Sweet Carolina(20)

“We're not through yet,” he countered. Not by a longshot. He'd be damned if he was settling for second when there was only one asshole between the checkered flag and him. It was all in the timing. He checked the fuel cell gauge and mentally calculated if he had enough to finish without pitting. He'd been getting good mileage all day – a benefit of Caro's adjustments. Tires were another thing. The new pavement here ate tires.

“Can somebody calculate the fuel for me?” he asked as he ticked another lap off. “I think I can make it if there isn't a caution, and if I don't have to make more than one run at the leader.”

“Calculating now,” Caro said. Dell waited. Finally, she came back on. “It's going to be close, Dell. If you had fresh tires…”

“I'm not pitting now. Five more laps and I'm making my move.”

“You don't have to do that, Dell. Hold your position,” Caro said.

“Behind you,” Jeff warned from the spotter's roost above the press box. “Closing fast.”

“Damnit,” Dell said as he jerked the wheel to the right to cut off the car making a bid for his track position.

“You need new tires, Dell,” Caro said.

“No new tires! I've got this,” he said. He held off the challenge for five more laps. As he came out of turn four into the front stretch, he throttled up and rubbed bumpers with the lead car. “Come on, asshole, move over,” he mumbled. The 15 car held his piece of track and Dell eased up against his bumper again. The lead car shot out ahead of him and Dell followed, kissing his bumper every chance he got. “Move it, lard ass,” he said.

“Dell, what are you doing?”

Dell ignored the panic in her voice and nudged the lead car again.”You wanted to win, Caro, this is how it's done.” He counted to ten and asked, “Laps?”

“Ten to go,” Russell said.

Dell continued his assault on the lead car, mentally noting the laps. “Tell me when we get to three,” he said to whomever was listening.

“Dell…” Dell ignored the warning tone and hit the lead car hard. The driver almost lost control, but managed to steer through it.

“Four,” Russell said.

One more. Dell concentrated on his next move. He saw the checkered line painted on the pavement in the front stretch as Russell confirmed three laps to go. Dell bided his time. Split seconds. Through turn one. Turn two. Throttle up into the backstretch. He dropped down to the inside – mere inches and pressed the nose of his car against the bumper of the lead car, and pushed.

He saw the driver of the lead car try to steer his car back into the groove of the track and fail. As soon as the left side of his car cleared the right side of Dell's, Dell throttled up and passed him for the lead.

“Two,” Russell said. “Hot damn, Dell!”

“Dell Wayne!” Caro yelled. “Are you crazy?”

Dell smiled. Damn straight he was. Crazy as a loon. “See you in Victory Lane, sweetheart.”

* * * *

Caro pasted on a smile for the cameras and said all the right things, but inwardly she was seething. Five hundred laps of insane driving, and Dell acted like he'd won. Well, he had a trophy, and the purse would keep them in business for a while longer, but he'd lived up to his Madman nickname. It was nothing more than luck that had him standing in Victory Lane, swigging champagne and locking lips with the Miss Double-D Cup. And his last stunt? Totally unacceptable. Thank goodness it had been Stillwell he challenged. A lesser driver would have spun out and taken out half the cars on the lead lap.

By the time they made it back to the hauler, Caro was ready to explode. “What the hell were you doing?” she asked. “Is that what you call driving? How many did you shove out of your way today? Six…? More?” She paced the small lounge because she had too much pent-up anger to sit.

“Are you complaining?” Dell asked from his prone position on the sofa. “I won. We won,” he amended. “Isn't that what you pay me for?”

She stopped her pacing and stared at him. God, he looked good, and she almost forgot why she was mad at him – then he ran his hands through his champagne-soaked hair and it all came back to her. “I'm paying you to drive, not to kill yourself.”

The words dropped between them like a stone. Dell stilled. Like an animal sensing its prey, he swung his feet to the floor and stood. He towered over her, and even though he had to be exhausted, he looked ready to take on the world. Or one petite female team owner.

“You know what's killing me, Caro?” he asked as he closed the distance between them. Caro held her ground. He smelled of stale champagne and sweat, with a hint of burnt rubber thrown in. It should have been nauseating, but to Caro, it was the smell of victory, however won. She lifted her eyes to his as he slid one foot between her splayed ones and pressed his body into her personal space.