Sweet Carolina(47)

“What?” he asked.

“We may not have a car in the race this week. Butch Renfro stopped by. He said he'd heard rumors we may be parked for a few races.”

“Parked? Are you kidding me?” He gingerly supported his aching ribs as he tried to turn to get a better look at her face.

“No, not kidding. He said there would be fines too. I've been with you, and my cell phone was off, so I don't know what's going on at the track, but Butch seemed to think it was foregone conclusion.”

“Shit.” Dell turned his attention back to the road. “We'll protest the decision,” he said.

Caro sighed. Dell didn't like the sound of it, but he kept his mouth shut. They drove in silence to his place on Lake Norman. Caro pulled up in front of his house.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said, bailing out of the car as quickly as possible given the state of his ribs. “I'll see you at the track.”





Chapter Thirteen





Caro rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. No amount of eye torture was going to make the numbers come out any better. She'd left Dell at his house and driven straight to the track. She skirted the garages and bee-lined straight for the NASCAR hauler, knowing they preferred to hand down bad news in person.

Hours later, she was still sitting behind her desk at Hawkins Racing, trying to find some way to make the numbers add up to get back on the track. As Butch Renfro predicted, the team fine was substantial and handed out with a liberal dose of chauvinistic idiocy that made her blood boil. She'd stood quietly and accepted their decree, all the while biting the inside of her cheek to keep from telling them off.

“Caro?”

She jumped at the sound of Dell's voice. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?”

“I'm fine. A little bunged up, but I'm good to go,” he said. He did look better, but from the careful way he carried himself from the doorway to the chair in front of her desk, he wasn't one hundred percent yet.

“I guess you heard?” she asked.

“About the fines? Yeah, I heard. We should protest, Caro. I don't care if they fine me, but the team? That's wrong. I made the decisions, no one else.”

“That's not the way the officials see it. They think I can't control you, and they're right. I've got no business running a race team if I can't control my employees.”

“They said that?”

“They weren't that nice about it, but yeah, that's what they said.” Among other things.

Dell's eyes narrowed and a wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. “What else did they say?” he asked.

Caro waved his question away. It didn't matter now. What was done, was done. Hawkins Racing was through, or at least it was with her behind the wheel. “Nothing, Dell. Let it go.”

He leaned toward the desk, his eyes locked on hers. “Tell me, Caro. Tell me what they said.”

“Really, it doesn't matter, Dell.” She eased back in her chair and sighed. “I was going to come out to your house and tell you, but since you're here…”

“I've got a feeling I'm not going to like this,” he said.

“Probably not,” she agreed. “Hawkins Racing is through, Dell. I'm going to sell to Butch Renfro.”

Dell jerked to his feet and paced to the door and back in long, angry strides. “What the hell for?” he asked, standing over her desk, glaring down at her as if she were nuts. “Tell me what they said, Caro. What would make you sell to a low-life like Renfro?”

“It's more than what they said, Dell. It's a financial decision. I was counting on the purse from at least one of the races this week, and since we've been fined, and parked… well…” He stood over her, still as a statue, and more gorgeous than any man had a right to be, waiting for her to pour out her private shame. Only he didn't know, couldn't know, how much she'd hidden all season long.

“Well?” he prompted.

“I don't have the cash to pay the fine, and make payroll, much less keep building cars at the rate we've been doing.”

“And?” he asked. But how did he know there was more? Was it that obvious? “There's more. What did they say, Caro?”

Oh, what did it matter? It wasn't like she was going to be able to keep it a secret anyway. Keeping secrets at a racetrack was like trying to keep water in a leaky radiator. You could patch the holes, but sooner or later, the whole thing would give, and all the water would come gushing out at once. “They know about us.” She wagged her finger, indicating Dell and herself. “They know about what we did, or at least they suspect.”

“So?”

Could he be that dense? “So, someone saw me leaving your coach the other day and did the math. It added up to you and me, well, you know. Anyway, word got back to the officials…”