On the Edge (2 page)

Read On the Edge Online

Authors: Pamela Britton

Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Love Stories, #Contemporary Romance, #Fathers and Daughters, #Sports & Recreation, #Businesswomen, #Single Fathers, #North Carolina, #Automobile Racing Drivers, #Automobile Racing, #Motor Sports, #NASCAR (Association), #Automobiles; Racing

BOOK: On the Edge
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“Where are her parents?”
“That’s the best part,” Connie said, looking almost gleeful. “Apparently, the dad’s up in Kentucky and he doesn’t know she’s here. He’s a race car driver and the little girl thinks you should hire him.”
She what?
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack. Sylvia demanded the girl tell her the dad’s name and phone number, but she refused. Not until she talks to you. Sylvia wants to know if she should call the police.”
And Connie looked so completely enthralled by the situation, Rebecca knew this wasn’t a joke.
“Where is she?” Rebecca asked, standing, hands resting on her cherrywood desk.
“Downstairs. Sylvia didn’t know what to do with her.”
“Are you sure the kid’s alone?”
“Positive. We’re closed to visitors today, remember? Nobody’s roaming around.”
Closed. Monday. Of course. She’d known that, she’d just forgotten. Easy to do what with everything that’d been going on.
And now
this.
“What should we do?” Connie asked as Rebecca started to move past, only to pause atop the checkered flag rug that stretched from desk to door.
“Bring her up—No, wait. I’ll go downstairs and get her. Tell Sylvia once I’ve got her out of the lobby to call the police. The dad’s probably looking for her.”
Connie nodded, some of the amusement fading from her face. “Should she call 911?”
“No,” Rebecca said, getting up. “At least I don’t think so. Just call the police.”
REBECCA DIDN’T KNOW what she’d been expecting. No. That wasn’t true. She’d been expecting a teenager, one with piercings and tight-fitting clothes. She was
not
expecting a precocious-looking ten-year-old with hair as red as her own and freckles to match.
“Hi,” Rebecca said with a smile. “Can I help you?”
The girl’s blue eyes lit up, her mouth dropping open for a second before she appeared to swallow. Rebecca resisted the urge to glance behind her and see if maybe Hillary Duff stood there. “You’re Rebecca Newman,” the little girl gasped.
“That’s me,” she said, taking in the little girl’s khaki shorts and the overlarge backpack she clutched. Then she caught sight of the shirt she wore and her stomach flipped over like a broken fan belt. Randy’s smiling face stared out at her.
Rebecca had to force herself not to look away.
“I never thought—I mean, I was hoping you would, but I never thought I’d actually get to
see
you.”
“Well, here I am,” Rebecca said, forcing herself to focus on the problem at hand. “What can I do for you?”
“I…Well, I…” The little girl straightened. “May I please speak with you privately?” she asked, flicking her chin up and shouldering her backpack as if facing Mount Everest.
Rebecca tilted her head, silently impressed. Obviously the girl was scared to death, and yet she faced her as if nothing short of an atomic bomb would deter her.
What else could she say but “Sure”?
But it obviously wasn’t the answer the child had been expecting. “Really?”
“Really,” Rebecca said, fighting back an unexpected smile. “Follow me.” She led the girl behind the reception desk and down a short hall. Rebecca peeked curiously at her when she thought the girl wasn’t looking. Nothing out of the ordinary. She might be any young girl from American suburbia with her battered tennis shoes and equally battered black-and-pink backpack. She wore socks that slid down her ankles, socks the dull brown of cotton that hadn’t been bleached in awhile. Red hair so bright it looked almost fake spilled out of the adjusting hole of her baseball cap, reaching nearly to her shoulder blades.
“You have an elevator?” the girl asked as Rebecca swiped her pass card at the double doors.
“We do. Keeps people from getting upstairs when we don’t want them to,” Rebecca said. The elevator doors opened instantly, fluorescent lights turning the girl’s skin so pale Rebecca could see blue veins just below the surface.
The poor thing is terrified.
“What’s your name?”
“Lindsey.”
“Well, Lindsey. Welcome to Newman Motorsports.” She smiled again.
The little girl tried to smile back, she really did, but Rebecca could tell she wasn’t up to it. It was an effort for Becca to keep from placing a reassuring hand on her head.
“This way,” she said when the door slid open with a whoosh and an energetic
bing!
Connie looked up from the second floor reception area, her blue eyes openly curious. But the little girl didn’t follow; she was too busy gazing down at the showroom/souvenir shop through the windows that allowed visitors to peer into the lobby below, potted palms framing either side of the glass.
“You can see into the race shop, too, if you follow me.”
“I can?”
“Yup,” Rebecca said, sliding her pass card again and opening up a door to the left of Connie’s gray Formica workstation. There were offices down the hall and a wall of windows to the left. Once the showroom ended, guests could view the pristine race shop below.
“Wow,” the little girl said. “My dad would go nuts.”
“Is your dad a big race fan?”
Blue eyes looked up at her, and for a moment the fear faded, replaced by what could only be called derision. “He’s not a fan—he’s a driver.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said, her amusement returning. “That’s right. Well then, yeah, he probably would go nuts. Nothing but state-of-the-art equipment down there.”
Equipment I can’t afford.
“So. What can I do for you?” Rebecca asked after she opened the last door at the end of the hall—her office. She took a seat behind the polished cherry desk, the dreaded financials she’d been studying shoved firmly aside. The truth of the matter was the little girl’s appearance was a welcome diversion.
Once again, Lindsey’s attention had wavered, so much so that she dropped her backpack with a thud right in the middle of the checkered flag carpet. “Ohmygosh,” she said. “Is that the championship trophy?”
Rebecca didn’t follow her gaze. She never looked at the oak trophy case anymore. It was just a reminder of a life she’d lived long ago. If she didn’t still have sponsors to impress, she’d have long since torn the darn thing down.
“Yeah,” she said. “One of them.” And then she cleared her throat, trying to get her attention. “Lindsey, the receptionist downstairs told me that your dad doesn’t know you’re here.”
“He doesn’t,” the little girl said, turning to face her, that stubborn chin lifting again. “And I’m not going to call him, either. Not until I tell you all about him.”
“You mean convince me to hire him.”
“Exactly.” And Lindsey’s gaze was so direct, so serious, Rebecca had a hard time thinking of her as a little girl. Such maturity. And a wealth of determination. Before Rebecca could think better of it she found herself saying, “Okay, then tell me about him.”
Blue eyes went wide, disbelief taking the place of determination as for the second time that day she said, “Really?”
And here at last was evidence of her youth, for the high-pitched squeak sounded all too girlish. “Really,” Rebecca repeated, biting back a smile as she leaned into her black leather and chrome chair.
“Well, he’s only one of the
best
drivers in the whole wide world.”
Weren’t they all?
“He wins races every weekend.”
That didn’t mean much. There were tracks all over the country, tracks that a lot of drivers could dominate. “What does he race?”
“Oh, all kinds of stuff, but mostly late-model stock cars. Right now he’s running a modified.”
Just as she thought. Small-time.
“But before he started driving locally he did the Silver Crown Series.”
That made Rebecca’s brows lift in surprise. “Was he any good?”
To her absolute shock, the little girl said, “He almost won the year-end championship. Everyone said he probably would’ve if my mom hadn’t gone and messed things up.”
“Really,” Rebecca said because despite telling herself it didn’t really matter, by now her curiosity had been piqued.
“My mom left my dad for John Garreth.”
“You’re
kidding.
”
“Nope.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. The year your mom left your dad was the year John Garreth won the Silver Crown championship?”
“Yup. The same championship that got him hired by the Unsers. And the moment he went big-time, he ditched my
mom
big-time. Serves her right, too.” There was bitterness in her voice, too much for one so young.
Becca leaned forward in her chair, completely thrown. She’d heard of Garreth. Who hadn’t? The man was renowned in open wheel. Had been a major name for—what? Five, six years now?
“How old were you when all this happened?”
“Four. But I remember,” she added quickly. “Daddy was never the same after that.”
No one ever was when they’d been left behind. “I bet not.”
“But he’s still a good driver,” Lindsey said. “When the NASCAR Elite Division came to town, Daddy kicked their butts even though he hadn’t driven a car like that in ages. One of the guys in the series said he should run the Southeast Tour Series full-time, but my dad said it was too late. Only it’s
not
too late. I read about a driver who didn’t go big-time until he was thirty-two. That’s the same age as my dad. All he needs is for someone to give him a chance.”
“And you want me to do that?”
“Aren’t you looking for someone to drive your cars?”
“I am, Lindsey, but I have to be honest. The drivers we’re considering have a lot more experience—”
“So does my dad—”
“
Recent
experience,” Rebecca added.
“So does my dad.” And the little girl lifted her chin, her jaw thrust out so far, it was like she pushed against the world with it.
At Rebecca’s raised eyebrows Lindsey said, “He drives me to school every day.”
Which made Rebecca smile. “Okay. Well, while driving on the street can certainly be dangerous, I’m afraid it’s still not the same.”
Lindsey’s chin began to sag. “Please, ma’am. Give him a chance—”
“Ms. Newman,” Connie interrupted, the door swinging wide before Rebecca could stop her. “The police are here.”
The little girl gasped, turning toward the door so fast her ponytail whipped her in the face. She took a step back when she saw the two officers, nearly tripping over her discarded backpack. Bratz, Rebecca noticed on the nylon flap.
“Lindsey,” Rebecca said gently.
“You called the police?” the little girl asked, whirling back to face her, ponytail a step behind once again.
“Your parents need to know you’re all right.”
“Haven’t you been listening?” Lindsey said, sudden tears causing her eyes to glisten. “I don’t
have
parents. I have a dad. That’s
it.
My mom left us and she hasn’t been in touch since. And because of that my dad had to give up racing in the big leagues. He tells me that that’s not true, but I know it is. When that man said my dad should go back to drive the Elite Division my dad told him he couldn’t because his number one priority was me.”
“Your daddy’s right,” Rebecca said softly, holding up her hand when one of the officers stepped forward. “You
should
be his number one priority.”
“But that’s not fair,” Lindsey said, tears breaking free. “He’s a good driver, ma’am. If you watched him you’d see that in a heartbeat. I know. I’ve watched stock car racing all my life. Ain’t nothin’ I don’t know about the sport. I know your daddy was a big-time racer and that you met your husband in high school.”
The little girl’s face suddenly fell. “I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t mention him and like an idiot I went and did it. I’m so sorry about your loss.”
Rebecca’s stomach kicked up a boulder that lodged right in her throat. “That’s okay.”
“He seemed like a nice man.”
“He was.”
“Just like my dad,” the little girl said.
Becca felt her breath catch, the child’s words like a kick to the gut. Still…“But if that man at the track offered your dad a job, and he turned it down, what makes you think my offering him a job will be any different?”
“Are you kidding?” Lindsey said. “My dad thinks Newman Motorsports is one of the best in the business. We used to watch your husband win races all the time back when he drove for Sanders’ Racing.” The little girl’s eyes had brightened again. “And I know from TV that you’re holding some kind of open audition for drivers next month. I heard someone talking about it on the radio, too. They said you’re doing it with Sanders’ Racing, and so I figured if you don’t want to give my dad a look, I’ll go over to Sanders’ next.”
One of the officers cleared his throat; Rebecca glanced up for a second before she looked into Lindsey’s eyes.

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