Authors: Michele Dunaway
Kellie wiggled her eyebrows. “Okay, Mr. Testy,” she teased. “Let’s.”
Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. I love you.” His words warmed her heart. One thing Charlie had never been shy about was telling her how much he cared.
“Me, too. And don’t you forget it,” Kellie said.
They focused their attention to where the Muldoons were currently singing an off-key version of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” on the other side of the campfire. “They’re pretty bad,” Charlie remarked as they hit the Cracker Jack line.
“I think that’s the whole point,” Kellie replied. Since all the campers were now joining in, Charlie started singing as well. They stepped closer into the circle, and when Kellie opened her mouth to sing, she froze.
Was it her imagination, or was Hart Hampton watching her from his position on the other side of the fire? The flames flickered, and the rising heat and smoke made confirmation impossible. She couldn’t tell.
But at that moment she was suddenly way too self-conscious. Hart Hampton was a fantasy, someone she’d never expected to meet, much less have him know she existed. He was a man far too attractive for his own good, a man who would probably sleep in a five-star hotel rather than on a single bed inside a racing-theme-decorated cabin.
He…he was something she could dream about, sort of like how Cinderella dreamed of her prince. Totally harmless, as long as he remained firmly rooted in her imagination. Kellie was a realist: dreams disappeared when morning came.
Unfortunately, Hart would not, and tomorrow she would face him again or suffer Charlie’s extreme disappointment. They’d come on this weekend to relax and have fun, but instead every nerve in Kellie’s body had tensed.
Men like Hart Hampton weren’t supposed to notice women like her. His sudden interest was only because her son had asked him a really good question. That was all, she consoled herself. Hart was a celebrity. He’d date perfect, beautiful women, such as those Hollywood types with perfect faces who didn’t exist in average-people America.
Kellie didn’t purchase designer clothes; instead, she bought off the rack at the local discount chain since Charlie’s medical bills took a big bite of her household income. She had to stretch the retirement fund, life insurance and accident settlement she’d received after her husband’s death, making the money last as long as Charlie’s care required.
Kellie sighed as she thought of her late husband. Although dating wasn’t on her agenda, she’d resolved never to even consider anyone whose career involved travel. When she was ready to think about herself and her needs, she wanted someone basic. Stable. Someone nine-to-five. Someone who gave her peace and harmony. All those things certainly disqualified the wife-seeking Mr. Hampton.
He could simply remain a joke, or she’d have to replace him with rookie driver Dusty Burke, despite the huge age gap. Charlie would just have to go along with the change.
So, after chiding herself for being foolish over nothing, Kellie raised her eyes, determined to prove to herself that she could look at Hart Hampton and not feel like a silly schoolgirl.
She need not have bothered. Hart Hampton was gone.
T
HAT ANNOYING NOISE
early the next morning at 7:10 a.m. wasn’t his alarm clock. The shrill tone sounding off at too many decibels next to his head was, unfortunately, his cell phone. He’d preset the ring tone, so without even glancing at the caller ID he knew exactly who was checking up on him several hours earlier than he normally woke up on a Saturday morning. He flipped the phone open and held the device next to his ear. “Good morning, Cynthia.”
“Oh, good you’re up,” Cynthia said. “I wanted to catch you before breakfast.”
“Yeah,” Hart said groggily. The camp served breakfast at eight, and at that moment Hart’s bedside clock flickered to seven-eleven. Hart leaned back against his soft burgundy sheets, stretching out his legs as if trying to touch the bottom of his queen-sized bed.
Despite being roused from slumber, he wasn’t ready to give up the creature comforts of his down pillow. His event didn’t begin until nine-thirty, so he’d set his alarm for eight-fifty-five. A quick shower, some chocolate-covered minidonuts and a diet cola from his kitchen, and he’d have been early to the meet and greet.
“I wanted to see how everything’s going,” Cynthia said, her voice jostling him back awake.
“It’s going fine.” Hart tossed his arm over his eyes. Upon returning to his motor home from the bonfire, he’d stayed up late and watched the last of the NASCAR Busch Series race and the highlight show that followed.
“Well, everything’s just fine here,” Cynthia announced. “Your car passed inspection, and Ricky’s ready for tonight. He had a great practice session and qualified fifteenth.”
“That’s great,” Hart grumbled.
“What do you have going on tonight?” his aunt asked.
“Watching the race on TV,” Hart said, his tone still grumpy. “It’s parents’ night out. I’m kind of a fifth wheel after lights out.”
“Oh,” Cynthia said. “You can always go home once you’re done. It’s only a two-hour drive.”
“I know,” Hart said. “But Jerry’s taken off on his motorcycle for parts unknown, probably home, until Sunday morning and I noticed that you didn’t ship my bike. So I’m sort of stuck here.”
Jerry was Hart’s driver, and instead of taking a helicopter or his airplane to camp, Hart had traveled in his motor home since the drive to the northern North Carolina town was under three hours. He’d napped most of the way, getting much needed rest.
“Well, look on the bright side,” Cynthia said. “You’ve got a great motor home and you can simply relax like the doctor ordered.”
“Uh-huh,” Hart said, although after a while, a man could only watch so much satellite TV.
He heard his aunt exhale, meaning she was already running out of patience with him. Her stress level always shot up on race days.
“The simulator is already there. They called me to tell me they’d arrived.”
Hart’s eyes were closed, but he still winced. “You did not send the bimbo twins.”
He could hear the indignation in his aunt’s voice. “No, I did not. They were temporary hires sent from that promotion company for that one specific event. This is a family camp. Clyde and Clarissa drove up there this morning. If you get desperate tonight, ask to ride back with them.”
“All right,” Hart said, a bit more agreeable. One, he now had a way home, and two, the Hampton Racing employees who’d just arrived were superb choices.
Clarissa worked in Hampton Racing’s front office and Clyde was one of the chassis fabricators. Both were in their late sixties and had been married for almost forty years. Both had been with Hampton Racing since the beginning, and Hart had known them forever. Clyde had his CDL license and had been Hart’s first hauler driver years ago.
“So, before I go, it’s all fine? No surprises?” Cynthia asked.
“None.” Well, if he didn’t count Charlie’s mom, Kellie. She’d hardly given him the time of day, treating him last night as if he were one of the mosquitoes she’d wanted to repel. He hadn’t liked that very much, or the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.
“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” Cynthia said.
“Not as much fun as if I’d been there,” Hart pointed out sarcastically.
“You’re funny. Good try. Ricky’s running well and the media’s bought our story. Sally Jenkins from MRN practically gushed. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Cynthia said a quick goodbye and Hart closed his phone. He stretched and placed it on the nightstand. He then rested on his back for a moment and groaned. Going back to sleep was pointless, so he might as well get up, shower and see what was going on.
“S
O HOW IS HE
doing?” Liam asked his wife as she came back into the bedroom. He shifted and tossed back the covers for her.
“He’s surviving,” Cynthia said. Amazing how after thirty-five years of marriage they could read each other’s minds so well. Neither had anywhere to be for several more hours. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Liam said. He set the novel he’d been reading on the nightstand. Liam always woke up at 6:30 a.m. and read for an hour, no matter what day of the year. “So he’s fine doing the simulator?”
“I don’t think he cares,” Cynthia said. She climbed under the covers of the king-sized bed that took up the back half of their motor home. “Hart’s got to recover from both the injury and this slump he’s in.”
“I fielded a call from Elementals yesterday.” Liam casually mentioned one of Hart’s top sponsors. “They needed some reassurance that Hart was fine. They also want Hart to film another commercial promoting their fall activewear line.”
Cynthia winced. Sponsors could be so fickle and demanding. “You were wise not to tell me or I would have been even more stressed out than I already am. Did they settle down after your talk?”
Liam nodded. “I managed to smooth their feathers, but they definitely want a win in the next few races, or at least a top five finish. They’re hoping to tie it in with the commercial.”
“We all want a win,” Cynthia replied. Even though it was May, she rubbed her feet on the sheet, as was her habit, so the friction warmed her toes. She leaned back against her pillows.
These past few years had been hard on her nephew. Some years had been up, others down. Hampton Racing had been her brother Carl’s passion, and they’d all been shocked when he’d suddenly announced his retirement so that he could spend more time with his wife.
Carl had always been so dedicated and focused, racking up tons of Cup wins. But as he aged, his priorities changed, especially after Vivian’s breast cancer. While she was in full remission, the fact that his wife had to have undergone treatment had shaken Carl. When it came to racing or his family’s health, his family had top billing and Carl had retired.
For a moment Cynthia thought about her brother. She’d been the one to introduce him to the sport. Their parents hadn’t been very enthusiastic, and Carl had entered racing late. He’d made up for lost time, though.
Just like big corporations couldn’t always meet the analysts’ predictions, perhaps racing, too, was simply cyclical. If someone was having the greatest year ever, that meant someone else wasn’t. While most of Hampton Racing’s drivers had done exceedingly well the past two years, Hart had instead been falling in and out of the point standings. They’d changed his pit team and his engine team, but all to no avail. He simply couldn’t seem to eke out a win lately.
“I’m glad you don’t race,” Cynthia told her husband suddenly. “I’m glad you’re in the office.”
He glanced over at her, his expression quizzical. Liam had been with Hampton Racing as its president from the beginning. “You’ve never said that to me before.”
“I know. I just think one driver in the family is enough.”
“Hart’s troubling you,” Liam said.
She nodded. “Always. Sometimes I think he’s more mine than his mother’s. She never quite understood racing the way we did.”
“She married Carl when he was president of his family’s coat hanger business,” Liam replied. He’d been Carl’s best friend since high school, which was how he’d met Cynthia.
“Vivian did kind of lose her cool when he sold the family company and invested in racing,” Cynthia agreed. “She was always a little too high-class to get into the sport. She also didn’t want to leave St. Louis. And then when I bought Hart his first go-cart…” her voice trailed off.
“Vivian eventually got over it and forgave you,” Liam said with a smile.
“Sort of,” Cynthia replied. “I often wonder if she wanted a bigger family, but racing always took priority. Hart was a handful. Still is. Now he’s driving, and he has huge shoes to fill.”
“Stop worrying.” Liam reached over and patted Cynthia’s hand. “We were right to bench Hart this weekend. Everyone needs a break now and then, and this will give him some time away, maybe even some time to assess his life without any pressure from us. He’ll always have Hampton Racing, whether he’s behind the wheel or simply being full owner when all this totally becomes his. He might not understand that now, but he will eventually.”
“I hope so,” Cynthia said. “The stakes are too high if he doesn’t figure out what’s going on and what he’s going to do to get out of this slump.”
Liam sighed. “The stakes in this business always are high. But Hart’s battled worse. He’s tenacious. He’s a fighter. He likes the driver’s seat too much to let anything compromise that. And you never know. Give him some time to see something other than the back end of another race car and he just might find what he’s looking for.”
T
HE MORNING DAWNED
clear, sunny, and warm. An ideal day to enjoy the outdoors. “Our time is 10:45,” Charlie told his mom as he read from the bulletin board outside the dining hall. The time slots for Hart Hampton had been posted during breakfast, and as Charlie moved aside, another family stepped up to view the list now that mealtime was over and the activity areas were opening. “I can’t wait. Did you get a good look at his hauler?”
“I saw it,” Kellie said. Covered with sponsors’ logos, a huge Hampton Racing insignia and Hart’s signature, the green semitrailer and custom green rig that pulled it had been hard to miss on their walk from the cabin to breakfast.
Someone had set up an open-air tent, and people had been rolling a green race car underneath when she and Charlie had passed by. Kellie glanced at her watch. They had more than an hour before their time with Hart. “Want to go shoot bows and arrows?” she asked. “After all, you’re all clear today.”
“I know,” Charlie said. He adjusted his baseball cap. “It’s a good omen, Mom.”
“I agree,” Kellie said, for even the thought of seeing Hart Hampton was not going to dim her mood today, not after an earlier stop at the camp’s medical center had given Charlie the green light to participate in every activity the camp offered. Maybe the drugs were working, and maybe they’d turned a corner. Kellie crossed her fingers for extra luck.
The morning flew by, with Charlie managing to hit one bull’s-eye. He also enjoyed a little catch-and-release fishing at the fishing pavilion before it was time to go to see Hart.
A family of six remained at the tent when Kellie and Charlie walked underneath. Hart was signing an autograph but he glanced up and smiled. “Hi, Charlie. Kellie,” he added.
“Hey, Hart,” Charlie said. He glanced at his watch. “Are we early?”
“Probably not.” Hart gave his trademark grin to the autograph seeker. “Thanks for coming.” As the little girl moved off, Hart turned his attention entirely to Charlie. “The simulator got a little backed up for a while, so that’s why I’m running behind.”
“Simulator?” Charlie asked.
“Yep. You get in, stare at that flat panel screen and you’ll feel like you’re actually driving. You work the steering wheel and the pedals and you’ll hear your crew chief over the headset.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “That sounds cool!”
“It is, actually,” Hart said. “I get in there myself on occasion.” The group of six thanked Hart and left. “Hey, it looks like you’re up.”
Hart gestured to where an older woman held the car door open, the number 413 emblem clearly visible on the outside panel. Hart’s name was etched above the driver’s window, and Charlie frowned. “The door opens.”
“That’s because a lot of people can’t climb through the window like Hart here,” the woman said, seeing Charlie’s disappointed expression. “I’m Clarissa. I promise you it’s a real car and the decals are all the same as they were then. We had to modify the door. That way I can get in to drive, too. Come on, in you go.”
“Okay,” Charlie said. He slid in and sunk into the low seat that sat almost on the floor. Charlie seemed to disappear, and Kellie leaned over to get a better view of her son.
“Can you reach the pedals?” Clarissa asked.
“Barely,” Charlie answered.
“That’s because this is Hart’s old seat. He’s taller than you.” Clarissa reached for a leather booster block and wedged the black, six-inch-thick pad between Charlie and the seat. Next she efficiently grabbed a pair of earphones, just like those seen on the race track.
“What you’re going to do is watch the monitor attached to the dashboard. The seat’s going to move, so you’ll feel like you’re actually driving on the track. After you hear the words ‘drivers, start your engines,’ give it gas. Don’t worry if you hit the car in front of you when the race starts. The simulator’s sensitive and most people bump into the car in front when they begin.”
“Will I crash?” Charlie asked.
“You might,” Clarissa said with a smile. “When I drove, I bumped off the wall and spun out into the infield. The steering wheel’s pretty sensitive, just like it was when Hart drove this car.”
Charlie glanced at the dashboard. “Where is the wheel?”
“On the top of the car. We attach it last. That makes it more realistic.” She placed the headphones over Charlie’s ears and he grinned, giving Hart and Kellie a thumbs-up.
“Good luck,” Kellie called.
“He can’t hear you,” Hart said, his voice directly off her right ear. “Those headphones are pretty soundproof.”
“Oh,” Kellie said. She took a step away, out of Hart’s proximity. Clarissa attached the steering wheel, and went around behind the car to a podium. Kellie quickly realized Clarissa had started the program after she saw Charlie’s hands working the steering wheel.
“Can you see how he’s doing?” Hart asked.
“No,” Kellie replied. Hart had once again invaded her space, sending her awareness levels off the chart. She’d seen him on television wearing nothing but boxers and a T-shirt, but now, next to him, she found his tight jeans and polo shirt much harder to avoid and much more captivating.
“You could have gotten in on the other side,” Hart said. “We retrofitted the car with a passenger seat and a monitor.”
“I’ll pass,” she said. “Let him have his turn pretending it’s real.”
“That’s fine. You can try it next.”
Kellie shook her head and Hart frowned. “No?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to do this?”
“I drive every day. It’s really not that interesting.” She tried not to wince at her crankiness. Hart Hampton’s presence was doing something to her equilibrium. She felt out of sync, off-kilter. She certainly hadn’t meant to sound surly.
“You’ll enjoy this drive. I’m sure you’ve never been out on a high-bank oval, even if it is just a computer screen,” Hart cajoled.
“No, I haven’t,” Kellie admitted. She tried to make her tone light yet firm. “And no, I still don’t want to drive.”
Hart crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back to study her. “You’re not very impressed with me.”
“That has nothing to do with driving your car,” Kellie said, flushing under his scrutiny.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Hart said.
“You didn’t ask one. You made a statement,” Kellie pointed out.
Hart eased closer. “Ah, that’s right. English teacher. Are you this picky with your students?”
She fidgeted. “Actually, yes. On occasion. If the circumstances warrant it.”
“So you’d be one who corrects the kid who says, ‘Can I go to the bathroom?’”
“Sometimes,” Kellie said, smiling. “Don’t all English teachers do that?”
“I think they’re supposed to. Probably comes in the job description.” The corner of Hart’s mouth lifted as if he were amused. “So let’s see if I ask this properly.
Are
you impressed with me?”
She dropped her chin as if looking over a pair of imaginary glasses. “You really want an answer to that?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Hart said.
“Then, no,” Kellie replied.
Hart blinked, those green eyes curious. “Really? That’s rare. So, why not?”
She should have known that Hart Hampton would be used to people fawning over him. Charlie adored the man and they’d never met until last night.
“Okay, this is getting to be a weird conversation,” Kellie said, trying to regroup. “I don’t know you, and my opinion shouldn’t matter. We’ll never see each other again. Well, you won’t see me. I have to see you on TV every weekend since Charlie loves watching NASCAR.”
“Oh, come on. That’s not an answer. Tell me,” Hart insisted. “I’m curious. Women throw themselves at me. You’re one that hasn’t. I want to know why.”
“Perhaps because I prefer men who keep their clothes on and don’t flaunt themselves in public,” Kellie said with a shrug that belied her inner tension. Well, he had asked, she rationalized.
“So you think I flaunt myself?” Hart arched a dark brow, as if daring her to continue. Already in for a penny, Kellie bit.
“You don’t model for Elementals? ‘Nothing touches my skin that’s not Elemental’?” she shot back, mentioning the line from the ad.
Hart rolled his green eyes and shrugged. “It’s promotion. They sponsor my car. They get to splash my image around. Do you know how much it costs to run a race team and how much sponsors pay?”
“No, and I really don’t care,” Kellie said, stiffening. So much for not sounding surly. “Listen, I’m coming across like a shrew. Thanks for the interest in my son. Following your career has been a highlight to him this past year and I do appreciate that. He has it tough and you’ve provided a bright spot in his life. I apologize for my behavior. I have no right to judge you.”
Hart shifted his weight, the polo shirt stretching across his chest. “I don’t mind. It’s actually rather refreshing not to hear the same gushing flattery from people who only want a piece of you. So it’s been a really rough year?”
He’d thrown her with his statement and then his quick change of subject. “It’s always rough when you have the disease he does,” Kellie replied. “Life’s not a party and I don’t make him promises I can’t keep.”
Hart stared at her, a blank expression on his face, as if he were seeing her for the first time. She tried not to redo her ponytail, an action she’d repeat when she was nervous. She was acting so out of character, so unlike herself.
This was Charlie’s favorite driver, and she was being a jerk. But for some reason, this man simply rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe he was simply too perfect. Too adored. Too good to be true. Maybe he had it too easy. Whatever it was, the energy between them hummed in the air, if that were possible.
“I’m not a bad guy,” Hart said, if reading her mind.
“Charlie is not a toy.”
He took a step back and held up his hands. “Isn’t that being a bit harsh? I never said he was.”
She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “You asked him to tell you what he wished for. What are you going to do, be a genie and make his wish come true? He’s not like normal children. He hasn’t attended school, or had his heart broken by a girl, or suffered the indignation of being embarrassed when toilet paper gets stuck to your shoe or when you drop your books in the hall and all the kids laugh. You’re his idol. Let’s leave it at that. I don’t want him disappointed. He’s already had enough of that in fifteen years to last a lifetime.”
“He’s done,” Clarissa announced, and Kellie jumped, wondering how much the older woman had overheard. Her poker face didn’t reveal a thing, although she did glance at Hart for a brief moment. Charlie was currently removing the headphones, so Kellie knew he hadn’t overheard her charged conversation with Hart Hampton.
Clarissa removed the steering wheel, opened the car door and let Charlie out.
“How’d you do?” Hart asked, his hand out for a high five.
“I got lapped!” Charlie said, slapping Hart’s hand. Charlie’s sheepish countenance failed to contain his excitement. “I was so afraid of wrecking after I scraped the wall on Turn One that I didn’t go fast enough and everyone left me behind, only to come up on my rear end. At least that’s what the crew chief said in my ear. I guess I was about to go a lap down.”
“That sounds about right,” Hart said. Kellie glanced around. Clarissa had disappeared and, amazingly, no one else was waiting.
“I thought we only got ten minutes,” Kellie said, eager to get Hart’s autograph and go. “We don’t want to take up your time.”
“I’ve got a short break scheduled. No one’s up again until eleven-fifteen.” Hart looked Kellie square in the eye, as if daring her to offer another excuse. At that moment, she experienced the full effect of this man, and she trembled slightly.
He was out of her league. Hart Hampton was a man used to being in control of everything, and right now that included her. She had no doubt he’d deliberately chosen their time slot, and his actions confounded her for she couldn’t make sense of them. Why Charlie? Just because he’d asked a good question?
Like last night, no answer was forthcoming.
“Come on, Charlie, let’s sit over here.” Seeing Kellie’s silence as acquiescence, Hart gestured toward a set of director’s chairs. “I want to hear what answer you came up with. Kellie, are you going to join us?”
As Charlie was making a beeline for the chairs, what could she say? No? Hart had successfully checkmated her. Despite the temperature being eighty degrees, she shivered. She followed the men, who had already begun their conversation by the time she climbed into her seat.
“We’re from Myrtle Beach,” Charlie was saying.
“I’ve been there many times,” Hart said. “That’s where I started out racing.”
“I’d like to race,” Charlie said. “I’ll be sixteen soon and I’m determined to get my driver’s license that day.”
“Ah, that’s right. Still no permit,” Hart replied.
“His treatments have precluded it,” Kellie inserted a tad irritably.
Hart arched both eyebrows, and Kellie bristled. But Charlie noticed none of the tension. “Hopefully for your birthday,” Hart said. “I was go-carting by your age.”
“My leukemia means I bruise easy,” Charlie said. “And chemo knocks me out. I’ve had a bunch of bone marrow transplants, but I can’t get the disease into remission. So I watch and root for you instead.”