Race To The Altar. Patricia Hagan

said, annoyed, “but I still need to make that appointment on time.” If he needed help, and she could provide it, she supposed that was part of her job. After all, if he was stressed, it could not only affect his driving but the persona he presented to the public as well. “How long will it take?”

      “Don’t know yet. Don’t even know if it’s going to be necessary, but I can’t risk not checking it out.”

      “Well, can’t you tell me what it’s about?”

      “It’s about the team maybe getting fined anywhere from twenty-five to fifty thousand dollars.”

      Liz nearly choked on a gasp. “You’re kidding, right?”

      “Afraid not. There have been a lot of violations lately, and somebody just called to tip me off that NASCAR is going to do some surprise inspections of fuel tanks late this afternoon. I need to make sure ours is okay.”

      “Well…well, why wouldn’t it be?”

      “Everybody is supposed to run the same kind of fuel, bought at the track. But there’s always somebody trying to find a way to cheat.”

      Liz flashed him a look of disgust. “Like you were obviously planning to do, and now you’re scared you’ll get caught.”

      “Not exactly. Mack was telling me somebody has come up with an oxygen enhancer. It’s an improper additive. We didn’t plan to use it, but Mack did say he got hold of some and thought about testing it out in practice just for the fun of it, to see if it worked. Nothing wrong there, but—” he paused for emphasis “—if it’s still in there when NASCAR does a check, they aren’t going to believe we never intended to use it for the race. So I need to make sure everything is okay.”

      “By doing what?”

      “By draining the fuel out and putting the right kind back in.”

      “And what do you need me for?” Liz didn’t like being a part of it.

      “To keep an eye out for any NASCAR officials roaming in the garage till I can get rid of it. But it may not be in there. Mack might have been running his mouth. Who knows? But I can’t take any chances.”

      “Well, he never should have put it in there to start with, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” Though it was not in her job description, Liz knew when she saw Mack she’d say something to him about even toying with anything illegal. The sponsor would be furious if the team were caught and fined.

      “Okay, so maybe we do need to check, but I’m not dressed for this,” she grumbled.

      Rick was pleased she wasn’t. That would add to her misery. It was a hot day, even for Daytona in February, and the humidity was so thick you could almost slice it. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some overalls in the truck. You can wear those.”

      “As hot as it is? I’ll die.”

      “Can’t be helped. They’d never let you through the garage gate wearing shorts, even if you do have a pass.” He stole a look at her legs. Nice and shapely. And if he ran his hand across her thighs, her skin would probably feel like satin—

      Perspiration beaded his forehead, and he knew it was not from the heat outside.

      “Overalls.” Liz sank down in the seat looking as if she wished she were anywhere but there. “I hope this won’t take long.”

      He felt a twinge of guilt. She had been doing a great job. The guys liked her, but, more importantly, the press seemed to, also. He’d never dreamed of having the exposure he’d gotten in the past week. He could tell his number of fans was growing by the attendance everywhere he had gone to sign autographs.

      All in all, Liz was pleasant to work with. And if she were a man, he’d be tickled to death. But she wasn’t. And she didn’t belong.

      Not at the track.

      Not in his dreams.

      And she sure as heck paid him a nightly visit in those.

      Turning into the speedway entrance, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was cute in her shorts and T-shirt. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail. And even though she wasn’t wearing any makeup that he could tell, she was still gorgeous.

      She hadn’t told him about meeting the VIPs. If she had, Rick would probably have changed his mind. He had chosen this afternoon, because he knew the guys wouldn’t be around. But maybe it would even work out better that the big kahunas were around. They’d be annoyed she didn’t show up for her appointment. And they would also raise eyebrows to see her in greasy overalls. He, of course, would give the impression—when Liz wasn’t around, of course—that she had insisted on getting deeply involved with the team.

      “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” Liz protested as they walked toward the garage. “Even if we left right now, I’d never get to the restaurant on time.”

      He kept a tight hold on her arm. “This is more important.” Actually, his conscience was really starting to bother him. He only wanted to make her ask for another assignment. Not get fired.

      “I don’t even have my credentials with me,” she pointed out. “I didn’t plan on coming with you.”

      “Doesn’t matter. We can go to the NASCAR office and tell them you forgot. They’ll issue temporaries.”

      When they reached the garage entrance, the guard on duty stepped out of the booth and held up his hand. “You can’t go in there like that.” He pointed to the open-toed sandals Liz was wearing, then raked her legs with an appreciative glance. “And you can’t wear shorts, either.”

      Liz, not wanting the guard to think she didn’t know any better, attempted to explain. “I didn’t intend to come dressed like this, and—”

      Rick cut her off. “I’ve got overalls in the truck she can wear. How about giving us a break? And I’m going to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. Come on, we don’t have a lot of time, and there’s something I need her to do.”

      The guard scratched his chin. “Well, I don’t know…”

      “I told you I had overalls for her.”

      “Oh, all right.” Frowning, he waved them on their way as he said to Liz, “If you’re gonna work around a track, learn how to dress.”

      “This wasn’t my idea,” she called over her shoulder.

      Rick gave her a tug. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time.”

      Liz was mad all over again. He seemed to have a knack for humiliating her. The guard would probably laugh about how Rick Castles’s PR rep was such a rookie she showed up wearing shorts and sandals. And, once again, she’d be the butt of jokes and snickers. All week she’d had to put up with writers making cracks about how she should bring them a hot dog when she went into the garage. She wondered how long it would take to live that down.

      The overalls had long sleeves, was way too big for her, and Liz was sweltering before she even got it buttoned. Perspiration made her eyes sting, her ponytail hung limp, and she felt like a wilted dandelion.

      She was exhausted from the hectic pace she had been keeping. Working on the press kits had taken a lot of time. Then there were all the parties she felt obligated to attend to meet everyone involved in corporate sponsorships, as well as speedway personnel. After all, racing was like one big family, everyone traveling together from track to track throughout the year. And she wanted to be a part of it, to be accepted.

      She had also been busy with Rick’s activities, making sure he got where he was supposed to be on time and connected with his fans.

      Once she got the hang of things, Liz was sure she’d be well-organized and have plenty of time for everything. But for the time being, she could only stumble through and do the best she could.

      Rick could see how her impatience and annoyance