Sweet Carolina(59)

“Hello, Carolina.”

“Oh, Butch! You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He pushed away from the coach and joined Caro at the door to her motor home. “I wanted to have a word with you.”

She couldn't think of a single person she wanted to talk to less than she did Butch Renfro. Opening the door, she stepped inside and Butch followed, closing the door behind him. Fatigue weighed on her shoulders and her patience. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the small kitchen counter. “What do you want?” she asked.

“How much longer are you going to keep this up, Carolina? You're dragging this out longer than is necessary, and your stubbornness is only going to make it harder on your employees when you finally do go under. No one else is going to take them on this late in the season.”

“I don't need you to tell me that, Butch. Things are turning around for Hawkins Racing. My employees aren't going to be looking for new jobs in the middle of the season, or when the season is over.” At least she prayed it was true. If Hawkins Racing went under, she'd be looking for a job with another team herself, and paying Dell's investment back for the rest of her life.

“You're stubborn and delusional. It seems your screw-up of a driver finally got his shit together, but he still hasn't won a race. Your team is incompetent, from the engineers all the way down to the lowliest member of the pit crew.”

Caro bristled at the blatant insult to her team. “You don't know anything about my team, and they aren't responsible for the things that happened. Lug nuts fail. The split O-ring on the hydraulic jack was a fluke, and it's certainly not their fault the supplier screwed up and didn't deliver fresh gas cans to our pit on time. Shit happens, Butch. We've just experienced more than our share lately.”

“Yeah, and from what I hear, you're having more than your share of that shit driver of yours too.” Caro froze. She watched in mute horror as Butch closed the distance between them. Her skin crawled at the way he looked at her, as if he… no, it was too disgusting to think. Before she could dodge him, he pressed himself up against her. The fingers of one hand dug into her hip, the other clasped the back of her head, anchoring her against him. His erection pressed into her stomach. She opened her mouth to scream, but he silenced her with a kiss that made her stomach lurch. Bile rose in her throat and she fought back with everything she had. She pushed, she kicked, she tried to bite him. He fisted his hand in her hair and held her tighter.

When he finally came up for air, Caro turned and vomited in the sink. Behind her, Butch Renfro laughed. “My money is as good as Dell Wayne's, little girl. When he gets tired of paying to get inside your fire suit, come see me. I might take his place, but you'll have to offer me more than he's getting. I want it all, Caro, and if I have to fuck you to get it, I will.” He moved to the door, stopping before he opened it and threw his parting words at her with a leering smile. “I still know how to show a woman a good time, especially one with such low standards.”

Caro made it to the door, threw the lock, and wobbled back to the sofa. She curled up in a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees to stop the shaking. She'd never been so disgusted in her life. Butch Renfro was old enough to be her father! And he knew about her and Dell. It was impossible for him, or anyone else to know. She and Dell never said more than was necessary to each other around the garage, or at the track. As far as the racing world was concerned, their relationship was a professional one. Renfro couldn't know. He had to be guessing, but that didn't make what he'd done any less sickening.

She sat for the longest time, wondering what, if anything she could do about Renfro's assault, ultimately deciding there wasn't a thing she could do. Even if she did go to the track officials, who would believe her? There were no witnesses, and if she accused Renfro of sexually assaulting her he'd no doubt drag out proof of her illicit relationship with her driver. He'd turn it all back on her. Who'd believe a slut like her? Any woman who'd whore herself out to fund her race team wouldn't stop at sleeping with one sugar daddy. Renfro would have them all believing she'd come to him, and propositioned him instead of the other way around.

The whole thing made her sick to her stomach. She called Russell and told him the heat was too much for her, and she'd watch qualifying from her motor home instead of the war wagon. He didn't question her, and Caro showered until the hot water tank ran out, then curled up on the bed to think.

Renfro's words kept coming back to her. She didn't believe for a second he wanted her. He wanted Hawkins Racing. But why? Why not expand his own shop? Money wasn’t an issue. It didn't make any sense. No one else was beating down her door, or sexually assaulting her, to coerce her into selling.