Race To The Altar Read online

  “This is ridiculous. We’ve got to try to keep each other warm.”

  With that, Rick rolled over into the back seat and put his arms around Liz, drawing her close. “We’ll use our body heat,” he said, trying to sound casual about it when he was anything but.

  “Hey, it’s a good thing we called a truce. Otherwise you’d have let me freeze to death.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Rick said gruffly. “It’s late. Maybe we need to stop talking and go to sleep so the night will pass quickly.”

  “I used to do that, you know. As a kid, I used to lay awake half the night on Christmas Eve so Santa Claus would hurry and come. Only, it didn’t work.”

  “That’s what you get for believing in Santa Claus.”

  “Oh, and you didn’t?” She turned her face to his.

  Huskily Rick murmured, “If I did, I’d ask him to leave you in my stocking.”

  Dear Reader,

  May marks the celebration of “Get Caught Reading,” a national campaign the Association of American Publishers created to promote the sheer joy of reading. “Get Caught Reading” may be a phrase that’s familiar to you, but if not, we hope you’ll familiarize yourself with it by picking up the wonderful selections that Silhouette Special Edition has to offer….

  Former NASA engineer Laurie Paige says that when she was young, she checked out The Little Engine That Could from the library fifty times. “I read it every week,” Laurie recalls. “I was so astounded that the library would lend books to me for free. I’ve been an avid reader ever since.” Though Laurie Paige hasn’t checked out her favorite childhood storybook for a while, she now participates in several local literacy fund-raisers and reads to young children in her community. Laurie is also a prolific writer, with nearly forty published Silhouette titles, including this month’s Something To Talk About.

  Don’t miss the fun when a once-burned rancher discovers that the vivacious amnesiac he’s helping turns out to be the missing Stockwell heiress in Jackie Merritt’s The Cattleman and the Virgin Heiress. And be sure to catch all of THE CALAMITY JANES, five friends sharing the struggles and celebrations of life, starting with Do You Take This Rebel? by Sherryl Woods. And what happens when Willa and Zach learn they both inherited the same ranch? Find out in The Ties That Bind by Ginna Gray. Be sure to see who will finish first in Patricia Hagan’s Race to the Altar. And Judith Lyons pens a highly emotional tale with Lt. Kent: Lone Wolf.

  So this May, make time for books. Remember how fun it is to browse a bookstore, hold a book in your hands and discover new worlds on the printed page.

  Best,

  Karen Taylor Richman

  Senior Editor

  Race to the Altar

  PATRICIA HAGAN

  To Joe Kennedy,

  one of the best racing PR reps

  I ever had the pleasure of working with.

  Books by Patricia Hagan

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Bride for Hire #1127

  My Child, Our Child #1277

  Race to the Altar #1397

  Yours Truly

  Boy Re-Meets Girl

  Groom on the Run

  Harlequin Historicals

  The Daring #84

  The Desire #143

  PATRICIA HAGAN

  New York Times bestselling author Patricia Hagan had written and published over 2,500 short stories before selling her first book in 1971. With a background in English and journalism from the University of Alabama, Pat has won awards for radio, television, newspaper and magazine writing. Her hobbies include reading, painting and cooking. The author and her Norwegian husband, Erik, divide their time between their Florida retreat in Boca Raton and their home in Bergen, Norway.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Liz Mallory knew high heels and a business suit were not appropriate attire for a racetrack. But she couldn’t help it. On her way from New York to Daytona she had missed a connecting flight, and her luggage hadn’t made it. She had planned to change into neat slacks and a blouse once she got to her hotel. Instead, there was no time to even stop by a mall and buy anything, because the plane was late, and she’d had to come directly to the track.

  So here she was, feeling as out of place as a Christmas tree on the Fourth of July.

  She drove the rental car through the tunnel and into the infield, which reminded her of a huge circus, sprawling in all directions. Flags and balloons were flying, thousands of people were milling about, and it wasn’t even race day.

  But that’s how it was at Daytona in February during Speed Weeks. She had learned that much, at least, during the brief time she’d had to study up on the sport since being given her new assignment.

  Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would find herself involved in the world of stock car racing. She knew absolutely zilch about it.

  When she had said as much to Jeff Strohm, her boss at Star Media Enterprises, an advertising and public relations agency, he had told her she had better learn fast. Star had obtained the contract to represent Big Boy’s Pizza in their sponsorship for up-and-coming rookie driver Rick Castles, and Liz had been assigned as PR person only a week before the season opener at Daytona.

  She had bought every book and magazine she could find on racing though hadn’t had time to read them all. But she wasn’t too worried about it. It was her job to market Rick Castles and get as much exposure as possible for his sponsor. It was PR plain and simple, and she knew how to do that.

  She followed the map she had been given to the press parking lot, which had a chain link fence around it.

  An attendant wearing an orange vest over his T-shirt held up a hand, and she promptly stopped and rolled down her window.

  Sorry, lady.” He pointed to a sign that read Media Only.

  “Well, that’s me,” she said cheerily, holding up the pass she had been given when she checked in at the speedway’s PR department.

  The man shook his head. “That gets you into the pits. A parking decal gets you in here.”

  “Maybe I’ve got one. They gave me so much stuff back there.” She fumbled through the big white envelope, then triumphantly held up the red-and-white decal.

  “Lick it and put it on your windshield so I won’t have to stop you next time.”

  “I sure will, and I’m sorry I didn’t know to do that. This is my first time, and—”

  Behind her, a horn sounded impatiently.

  She wet her finger, then rubbed it over the back of the decal and affixed it to the glass.

  Satisfied, the attendant motioned her in.

  It had been raining earlier in the day, and there were muddy places where the grass was worn down. She stepped out of the car and into a puddle, groaning as her heel sank to her ankle. She was going to have to pick her way along carefully and opted to leave her heavy briefcase behind.

  Pausing beside the car, Liz gazed up at the crystal-blue sky and marveled at what a beautiful day it was. Not a cloud in sight, and a balmy breeze was blowing in from the ocean, just a few miles to the east.

  Despite her trepidation over her new assignment, she was grateful for the tropical respite from the cold chill of New York in February.

  According to
the schedule she had been given in her credentials packet, it was the day before trial runs, and several cars were out on the track taking practice laps. Now and then a roar from the grandstand would herald a favorite driver pulling onto the track.

  Elsewhere in the infield, campers and trucks were parked. She could also see that a lot of tents had been erected.

  The air was thick with the smell of food sizzling on charcoal grills, and seagulls circled overhead, drawn to the picnics going on below.

  There were concrete buildings for toilets and showers. First-aid stations were dotted about. Concession booths sold souvenirs—mostly T-shirts and jackets emblazoned with different photos of drivers and their race cars.

  It was, Liz thought, like a small city. Fans actually lived at the track almost the entire month of February, and the local economy welcomed them with open arms.

  She found her way to the concrete retaining wall behind the area where cars made their pit stops for gas and new tires. According to the speedway map, by walking alongside it, she would eventually reach the garage area, where she hoped to find her driver.

  Liz had no idea what Rick Castles looked like. There were not, as yet, any publicity photos, but she planned to take care of that right away. She was glad she had tossed the caps imprinted with the sponsor in her carry-on bag instead of packing them in her checked luggage. Otherwise, she couldn’t have had the photos taken today, because Rick and all his crew needed to be wearing them to give Big Boy’s exposure. And she could not afford a delay. His press kit had to be made available as soon as possible.

  At the garage gate, a separate pass had to be issued. While the guard was making it out, she asked if he could tell her where she could find Rick Castles.

  “Well, let’s see…” He pulled a clipboard from under the counter and scanned it. “Castles is car number sixty, and he’s got stall fifty-five.”

  She thanked him, pinned the garage pass to her badge, took a deep breath and entered her new world.

  The first thing she did was trip over a lug nut someone had dropped.

  She almost fell, but a man in a greasy jumpsuit grabbed her arm and brusquely warned, “Lady, you better watch it in those shoes. This is a dangerous place.”

  She gave a nervous little laugh. “Oh, I agree. And thank you. I’ll know better next time, believe me—”

  He grabbed her again, this time to keep her from being run over by a car whipping off the pit road to enter the garage area. “You’re gonna get yourself killed if you aren’t careful. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  Liz pulled herself up to her full height of five foot four and tried to look self-confident, which wasn’t easy when she had just been rescued twice. “I’m the new public relations representative for driver Rick Castles. Could you tell me where I can find stall fifty-five? That’s his garage space.”

  He glanced about thoughtfully. “Well, let’s see. Castles is a rookie, so he won’t be with the hot dogs, that’s for sure. Fifty-five should be back that way.” He pointed, then started to walk away but paused to repeat his warning for her to be careful. “If you don’t keep an eye out around this place, you won’t make it. Trust me.”

  Liz was puzzled. She didn’t see any concession stands inside the garage and wondered what difference it made if Rick were a rookie as to whether his garage space was near them. Maybe being located near the food stands was some kind of privilege older drivers got that newer ones didn’t.

  Someone whistled as she continued walking.

  Again she wished she could have changed. Ordinarily she would have traveled in leisure clothes, but Jeff had insisted she join him and the rest of the staff for brunch to say goodbye before going to the airport. So she’d had to dress for that.

  Spotting a young man with several cameras hanging from straps around his neck, she waved and called, “Hi there. Are you a freelance photographer?”

  “That I am,” he said with a tip of his ball cap. “The name’s Pete Barnett, and I’m the best in the business. What do you need and when?”

  “Publicity shots of Rick Castles. I’m Liz Mallory, PR rep for his new sponsor—Big Boy’s Pizza. And I’d like them done this afternoon and possibly delivered tomorrow.” She held her breath hoping he wouldn’t laugh in her face for such a quick deadline.

  She was relieved when he said, “Not a problem. I’m going to do a shoot right now. Where will you be in about an hour?”

  “Space fifty-five in the garage. That’s where his car is.”

  He laughed. “Not with the hot dogs, eh? Ah, the curse of being a rookie.”

  Again Liz wondered about that and continued on her way.

  The garage was noisy, crowded and chaotic. Race cars drove in and out on the way to and from the track for practice. Air wrenches roared and engines revved as the track loudspeakers tried to break through the din.

  Spotting numbers on the concrete, she began to count. When she reached number fifty-five, she was relieved to see a car with the logo for Big Boy’s Pizza on the hood, top and sides. Painted blue and yellow, the Monte Carlo had dozens of little decals around the fenders, and a big 6-0 on the doors.

  No one was around, and Liz thought that odd when everywhere else crews were working like mad on their cars. Maybe Rick and his crew had gone to eat.

  Then she glanced at her watch. Four o’clock. Too late for lunch and too early for supper.

  So where were they the day before the all-important twin-qualifying races?

  The stalls on either side were empty, cars no doubt on the track with crews watching behind the retaining wall.

  Liz’s annoyance was growing with each passing moment, because things had gotten off to a terrible start, and she was determined not to fail in her career…again.

  She was not worried about failing in her personal life, because she did not intend to have one. After all, being deceived by not one man, but two, had sent her plunging to the bottom rung of her career ladder.

  She had been on the very top and probably still would be if not for having been so naive…and, yes, stupid.

  Liz had begun her career in her native California, where she had worked her way up from PR rep to account executive, making top wages. Then she made the mistake of falling in love with Craig Hatcher, who happened to be employed by a rival company.

  They became engaged, and Liz believed him when he said they could keep their work separate even though their agencies were competitive. But, too late, she discovered he was only using her to further his career and had accessed her files. By the time she found out what a lying, two-timing worm he was, he had succeeded in taking her top three accounts away from her agency.

  Not only had he broken her heart, but his deviousness made her lose her job, as well.

  Forced to start over with a new company, Liz foolishly made the mistake of rebounding into another relationship with Mike Lowry, a co-worker. That didn’t last long. There was too much job conflict between them. When it ended, she decided not only to change jobs but to move to New York and make a whole new life.

  Twice burned, twice shy, she promised herself that never again would a man best her, nor would she become involved with anyone she worked with.

  Depressed by her bitter musings, Liz began to circle the race car slowly, trying to get her mind on something else, like familiarizing herself with the car.

  She noted there were no windows, just net coverings, and only one seat for the driver.

  The inside of the car was completely gutted, and she knew the tubed frames were called roll bars, to keep the car from being crushed if, God forbid, it turned over.

  Fascinated by all she was seeing and learning, Liz did not notice the feet sticking out from the under the car. She tripped, screamed and was barely able to grab a window frame to keep from tumbling to the ground.

  Beneath the car, Rick Castles jerked his head up to painfully bump it. “Ouch. Damn it, who’s the nitwit that can’t see where they’re going?”

  Lying on a roller bo
ard, he angrily swung himself out from under the car, ready to lambaste the person responsible. “Why don’t you look where you’re going?”

  He found himself gazing up a skirt framing a very shapely pair of legs.

  But only for an instant.

  Embarrassed and red faced, the woman connected to the legs quickly stepped back.

  “I…I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see your feet down there. I didn’t know anybody was under the car.”

  He stood, taking in the rest of her as he did so and, despite his annoyance, liked what he saw. Her legs weren’t the only thing about her that was shapely. Long, thick lashes framed very apologetic green eyes that sparkled with little flecks of gold. Her turned-up nose gave her a saucy, playful look.

  But there was nothing playful about her full, sensuous lips.

  They begged to be kissed, and, with a warm rush, Rick was reminded how long it had been since he’d had a woman.

  “If you can’t see feet as big as mine, lady, then you need glasses.”

  Liz automatically looked at his feet and saw that, indeed, they were large. Then, unable to help it, she thought of a dirty joke she’d heard once about the size of a man’s feet being indicative of the size of his—

  She blushed, all the way to the roots of her flame-red hair, and turned away lest he be able to tell what she was thinking. “I…I’m truly sorry,” she stammered. “I was just mesmerized by the car, I guess. I’ve never seen a race car up close.”

  Rick bit his lip to keep from laughing. He knew the joke about women comparing the size of a man’s foot to the size of something else.

  Her red hair was pulled up in a knot on the top of her head, and she looked quite dignified in her gray linen suit and matching heels. But he also did not miss how her breasts strained against the white silk blouse, nor how her skirt hugged, then cupped, her high, tight buttocks. She was a knockout, all right, but he was still irritated.