What He Didn't Say (4 page)

He touched the side of his face still tingling from the touch of her lips before he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Something was happening to him, but now was not the time to analyze it. Without Emma-Lee's vibrant presence, the emotional fatigue he had been holding off since the conclusion of the jump was setting in.

He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. The jet was already here, waiting for him. Good. Although it was a short hike to the landing field for private aircraft, he decided he needed to stretch his legs after the long drive. As he walked, he scanned the other messages, frowning when he saw one from his father only thirty minutes old. Maybe the fundraiser for Amanda had opened the coffin lid on his father's memories, as well.

Holt hesitated and then pocketed the phone. He would open the message later. Although the jump had awakened old memories, he had anticipated them. However, seeing Emma-Lee's friend had rubbed him rawer than he'd expected.

Cancer's scars ran deep, not only for those afflicted, but also for those left behind.

S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON
and excitement pumped through the Richmond garage area as people dashed and darted all over the place. The air snapped, crackled and popped with intensity. Two hours before the Richmond race and in the final countdown the teams were readying their cars.

Commandeered by Marley Sizemore, Gil's sister and sponsor relations for Double S Racing, Emma-Lee chatted with a group of sponsors and their friends while keeping a puzzled eye on Holt standing next to a computer station.

Although she had introduced him to everyone in the group Marley had assigned her, he hadn't mixed in. Clearly, meeting one of Double S's drivers, getting an autograph or waxing poetic over the car's paint job wasn't the ticket to keeping his interest. The moment he'd spotted a crew member working a computer, he'd split apart.

Last time she had sidled close enough to listen, he had been asking questions about aerodynamics, weather and track conditions. Once a computer geek, always a computer geek. However, with his wavy dark blond hair, chiseled features, rangy build, he could have been mistaken for a driver.

Still, she had pegged him right last Saturday. If you scratched past the charming smile and professional manners, Holt Forrester was a loner. His statement that he never had any permanent attachments in relationships should be a yellow flag. Maybe for once in her life she should observe the caution her family was always pleading for her to use.

Then again, maybe she should bone up on computers. After all, he had called and e-mailed her nearly every day.

“Ms. Dalton.” The pained, dazed expression on a middle-aged man standing beside her clued her in at once.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Was I spotting off too many facts?”

Others nodded while he flushed. “I'm afraid the degrees of the track's banking are over my head. However, could you tell me the track's inaugural year? I have a dinner bet riding with my son.”

“Certainly, 1953.”

“I thought so.” The man pulled out a cell phone and occupied himself with texting.

“Since the garage is the heartbeat of Double S's racing operations, I'll let you observe and absorb the preparations. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask me.”

Keeping a watchful eye on her charges, Emma-Lee stood to the group's side. To date, her favorite assignment at Double S Racing was filling in for the charity coordinator while she was out on maternity leave. There had been nothing like the sense of satisfaction when Holt had called and told her how much money the racing donations had raised.

However, if Marley was going to entrust her with helping out with sponsors on race day, she was going to have to be careful with her information dumps.

As a teenager, exasperated by the “you're blonde so therefore you must be dumb” assumption, she'd thrown herself into learning. Facts had become her defense against stereotyping. How often growing up had she heard Tara labeled as the brains, Mallory the beauty and herself the personality as others discussed the Dalton sisters?

However, Emma-Lee's secret was she loved knowledge although not necessarily the type gleaned only from books. Sometimes you had to experience life in order to fully comprehend black-and-white facts.

A woman dripping in gold and diamonds broke away from the pack and approached her. Although Emma-Lee kept a polite smile plastered on her face, she tensed. A sponsor's wife, Tammy Ray always acted as if she owned the teams herself.

The woman simpered. “I wanted a chance to chat with you, Emma-Lee, since I know both of your sisters so well.”

Not likely, since Tara and Mallory avoided Tammy Ray like the plague at any NASCAR event.

Tammy fanned herself with a glossy brochure Marley Sizemore had handed out earlier. “You must be so proud of your sister Mallory. It's hard to believe she was once America's Sweetheart.”

Then the woman gave a faint shudder. “Now she's up for all those acting awards for such a dark movie.”

“Mallory's a wonderful actor and she knocked that role out of the park.” Pride resonated in Emma-Lee's voice.

“Tara Dalton Sanford is also your sister.”

“Guilty.”

“My, such talent running in your family, not to mention powerful racing connections. One married to Roberto Castillo, the other to Adam Sanford.”

Tammy raised an eyebrow as she surveyed Emma-Lee's outfit that consisted of jeans and a white polo shirt emblazoned with Double S Racing. “Are you married to one of the drivers here?”

“Nope.” Emma-Lee ratcheted her smile up a notch.

“Ms. Dalton.” Holt's low voice sent a delicious shiver up her spine.

Emma-Lee spun around in relief. “Mr. Forrester. Have you met Mrs. Ray? Her husband's company sponsors the No. 515 team.”

“Tammy, please.” She extended her ring-encrusted hand.
When Holt took it, she latched on to him like a barracuda. With amusement, Emma-Lee watched as he struggled to let go.

“Your driver's Ben Edmonds?” So Holt had done his homework before coming to the race.

“For the moment.”

Emma-Lee didn't miss the icy implication. It was no secret the veteran driver was not having a good season. What was hush-hush at Double S was that several sponsors were getting restless.

Holt gave the woman a wink as if they were conspirators. “Excellent. Edmonds is one of the drivers I follow. I so prefer experience over flash. Ms. Dalton, if I might see you in private about a few questions?”

He cupped her elbow and steered her away. When she saw he was making a beeline toward the entrance, she halted.

“Holt, I can't leave here. It's almost race time. I need to clear the garage of all the spectators.”

“Are you going to leave me to fend for myself out there?”

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted an intense-looking driver entering the garage. Rafael O'Bryan. She'd been trying to corner him all week since Gil had given her the task of coordinating Rafael's interview with
Sports Scene
magazine.

“I'll be right back.”

She rushed after the man. “Rafael, wait up a minute.”

The elusive Double S driver looked over his shoulder, scowled and disappeared into a huddle with his crew chief and pit crew. She knew better than to interrupt the pair this close to race time. Chuckles came from another team member standing nearby.

“Better luck next time, Emma-Lee,” he called out.

She gave a wave. Deflated, she returned to Holt only to have him snag her wrist.

“Who was that you were chasing after?” Despite the mildness of his tone, a tendon flexed along his jaw.

She rolled her eyes. “Rafael O'Bryan. He drives for Double S. Gil wants me to line up interviews for him except the arrogant jerk won't cooperate.”

Holt's grip eased and she slipped her hand free.

“I don't get it. I thought doing interviews was part and parcel of being a NASCAR driver.”

“It is. But I'm new and he keeps avoiding me.”

“Emma-Lee.” A tall, attractive woman approached, followed by a powerfully built man. Both bore a family resemblance, from the dark brown hair to the blue eyes. They also wore a patina of class and wealth.

“Holt…Mr. Forrester, I would like to introduce Marley Sizemore, who's in charge of sponsor relations, and Gil Sizemore, who owns Double S Racing.”

Holt shook hands with Gil, whose eyes glinted with curiosity. “Holt Forrester as in HF Enterprises?”

“Yes.”

“I haven't seen you around the tracks before.”

Holt shrugged. “After NASCAR's and Double S's generous donations and support of the fundraiser for breast cancer last weekend, I wanted to experience a race for myself. You have quite a fan-based operation.”

“Yes, we do. I hope Emma-Lee's given you a good tour of the garage. If you like what you see, perhaps we'll be able to interest you in a sponsorship.”

Emma-Lee started. When Gil had asked her how the cancer event had gone, she had given him only a general overview, emphasizing the turnout so Double S would contribute again next year. Only in a nonchalant manner had she requested a pass for Holt.

Leave it to the savvy Sizemores to recognize potential
sponsors. She hadn't even considered the possibility. She sighed. She had a lot to learn about the racing business.

Marley extended a card to him. “Mr. Forrester, here's my card if you have any questions. We need to clear the garage now, but you are perfectly welcome to watch the race from our suite.”

If Emma-Lee hadn't been watching his face closely, she would have missed the bemused expression in his eyes as he took the card. What on earth was going on in his mind?

However, he gave Marley a polite smile. “Thank you, maybe I'll take you up on your offer.”

Emma-Lee felt a tinge of disappointment. After she finished with escorting people out, she would be joining her parents in the stands rather than going to the suite.

“First, though, I wondered if I could impose on Ms. Dalton to show me around outside. I didn't get a chance to absorb much about the track itself.”

Gil laughed. “Be careful what you ask for, Holt. If anyone knows about every fact under the sun, it's Emma-Lee.”

“Come on then.” Chagrined, she made a sharp turn. Straight into the path of a tool cart being wheeled by a team member.

Holt's arm shot out, circled her waist and lifted her out of harm's way.

“Nice reflexes,” Sizemore commented as he and his sister moved toward their cars. “Thank you.”

Emma-Lee tugged her top into place and this time turned with more caution. She hurried out of the garage with Holt following at a more leisurely pace.

Outside the stadium, lights glowed bright against the deepening blue of the late-afternoon sky. Once they had exited the secured area, she paused. “I need to speak with security. If you wait right here, I'll be back.”

It didn't take her long to accomplish the task and head back to where she had left Holt. As she dodged a group of high-fiving men, she spotted Holt kneeling on the ground to pick up a bag for a middle-aged woman who was giving him her megawatt smile as only she could.

In a crowd of thousands, what were the odds?

“Mom!” Emma-Lee rushed toward them.

“Hi, honey!” Her mother offered her check for Emma-Lee's kiss. “Can you believe this nice young man has never been to a Sprint Cup Series race before? I told him he was in for a real treat with this being a short track.”

Her mother winked at Holt. “I just love the way all the cameras going off in the stands twinkle like Christmas lights, don't you?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma'am.”

Emma-Lee looked at him and then her mother. “How did you two meet…” Her voice trailing off, her cheeks warmed.

Eyes narrowed, her mother gave Holt her full attention. “Excuse my daughter's poor manners. I'm Shirley Dalton.”

With an amused expression, he extended the bag he held. “I'm Holt Forrester. I know where Emma-Lee got her pretty looks.”

“Flattery may not get you everywhere, Mr. Forrester, but compliments certainly never hurt.”

“Please, call me Holt.”

“Mom.” Hoping to change the direction of the conversation, Emma-Lee grabbed the bag away from her and looked inside it.

“What are you doing buying more souvenirs? You already have a room filled at home.”

“Not with Double S drivers. We're sadly lacking in that department. Now that you're working for Mr. Sizemore, I thought I would pick up a few things.”

Shirley rummaged in the larger bag. “I have cup holders
for both Ben Edmonds and Rafael O'Bryan, Linc Shepherd's hat and an autographed photo of Eli Ward.”

She shot a meaningful glance at Holt. “At the moment I'm partial to gorgeous blond hunks.”

In a desperate move, Emma-Lee thrust the bag at her mother. “Mom, gotta go. See you in the stands. I'm showing Mr. Forrester around the track. It's almost race time.”

Shirley kissed her daughter. “All right, honey.”

Emma-Lee grabbed Holt's arm and tugged.

“Nice meeting you, Mrs. Dalton,” Holt called over his shoulder.

After she led the way for a few feet, he reached out and clasped her hand. “I like your mother.”

Once more the flesh-to-flesh connection sent a tingling sensation racing through her. Puzzled, Emma-Lee stared at their linked fingers. What was it with this man that was so different than when she had held other men's hands?

“My parents are cool. They've given me a good foundation. It's my fault that I haven't done anything with my life.”

Oh, great, why had she blurted that out? She didn't ever discuss her insecurities. Not even her family knew. “That's nonsense.”

“Is it?” Doubt filled her. The encounter with Tammy Ray had left her edgy. “As was so recently pointed out to me in the garage, one sister is on her way to being an acclaimed actress, the other a noted journalist and author.

“And what have I accomplished so far? I lasted three weeks pursuing a career as a rock singer. I switched majors in college from geology to anthropology to history to—”

Horrified by her intensity, she stopped.
Too much information again, Emma-Lee,
she warned herself.

With a shrug, she continued in a more casual tone. “At last count I was studying to be a veterinarian. I do love animals and watching them in their natural habitat.

“There I go again,” she groaned. “Many say that I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.”

“Do they? Or is that what you think?” Holt raised her hand and kissed her fingertips.

“I would say that you were experiencing life and all its opportunities to its fullest, so that when you do find your avocation, you will bring to it knowledge, experience and no regrets.”

Stunned by his perception, she stared at him. “Holt—”

The magic call came over the loudspeaker system. “Gentlemen, start your engines!”