Southern Hospitality (11 page)

“They’re delivery men for the construction crew that’s working on my shops.” The pride was back in her words tenfold.

“Your shops? What do you sell?”

“Food, wonderful food. I have a catering business that I’m expanding to include three retail stores,” she explained easily, and Logan knew that he’d picked the right subject, for once. “In fact, if we have time on the way back I want to stop at Wiederkehrs vineyards to see about handling some of their wines in the shops.”

“Who’s your clientele?” He decided not to ask about the quality of Arkansas wines since the conversation was going so well.

“Mostly singles, or people who don’t like to cook or have the time to do something out of the ordinary. Trevor suggested it after I’d been getting requests for private dinners, as well as the usual parties and receptions.” Tory laughed suddenly, catching Logan by surprise. “Actually, Trevor was my inspiration. He kept conning me into making him elegant dinners for two. I’m sure there are some delicately nurtured flowers out there who were led astray by my big brother after a dinner I prepared.”

“So, that’s why you have so much free time. I was beginning to wonder if you were on vacation.”

“Not really. I’ve slowed down operations while the shops are being renovated, and I’m at the mercy of my family’s sob stories. That’s why I’m on the way to Oklahoma in a motor home.”

“Why are we using this anyway? I admit I’m getting used to finding a different vehicle every time I go somewhere.” Logan had forgotten to ask Trevor about the car situation the night before, and about T.L.’s profession. “Trevor showed up yesterday morning in a 1956 Thunderbird. This Winnebago is the first vehicle your family has that isn’t over twenty years old.”

“It’s T.L.’s way of keeping up with the Rockefellers, though he has quite a way to go before he has anything like the museum over on Petit Jean Mountain,” Tory answered, seeming to forget her earlier animosity. “The truck and station wagon are his, along with about fifteen other cars of various ages. The T-bird belongs to me and Trevor. We trade off every three months and drive one of T.L.’s in the meantime. As for our current mode of transport, it belongs to Curtiss, and I haven’t the faintest idea why he said to take it.”

“What exactly does T.L. do for a living?” He was certain that there was more to his uncle’s old friend, and perhaps his profession could give him a clue. The Planchets were an influential family and vintage cars weren’t cheap.

“Oh, dear, hasn’t anyone told you?”

“Is it illegal? Preston didn’t tell me anything beyond my assignment, and Trevor was talking car rallies when he wasn’t giving advice.”

“Daddy’s in garbage.”

Logan took his eyes off the road to give Tory a skeptical look. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“He really is. His corporation runs one of the largest waste hauling firms in the Southwest,” she went on, not bothering to hide her amusement at his flabbergasted expression. “Don’t worry, it kind of hits everyone that way if they don’t know before they meet him.”

“Apparently they didn’t meet him the way I did,” Logan said dryly, giving her a pained smile. “Or does he only do that for visitors from the North?”

“Yes, well, Daddy has a strange sense of humor at times,” she stated, matching his tone and shrugging. “Did Trevor or Curtiss give you any instructions about the race tomorrow?”

Logan could tell she wanted to change the subject, and he gladly complied. He did promise himself they would get back to the subject of T.L., although he wasn’t anxious to dwell on it right now. It could lead to the reason he was in Arkansas, which he didn’t want to discuss yet. He’d finally managed to get on solid, fairly compatible ground with Tory. His exile to the South wasn’t something he wanted to talk about until he’d known her a little longer.

Without hesitation, he launched into the explanation Trevor had given him about the similarities and differences between the Cherokee Challenge and the Arkansas Traveler. It was a safe subject, and he could question Tory about her part in the rallies for his articles as well.

He still had a lot to learn about this form of racing since he’d only seen the European version on television. How was a standard street car modified to withstand the rough terrain of dirt roads that were specially selected for each stage of the race? How were the cars timed on each stage, and what were the regulations for driving on public roads between stages? Was it true that the driver with the fastest accumulated time wouldn’t be named the winner if he’d been penalized for starting too soon, or driving too fast between stages? Were the stages run during the day, then repeated over the same ground at night to test the skill of the driver? That should keep them occupied for a good portion of the trip.

As he conversed easily with Tory for almost the first time since they had met, he wondered when he’d spent this much time talking with an individual. He was sure that Preston would be pleased. In Boston, he never seemed to have time for this type of communication. His conversations were with H.P.G. employees, or brief comments in passing at some function his mother had organized. It seemed as though he’d spent more time interacting with people as individuals in the past four days than he had in years. Underlying his discovery was amused speculation over what his mother’s reaction would be when she discovered
those people
were in the garbage business.

Tory surveyed the motel room that was wall-to-wall people; the crowd a mixture of drivers, crew members, and organizers. Tonight they partied and told wild stories, then tomorrow they drove, partying again afterward with more wild stories of the day’s events. There were a few familiar faces from the last time she headed a timing crew—and one very familiar face.

Logan was standing near the beer keg talking to Harry Scranton, who was in charge of the radio operators. His face was intent as he listened to the older man. They both were oblivious to the redhead who draped herself provocatively against the doorjamb behind them. Tory wasn’t.

“Little Miss Tory isn’t enjoying herself,” announced a gruff voice in her ear, taking her attention away from the trio on the other side of the room.

“Will I ever be old enough to lose that name, Alf?” she asked the balding man of fifty standing next to her.

“Nope, I can still see the freckled-face, pig-tailed little monster who was eating a candy apple near my leather upholstery.” His pained expression showed he clearly remembered the afternoon T.L. had brought his daughter along to inspect Alf’s Dussenberg. “And that’s why I made sure your friend over there is bunking with Harve Waggoner.”

“Does he snore?”

“I don’t know, does he?” His blue eyes twinkled with amusement and interest.

“Alf,
you old scamp,” Tory returned, refusing to be drawn in.

“Would you be happier if Harve did snore? If that smart-looking Yankee is giving you any problems, I can make better arrangements.”

“No, Logan’s been a perfect gentleman.”
Damn him,
she finished to herself. The man had her more confused now than he had the night he showed up on her doorstep. They’d spent hours cooped up in the front of the Winnebago, conversing like old friends. If she’d met Logan today for the first time, she’d have liked him without reservation.

“You don’t need to worry about Midge Nesbitt, although I think you’ve singed her around the edges a little with that ladylike glare,” Alf observed. “She’s just bored because Walt’s wrapped up in the other room watching old racing videos. She’s not really on the look out for a new co-driver for the night.”

“It’s none of my concern,” Tory stated with more conviction than she felt. She wanted to go over and tell Midge to get bored someplace else besides sidling up next to Logan, but she didn’t want to acknowledge the possessive feelings that were fueling her anger. It was bad enough that she’d let the incident of Logan putting her to bed go by so easily. A scene would have been anticlimactic, or so she told herself, because she hadn’t been able to confront him until almost a day later.

“The boy might not know about car rallies, but he does have class. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man brush off a woman like that, and have her smiling about it,” Alf commented in admiration as Logan disengaged himself from Midge and the group he’d been talking with for the past half hour. “I’ve seen that woman practically take the skin off a control crew that didn’t do things her way. She’s a demon for getting any time she can shaved off by fair means, or foul.”

“She goes with Walt?” Tory asked and gave the curvaceous redhead with perfectly manicured, two-inch fingernails a searching look. It wasn’t that much of a surprise, but it kept her from thinking about Logan’s tall figure, which was headed straight toward her and Alf.

“Honey, she’s ranked in the top five co-drivers nationally,” the older man explained, laughing at Tory’s grimace. “And be glad you’re a spectator tomorrow, instead of working one of the controls, ’cause she’s not happy your fella left her. Apparently he didn’t manage it as smoothly as I thought from the look she’s giving him.”

Tory didn’t get a chance to look because Logan was beside her, his arm curling unexpectedly around her shoulders.

“Help, please,” he murmured in her ear, seeming to whisper a tender greeting to anyone who was watching. “That woman is on the prowl, and her boyfriend outweighs me by about a hundred pounds.”

“Alf says she’s just bored,” Tory informed him, ignoring the delightful shiver under the surface of her skin as his warm breath teased her hair near her ear. “Isn’t that right, Alf?”

“Let’s just say that she’s never messed with me,” he returned. His blue eyes were watching the pair in front of him too intently for Tory’s comfort. “Besides, Walt’s as gentle as a lamb, and I’m old enough to be her daddy.”

“We must do things differently in Boston. Just how gentle would he be if he found me helping his lady friend fix a burned-out light over her bed?”

“How fond are you of your nose, an eye, and possibly a few ribs?” Alf’s face was somber as he posed the question. “Now keep in mind that Grove doesn’t have a hospital, although maybe there’s a doctor on the reservation who’d take a look at you. Considering that, you made the right decision, but Tory darlin’, you need to get both arms around him, just in case.”

“Sounds good to me,” Logan agreed, placing his other arm around her, his hand resting lightly above her hip bone.

Tory wanted to take back every kind thought she’d had about Logan. The warmth of his hand was burning through her blouse and the denim of her new jeans. Her first impulse was to tell him to move it or lose it, but Alf was watching them too closely. Instead, she smiled placidly.

“You know, Alf, this is Logan’s first rally, and I think that deserves a special treat tomorrow,” she began sweetly, leaning her head on Logan’s shoulder for good measure before looking up at him with an innocent smile. “How about giving him a place in the first sweep car?”

“The
first
sweep? Oh, I see,” he managed over the sudden blare of music as someone turned up the radio. His amused glance met Tory’s so he kept the correct phrase “fast sweep” to himself. He was willing to play along if the lady wanted Logan in the pace car that drove over the various stages at close-to-racing speed while making sure the road was clear before starting the rally. “That’s no problem at all. I’ll check with Tod Blaylock.”

“Good. You’ll get a really good perspective of the race that way,” Tory informed Logan. She hoped tomorrow’s course was over roads as dusty and hilly as the dirt-logging roads they used in Arkansas. That would teach him to use her as a decoy.

“Well, ya’ll, I think I’m going to turn in. It was a long drive today, and for some reason I always feel worse when I’m a passenger than when I drive,” she said, taking the chance to move away from Logan’s disturbing touch.

“The driver thinks that’s a good idea,” Logan agreed, and matched her step for step toward the door.

“Here, Logan, you’ll need the key.”

Tory barely managed to suppress a giggle at Logan’s puzzled expression. He looked at the key in Alf’s hand as if it were a repellant insect.

“Alf managed to get you a bed in Harve Waggoner’s room, and he can guarantee that he doesn’t snore,” she explained with a wide-eyed look. “It’s so nice to have one of T.L.’s old friends around, isn’t it?”

“Certainly,” Logan managed, his narrowed gaze moving from Tory to a beaming Alf. “I’ll walk you to the Winnebago and get my bag.”

The hooded look he gave her made Tory lose some of her amusement. “It could have been worse, you know. You might have had to bunk down in here with about ten or so people.”

“How true. We’ll see you both at breakfast, then,” Alf put in and handed Logan his key.

Tory decided discretion was the better part of valor, and didn’t say a word as they walked out the door. They were parked about four rooms down from the rally headquarters. Logan kept a courteous hand at Tory’s back during the short walk, letting the silence between them continue. Tory tried to pretend the hand at the small of her back didn’t make her blood sing, or bring back memories of the two times she’d been in his arms.

Although they’d just left a roomful of people behind, she suddenly felt isolated from the entire world in the quiet, moonlit parking lot. The Cozy Grove Motel was along the main road, but they might well have been in a ghost town. If she dared, she’d have done an about-face and returned to the party. There was safety in numbers.