She paused, and Dell thought she might be expecting him to say something now, but he didn't have a clue what that might be. He'd done his job. He drove the car – and tried his best to be a contender.
“Well,” she said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Look, Caro, I did what you hired me to do. I drove the car. If you don't like the way I did it, then you should have hired someone else.” Her cheeks turned pink and her lips turned white. Dell continued. “You knew what you were getting when you hired me. If you want a mouse behind the wheel, put Wilson back in the car. He won't wreck, but he won't win either. You said you wanted to win: well, that's what I was trying to do. The only way to win is to lead the pack, and to do that, you have to pass cars.”
“I know that, Dell,” she said. “I'm not stupid. I know you have to pass cars to win, but Dell, you took too many risks. It was only a matter of time before you wrecked.”
“What are you so pissed about? I don't get you, Caro. Do you want me to race or not?”
“I want you to race, Dell. But I want you to listen to your spotter and your crew chief. This is a team sport, Dell. T.E.A.M. No I's in the word team.” She poked a finger into the center of his chest. “Don't forget it.”
He couldn't help it. He laughed. She was too damned cute in her fire suit, her face flushed with anger and that damned ponytail swinging like a pendulum, tempting him to grab it and yank her head back so he could kiss her. Whoa! He yanked his thoughts back instead. He shouldn't be thinking about kissing Caro Hawkins. Not now. Not ever. The conversation he overheard in the bar popped into his mind. Kissing Caro would be way out of line.
“What's so funny?”
Dell sobered. “Nothing,” he said. “Look, I don't know what to tell you, Caro. I drive to win. I'm not going to sit back and let the other drivers decide where I finish. I'm the only one who gets to do that.”
“What part of team sport do you not understand?”
“I understand what you're saying, but you have to understand too. I'll listen, but I'm the one driving the car. I'm the one who decides what risks to take. No one else.”
Caro stood toe-to-toe with him for a long, silent moment. She stepped back. Her shoulders slumped and her body seemed to shrink. She dropped onto the sofa that took up one wall, and turned tired eyes on him. “Are you trying to kill yourself, Dell? Is that what this is all about for you? Is that why you drive the way you do?”
Dell froze as her words hit home. Was that what he was doing? No. No. He was only trying to win. He stood there, his gaze locked with hers as he considered her question. It was stupid. Completely off the wall, and so far off base he could never tell her the truth. He searched for words to counter with and found none. Instead, he strode to the door and stopped with his hand on the latch. “We'll win in Phoenix,” he said. He pushed the door open and left, having said all that needed to be said.
* * * *
Caro closed her eyes and focused on breathing. In. Out. Repeat.
This wasn't working out the way she'd planned. She'd gone from a driver who the other drivers wouldn't let finish the race, to a driver who would either win or wreck – all on his own. She counted to ten before opening her eyes. She had no one to blame but herself. Hiring Dell was her idea. Admittedly, it might not have been the best one she'd ever come up with, but damnit, Dell Wayne could drive a racecar. The last three seasons, notwithstanding.
She needed to think, analyze. Find a way to fix this.
As she made her way through the pedestrian tunnel to her car, she considered her predicament. She hired Dell for a reason – not just because he was the only seasoned Cup driver available, and certainly not because he was hot in a fire suit. And lord knew, the man looked like sin in that suit. No, she hired Dell because she needed the driver he was during his first year in the Cup competition, not because of the driver he was today. That first year, she saw something unique in him. It was difficult to pinpoint the difference between his first season and all the rest, but there had been something special about Dell's driving that year. Brilliant, came to mind.
That's what it was. He'd been brilliant. Not overly aggressive, not a patsy for every bully on the track as Wilson had been, but consistent, and methodical in his pursuit of victory.
That's the driver she wanted. He was in there somewhere. She just had to find him and convince him to drive for her. That Dell Wayne would establish Hawkins Racing as a leader in the sport. There was only one problem – she needed to find the one she wanted, before the one she had, bankrupted her. And she didn't have a clue how to go about it.