Slide Job (Cameron Motorsports) (6 page)

Mad or not, it wouldn’t do to insult Tyler’s girlfriend, so she held her temper. It was obvious the woman had never been to a racetrack before. How could you yell at someone wearing a helmet and expect them to hear you? She looked to the sky in exasperation.

No way would she stand around and let someone bad-mouth her friend Eric without just cause. It wasn’t his fault his car malfunctioned. He wasn’t going to take the rap for some thoughtless skank. This was a work area, not a circus. Children weren’t even supposed to be in here this time of day.

Eric came rushing over, helmet in hand, concern evident on his face and in his voice. His eyes took in the group, coming to rest on Tyler.

“I’m so sorry, she just appeared out of nowhere. Is she all right?” He looked to Annie.

She stared back and nodded solemnly.

He turned to Morgan and brushed dirt off her shoulder. “I saw her in front of me, I was afraid to turn the car. I didn’t know which way she’d go, so I just kept going straight, hoping she’d get out of the way.”

Morgan knew what he was feeling; she’d felt it herself. Stomach in knots, chest tightened up like a vise. She could drive a hundred and forty miles an hour straight at a wall with no fear in sight. Let somebody step out in front of her, rolling around, and it scared the pants off her.

“She’s fine, Eric. Don’t worry about it. Just a little dirtier now than when she got here, but a little dirt is a good thing right?” She tickled behind Annie’s knee and grinned at her. She was rewarded with a shy giggle.

Eric visibly relaxed, his shoulders slumped a bit, and he exhaled a deep breath. “Okay, if you’re sure.” Once again he looked at Tyler. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“She’ll be fine Eric, don’t worry about it.” Tyler hugged Annie a little closer to his chest and stroked her back with his free hand. “Thanks for checking on her.”

“No problem. See ya, Morgan.” He looked to the blonde and nodded solemnly. “Ma’am.” And he walked back in the direction of his pit stall.

The
blonde just couldn’t leave well enough alone, she reached out as if to grab the back of Eric’s driver’s suit. “Wait.”

Some people just never learn. Exasperated, Morgan motioned to the strip of neon-green tape secured around the woman’s wrist. “Do you see that? Do you know what that is?”

Shocked into silence, the woman nodded, and then shook her head, confusion blanketing her patrician features.

“It’s a pit entry wristband. Do you remember signing a clipboard when you came in?”

Still silent, the woman nodded again.

“Did you happen to read what you were signing?”

This time the blonde shook her head, negative.

“When you signed that paper, you agreed to be responsible for this child. And where the hell were
you
,” Morgan poked her in the chest with a forefinger for emphasis, “while she was over here, talking to me?”

“I, uh...” Deflated, the woman stopped speaking. She stood there, red-faced, with mascara-black tears running down her cheeks.

With timing allowed only the very young, Annie chose that moment to remind everyone once again of her presence. “D-a-d-d-y-y, you’re squishing me.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” Tyler fussed with her hair, the very image of a concerned father. Annie bounced and pushed against his chest.

“Down, down, down.”

“All right. But you have to hold my hand.” He settled her feet on the dirt next to him, keeping a firm grip on her hand.

Clearing his throat, Tyler spoke, “Morgan, I’d like you to meet my younger sister, Stephanie.” He swished his hand downward, encompassing the identical—featured, blue-eyed girl staring up at them. “And I see you’ve already met my daughter, Annie.”

Annie smiled up at her, eyes alight with energy. One pigtail askew, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, she reached out to touch Morgan’s hand softly. “Hello, Morgan.”

Her heart was lost.

“Tyler, Tyler, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Steve Gable, the director, rushed over. “I need you to check these edits. We’re ready to start filming again.”

Morgan looked at Tyler, his torn expression, and waved it off. “You’re welcome.” With a stern glance at Stephanie, Morgan growled, “Just watch her from now on.” Stephanie blanched and nodded earnestly. Morgan turned, for once not followed by the film crew, and headed back to her hauler.

The three of them wandered off, led by Steve, to the production area. Set up in a customized eighteen-wheeler, it stood proudly at the end of the row. Emblazoned with huge, gold-leaf lettering and multi-colored swirls, practically screaming Hanover Entertainment.

Downhearted, overcome with receding adrenaline and pent-up emotion, Morgan weaved her way to the front of the hauler and sat in the grass. Her back against the side, she rested her head on her knees.

And cried.

*

Ten grueling hours later, Morgan stood at the side door of her hauler, autographing paraphernalia purchased by fans. Thank heavens the line was down from several hundred to just about thirty. This whole reality show thing had tripled the size of the crowds.

She thought back to when the race had started. Idling around the track, she’d looked at the grandstands. There hadn’t been an empty seat in the place.

Frustrated at finishing third, astonished by their reaction to her, she’d smiled at them. The fans didn’t seem to mind. How odd, this part had never occurred to her. She was on television, third place or not. She was a celebrity.

They smiled, she smiled back. They were so excited. Her hand cramped. She posed for pictures, made small talk and wished for a vat of margaritas.

The camera crew stood angled around her, exhausted faces revealed in the dim lighting, still filming. She spared a glance at Blake, the cameraman. At least she thought that was his name. “Aren’t you guys ready to call it a night?”

“We can’t turn in until you do.”

“Oh.” Well, it looked like they’d be here a while then. Once the fans were done, they’d have room to load the car. Fans had mobbed the area earlier, which made loading the car impossible. The crew saved it for last to be able to do it safely. They’d cleaned up all the tools and put everything else away. If they could leave by three in the morning, they’d be doing great.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, flinched at the unaccustomed familiarity, recognized the heat and realized it was Tyler. How weird was that? She could tell when he touched her. When she thought about it, it wasn’t that hard. The rest of the crew knew better.

“Isn’t it past time to call it a night?” he queried softly in her ear.

“No, I’m working.”

“What do you mean? You’re working? You’re signing autographs.” He tried and failed to keep the hint of derision out of his voice.

“Yeah, I am.” She bristled at his condescending tone. “These people plunked down their hard-earned money for a ticket. Then they paid more, with money they probably didn’t have, for t-shirts, hats and other stuff. If they can wait in line for hours, I can damned sure stand here and sign my name for them.”

Chastised, he left her to it.

Chapter 7

Luxuriant green pastures adorned the roadside, flanked by miles of ranch-rail fence the color of black coffee, mesmerizing Morgan as they rose and fell with the landscape. Sleek-coated horses grazed contentedly, or frolicked over the hills. Ebony, mahogany, and silver-grey manes and tails flowed in the breeze, making up a living portrait she loved.

The only horses she really knew anything about resided under a hood, but she admired the grace and beauty of these animals from the passenger seat of the racecar hauler.

She never tired of looking at modern barns, neatly painted or covered with siding. Larger than the house her parents lived in, they stood as silent sentinels, watching over their brood.

Spying a cell tower in the distance, she dialed her phone. “Hey, Dad. How’re you feeling?”

He followed his usual routine of wanting to know where they were in their journey. “We’re just passing through Lexington. I wish you could be here, too.” She could hear him sigh. He loved the changing scenery as much as she did.

She thought about how frustrating it must be for him to be housebound, with Mom fussing constantly, shuttling him from one doctor to the next. It saddened her to think of her brawny father confined to his bed.

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Dad.”

“Almost good enough to get back to following you around, and crackin’ that whip,” he replied.

“That’s great news.” She could hear the smile in his voice. Would it work this time? Would he get better? Only time would tell.

“How’s Damon?” Her brother had stayed home to help Mom, and wasn’t any too happy about it.

“He’s over at…what’s that darn girl’s name? Misty, Sissy, ah, Kristi. That’s it. I swear they’re stuck together like glue.”

“Oh, he’s at Kristi’s? Well, tell him I said ‘hi’ and I’ll try to catch him later. Is Mom there?”

Her mother came on the line, her voice glowing with excitement, “Morgan, sweetie, it’s good to hear your voice. Are those boys treating you right out there?” She could hear the smile in Mom’s voice.

“Yeah, Mom. They’re great.” She knew she couldn’t talk very long. The woman had an uncanny way of detecting emotion in her children’s voices. She’d always been able to guess anytime something wasn’t quite right in the life of her offspring. “We should get into South Carolina tomorrow noon. We’ll have tomorrow afternoon to hang out, and then testing doesn’t start until Wednesday morning.”

“Did you get the mail I sent to you?” She could hear the unspoken question in her mother’s voice. There had been notices from two collection agencies amidst the stack of bills the network had couriered to her.

Morgan knew curiosity smoldered under Sheila Blade’s calm exterior. She’d never gotten involved in the business side of racing, insisting it was Dad’s domain. Upon his illness, he’d passed the reins to Morgan, and they’d both accepted the transition without question.

“I did. Thanks, Mom. I’ve got to go. We’re getting ready to stop for dinner.”

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll let you go for now.”

Morgan laughed, and breathed a sigh of relief at the short reprieve. The resolution in her mom’s voice meant she knew something was up, but she’d chosen not to press it at the moment.

“Carter’s feeling up to company tonight, so the Baldwins are coming over for a bit.”

It wouldn’t do for Mom to learn what had happened just before they’d pulled out of Nebraska. Mom had enough to deal with. Morgan could hardly believe it herself.

She’d been thoroughly surprised to see John and Rob Haskell at the track. Haskell’s Performance had sponsored her red and white number seventy-one for the last five years.

Rob told her flat out their contract with Blade Motorsports was void. Negated, due to the fact that her father wasn’t managing the team and she was. When they’d left, she’d been thoroughly humiliated and they were no longer her sponsors. Oh, well, one disaster at a time.

“I’m so glad Dad’s doing better, Mom. Is his treatment working this time?”

“I don’t know, honey. His doctor says we have to wait and see. I saw your friend Lynn today. She’s such fine nurse, and so good with your daddy. She said to tell you ‘hello.’”

Wait, wait, and wait some more. It drove her nuts. She could only imagine how aggravating it was for her parents. “Oh, thanks. When you see her, give her a hug for me. Okay, bye, Mom. Hug each other for me. Love you.”

She closed her phone and turned in her seat to see the cameraman, Blake Hardy, still filming. She’d had enough cameras for one day.

“Hey, Blake, would you like a beer?”

He grinned at her and nodded.

“Can you play poker and hold that camera at the same time?” She smiled back at him, got out of her seat and moved to the living area. She reached into the small refrigerator, pulled out three beers, then dug into a drawer and drew out a deck of cards. She sat at the table and began shuffling.

“How about you, Steve? Should I deal you in?” She winked at the director, giving him her best conniving grin. “Or are you afraid of being taken by a girl?”

“Never. Deal me in.” Steve closed whatever he’d been working on and put away his laptop. He leaned tan forearms on the table, rubbing his palms together.

Her crew chief looked at her in the rearview mirror with tired eyes.

“Jack, aren’t we coming up on a rest area? I bet you could use a break from driving. Get out and stretch a bit.” She wished they could afford a full-time driver so the guys wouldn’t have to switch all the time.

“Yes’m, I sure could use a stop.”

“Phil, no beer for you. Once we hit the stop, you can take over the driving and give Jack a break. We’ll stop for dinner somewhere between here and Knoxville.”

Phil stretched his arms and yawned like a sleepy tiger. “Sounds good to me. Are we spending the night in Knoxville, then?”

“Yeah. That’ll leave us about three hundred miles to cover in the morning and we’ll be there.” Her attention turned back to the cards, sliding through her fingers.

“Five card stud okay? Ante up, gentlemen. Two dollar limit.”

She dealt the cards smoothly, with her usual economy of motion, hole card face down, next one face up.

“Steve, it looks like you’re low man, with that three of clubs.”

Steve reached in his wallet and pulled out a dollar to toss in the pot. He spared a glance at Phil sitting on his left.

Phil raised his cards with a grimace and tossed them in the center. “Fold.”

Everybody came complete with a life story they loved to tell. She’d learned that a long time ago. Stories were a great way to pass the time. No sense beating around the bush about it, might as well ask what she wanted to know.

“Have you guys worked in television a long time?”

Steve peeked at his hole card, and then rested both back down on the table. “For about eight years. Tyler hired both of us at the beginning, to be on his crew.”

She smiled to herself, watching the expressions whirl across his face. He would be an easy mark. “Wow, that’s a long time in one place for television, isn’t it?”

Blake revealed his best poker face, serious green eyes, and lips held in a thin line, “Yeah, but Tyler’s a stand up guy. He’s cool to work for.” He folded his billfold closed and placed his money neatly in the center of the table.

She reached in her pocket and pulled out three wrinkled dollar bills. One she placed in the pot, the other two she laid next to her elbow and dealt the next round of cards, smiling into each of their eyes. “Bets, anyone?”

Steve scowled at his cards and threw them face up on the table. “I fold. That was some save you made rescuing Annie the other day. It turned out great on film.”

“Thanks, it did turn out great, even if I didn’t have my super suit.” She grinned as she puffed out her chest and eyed Blake. “Your turn.” Fortunately they hadn’t been there to film her meltdown afterwards.

“I’ll see your bet and raise you one.”

“Works for me.” She threw in her last two dollars. “Thank goodness she didn’t get hurt. Why was she at the track anyway? What was that whole mommy thing about?”

Blake and Steve exchanged questioning glances like they weren’t sure if they should tell.

“Come on, who am I gonna tell who probably doesn’t already know?” She commented, thinking about Lynn and the grocery store rag sheet.

She dealt the next round. Blake looked at his cards and smirked, somehow losing track of his poker face. “I call.”

“It’s sort of a long story.” Steve shoved a hand through his light brown hair as if he’d made some sort of decision.

“Right now, we’ve got nothin’
but
time. I’d tell you all about me, but you’ve been following me around for three weeks already.” She turned up her hole card and showed three queens.

“Damn. I thought I had you.” Blake turned over his hole card and revealed a pair of jacks. He passed a considering look at Steve, then spoke slowly. “I guess it wasn’t quite three years ago.” He rubbed his chin while contemplating the cards. “The studio owner has a thing for strip clubs, likes to hold meetings in ’em and stuff.”

“This new place opened in L.A. and we show up one lunch time for a meeting, and who do we see on stage when we go strolling in the door?” Steve paused in the telling to sip his beer.

She turned her questioning gaze from man to man, then to Phil as she raked in the pot. He shook his head slightly, like he didn’t know the answer either. Somehow, she knew it wouldn’t be good.

Steve raised his beer, as if in an imaginary toast to her. “It was Cindy. His then current, now ex, wife.”

“Holy crap.” Surprise filled her, and curiosity quickly overcame it. “Why would his wife be dancing in a strip club?” She looked down at the table. Maybe he liked that sort of thing.

“Drugs do funny things to people.” This came from Blake, who tossed his empty bottle neatly into the bottle box for recycling. “She had a secret habit. He didn’t know until that day, and she freaked when he came in the door. Jumped right down off the stage, screamin’ and cryin’. It was bad for him.”

“Help yourself to another beer, if you’d like one.” Now Blake looked like he could use something a little stronger.

“Thanks, anybody else want one while I’m up?”

“No thanks, one is all I ever have. It’s that driving thing, ya’ know? I’ve got to be clear headed in the morning.” She tried to smile and it felt pretty flat. Her thoughts spun for a moment, amazed at what she’d just learned. “It must have been terrible for him to find out that way.”

Steve resumed telling his part of the tale. “It was bad, but it got worse. She ran off after that, leaving Annie at home alone. He came home to find that, too. She was a knock-out, but not wrapped tight, if you know what I mean.” He gestured, circling his temple with his forefinger.

Math being second nature to her, she did a quick calculation. The child would have been only about two years old or so. Her heart ached for both of them. What a terrible ordeal to have to face.

Her thoughts went immediately to Josh and Lily. Cheating, lying bastard husband that Josh was, he’d paid. And little Lily, she’d paid the ultimate price for their stupidity. It sure seemed like everyone was earmarked for some sort of suffering.

Blake handed another beer to Steve and sat back down at the table. “He’s got sole custody now. It’s been tough on him. He doesn’t talk about it much anymore.”

Heartbreaking silence descended on the group, each lost for a moment in their own thoughts.

“Rest area comin’ up.” Jack’s tired, gravelly voice chased the gloom away and brought them back to the present.

*

The sun floated, a bright white disk high in the cloudless sky as they rolled into Redmond, South Carolina. Morgan knew Redmond Motorsports Park rested on seven hundred acres just south of town. Her blood thrummed with excitement. She couldn’t wait to see it.

Expectation filled her, made her sit taller in her seat as they crested the hill. There it was. Waiting.

She wondered how many people felt this way before they went to work. She’d guess not many, and felt a moment’s pang of sympathy for them.

Flags flew in primary colors over the gates, inviting everyone in. Just like a circus tent set up before the crowds arrived, it sat quietly, peaceful in the sunlight.

Once they were cleared through security, Jack followed the signs leading them into the infield. She could see the bright blue number sixty-three Optima hauler of Bobby Harms lined up next to Eric Wilson’s yellow number thirty-nine. Jack motored slowly alongside Eric’s rig.

Morgan hopped out into the bright sunlight, thankful for the sunglasses that shielded her eyes. She turned toward the front stretch and stopped abruptly.

Accustomed to racing on three-eighths or half-mile dirt tracks, her first glimpse of the one mile asphalt oval filled her with anticipation.

Jack walked up next to her. “She’s a big one, ain’t she?” He shook his head, and looked both left and right. “Man, the noise must be something on race day.”

“You’re not kidding. I know it seats a hundred-thousand, but man...” She stared in amazement at the rows and rows of empty aluminum grandstands resembling small foothills, ten-stories high.