On the Move (18 page)

“Brandon,” she said when they had a moment alone. “About what just happened—”

“You mean, Todd?” he said, trying to be deliberately obtuse. “I’m sure he doesn’t mind me telling you about their surrogate.”

“No,” she said, looking exasperated. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I know,” he said, giving her fingers a squeeze. “I just don’t want to talk about it. I want to enjoy the moment. Revel in the scent of carburetor cleaner. Absorb the warmth of asphalt whose ambient temperature is a hundred degrees. Perhaps quaff a sports drink before I attempt to qualify.”

“Did you just say quaff?”

He gave her a big smile. “Impressive, huh? I’ve been studying. On my laptop. I can’t read words yet on my own, but I can memorize them.”

She nodded, looking away. She seemed shy all of a sudden, as if she had something to say but didn’t know quite how to say it.

“You going to watch me qualify from atop the hauler?” he asked.

“Is that where I’m supposed to go?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Either that or in the lounge.”

They’d made it to pit road by then. Chad was standing near the side of his car, an anxious look on his face as he scoured faces for Brandon’s.

“Looking for me,” Brandon said, coming up nearly behind him.

“There you are,” his crew chief said in relief. “I was about to call Vicky on her cell phone.”

“Did you think I wasn’t going to show?”

Chad looked at Vicky, eyebrows raised. “I wasn’t sure
what
to expect,” he said.

“Relax,” Brandon said. “I’m fine. Let’s get the show on the road.”

Chad nodded, followed Brandon to the side of his car. His helmet, Brandon was glad to see, lay atop the roof, its reflection casting a glow over the red paint scheme. He reached inside the car and pulled the pin securing the steering wheel. He laid it next to his helmet.

“We made those changes we talked about,” Chad said. “Don’t know that messing with the aero is going to help as much as you’d like, but I guess we’ll see.”

Brandon nodded, waiting for the safety net on the driver’s-side window to be dropped.

Brandon glanced over at Vicky. She looked terrified. “Relax,” he said. Then he did something he’d never done before. He closed the distance between them, lifted his hands to her cheeks and bent down to place a gentle, tender kiss on her lips. “I’ll be fine.”

Behind the lenses of her glasses, he thought he saw surprise and then fear followed by acceptance. She reached up and clutched one of his hands. “Take care of yourself.”

His hands dropped to her shoulders. He pulled her to him, the tension draining from him even more with her in his arms.

“Uh, Brandon,” Chad said, clipboard tucked between his arm and his side. “I hate to break up such a tender moment, but we’ve really got to go.”

“Ten-four, buddy,” Brandon said, kissing Vicky on the cheek before he let her go. She didn’t protest. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t offer some sarcastic comment.

Suddenly Brandon felt hope.

“I’ll see you in a moment.”

“Hi,” Kristen Knight said, her dark blue shirt in stark contrast to the red roofs that covered the buildings around them. She leaned against one corner of the railing, her clipboard sitting on a small, triangular-shaped table that stretched between the two corners of the railing. A computer monitor sat above the desk—if one wanted to call it that—a metal shield shading it from the sun. She could see a bar of light, one that highlighted the car number of the team currently trying to qualify, the sound of his engine echoing over the infield.

“Mrs. Knight. Hello.”

“How are you, Vicky? And I told you to call me Kristen.”

Yes, she had. However Brandon was Vicky’s client and one day Vicky and this woman could end up across from each other at a negotiation table, or at the very least, she’d end up across from her husband. Best not to get too chummy.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Vicky said, having to fight not to call her Kristen for some reason. She was just so nice.

“I come to every race,” she said. “Part of my job.”

Vicky squinted against the glare beamed up by the aluminum floor they stood upon. Behind them, in the grandstands that ran along the front stretch, fans were milling about. It wasn’t a full house up there, but it would be come race day.

“Did you have a nice flight?” the woman asked with a slight Southern drawl.

Vicky had flown out on the team plane which KEM had purchased to ferry people from track to track. Brandon hadn’t been onboard. He’d come in on an earlier flight.

“It was great, thanks,” Vicky said. “Everyone treated me like one of the gang.”

“Yeah,” Kristen said with a smile. “We have a great group of employees at KEM.”

“I can tell,” Vicky responded.

“Are you hungry?” Kristen asked. “If you are, we have a catering truck out by the other hauler.”

Only then did Vicky realize she’d clutched her stomach. It was tingling. “Oh, ah. No. Not really. Just nervous.”

She was nervous for Brandon, and he wasn’t due to go out for several more minutes yet. He’d gotten a lower draw, something Chad, his crew chief, seemed to be happy about. Later meant cooler track temperatures and more rubber laid down for traction, or so she’d been told.

“Relax,” Kristen said. “He’ll be okay. Brandon’s an old pro.”

“Oh, no,” Vicky said. “It’s not like that,” she lied because she didn’t want Kristen Knight to think she and Brandon were anything more than client and agent. Anything else would look totally wrong.

“Vicky, Brandon told me he’s dating you.”

“He
what?
” she said, turning her head so fast, her glasses just about slipped off.

“Okay, not really dating you. He
wants
to date you. Last weekend he called me out of the blue and asked my opinion on a way to get back into your good graces. I told him nothing less than getting on his knees would make up for the way he’d treated you,
and
everyone else at the shop.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t like me like
that,
” Vicky said. “He just really wanted to keep me as his agent.”

“Yeah, right,” Kristen said. “I was in your shoes not too long ago. I know the signs. You’ve fallen in love with him.”

“I have not,” Vicky immediately countered. “Good lord, we’ve only known each other a few weeks.”

“That’s all it takes sometimes.”

“And he’s been miserable to me for half that time.”

“Well, you know what they say about love being the other side of the coin.”

“Yeah, but that’s not Brandon and I.”

Vicky couldn’t hold the woman’s gaze. She heard a sound, used that as an excuse for turning away. The car out on the track had cut its engine and a new vehicle zoomed off pit road. She glanced up at the score tower. The last car had been fast. Its number glowed from the top. Of course, only six people had gone so far.

“Look,” Kristen said. “I realize I don’t know you all that well, and I may be way out of line here to tell you what I think, but someone once did something nice for Mathew and I, something that changed the course of my life, so maybe I can do the same for you. Brandon’s changed since he met you. I don’t know what it is, but the difference is remarkable. The Brandon of old would never have subjugated himself to a dunk tank. He would never have gone up to Todd and asked for his advice on how best to qualify like he just did today. Most of all, I’ve never seen him look at another woman like he looks at you.”

“Yeah, but you hardly know him,” Vicky said.

“I know
of
him. And he’s been with our team for four months now. He’s changed, Vicky, and the only thing different about his life is you.”

The car on the track entered the backstretch, the sound of its engine suddenly louder somehow. Vicky watched the top of it zoom by. The banking was so steep it appeared as if it’d been turned on its side.

“Brandon doesn’t know
how
to care about someone,” she found herself saying. “If he
was
interested in me, then it’d only be because I’m the most convenient female around.”

“You’re wrong, Vicky. Like I said, Brandon’s been with us for four months. I’ve seen him with other women. They were nothing to him. But the way he looks at you…”

Vicky clutched the rail.

“I think he really likes you,” Kristen said. “Really,
really
likes you. What’s more, Brandon
needs
someone like you. You’re a smart, vivacious woman who’s going to give him the love and support he needs. I can tell. So I hope that if Brandon tells you how he feels—and I suspect he will—that you’re smart enough to see the man my husband and I saw all those months ago. A man who could be so amazing—both personally and professionally—if shown a little love.”

“You saw that?” Vicky asked incredulously.

“We did. It’s why we hired him. We know about his background. My husband is nothing else if not thorough. Or at least his security chief, Rob, is,” she said derisively. But then she immediately sobered. “We know Brandon’s father took off. We know Brandon is hurting for money, no doubt thanks to his dad. We didn’t know about the illiteracy, but we suspected there was something else he was hiding. His psychological profile hinted at some deep-seated issues.”

“You had him take a psych profile?”

“Yes. Even though he balked at doing it. He insisted someone read him the questions so he could answer out loud. At the time we thought it was just Brandon being difficult. Now we know better. But I’m glad we gave in to his demands. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Brandon’s profile confirmed what we’d suspected. He’s an intelligent man with fierce loyalty to those he loves—not that he’s had anyone to love in recent years. He can’t abide liars and wants to be surrounded by people he can trust. What he wants—or needs—is someone like you.”

“No,” Vicky said with a shake of her head. “I’m not—” She almost said “ready for this.”

“I’m not so certain that’s true.”

“Have a little faith in yourself,” Kristen said, but then she straightened suddenly. “Oops,” she said, pointing to her headset. “I’ve got to go. Todd’s about to qualify.”

Vicky watched as she slipped her headphones into place, turned to the tiny desk and adjusted the computer monitor.

Vicky needed to think. Had she really made such a huge difference in Brandon’s life? Already? Could the man she’d so callously pushed away actually care for her? She recalled the look in his eyes after he’d kissed her.

I’ll be right back.

To see
her,
she realized. He’d be right back to see her.

Her hands had begun to sweat, and it wasn’t because of the intense sunlight beating down on her head. Her heart was pounding, too. Brandon wasn’t even driving yet and she already felt close to a panic attack.

Because she felt herself falling…falling toward a future that scared the hell out of her. Life with a race-car driver meant constant media attention as a result of that connection. The constant fear that maybe one day he’d spot someone in the crowd, a woman. One that was gorgeous and who might tempt him—

“I’ll be right back,” she told Kristen, although she wasn’t certain the woman could hear her with her headset on.

The climb down from the hauler was every bit as perilous as the climb up, but Vicky barely noticed. When her feet hit the asphalt she began to walk…and walk…and walk. Only when she heard Brandon’s name called did she stop, and it was odd, too, because she didn’t even realize she’d been listening for it.

When she looked around, she realized she was lost. She’d walked herself out of the garage and into an RV park of some sort. Numerous white-sided vacation vehicles were parked side by side, the smell of barbecue hanging in the air. From where she stood she could see a group of people sitting in aluminum lounge chairs watching TV—probably qualifying. She all but ran up to them. In a special compartment near the middle of the bus sat a TV. “I hope you don’t mind,” she told the crowd.

“We charge rent,” someone quipped, an older man with gray hair and a wide, friendly smile.

“Yeah,” said someone else, a younger man who sat to the older gentleman’s right. “I’ll take that Hot Pass of your off your hands.”

Vicky smiled. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll need it later.”

Everyone smiled, including the other two—both women, one younger and one older. They stared at her curiously before turning their attention back to the TV.

In the middle of the tiny screen she saw Brandon’s car, its orange, yellow and red paint scheme hard to miss.

“I wonder how he’s going to do,” the older man mused.

“Well,” drawled the younger man, his hand stroking his chin, “I’ll say one thing about Brandon Burke. He knows how to qualify.”

“Yeah,” said the younger woman. “It’s just too bad he’s such a jerk on race day.”

“Did you see that woman drag him off by the ear the other day?” the gray-haired man said.

“Yeah,” said the younger woman. “That was hysterical.”

Turn Two loomed ahead on the TV screen. At the bottom of the monitor, a qualifying meter allowed Vicky to see how Brandon’s time stacked up against the other drivers. If he was fast, a tiny arrow would zoom toward the word
Pole.
If he was slow, it’d levitate over the numbers that represented various starting positions.

“He’ll be taking the green flag this time around,” the commentator said. “Let’s see if team KEM can put another car in the front row.”

“I doubt he’ll have an easy time matching Todd Peters’s time,” said a second announcer. “That lap just about put blisters in the pavement.”

“I don’t know,” said the first guy. “Both cars use the same engine builder. And both cars are engineered pretty close to the same. He just might give his teammate a run for his money, but we’ll see in just a moment….”

“C’mon,” Vicky murmured. “You can do it.”

On-screen the arrow raced toward the word
Pole.
Her breath caught. Brandon rounded Turn Two.

The rear of his car began to slide. She gasped.

The arrow on-screen flew in the other direction, but Brandon held it together.

The arrow dashed toward
Pole
again. The orange, red and yellow car flew down the backstretch, heading hell-bent-for-leather toward Turn Three. She couldn’t look. He was going too fast. Surely he was about to drive straight into the wall. But, no. The arrow was still pegged toward
Pole.
He turned, smoothly, expertly.

“Go,” she screamed.

A second later, he crossed over the Start/Finish line as, above him, someone waved a white flag.

“Wow,” the announcer said. “If he hadn’t bobbled that turn, he’d have bumped Todd Peters off the pole.”

“Yeah,” said the second guy. “Maybe he can hold on to it this time around.”

“C’mon,” Vicky said, pain shooting through her hands. Her nails dug into her palms.

One more lap.

He had one more chance to get it right. The arrow was still jammed up by
Pole.
Brandon seemed to fling his car around Turn One. She held her breath as he zoomed around the corner.

Would his back end break free? she wondered.

It didn’t.

“Yes!” she hissed. “Go, Brandon, go!”

And he did. She knew he was flying. The qualifying meter confirmed it. Around Turn Three he went, his car sinking toward the bottom at first, then smoothly sliding up the track, only to fall back down toward the bottom again.

“I think he’s got it,” one of the announcers said.

The arrow never left
Pole.

“He’s almost there,” the other announcer said.

The checkered flag waved.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Yes, yes, yes.” She was jumping up and down. “That’s it, honey. That’s the way to drive.” She had tears in her eyes. How stupid. It was just qualifying. There were still more cars left to qualify. But she was so proud. So damn proud.

“Are you okay?” one of the women asked—the younger woman.

“No,” she said, her hands shaking as she wiped away tears. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Wow,” the older woman said. “You’re a big Brandon Burke fan.”