Sweet Carolina (11 page)

Arrogance. Stupidity. Suicidal
tendencies
? “Which one?” she asked instead of voicing her
actual thoughts.

The reporter laughed. “I guess that was a
stupid question,” she said. She turned away to address the
reporters in the booth, dismissing Caro.

She couldn't get out fast enough.

She found Russell, told him she was leaving,
and headed for the chopper pad. She needed to talk to Dell, but not
until she took some time to consider what she would say. If what
she was thinking were true, Hawkins Racing was in trouble, and Dell
was in even worse trouble.

* * * *

Her head spun with the possibility that
instead of hiring a driver who would help her save Hawkins Racing
from bankruptcy, she'd hired one whose death wish would murder her
company in the process. No matter how she looked at the bottom
line, it didn't get any better. Debt and bad luck were sucking
Hawkins dry faster than a vampire horde in a blood bank. If things
didn't turn around soon, she'd be penning the bottom line in her
own blood, unable to afford the red ink.

Caro closed her eyes and willed the ugly
truth to go away. One more crash like the one in Las Vegas, and
Hawkins Racing was done for. She'd have to dip into the reserve
fund – the tiny bank account on the side – to pay for the parts to
build a new car. Thanks to Dell's recklessness, they were down to
one – and in his own words, it wasn't a winner.

She allowed herself a few minutes to absorb
the grim reality of her situation. What seemed like a good idea a
few weeks ago, now smacked of the worst decision of her life. If
she'd kept Jeff… well… not a thing would have changed. Sure, she
wouldn't be wondering how to pay for the parts they needed – but
she'd still be wondering how long the company could hang on. Jeff
wasn't ready to race at this level, perhaps he never would be. He
wouldn't have won any races, but he didn't crash either. At least,
she'd still have a car to put on the track.

Then there was Dell, or more specifically,
Dell.
Being the pragmatic woman she was, she had to admit
one of the reasons she'd gone to him in the first place – besides
the fact he was about the only Cup driver without a ride in the
middle of the season – was that she'd had a crush on him since she
was a kid. One of the worst things about being sent away to school
– worse than leaving her dad and the circuit behind – was leaving
Dell. She wasn't idiot enough to believe he'd harbored any feelings
for her. Not a man like Dell. He was everything a track bunny
dreamed of, and lord, help them all when he put on a fire suit.

Caro still remembered the first time she'd
seen him in one. He was all of sixteen and full of excitement
before his first Nationwide Series race. He won the race, and
several more that year. She remembered the way the reporters talked
about him. He was a phenomenon. He was bringing a new, smarter
style of racing to the sport. They held him up as the driver of the
future – one who would change racing from the “revenuers-on-my-ass”
style, to a thinking man's sport.

But Dell had changed, and Caro had allowed
her hormones to have a voice in her business decisions. It was a
rookie mistake, and one she had to correct – somehow. The more time
she spent with him, the more troublesome those hormones became. All
Dell had to do was look at her and she wanted more. Good heavens,
she wanted more. More of the heat he stirred within her, more of
his touch, more, more, more.

The heavy outside door clanged shut, jolting
Caro out of her erotic musings. She needed to keep, or more
precisely, get her relationship with Dell back on a professional
level. He was her employee, and it was her responsibility to set
the tone for their association. No more touching him, and most
importantly, no more letting him touch her.

Footsteps and voices in the hallway announced
the arrival of her crew. It was another race week, and there was
work to do. Another car to build, parts to order and payroll to
make. And, she still needed to talk to Dell – preferably before he
put his butt in another one of her cars and tried to kill himself.
As his employer, she had a responsibility to keep him alive –
didn't she? At the very least, it was in her best interest.

It was his day off and she debated whether to
have the conversation with him or wait. As far as she could tell,
Dell's suicide of choice was by automobile – on a racetrack – so
perhaps the conversation could keep for at least one more day. And
that would be one more day to convince herself to ignore her
hormones. Besides, if Dell wanted to kill himself, he didn't need a
racecar to do it. It was an unsettling thought, but one she quickly
dismissed because deep down, she couldn't believe suicide was
Dell's motive. That begged the question, “What was?”

If he weren't trying to kill himself on the
track, there had to be something else behind his reckless driving
style.

“Got a minute?” Russell leaned in her open
doorway. The deep furrow between his eyebrows told Caro this wasn't
a social call.

“Sure,” she said. “You know I always have
time for my crew chief.” Russell shuffled in, shutting the door
behind him. Even though she was the one in the power position
behind the desk, Caro's stomach flipped. It was going to take more
than a few months to get used to being the one in charge. “Have a
seat,” she said.

Russell took the chair across from her, sat
forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He let out a puff of air
through pursed lips, as if reconciling himself to an unpleasant
duty. Dread wrapped itself around Caro's somersaulting stomach and
squeezed.

“What is it, Russell?”

“I dunno know how to say this, Carolina, so
I'm gonna to come right out with it.”

Russell paused. Caro's shoulders tightened,
and she mentally chided herself for being ridiculous. What could
Russell possibly say that could be worse than her own thoughts
these days? Her black thoughts of a minute ago flashed through her
head, and the band of dread gripping her stomach wrapped itself
around her heart. “Is this about Dell?”

“No…well…” he stammered.

“Is he alright?”

Russell's gaze snapped to hers. “Why wouldn't
he be?”

The bands around her insides loosened and her
shoulders relaxed a fraction. “No reason,” she waved away her
concerns. “Go on.”

“I thought you should know… people are
talkin'…sayin' things…”

“Such as?”

Every moment he hesitated, Caro imagined
another possible horrific scenario. “Just spit it out, Russell.
Whatever it is.”

“Some of the guys went out for a drink after
the race. They heard some people talkin' about you. And Dell.”

Caro clenched her fists in her lap.
Seriously? Was she going to have to get a pair of pliers and yank
the story out of him? “What did they say?”

“That you and Dell…were, you know…”

“They think I'm sleeping with Dell.”

“Yeah, that's the story goin' around.”
Russell sat up, squaring his shoulders. “You're both adults, and
what you do ain't none of our business, unless it reflects on
Hawkins Racing. As long as you're runnin' the team, people are
gonna to talk. Your daddy was right. This ain't any place for a
woman.”

His words stung, and Caro sat for a moment,
unable to take it all in. She matched Russell's firm posture and
looked him in the eye. “You're right about one thing, Russell. My
personal life isn't anyone's business. As for this not being my
place, well, I don't care what anyone thinks. I own Hawkins Racing,
and I intend to run it.” Russell squirmed under her counter-attack.
Caro continued. “If you or anyone else in the garage doesn't want
to work for a woman, then you're free to go. Good luck finding
another place in the middle of the season.”

Her take-no-prisoners attitude took some air
out of Russell's tires. “No, no.” He slapped his hands on his
knees. “The crew ain't going anywhere. We all believe in Hawkins
Racing.” Caro would have smiled at how fast he shifted into reverse
if she hadn't been so angry.

“Then why bring it up? What's this really
about?”

“I think you should sell.”

“To who?” she asked.

“I hear Renfro might make you a good offer.
Your daddy was friends with Butch Renfro. He'd approve if you were
to sell.”

The band around her stomach tightened again.
So, the old boys network was trying to force her out, and using her
own crew to do it. “And how do you know this?” she asked.

“Well, he told me.”

“He told you,” Caro enunciated each word as
she let the knowledge settle in. “When?”

“'Bout the time you took Dell on, I
guess.”

“So why did you wait until now, and more
important, why didn't Butch come to me with the offer?”

Russell squirmed again. Caro sighed. His body
language answered for him. “He told you to wait, didn't he? He told
you to wait, to see how we did. What was it? Owner points? Driver
points? Wins?”

“Owner points. Look, Carolina. Butch is only
doin' what he knows your daddy wanted. This is no – “

“Place for a woman. Yeah, I've heard it
before.” Caro leaned back in her chair and tried to look calm while
she seethed inside. “You can tell Butch Renfro Hawkins Racing isn't
for sale, and I'm going to act like this conversation never took
place.” Instead of falling apart like she wanted to, Caro sucked up
all her courage and issued orders. There'd be plenty of time to hit
the wall later.

“We only have a few days to build a car for
Darlington. Use the frame from the Bristol car and the short track
engine we tested at Las Vegas. I have some changes I want to make
to the engine and the trim. Get the crew started. I'll consult with
the engineers about the changes while you get started on the
teardown. Oh, and salvage what you can from the Las Vegas engine.
We'll rebuild it and use it in Charlotte. We've got the All-Star
week coming up. We'll need everything we've got to get through
it.”

As soon as Russell was out of her office,
Caro crossed her arms on her desk and dropped her forehead on top.
She took a couple of deep breaths and refused to give in to the
panic threatening to take her under. Doubts crept in. Maybe she
wasn't ready to run the business. Maybe her father had been right
all along. Another deep breath. She sat up and looked around the
office. Her office. Her business.

So, things weren't going as smoothly as she
hoped. As far as she was concerned, the race was far from being
over, and as long as she kept a car on the track, there was a
chance of a decent finish, if not a win.

Pain throbbed behind her temples. Caro yanked
the elastic band loose that was wrapped around her high ponytail.
Her hair tumbled to her shoulders. She shook it out, smoothed it
back and secured it at the neck. She found a couple of aspirin and
washed them down with cold coffee.

She reminded herself she'd always been a
“glass-half-full” kind of person. Dell gave her some excellent
feedback regarding her new engine, and there were a few things she
wanted to try. If they worked, this engine could be the one that
would make Hawkins Racing a force to be reckoned with on the
circuit, provided she could keep her driver alive, and her car in
one piece. Caro sifted through the stacks on her desk, looking for
her notebook.

She flipped through it until she found what
she was looking for. She wasn't ready to give up on her dream yet.
As long as the doors remained open, there was still hope of saving
her family legacy, and creating one of her own.

Chapter Nine

Dell stood in the middle of the track, his
hands fisted on his hips, his eyes masked by dark glasses. He made
it a point to arrive a day earlier than everyone else to this
particular track – a bi-annual, grim pilgrimage of sorts. Dubbed,
“The Lady in Black” because Darlington was the first track to be
paved with asphalt, the moniker seemed more fitting to Dell than
the newer, “Too Tough to Tame” nickname. This track, more than any
other, would always remind him of dark times. It was here he had
his last, harsh argument with his father, and here, on the final
turn, where his father's life came to an end.

He put one foot in front of the other until
he stood on the exact spot where Caudell Wayne drew his last
breath. Dell looked at his feet. Heat from the sun-baked asphalt
radiated up through the soles of his shoes. The wall had been
repainted dozens of times since the wreck, but still, Dell found it
hard to look at. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to the
section of concrete in front of him, not for the first time
wondering if Caudell sensed in the split-second before he hit that
it was the end.

Dell didn't see the wreck. He'd been too far
out in front on the final lap. He still remembered his spotter's
voice congratulating him on the win, and in the next breath,
telling him Caudell crashed.

“There's a crash behind you, turn four. Your
dad's involved,” he said.

“Anyone else?” Dell asked.

“No,” he hesitated, “it doesn't look good,
Dell.”

By that time, Dell was around the track on
his victory lap. “I see it.” The last cars were dodging the wreck.
A silence Dell couldn't explain filled his car. He heard nothing.
No engine noise. No crowd yelling. Not even his spotter or crew
chief. Caudell's car sat perpendicular to the wall, utterly still
except for a cloud of steam curling up from the crushed radiator.
Dell braked, coming to a stop with the nose of his car a few feet
from the passenger side door of his father's car, giving him a
clear view inside.

He knew before he unfastened his restraint
system, before his feet hit the asphalt, before he rushed around to
the driver's side. It was too late.