February 2009
A chip the size of Lake Lloyd on his shoulder, Bryan
Garrison walked through Daytona's busy garage area.
They needed more speed.
He nearly laughed aloud at the ridiculous wish. Every team
wanted, needed,
craved speed. Wasn't that why they
were all in this crazy business?
Still, he'd like his team's practice times to be better.
"What are you doing here?" a familiar voice called from
behind him.
Clenching his jaw, Bryan turned to face his brother-in-law,
Parker Huntington. "Walking."
"You're supposed to be in the hauler, interviewing."
"I don't need a physical therapist," he muttered, ignoring
the pain in his knee as he dodged a war wagon of equipment
being pushed toward pit road. "I'm managing fine on my own."
Parker raised his eyebrows. "Are you now?"
Parker knew he wasn't. And the humiliation rolled over Bryan
anew.
His family had coddled him and nagged him, then outright
demanded he see a professional about the continuing pain and
stiffness in his knee. In a weak moment, he'd relented. So
Parker had him interviewing physical therapists at the
track. At Daytona. Less than a week before the opening races.
'Cause, gee, he didn't have anything else to do but make
sure Cade and his teammates had cars worthy to race in the
biggest event of the year. To be a strong, supportive leader
for his teams. To uphold the Garrison family tradition of
trophies and championships.
Legends of excellence. Success was expected, not hoped for.
Garrison Racing International had won the NASCAR Sprint Cup
Series trophy last year with a longtime driver, who was now
running only a partial schedule and training a developmental
driver. Their newest full-time driver, Shawn Stayton, had
finished fourteenth last season and clearly had more
successful years ahead. The third driver in the GRI stables,
Bryan's younger brother, had missed winning his first
championship by only sixty-four points.
Bryan intended to have that trophy againโthis time with
Cade's name on it.
And if that was all he had to worry about, his life would be
blissfully, pleasantly single-minded. But, no. He had
physical therapy interviews. And family to deal with. And
now in-laws.
Though supposedly firmly single people, both his brother and
sister had gotten married in the last two years, and now
Bryan had to bear the burden of romance. In fact, love was
so full in the air, he was surprised the clouds hadn't
blossomed into baby cupids, their bows pulled back, their
faces wreathed in smiles.
Disgustingly trite for a completely, utterly temporary emotion.
Aggravation, obligations and heartache were all love got
you. He and his ex-wife's divorce attorney had made sure of
that.
Still, he was doing his family duty. Didn't he always? He'd
already met with Beverly and Amy, both young women straight
out of college. Knowing he'd have them screaming for their
mommas inside a week, he'd sent them on their way.
He'd also interviewed a Swedish exchange student named Sven,
who, given the size of his hands and biceps, would someday
give a helluva massage to society chicks in upscale spas,
but he wasn't really Bryan's type.
Then he'd met a former army sergeant, Mack Bowman. Mack was
a no-nonsense guy built like a pit bull who barked orders
even when he was simply making conversation. This was
someone Bryan could relate to. No small talk. No fear he'd
be offended by Bryan's short temper. A guy who understood
the pace and commitment of racing, since his brother was the
hauler driver for another team.
Bryan had decided to hire Mack. All he had to do was get rid
of the last interviewee.
Suddenly he saw his perfect opportunity to do so, plus make
his brother-in-law break the news. "I want to hire Mack," he
said to Parker.
"You still have to interview Darcy."
"No, I don't. Tell her the job's been filled." Considering
the business settled, Bryan started to walk off.
Parker stepped in front of him. "Surely you're not going to
dismiss her without the courtesy of a simple introduction."
Bryan sighed. His brother-in-law, for all his polite manners
and blue-blood vocabulary, had a rod of titanium for a
spine. And he was determined as hell. Who else, really,
could have managed to charm Bryan's stubborn sister?
"You need to give Darcy a chance," Parker added.
"She's a widow."
"So?"
"Love and pain are the last things I need."
Parker sighed. "I seriously doubt Darcy will burden you with
her personal troubles. She's a professional."
Bryan increased his pace. "Yay for her. I want to hire Mack."
"Darcy is lovely, smart and extremely competent. And she
needs the job."
Fighting a wince, Bryan kept moving. He already had anger
and regret living with him every day. He didn't need guilt
to move in, too.
But they didn't call him "Steel" for nothing.
"I don't need to know about the drama," he said briskly to
Parker. "Can she do the job?"
"She can. She's simply had a hard time dealing with her
husband's passing," Parker continued. "She needs a change andโ"
Bryan held up his hand. "I thought you weren't going to tell
me her personal troubles."
"No, I said
she wouldn't."
Next thing, Parker would launch into a story about how this
poor woman was devastated and she would be unable to get out
of bed unless Bryan gave her a job. Arguing with the man was
futile. As head of Huntington Hotels International, Parker
charmed, schmoozed and worked deals with everybody from
high-powered corporate executives to the waitstaff at his
restaurants. "Fine," Bryan said, feeling like a sap. "I'll
talk toโฆ"
"Darcy." Parker gave him a confident smile. "Darcy Butler."
Bryan started to turn away, then stopped. "What's so great
about her?"
Apparently, Parker had been waiting for this opening. "She's
firm, but kind. Smart, but not a know-it-all."
"Unlike
some people we know."
Since Parker knew this comment was directed at him and he
was used to the ragging, he simply nodded and moved on.
"She's specialized in athletic rehabilitation, and she can
handle herself." He paused, looking amused. "Around you or
anybody." He slid his hands into the pockets of his charcoal
pants, which looked neat, pressed and comfortable, despite
the oppressive heat. "We're also friends. She's the
therapist who helped Allen get back to work so quickly last
year."
One of Cade's pit crew members had been hurt in Pocono, but
after several months of therapy, he was back, fit and ready
for the new season. Despite his pessimism, Bryan was
impressed. "If she's a friend, and you set up the
interviews, why all the others?"
"If I presented you with a
fait accompli you'd have
balked."
Faitโฆ Hell. Who said stuff like that?
Still, he got the gist. If Parker had rolled Darcy Whoever
out on stage as his already-cast therapist, Bryan would have
rejected her outright. Ornery? Definitely.
But then that was practically the Garrison family motto.
Bryan addressed the one detail he could deal with. "If she
helped Allen, then she understands racing, right?"
"Her uncle is a NASCAR official, and her husband was a
firefighter who used to volunteer at the races in Concord."
He paused, his voice quieted. "He died about two years ago,
fighting a fire in a local furniture store."
"Sorry to hear it."
"She just needs a change of pace." Parker's gaze met
Bryan's. In addition to the obvious determination in his
eyes, there was now a hint of humor. "Oh, and she's a great
cook."
"Why didn't you say that to start with?"
"The way to a man's heartโฆ" He started off. "It's nice to
know the clichรฉ hasn't died."
Yeah. That would be true. If I had a heart.
Shrugging, Bryan headed toward the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series
No. 56, Huntington Hotels International hauler.
Great. Now I can add commercial hack to my aches and
pains.
He spoke briefly to a couple of crew members from another
team, then waved at a fellow team owner. Their expressions
varied from giddy to annoyance. The races being run in the
next week were the most important of the season. Money,
prestige and momentum would greet the ones who performed
well. Frustration and humiliation awaited the rest.
The qualifying races would be held the next day, and all
three of NASCAR's national series would race through the
weekend. Everybody had a prediction on the weather, track
conditions and what their competitors had under the hood.
Though gray clouds rolled in the sky overhead, the scent of
grilled meat permeated the air. Team chefs, many doubling as
hauler drivers, were gearing up for the lunch hourโwhich
really amounted to about ten minutes. It was make or break
time, but it was also a kind of homecoming. Back to the
routine. Back to what they all loved.
After exchanging brief greetings with several of Cade's crew
members, Bryan slid open the hauler door. The interior
hallway was smallโmost of the space was occupied by
locker-type bins full of equipmentโbut there was still a
gathering of people around the microwave waiting for popcorn
with all the anticipation of the next world peace treaty.
Though Bryan said nothing, conversation died. The guys
backed against the walls to let him pass. Nobody looked
directly at him.
One thing was for certainโฆ when you were pissed off all the
time, and didn't bother to hide that fact, working your way
through a crowd could be an actual pleasure.
He walked down the hall, toward the cab of the hauler, then
opened the door to the office/locker room/den. "Ms. Butler,
I'm Bryan Garrison, I'm hoping we canโ"
His words ground to an abrupt halt. The
get this over
with quickly part of his sentence died suddenly in his
dry throat.
She's tiny was all he could think.
Tiny, blond, golden-eyed and lovely. She looked like an elf.
A fairy sprung straight from the pages of a children's book.
She extended her hand, taking his in a surprisingly firm
grip, those huge, deep, tawny eyes focused intently on his
face. "Good afternoon, Mr. Garrison," she said with the
faintest hint of an accent he couldn't quite place. "I
appreciate you seeing me. I gather you're a busy man."
"Iโ" He cleared his throat. His knee hurt before, but now he
wasn't sure how long it would support his weight. What was
wrong with him? "Yes, I am. The qualifying races are tomorrow."
"Aye." Pausing, flushing, she looked away. "Sorry.
Yes,
I know." She shrugged as her gaze slid back to his. "I
spend a lot of time with my Irish grandparents. Their Old
World language is a habit I can't seem to break."
"No need to." In fact, he found the music of her voice both
arousing and comforting. He shook his head and extended his
hand toward the sofa. "Have a seat."
"Thank you, but you're the one who should be sitting." She
grasped his hands and, seemingly without exerting any force
at all, managed to maneuver him to the corner of the sofa
and slide his injured leg along its length. "Is your limp
always this pronounced?" she asked, reaching for the throw
pillow on the floor and propping it beneath his knee.
"Wellโฆ" He hadn't been limping.
Had he? "No. I
mean, I'mโ"
"Fine?" She smiled briefly, then dropped the
bulging black bag she was carrying to the floor and knelt to
search through its contents. "You, Mr. Garrison, are
not
fine. Your knee is severely wrenched, you're in pain,
and I bet you're surly about it."
Bryan narrowed his eyes. A move that had caused grown men to
cringe.
But Darcy Butler wasn't even looking at him.
"I. Am. Not. Surly," he said, biting off each word.
She looked up at him, her full lips shining with pink
glossiness. "Naturally." She approached him with a plastic
pouch that she bent in half. It made a popping sound, and he
knew, from lots of experience, that it was releasing a
freezing gel. "Isn't that better?" she said gently as she
laid the pack on his knee.
He closed his eyes on a wince, though he knew the cold would
help in a couple of seconds. "Sure." Forcing himself to look
at her, he added, "I'm supposed to be interviewing you, soโ"
"I don't know how you can even concentrate, the pain you're
in." She laid her hand on his chest and pressed him down, so
that his head rested on the arm of the sofa. "Why don't you
rest a bit, then we'll talk later?" She rose. "I could fix
you some lunch."
As she turned to leave, Bryan literally looked around for
the control he'd somehow lost.
"Stop."
She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were
sparkling with humor, as if she knew he was frustrated, and
she knew she'd caused it. "Yes, Mr. Garrison?"
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