Full Throttle (14 page)

“I think I'll shoot for the win,” he said finally with a casual tone as if he'd just decided to go to the grocery store.

“Good idea,” Harry said as he backed away.

To his surprise, his father leaned against the window. “Good luck, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He clapped him on his shoulder. “No matter what happens, your mother and I are proud of you.”

Kane swallowed hard, then managed a nod.

“Be careful,” his father said before his hand slid away.

The last visit was from Pete, who was responsible for checking to be sure Kane was comfortable in his seat and all his safety equipment was fastened securely, before he patted the car off on its four-hundred-mile journey.

“Go for it, man,” Pete said, slapping his gloved hand.

Kane gave him a thumbs-up.

“And, hey, we want you to make The Chase, but if you don't, you're still our guy.”

“Thanks, Pete. Have you seen Mr. Hollister?” Kane had expected their owner to be pacing behind the pit wall.

“He told Harry he was staying in the sky box. He didn't want to put any more pressure on us.”

“More than he already has?”

Pete grinned. “Yeah.”

As he fastened the window net, Kane knew the time for reflection was over. Forward and counterclockwise was the only way to go.

“Gentlemen, start your engines!” roared through the track.

Kane exhaled and did just that.

“I'
M LOSING THE HANDLING
,
” Kane said as the silver Number 82 car streaked by him.

“You're doing fine,” Harry said over the radio.

“I need tires.”

“Next caution you'll get them.”

Kane felt the car's back end slide. “We may not have that long.”

“Hang in there.”

Kane knew he was whining. He also knew he had to finish fifth.

Bob Hollister might have been harsh to warn them so close to the race about their jobs, but he had too many millions invested in the team to finish in the middle of the pack every week—where Kane had been the last three seasons. Many owners wouldn't have been nearly so patient.

Patience was
not
necessarily a good thing now, though.

Kane moved up the track slightly to keep the car behind him from passing. The fact that his car was able to do that gave him hope for the dwindling grip on his tires.

At three-quarters of a mile around, Richmond was considered a short track, but because of the high speeds, it had a superspeedway feel. It had hosted racing events for more than sixty years, before NASCAR was even founded. Fans and drivers alike loved the side-by-side, under-the-lights racing. Tires and brakes were everything, and when the rubber wore down, the cars tended to slide into the wall.

Just as Danny Lockwood had done on lap 152.

Given their stormy history and that Lockwood was twelfth in points, striving for that all-important number ten spot Kane wanted, he couldn't say he was sorry Lockwood was now limping around in the back, thirty laps down.

Kane rounded Turn Two, and the back end of the car slid again. “Whoa.”

“Nice save,” Lexie said, the relief in her voice evident.

Since she'd been silent for much of the race, it was comforting to hear from her. He was much more tense than usual, despite everyone's assurances.

“Trouble, Turn Three,” his spotter, Bill, said.

Breathing a sigh of relief—tires were imminent—Kane slowed for the caution with the rest of the field.

As they rolled around the track and by the accident, he noticed Derrick Anderson's disabled car, looking too damaged to continue the race. His window net was down and the safety crew was already on scene, so Kane allowed himself a grin.

Derrick was ninth in points.

Somebody had to fall out in order for Kane to get in the top ten, and he was sorry it looked like it was Derrick. But he was also pumped.

“Pit next lap,” Harry said. His voice was even, as if he had no idea of the significance of who'd caused the caution. He did, of course, but knowing Harry, he didn't want to jinx their fortune.

“What lap are we on?” Kane asked.

“320.”

Eighty more. Could they stay in the game for eighty more?

He rolled into the pits, and the over-the-wall gang went to work. Somebody used a hook to hand Kane a fresh bottle of Gatorade, and they were off in 13.8 seconds.

“Position?” Kane asked as he slid into line with the other drivers and cruised back onto the track.

“Sixth.”

They needed fifth. Or at least they had before Anderson wrecked. He didn't ask for an update on the points, and when the green flag waved, he focused on passing.

His car was strong on the fresh tires, and he was able to move up, but was he going to stop when he got to the clutch position and just hold his ground? Was he going to be just good enough, or was he going to act like a champion?

He clenched the steering wheel.

He was fighting for his team and he wasn't yielding an inch until he crossed the finish line, fighting to be the winner.

 

T
HIRD
. T
HEY
'
D FINISHED THIRD
at Richmond.

They were in The Chase.

Before the winner—the points leader, Patrick Williams—even finished burnouts on the front stretch, the media descended into the Sonomic Oil pits.

“Lexie, are you relieved to be so instrumental in finally getting the team into The Chase?”

“I'm not sure how instrumental I am, but—”

“The team never made it into the top ten before you arrived.”

This wasn't going to become a thing, was it? Dear heaven, she hoped not. She had enough going on at the moment.

From watching her father deal with the press—and going through her own blitz at the beginning of the season—she knew it was best to say as little as possible. “Everyone at Hollister Racing is thrilled. We've pulled together like never before to make this happen for Kane and our entire team. We'll shine in the final ten races.”

“Being the only female car chief in NASCAR NEXTEL Cup racing, do you feel a special validation for having made that elite group of ten?”

“I think women are making great strides in NASCAR, but anyone would be excited about their team being in The Chase. It's been a team effort, so we're all proud of what we've accomplished.”

“Are you personally proud of your driver?” one guy asked.

Despite the tabloid world of today, most sports reporters were reluctant to ask personal questions unless your personal life directly affected the sport you were involved in—i.e. you were a big basketball star and got married on the court before a playoff game.

But there were still moments where personal and professional lives merged. It was common knowledge she and Kane had once dated. Rumbles of speculation had followed their pairing in the garage, years after their breakup. What would be said if—or when—their private reunion was public knowledge?

Then again, it wasn't much of a reunion yet. They were going to a party together. Which she'd decided to do less than twelve hours ago. Did she actually think the media was
already
interested?

Laughing at herself, she waved away her paranoia. “Yes, I'm proud of Kane, as well as our entire team.”

Thankfully, her father walked up at that moment, saving her from further speculation.

“Harry, how do you feel about making The Chase? Do you think your experience will help your driver over the next ten weeks?”

Always impatient with the media or anybody, her father narrowed his eyes at the reporters. “I think my driver can handle himself just fine. Did you see that save on lap 315? It wasn't me steering that car.”

“But it has to be comforting for Kane and the rest of your team to know you've been to the top. You know how to respond to pressure.”

“But I'm old. Believe me, I'm as grateful to have my team—and my daughter especially—as these guys might be to have an old guy's experience on their side.”

Though it seemed a lifetime since the race ended, Kane's car pulled up in the pits. James and the rest of the team descended on him as Lexie and her father pulled away from the reporters and let them surround their driver.

“We did good, Dad.”

He laid his arm around her shoulders. “We've got a helluva team.”

Lexie's heart skipped a beat as she watched Kane hoist himself out of the car. His smile could no doubt be seen from the heavens. She couldn't hear his words, but she watched his lips move.

She'd had some serious fantasies about those lips in the past few weeks. She'd have him all to herself tonight. Well, after all the team congratulations, the media interviews, the trip to the airport, the flight home…

So maybe not tonight.

But tomorrow night…

Hmm, not exactly then, either. The party would be crowded with friends and team members. They'd all want to relive the great moments of the last few races. She'd hardly get Kane to herself.

And as much of a temptation the attention the black dress might bring was, she knew she wouldn't wear it. The party was a
team
celebration. Drawing attention to herself would be tacky.

 

I
F ONLY THAT INCLINATION
had somehow found its way to Cheryl Tolfort's thought process.

Instead of the low-key, I'm-just-here-to-support-the-team entrance Lexie'd planned the following night, Cheryl had talked her into a red tank top and skin-tight jeans.

“I don't know about this,” she said to Cheryl as they pulled up to Kane's lake house.

“Would you stop? This is what people wear to parties.”

“You left out ‘normal' people.”

“I was trying to be encouraging. I thought we got past all this shyness stuff last week.”

“That was in front of total strangers. This is my
team
.”

Cheryl rolled her eyes, then slid out of her SUV, slamming the door behind her. Lexie had little choice but to exit her side of the car.

During the pit celebration last night, Kane hadn't seemed to care what she wore. He'd hugged her against his chest, kissed her temple and assured her she was the greatest car chief NASCAR had ever known. Then later, in the confusion of everyone boarding the plane, he'd
really
kissed her in the shadows.

Normal people, she guessed, would actually have their date pick them up, but further proof that she was far from normal occurred when Cheryl called that morning and demanded to take her to the party.

Glancing down at her cleavage peeking over her red tank top, she now understood why.

“I won't get any respect dressed like this,” she said as they trudged up the driveway toward the house, which was lit like Daytona on the Fourth of July weekend.

“So? Good grief, Lexie, you don't have to wear your Beta Club badge on your chest twenty-four hours a day.” Obviously frustrated, she turned, laying her hands on Lexie's shoulders. “Being attractive and wanting to impress the opposite sex doesn't make you an idiot. Do you think
I'm
stupid?”

Lexie's jaw dropped. “Of course not. You run that front office like a general
wished
he could run a war zone. Why—”

“I'm blond. I'm busty. I like to remind people I'm both.”

Lexie saw where this argument was going, but was reluctant to see how it applied to her. “But you don't work with guys.”

Cheryl raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Well, ah…you don't work on technical…”

“Have you ever seen one of those brilliant engineers of yours try to work the fax machine?”

“Ah…no.”

“It's not pretty.”

“Okay, okay, so they respect you, and you're still—” she glanced at Cheryl's black minidress “—still you. But I'm not you.”

“No, but you don't have to pretend you're not a girl to have respect.”

Lexie looked up at the house and remembered the first time she had driven by, just after she'd heard Kane had moved in. She'd imagined him heating up frozen pizza in the oven.

He'd never been much for sophisticated food. For the prom, they'd eaten with several other friends at a fancy restaurant in downtown Charlotte—after which he and James had claimed they needed a cheeseburger if they were going to make it through the night.

As his car chief, she'd been to the house a few times, but obviously never as Kane's date.

Still, she'd seen a few of the women in Kane's life. They dressed like lingerie models. She'd never been too impressed, and guessed by the brevity of their relationship that he hadn't, either. But she couldn't imagine having the confidence to smile and banter the way they did. To cock her hip and angle her head in just the right way.

Cheryl seemed to mirror her thoughts. “Catch their attention with your bod, then keep them with your brain.”

“You're starting to scare me.”

“Yeah?”

“You're making sense.”

“Let's go.”

“Still…why does it have to be so public? Why can't we get a corner booth in some dark Italian restaurant, where nobody knows us?”

“Are you always this much trouble?” Cheryl asked, though she obviously didn't expect an answer, since she grabbed Lexie's arm and led her up the steps to the front door, which was wide open. “Not much on security, is he?”

Come one, come all. It was so Kane. And James.

Half the neighbors surrounding Lake Norman had probably invited themselves. But since most of them earned their living in one way or another via NASCAR, she supposed they'd all be one happy family.

As they entered the foyer, they were instantly enveloped in the crush. To the right in the dining room, the table was covered with party food—wings, chicken fingers, chips and salsa. Several people holding red plastic cups looked as if they'd found the keg several times over. They'd no doubt be calling cabs before the party wound down. At least the neighbors could just stumble home.