Sweet Carolina(40)
Dell let her go. What choice did he have? She was right. Her reputation had to be above reproach in this business or the other owners would force her out, maybe NASCAR itself. On the other hand, he'd get slaps on the back and brownie points for screwing the boss. It wasn't fair, but that's the way things were around the track. Wasn't his dad's life proof enough? Caudell Senior slept with every track bunny who hopped into his line of vision, and he'd basked in the sunshine of masculine approval because of it.
“Well, fuck,” Dell said, tossing his now empty beer bottle into the wastebasket.
* * * *
Her lady parts were still throbbing from Dell's attentions the next day when she set out for the owner's meeting. She checked and double-checked her appearance before leaving the hauler, as if she expected to find a big red letter “A” on her forehead. Assured she looked normal, as normal as any woman could in a roomful of mostly middle-aged men, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. Heads turned as she made her way as close to the front as possible. Her size put her at a disadvantage among the men who were her counterparts, but she refused to be intimidated. She was one of them, and they'd better get used to it.
Caro acknowledged a few of the other owners who spoke to her and waved at another across the room. Butch Renfro stood on the opposite side. She caught his eye and inclined her head in a polite, but not exactly friendly greeting. He smirked, then turned his attention to the man on his left. Caro inwardly shrugged; certain now Russell had delivered her message. She wasn't going to sell. Not unless there was no other option. She refused to dwell on how soon it might come to fruition.
The meeting was as boring as ever and Caro found it difficult to concentrate on the agenda. Snippets of her time in Dell's bed kept creeping in, stealing her thoughts. Finally, the meeting was over. Caro waited her turn to file out the single door. Being near the front, she was one of the last to leave. She stepped out to find Butch Renfro waiting for her.
“Ms. Hawkins,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”
Caro kept walking. “No, I'm afraid I don't.” Butch settled in beside her. “Besides, we don't have anything to discuss. I'm not selling.”
“I admire your spunk, Carolina, but you and I both know this isn't any place for a woman. Your daddy knew it too. He must be turning over in his grave to see you dressed like that, hanging out with grease monkeys and the like.”
Caro seethed at his chastising tone and picked up the pace, hoping he'd get the message and move on. When he continued to dog her steps, she stopped and turned to him. “Look, Mr. Renfro, I have no plans to sell, not to you or anyone else. You can insult my fashion choices all you want, but I'm not stupid enough to sit in the pit wearing anything other than a fire suit. As for my father, he had an antiquated viewpoint regarding a woman's place in this world, but I loved him anyway. Maybe he didn't want this life for me, but I aim to make him proud, and I'm going to do it by associating with some of the most talented and best-educated people I can. Just in case you don't know who I'm talking about, those are the people you erroneously refer to as grease monkeys.” She turned. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do before they wave the green flag.”
She instantly put Renfro out of her mind when she strode into the garage – right into the middle of chaos. Dell's car had already been taken out for inspection. Instead of setting up their work area, her entire pit crew stood around, shouting at each other over the roar of engines on either side of their assigned stall. “What's going on?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard. Everyone stopped yelling and half a dozen heads turned her way.
“Nothing, Ms. Hawkins.” This from the catch can man, and the youngest member of the pit crew.
“Everything's under control, Caro,” Russell said.
Caro eyed the silent group, uncertain whether she should ask more questions, or let the situation, whatever it was, resolve itself. They'd clammed up fast enough, which told her it was probably one of those inexplicable guy things – of which she'd already had plenty of for one day. “Okay, but we don't have time for this. The race starts in less than an hour.” She catalogued the faces and realized Dell wasn't among them. “Where's our driver?”
“He's already gone out for the driver introductions and interviews,” Russell said. Caro nodded.
“Good.” At least someone was doing his job. “Let's get a move on. I know the pit stops are scheduled in the All-Star race, but we still need to be on our toes. No messing around. Dell needs to win at least one of the heats.”
She left to a chorus of “Yes, ma'ams.” After a stop in the hauler for her notebook, Caro made her way to their assigned pit stall. She had her foot on the first rung of the war wagon when an arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back, and over the wall onto the track.