Race To The Altar Read online

  “I’ve got work to do,” he said grouchily. “Why don’t you move along? The garage is no place for women, especially wearing stupid shoes like that.” He pointed accusingly at her heels. “It still amazes me how they’ll give just about anybody a garage pass.”

  Liz felt rancor quickly rise. She could have told him she had every right to be there by introducing herself, but she wasn’t about to. Whoever he was, she didn’t like his attitude. After all, she hadn’t stepped on his feet on purpose. Still, she couldn’t help noticing how his broad shoulders and chest filled out the tight, grease-stained T-shirt, or how his jeans molded his muscular thighs so deliciously. And despite his oil-streaked face, she found him ruggedly good-looking, his sleepy, mocha-colored eyes complemented by his thick, black hair.

  She had feared there might be some leftover macho types who would resent a woman working in what was considered a man’s sport. This one was obviously a member of Rick’s pit crew, and she decided it best to try to make friends. After all, it was important she get along with all the guys. The fact his nearness sent her heart into overdrive had nothing to do with it.

  “Actually,” she said, “I’m looking for Rick Castles. I take it you are a member of his crew.”

  Rick wasn’t about to reveal himself, instead stringing her along in hopes of getting rid of her. Cute or not, he wasn’t about to take up time with another groupie. “Yeah, you might say that. What do you want with him?”

  “I just want to meet him.”

  “So you’re a fan,” he said, unimpressed as he noted her media badge. “What are you doing wearing that?”

  “Somebody gave it to me,” she replied, which wasn’t a lie. “And, yes, I’m a big fan, but I haven’t been for long. Rick is my favorite driver, though,” she added with a confident grin, then pointed at the logo. “New sponsor?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Just think. We get free pizza for painting that all over the car.”

  Liz stiffened. Even if this guy was just a part-timer, hanging around to get into the races free, he was going to have to learn how to act around people. What he should have said in response was that yes, Big Boy’s was the new sponsor, and Rick and all the guys were grateful. Not act as though it was no big deal because all they were getting out of it was free pizza, for heaven’s sake. Besides, for the kind of money the sponsor was shelling out to try to make the car competitive, even a part-timer should be appreciative.

  Rick was watching her out of the corner of his eye, thinking again how good-looking she was and wishing all the more she’d disappear. He had no use for females hanging around the pits. Or anywhere else around a racetrack for that matter. They were nothing but trouble and got in the way. “Look, I don’t know when Rick will be back, so you might as well go on—”

  “But where is he?” She had seen the schedule in the office, knew that this was the last practice session before tomorrow’s race. “How come he’s not here to try the car out?”

  “He practiced this morning. He’s at the beach this afternoon. Sunbathing. Now you really should get out of here. The garage area is a dangerous place.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” She was almost petulant, fighting to hold her temper all the while. Obviously Rick Castles was not taking himself, or his career, seriously. Otherwise, he would be at the track and not the beach. And even if he weren’t planning on practicing anymore he should be around to greet fans.

  There was also another problem with his absence. She had the photographer lined up to take his publicity photos.

  She suddenly remembered the blackboard she had seen on the wall of the booth where she’d gotten her garage pass. “There’s a drivers’ meeting at five o’clock. Won’t he have to go to that?”

  “Yeah, probably.” Rick wondered if he was going to be able to get rid of her, after all.

  “Then I’ll wait.” Before he could protest, she pointed to the smooth tires on the car and, figuring she might as well spend her time learning something, innocently asked, “How come there’s no tread?”

  “They’re old tires. All worn-out. Can’t afford new ones.” He felt no guilt at the lie. He had no intention of being her racing tutor, for Pete’s sake. Let her go bother somebody else.

  He lowered himself to the board again. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me.” Her eyes went to his thighs, and a tremor ripped through her tummy. His jeans fit like they were molded to him, and she couldn’t help noticing the manly bulge, and…

  She told herself to get a grip. Even if she was interested in men—which she wasn’t—she would never get involved with this one, because he obviously had an attitude.

  “Keep hanging around, and you’re liable to get embarrassed,” he warned, rolling himself out of sight. “Sometimes guys cuss around the garage.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll ignore it.”

  “But you have no business here,” he said again, this time with gritted teeth. “And Rick Castles has got a girlfriend,” he said, adding another lie. “So you’re wasting your time.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, her teeth also grinding. “Just because I want to meet the man, talk to him, I want to go to bed with him.”

  He rolled back out, barely missing her as she quickly jumped out of his way. “Now did I say anything about thinking you want to go to bed with him? Jeez, what’s wrong with you? I just wanted to let you know if you had any notions about flirting with him, he’s not interested.”

  “And I’m not interested in him that way.” She was so tempted then and there to introduce herself and then say, By the way, you’re fired. The team no longer needs to swap work for race passes. They can afford to hire good help. Instead, she reminded herself he wasn’t worth getting all steamed up over.

  She had not moved far enough away, and, once more, he could see up her skirt. Quite an eyeful, too, and he forced himself to roll back under, lest she see his heat show.

  Just who was she, and what did she want with him? He was tempted to end the charade but was too mad—with her, but, most of all, with himself. After all, he had learned his lesson about women in racing. They either couldn’t stand the stress and got hysterical every time he spun out, afterward tearfully begging him to give it up, or they found somebody else while he was traveling all over the country.

  He thought of Maggie and twisted the wrench too hard. It slipped and flew back to pinch his finger, and he swore.

  Liz heard and teased, “Hey, you were right. I do hear somebody cursing.”

  He ignored her and continued to allow memories of Maggie to wash over him, to bathe him in rationale as to why he was not about to let the cute redhead get to him. Maggie had sworn she loved him, sworn she wanted to share his racing life with him. He’d loved her, too, and so they had married.

  Then a year later she left him for a guy with a steady job who came home for dinner every night.

  After that, Rick promised himself that never again, while he was involved in racing, would he have a serious relationship with a woman. Those he went with just for sex knew that, but lately those times were getting further and further apart. Casual lovemaking had begun to leave him feeling empty and cheated. So instead he worked all the harder, trying to make his dream of becoming a competitive driver on the NASCAR circuit a reality.

  Liz leaned in the car window on the driver’s side to examine the seat. “How come there’s a hole in the bottom?”

  Rick did feel a teeny bit guilty when he brazenly asked, “Well, where do you think a driver goes to the bathroom when he’s on the track four, maybe five, hours at a time?”

  Once again Liz felt her cheeks flame. “I…I hadn’t thought about that,” she mumbled.

  “Yeah, they say NASA is interested in using the same type of toilet for the astronauts.”

  “Well, that’s great.” She saw there was no ignition for a key to turn. “What starts the car?”

  “See that button?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wel
l, when the signal is given for the race to start, the driver pushes the button. That signals the control room, and another button is pushed there that starts the engine.”

  That sounded strange, even to a novice like Liz. “Why go to all that trouble? Why not just turn a key like in regular cars?”

  “Well, the officials want to make sure all cars start at exactly the same time so everybody gets a fair chance.”

  Liz wondered if he was jerking her around. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. That’s what I’m under here doing now—making sure the wires to the button are hooked up like they’re supposed to be.”

  Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had time to eat lunch. “Where do the rookie drivers eat since they aren’t given garage stalls near the concessions stands?”

  Rick blinked, sure he hadn’t heard her right. “Excuse me?”

  “When I was asking where Rick’s garage area was, someone said he wouldn’t be near the hot dogs, because he’s a rookie. So I was wondering where there is to eat around here? I’m awfully hungry.”

  He choked back a laugh. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to walk back up front, because they told you right. Rookies don’t get space near the hot dogs. That has to be earned.”

  Though he was silently laughing at how gullible she was, he began to feel mean. Besides, he couldn’t help thinking about those long, shapely legs and where they had ended the last time he accidentally got a glance up her skirt. But he couldn’t let her get to him. Not that way. The best thing to do was really get her hackles up so she’d leave. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you? I told you—Rick has a girlfriend. You’re wasting your time.”

  “Well, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not some bimbo groupie chasing after him.”

  “Then what do you want with him?”

  “That’s between him and me.” Just then she saw the photographer she’d hired approaching and quickly ran to meet him lest he give her away. “The driver isn’t here, and I don’t know whether or not he will be. We may have to postpone this till tomorrow.”

  He looked as disappointed as Liz felt. “Can’t do it then. I’ve got three shoots lined up before the first qualifying race. Everybody is wanting photos the first race of the season. There’s a drivers’ meeting pretty soon. Maybe he’ll show for that.”

  She had forgotten about the meeting in her annoyance with the smart-mouthed mechanic. “Good idea. I’ll see if I can find him there.”

  “Okay. I’ll hang around outside and look for you. Good luck.”

  She returned to the car, planning to ask the mechanic to tell Rick Castles if he did return that she was looking for him. “Excuse me?”

  From beneath, Rick saw her shoes and groaned. Whatever she wanted, he wasn’t interested. Maybe she was good-looking, but after his marriage had broken up because his wife couldn’t handle racing, he wasn’t looking for girlfriends at race tracks.

  Just then someone called, and Liz turned to see several men, all dressed alike in blue pants and red T-shirts, rolling tires along as they came toward her.

  Rick had not heard them and did not know anyone else was around as he came sliding out from under the car, face cold with fury. “You’re getting on my nerves, lady.”

  He fell silent to see his crew chief, Mack Pressley. “See if you can get rid of her,” he snapped and disappeared under the car. “I’m sure as hell not having any luck.”

  “Hi,” Mack held his hand out to Liz. “I’m the crew chief—Mack Pressley. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I—” She was about to introduce herself when she saw the tires they were rolling had no tread left, just like the ones already on the car. “What are you going to do with those?”

  Mack exchanged grins with the other crew members, who, like himself, were intrigued by the pretty young woman wearing a media badge. “Well, you can be sure we aren’t going to tie them to a rope and swing from a tree. We just bought them, and we’re going to put them on the car.”

  She was stunned. “But they’re no better than the ones already on there.”

  Mack blinked, equally bewildered. “They certainly are. The others are almost ready to blow. That’s why Rick hasn’t taken the car out to practice. We had to go get these. We’ve got a new sponsor, and we just got the money from them today to buy the right kind of tires for qualifying.”

  Beneath the car, Rick grimaced. If Mack kept talking to her, being nice to her, she’d never leave, damn it. And if she didn’t, she’d find out he’d been putting her on.

  Liz continued to stare, not understanding about the tires.

  Mack set the tire down and pulled a rag from his hip pocket to wipe his hands. “Like I said, I’m Mack, the crew chief.” He gestured to the others. “Bobby, Weyland and Jake. We’ve got to get these tires on, but if you have any questions, I’ll try to answer them. We’re just so pleased for this sponsorship we’ve got with Big Boy’s Pizza, and it’d be nice if you could work their name into your article.

  “Who are you with, by the way?” he asked over his shoulder as he bent down next to the car.

  “Well, I’m not a reporter, I’m—”

  She was drowned out by the noise of the jack lifting the car, followed by the whine of air wrenches removing the tire’s lug nuts.

  “Sorry,” Mack said when it was quiet again. “Go ahead. What paper did you say you’re with?”

  “I’m not with a paper. I’m Liz Mallory, the PR representative for Big Boy’s Pizza, and—”

  That was all she had time to say before Rick came careening out from under the car, and this time, he did knock her down.

  She fell right on top of him, her bottom landing on his stomach.

  Reacting in time to grab her and keep her from cracking her head on the concrete, he cried, “The heck you say. Tell me this is a joke.”

  “No, you’re the joke,” Liz cried, struggling to get up, but he held her tight, her breasts brushing his cheek as he tried to sit up with her still on top of him. “And you’re out of here, mister. With your attitude you’re not the kind of person my agency wants identified with the Rick Castles racing team. So you can go elsewhere and wheedle your freebie race passes.”

  Rick and Liz locked furious eyes while the rest of the crew burst into raucous laughter.

  Liz turned to glare. “I’d like to know what’s so funny. You don’t realize how this man behaved…how he talked to me. He even had the nerve to intimate that all the new sponsorship meant was free pizzas. You think I’m going to put up with having someone like that around this team?”

  Mack, still laughing, walked over to take her arms and pull her to her feet. “Well, I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

  The mechanic was greasy, and thanks to falling on him, she was, too. She yanked the rag from Mack’s hands and began swiping at the black streaks on her skirt, but it only made matters worse. Then she suddenly realized what Mack had just said. “What did you mean by that?” she demanded, eyes narrowed.

  “I mean,” he said, grinning, “that you’re going to have to put up with him, because this is our driver.

  “Liz Mallory,” he said with relish, obviously enjoying the moment, “meet Rick Castles.”

  Chapter Two

  “Mack, is this one of your stupid pranks?” Mack was the team joker and always clowning around.

  Still laughing, Mack said, “I’m afraid not.”

  The cords in Rick’s neck stood out, his lips a thin, angry line. “Tell me this is a gag,” he demanded of Liz. “You can’t be the PR rep for Big Boy’s.”

  “I most certainly am.” She reached down to retrieve her bag. When she’d been knocked down, everything had spilled out. She had to search for her business cards, finally thrusting one at Rick. “Here. This explains me, but I’m still hoping you are the gag.”

  He let that dig pass. “How come you didn’t say who you were to start with?”

  “You gave the impression you weren’t a regular member of the crew, so I
didn’t figure it was any of your business.”

  “Well, regardless of whether you thought I was or not, it would have been polite to introduce yourself.”

  “Ha! Look who’s talking about being polite. Is the snotty way you acted with me the way you treat all your fans?”

  “Groupies, yeah,” he said, hands on his hips, all the while telling himself not to think about how cute she looked with her green eyes sparkling mad. “If I took the time to talk to every woman who wrangles a pit pass to flirt with a driver, I’d never get anything done.”

  “Oh, so you assume that every woman who speaks to you has romantic notions? What an ego.”

  “Hey—” he jabbed his finger in the air “—don’t talk to me about nerve. You were the one putting on an act. All you had to do was say who you were, and it would have been a whole different ball game, sweetie.”

  “Yeah, right. And I’d never have known what an arrogant, conceited, self-assuming chauvinist you really are, Rick Castles. But you did keep me from wasting my time trying to make you presentable to the public…and wasting the sponsor’s money, as well.”

  She jabbed right back, only her finger hit him right in the chest as she added, “And don’t call me sweetie.”

  “Oh, yeah, great, fine. But it’s okay for you to call me names.” He pushed her hand away. “And don’t touch me.”

  “Who wants to?” She knelt down to scoop up the rest of her things and stuff them back into her purse.

  She did not see the wild, pleading look that Mack and the rest of the crew were giving Rick.

  And Rick was still too mad to care.

  Mack said, with a nervous laugh, “Hey, you two are acting like kids. How about both of you calming down and let’s talk about all this.”

  “What’s to talk about?” Liz said as she reached under the race car to retrieve a lipstick that had rolled beneath. She snagged her stockings but didn’t care. She was already a mess.