Race To The Altar. Patricia Hagan

near the food stands, and—”

      As the room exploded with laughter, Liz slapped her forehead and groaned to remember just who that somebody was.

      The mechanic under the car.

      Also known as Rick Castles.

      And once again he’d made her look like a fool.

      Chapter Four

      There were two days left before the big race. Liz was sequestered in her hotel room going over her notes to make sure she had not forgotten anything. Gary Staley’s jet would arrive just before lunch, so she had plenty of time.

      Jeff was coming in on a commercial flight and had said he would meet them and take them to lunch. Liz had made reservations at an upscale restaurant and planned to join them there.

      The press kits had been completed by midweek. She was very proud of them, and several journalists had complimented her on a great job. She had thanked them without explaining they would be even better once she had time to write some feature articles on Rick herself. But she could not do that till she got to know him a little better, and since the humiliating incident in the press box, she had avoided him as much as possible.

      A week had passed since his performance in the qualifying races had given him a little more than fifteen minutes of fame. He had been the subject of several stories the following day in newspapers all over the country. He’d also been interviewed for radio and TV.

      Liz had planned to play it for all it was worth, but the next day a well-known driver had wrecked his car in practice. The car was nothing but crumpled sheet metal, and she could not believe anyone could have survived such a crash. The driver had to be airlifted from the infield medical center to a local hospital, mercifully with no life-threatening injuries, but, of course, the media focused on him.

      The day after that, something else had happened, and so it went. The sportswriters were constantly looking for new subjects to write about, so no one driver stayed in the limelight for long. Still, Liz had stayed busy trying to drum up interest in Rick. She had wanted to have a big story in the Sunday paper to impress not only the sponsor but her boss, as well.

      She was sprawled on the bed, wearing shorts and a T-shirt with Rick’s picture on it. The tees had just gone on sale at the track concession stands the day before, and she was anxious to find out how they were selling. But first things first.

      After lunch, Jeff was to drive the VIPs to the track, where Liz had arranged for them to have passes to the pit area to watch the last practice session. However, the crew was taking a day off. Their families had arrived, and they planned to relax at the beach the rest of the day.

      She picked up Rick’s folder and began leafing through it. She knew it by heart. He was thirty-two. Older than the other rookies in their mid-twenties. But his had been a small, cheap operation. It had taken a lot of work and time on a very small budget to finally catch the eye of a sponsor willing to back him on the NASCAR circuit.

      It had also taken skill as a driver, which Rick obviously had. He and Mack were longtime friends from a small town in Georgia. They had formed the team and run the short tracks all over the Southeast. Rick had won several local championships, made a name for himself and now he had been given a chance to run with the hot dogs.

      Liz made a face to recall her humiliation in the press box. Though sorely tempted, she’d not said a word to Rick and spent little time in the garage, instead focusing on the press kits and getting them distributed, as well as trying to line up publicity for him.

      She had approached him only when she needed to talk to him about something specific—like the autographing he’d done earlier in the week at a nearby mall. She had been quite impressed at the crowd he’d drawn. He was obviously popular with his fans, and she hoped to make him even more so and win new ones.

      She read in his bio again about his degree from Georgia Tech in automotive engineering. He had probably commanded a high salary in that field before giving it up to go into racing full-time.

      She took out the color photos from the press kit. She especially liked the one of Rick beside the race car. He made wonderful pictures, his dark, rugged good looks coming through on camera.

      As always, Liz found herself wondering about his personal life and what he would be doing on a day others were with their families. Someone so handsome was bound to be in a relationship, which would explain his ambivalence to the beautiful young women who flocked around him at every opportunity. If so, it was an admirable trait. She liked loyalty in a man…something she, unfortunately, had yet to experience.

      But she did not envy Rick’s girlfriend his archaic views toward women. Maybe she never showed up at the track because he made it clear he thought it was no place for females. Probably he kept her in what he considered her place—at home.

      That would never work for Liz. But it didn’t matter. She was hoping if all went well, Jeff would move her on up the ladder to bigger accounts. So it wasn’t as if she would have to remain Rick’s PR rep for the duration of his sponsorship with Big Boy’s Pizza.

      She wondered about her own schedule. The next race was in Rockingham, North Carolina, in only a week. Qualifying would begin midweek, which gave her just a few days to return to Charlotte and settle into her new apartment. She’d rented it on the Internet and hoped it would be okay. It really made no difference, though, because with a thirty-four-race schedule to follow, she’d hardly be home long enough to unpack, do her laundry, then throw everything back in her suitcase.

      A glance at the clock told her she still had plenty of time to get dressed for lunch. Still, a long, soaking bath would be nice.

      She was about to step into the tub when the phone rang. It was Rick, and he sounded annoyed.

      “I need your help.”

      She went into her public relations mode, sounding cordial but all business. “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

      “Meet me in the parking lot. We need to get to the track right away. I’ll drive.”

      “But—”

      He hung up before she could begin firing questions, such as how long did he need her…and for what? Maybe she should have told him earlier about her luncheon appointment with his sponsor, and then he would’ve known she didn’t have time to ride out to the track.

      She tried to call his room, but there was no answer, which meant he was on his way to his car. She had managed to get a room at the same motel as the team for convenience sake. Now she wondered if that had been a smart idea.

      She yanked on her sneakers and hurried downstairs. She wasn’t thrilled over anyone seeing her dressed as she was, but she was in a hurry to let Rick know he had to find someone else.

      Pushing through the doors to the outside, she saw him parked at the curb, the car’s engine running.

      She opened the passenger door and leaned in. “Listen, I can’t go,” she began. “I forgot to tell you—”

      And that was all she had time to say before he reached to grab her arm and pull her in. “Sorry, but there’s nobody else. The guys are at the beach.”

      “But I can’t go. I’ve got an important lunch date.”

      He squealed tires leaving the parking lot. “Your boyfriend can wait.”

      “It’s not with a boyfriend.” Liz was having a hard time getting her seat belt fastened as he hurtled through traffic. “And I wish you’d slow down. You’re going to get a ticket.”

      “Sorry.” He eased back on the gas. “I’m just in a hurry to get to the track and get started.”

      “Doing what? And by the way, the lunch date is with your sponsor. The VIPs are coming in, as well as my boss from New York, and—”

      “Your boss can handle it. Isn’t your job to help me?”

      “Yes, in PR matters,