Overheated Read online

  “Crystal?” her mother prompted.

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  Rufus gave up and went back to the mat.

  “Can you drive today?”

  “Sure.” Everybody pitched in during race week. Besides, Stella was as practical and no-nonsense as they came. Crystal could hardly explain that she didn’t want to go because she got a funny feeling from a man who might be at the track.

  “Give me fifteen minutes?” asked Crystal.

  “The axle will be ready when you are.”

  Crystal set down the phone and gazed at Rufus. She’d taken him for a walk first thing this morning. But for some reason, he hadn’t seemed able to find the right spot to do his business. She didn’t dare leave him inside or load him into the truck without walking him now.

  She slipped into a pair of running shoes and retrieved the leash.

  “Walk, Rufus?” she asked.

  His uneven ears perked up.

  She jingled the leash.

  He came to his feet, looking at least a little bit interested in the activity as he padded toward her.

  “Good for you,” she crooned, scratching him on the head as she clipped onto his worn, leather collar

  She scooped her purse from the counter, popped a cap on her head, then locked up behind her.

  She led him down the long staircase to the paved parking lot behind the office. They crossed to the wooded area out back, taking the trail that skirted Stanley Pond.

  Happily, as soon as she let him off the leash, Rufus got right down to business.

  Afterward, she clipped him back on and took the long way around to the bay door and the delivery truck. She might be committed to temporarily fostering Rufus, but her mother would find a dog entirely impractical. And Crystal wasn’t ready to have that argument just yet.

  So she hustled him into the passenger seat and shut the door before tracking down the shop foreman to get the paperwork for the delivery.

  While she drove, she tried not to think about whether Larry would be at his brother’s garage. He’d said he didn’t spend much time down there. And, really, it was of little consequence.

  He was a nice guy, sure. And they’d had a fun chat over smoothies. She was impressed by his intellect and, she’d admit, she kind of liked his formal, courteous manner.

  The man had actually pulled out her chair. She smiled at the memory. Even more impressive, they’d carried on an hour-long conversation. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had shown such a strong interest in her thoughts and ideas. Simon never had.

  Which meant she was probably hanging out with the wrong kind of men. Something to think about for the future.

  She swung north on I-85, glancing at her watch, thinking maybe she’d try to stay at the track for the race. There was no law that said she had to watch it from her parents’ living room. She could buy a ticket for the grandstands, or maybe she could wrangle a pit pass, and maybe she’d meet up with Larry again.

  She made up her mind. If Larry was there, she’d ask him to get her a pit pass.

  The odds of her running into him amidst the two-hundred odd thousand spectators was slim. But, if lightning did strike twice, she promised herself she’d ask. Maybe they’d chat some more. Maybe she’d figure out what it was she was supposed to be feeling about him.

  At the track, she carefully maneuvered between haulers, service vehicles and hundreds of people rushing to get ready for the race. The noise level was high, the excitement level even higher.

  She squeezed the delivery truck as close as she could get to the Cargill Motorsports garage and lined the back of the truck up with the bay door. Before shutting off the motor, she lowered both windows to give Rufus some fresh air.

  He yawned and stretched, finding a more comfortable position on the seat, his ears flopping over the edge. She gave him a scratch on the head, and a sigh whooshed through his body.

  “You have a dog,” came a familiar male voice through her open window.

  She turned to find herself face-to-face with Larry, his eyes taking on a green tone in the bright sunlight.

  Something lurched in her chest, and she went breathless. “I’m fostering him,” she managed.

  “I’ve never had a dog,” said Larry.

  “My first,” she admitted. Her parents always claimed to be too busy for a pet. The business came first. Running Softco Machine Works took sixteen-hour days, seven days a week.

  Larry opened the truck door for her, and Crystal slipped off the seat, her running shoes coming down onto the roasting pavement.

  “And here you are again,” she observed as they both headed down the length of the delivery truck.

  “Surprised?” he asked.

  “I’m surprised you’re in the garage twice in a row.”

  “Yeah.” His expression sobered. “After the incident with Kent’s car-”

  “Those animal-right activists?” Crystal had heard about the incident on the radio.

  “I thought the family might need some moral support.”

  She nodded, admiring his devotion to his family. It was nice of him to show up to lend a hand.

  She flipped the latch and rolled up the door. “And here all I brought was an axle.”

  “That’s important, too.” He gazed at the boxes in the depths of the truck. “Any chance you’ll let me carry the box?”

  “You’re treating me like a girl again.”

  “I know,” he agreed. There was a thickness in the inflection of his voice.

  She looked up, and there it was. A wave of desire sizzled between them. She could almost smell the scorched heat. Although she supposed it could have been tire smoke.

  “Can you get me a pit pass?” she asked, partly because she’d promised herself she would and partly because this feeling was very much worth investigating.

  His eyes registered surprise. “Sure.”

  “Good.” She lifted the long box. “Then go do that while I finish up here.”

  His gaze flicked to the box, and she could see the war going on inside him.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she warned.

  “Is it more than ten pounds?”

  “None of your business.” It was probably about forty. “I do this for a living, remember?”

  “You write for a living,” he countered.

  “If I only wrote for a living, I’d be residing in a cardboard box and be a whole lot thinner than I already am.”

  He took in her figure beneath the khaki pants and plain T-shirt. He didn’t say a word, but his expression told her he liked what he saw.

  She liked that he liked it, which was not her normal reaction.

  “You going to let me stand here holding this box?” she asked.

  He reflexively reached for it.

  “I meant you should get out of my way.”

  He stepped to one side to give her the room she needed. “Sorry.”

  But she grinned. “Don’t be sorry. Please go get me a pit pass.”

  Larry gave her a salute and a smile in return, as he turned to go.

  “I’ll park Rufus in the shade,” she called after him. “And get him some water.”

  Larry turned back and shot her a grimace. “His name is really Rufus?”

  “I picked it myself. You got a problem with that?”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “No problem here.”

  She shifted her attention to the garage to find the Grosso team watching with bemused expressions on their faces.

  “My new dog,” Crystal explained as she walked toward the workbench, pretending what she and Larry had going was nothing more than a budding acquaintance. And it wasn’t anything more than that-despite the flutters of anticipation gathering in her stomach.

  THERE WAS TROUBLE ON THE track.

  There was also trouble on pit road.

  Out on Turn Three, race cars banged into each other like dominos. Metal clanged, tires screeched and smoke filled the early evening air. Near the Kent Gr
osso pit box, Crystal’s hand clamped down on Larry’s knee. The yellow caution flag came out, while the warning flags inside Larry’s head turned to red.

  He nearly gasped out loud as sensation zapped up his thigh at the speed of light. Okay, it was more like the speed of his circulatory system, or more appropriately, the speed of synaptic transmission along his sympathetic nervous system.

  Okay, forget the science.

  Her hand was on his knee.

  Then Steve’s voice filled his headset, warning Kent to go high. Larry’s mathematical mind automatically kicked in, calculating the spinning cars’ trajectory, and he knew his son’s advice was right.

  Then suddenly, Justin Murphy shot to the outside. Steve’s frantic warning came too late, and Kent lost control.

  Crystal’s delicate fingers squeezed tight. Since Larry knew the likely g-forces and the capability of the safety equipment, he wasn’t concerned about his nephew as the car spun into the infield, where it rolled once, landing upright.

  The knowledge left him free to focus on Crystal’s squeeze. What did it mean? What should he do? More important, had anyone noticed?

  He glanced at the team members around them, but everyone’s attention was on Kent’s car. The engine fired again, shooting smoke out the tailpipe, and the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. Then Kent was pulling from the infield onto the track.

  The crash was disappointing for his son, Steve, and the rest of the Maximus Motorsports team. But that was racing. There’d be another chance to climb in the standings next weekend.

  Larry’s attention went back to Crystal. He gazed at her long, feminine fingers, then twisted his head to catch her profile, trying to figure out if she was even aware of the touch.

  His family was having a hell of a day, but all he could think of was Crystal.

  She smiled at him. “That was a relief,” she shouted over the throbbing noise of the pits. And her attention went back to the No. 427 car. She patted Larry’s knee twice before removing her hand.

  “A relief,” he managed to force out.

  If he’d been in a movie theatre-and ten years younger-he might have put an arm along the back of her chair. And she might have rested her head on his shoulder. He could have smelled her perfume, maybe taken her hand, maybe even kissed her there in the dark.

  But he wasn’t ten years younger. And it sure wasn’t dark. Millions of watts of light beat down on the track, and thousands of cheering people surrounded them. Larry was personal friends with an astonishing number of those thousands of people; they were sure to ask what he thought he was doing, if he showed any kind of physical affection toward a women who looked closer to his son’s age than his own.

  And then there was Elizabeth, Libby.

  Larry hadn’t felt an attraction to any woman since his wife had died three years ago. He felt a little guilty. A few days ago he had placed flowers on her grave.

  Libby was a warm glow inside his heart, and she’d always be there. But Crystal was…vibrant. And, Lord help him, he was ready to move on.

  She applauded Kent’s signal to the fans that he was okay, pointing to her headset and nodding her approval to indicate she understood how frustrated Steve must be because he wasn’t able to stop Justin from knocking Kent out. She patted Larry’s shoulder, smiled and nodded. He thought she was saying he should be proud of his son’s contribution.

  He was proud. Of his son. Of his wife. Of the wonderful life they’d had as a family. But Libby was gone now, and Steve was all grown up, and Larry was alone.

  And he didn’t want to be alone today. He wanted to be with Crystal. And whatever these feelings were for her, he didn’t want them to stop just yet.

  He leaned over, lifting one side of her headset to shout above the noise. “You want to do dinner after this?”

  It would be a little late by the time the race wrapped up, but so far today neither of them had eaten at the track.

  She leaned close to yell into his free ear. “I have to take Rufus home and drop off the truck.”

  He wasn’t sure if the reason was bona fide, or if she was giving him a polite brush off.

  “Tuesday?” he forced himself to ask. If he was getting shot down, it might as well be quick and thorough.

  “Tuesday’s good,” she said, nodding.

  Larry couldn’t stop the wide grin that grew on his face. “Rouladen’s?” he suggested, naming his favorite restaurant.

  She cringed at the name of the expensive establishment.

  He hesitated a second. Was she uncomfortable with such a romantic atmosphere? Did she think he’d have expectations later?

  He lifted her headset once more and leaned in. “Unless you’d prefer something different.”

  “It’s just that I’m between paychecks,” she admitted.

  He drew back, offended. “You’re my guest!”

  “It’s not 1950.”

  He gave a snort of disgust. “I don’t care if it’s 2050, you’re still my guest.”

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re an old-fashioned guy, huh?”

  “For the record, I grew up in the seventies, the bastion of women’s liberation. But you’re still my guest.”

  That got a smile out of her. “Then I guess I’ll try to find something suitable to wear.”

  “Wear anything you’d like.” Crystal could show up in a bathrobe for all he cared.

  TUESDAY NIGHT, RUFUS wandered into the bedroom while Crystal rifled through her meager wardrobe. He curled up on the floor to watch, at the foot of her queen-size bed, next to the old rocking chair she’d pilfered from her parents’ basement.

  He gave the room a cozy feeling, and she realized she was starting to enjoy the company.

  “The red or the blue?” she asked him, holding up a slinky red satin-and-sequin number she hadn’t worn in two years, next to a simpler, ice-blue silk dress that was one of her favorites.

  Rufus lifted his nose to sniff the air, seeming to consider each of the dresses in turn.

  The red was guaranteed to turn heads, and it should make Larry see her in a whole new light.

  Was that what she wanted?

  She held it in front of her and turned to the mirror.

  Did she want to flirt with Larry? Did she want him thinking of her as sexy? She cringed at her reflection and groaned out loud.

  What was she thinking? One of the things she liked best about Larry was that he saw her as a whole person, not simply as a sex object. Why would she do anything to change that?

  Because she wanted him to make a move, she admitted to herself. And that was sadly hypocritical. He was one of the few men in her life who weren’t trying to get her into bed, and she was planning to vamp him with red satin.

  She tossed the red dress on the bed.

  “The blue,” she said to Rufus, holding it up in front of the mirror. “It’s comfortable and classy, and it’ll help me blend.” She gave herself a decisive nod then headed for the bathroom.

  A shower, a blow dry and a judicious makeup application later, she slipped into the dress and clipped some aquamarine earrings in her ears. She paired them up with a plain silver chain and decided that her inexpensive watch was a close-enough match. She was heading for the bedroom closet to pick some shoes, when the phone rang.

  Rufus followed as she padded to the living room.

  “Hello?”

  “Crystal?” It was her sister Amber’s voice, its tone high with excitement.

  “What’s going on?” asked Crystal, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was nearly seven. She didn’t have a lot of time to chat.

  “Zane called,” Amber said breathlessly.

  “Oh, no,” Crystal immediately groaned. Amber’s ex-husband was never good news. When he blew into town, he was either drunk or wanted money, usually both.

  “No, it’s good,” Amber insisted.

  Crystal paused, her voice turning cautious. “What do you mean good?”

  “He’s doing better.”
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  “Amber-”

  “He wants to talk, Crystal. And I want to talk to him. He says he hasn’t had a drink in-”

  “Stop right there.” Crystal plunked down on her couch.

  “All we’re going to do is talk.”

  “You know what happened last time you talked.” The last time Zane showed up, claiming he was a changed man and wanted to try again, he and Amber had partied hard. It took all of two weeks for the weasel to run through Amber’s savings account and break her heart again.

  Amber’s voice hardened. “You never did like him.”

  “It’s not a matter of liking or disliking.” It was a matter of decent versus dysfunctional.

  “It’s not like there are thousands of men out there.”

  “Actually, there are. Hundreds of thousands in North Carolina alone. Many of them good ones.”

  “Zane’s a good one.”

  Crystal sighed. They’d had this argument many times. “You’re beautiful, Amber.”

  “No, you’re beautiful.” Amber nearly wailed. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “I know what Zane’s like.”

  “He’s a decent man, and a good father.”

  “Don’t tell me he wants to see the kids.” Now Crystal was really worried.

  “No,” Amber sniffed, and Crystal could hear the pout in her voice. “Not at the moment. He wants to see me. But I can’t go meet him without a babysitter.”

  Crystal closed her eyes. Bingo. The reason for the call. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? Just for a little while. You and the kids can have mac and cheese for dinner.”

  “I have a-” Okay, it wasn’t really a date. “I’m going out.”

  “Where?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Well, it can’t be more important than my marriage.”

  “You don’t have a marriage. You have a loser of a-”

  “You stop right there.”

  Crystal took a breath.

  “Zane may not be perfect,” said Amber. “But he was my husband, and he is trying.”