When you signed on as a contestant, you gave them permission to film you in any way necessary, for the good of the show. Have you changed your mind about being on the show?”

Perverse pleasure hummed through him as he watched her steam up. Morgan didn’t appear the least bit afraid of him and certainly wasn’t backing down. Surrounded by a halo of fading sunlight, she appeared almost mystical. Tyler wondered if sparks would fly from her fingertips. With curling sable hair blowing in the wind, not a speck of make-up on her smooth skin, she was amazing.

“No, I haven’t changed my mind. I ask again, who are you to think you can question me like this? It’s none of your damn business where I was going, or what I was doing.”

“The minute you signed on, you became my business.” It would be better for him if she stayed mad. When she found out who he was, she’d be upset all over again. Perhaps she’d be more stand-offish, maybe keep her distance.

He had enough going on right now handling the rest of the contestants and camera crews. This was proving to be the most complicated show yet. Since the locations would constantly change, every team required their own crew for filming. The logistics were a nightmare, a far different animal than having everyone in one place. “I can have you removed from the show for breaking the rules.”

He saw her eyes widen just a bit along with the surprised moue of her mouth. She actually took a step away from him. If he hadn’t been watching for it, he’d have missed her reaction completely.

He’d give her credit for quick reflexes, though. She looked out over the fields, inhaled, and gathered her thoughts in a flash.

“I don’t know who you are, or what you think you know about me or anything else. If you’re not too busy kicking me off of your show, take some time out for yourself, so you can kiss my ass.”

“Now there’s a pleasant thought.” He grinned wickedly at her, suddenly in a much better mood. “Kissing your ass.”

He had himself a time, watching the emotions careen across her face. He’d love to kiss her pretty little butt.
Oh man
, he’d be keeping that thought to himself.

Evidently she didn’t agree. She slammed the trailer door and locked it. Then she stomped off toward her truck without a backward glance at him. He couldn’t help himself. He had to needle her one more time.

“Morgan,” he called out, demanding her attention. “I expect to see you at the screen test in Charlotte on Monday!”

He expected her to stop or slow down, but she kept walking, turned halfway around and flipped him the bird, never slowing her pace.

The invitations were just getting better and better. If it weren’t for Annie, he’d give some serious thought to taking her up on them.

She was hiding something. He could feel it.

He laughed all the way back to his car.

*

Morgan hopped in the truck and slammed the door. She fastened her seatbelt, turned the key in the ignition, pumped the accelerator and the truck started right up.

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 blond
e 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.