One in a Million Read Free

woman’s wrist.
    â€œBuy you a drink later?” the blonde asked. “There’s a country music bar in town.”
    His instinctive response was to say, Sure. He needed to take his mind off his worries. And he liked the blonde, liked her wide smile and her sassy tone.
    He glanced up, and saw Gil in the garage entrance. Watching with unconcealed irritation. At the same moment, someone grabbed Eli’s arm and tugged, which was overstepping the boundary.
    He had to lower his gaze to find the culprit: a slight woman, a girl really—she looked about eighteen with a track-logoed ball cap jammed on her head.
    â€œExcuse me,” he said coolly, with a pointed stare at her hand, still on his arm.
    â€œOh, thank goodness,” she said.
    â€œUh, excuse me?” he said again, confused now.
    â€œI’ve been trying to get your attention for the past two minutes. I have a message for you.”
    That old chestnut. Eli would’ve smiled if he hadn’t beenconscious of Gil’s disapproval. The first few occasions he’d heard that line, he’d fallen for it. Even let a woman into his motor home once, on the mistaken assumption that if she’d found her way into the lot she must be legit.
    â€œTell it to my secretary,” he advised his newest admirer.
    The blonde in the red T-shirt giggled.
    To Eli’s annoyance, Ball Cap Girl didn’t let go. “You think I’m a fan? One of them? ” she asked, astonished, lifting her chin toward the other women.
    Now that she mentioned it…she was like a sparrow among swans in her loose-fitting light gray and black shirt, again bearing the track logo, and her dark pants. She stood too close for Eli to see her feet, but anyone that short must be wearing sneakers, not heels.
    â€œMr. Ward, I work here,” she explained. “Souvenir shop assistant, track tour guide and race-weekend gofer. The message is from Bob Coffman.”
    Coffman was the president of the track here at Bristol. Eli registered the name badge pinned to her chest. Jennifer. The colorless clothing must be her uniform.
    â€œBob’s a great guy,” Eli said.
    Her mouth, which had been pursed with anxiety, relaxed. Turned out she had nice-shaped lips. “He’s a wonderful boss,” she agreed as she released his arm. “If we could just step aside from your, uh, friends for a moment, I’ll pass on the message.”
    With the conversation taking an unfamiliar turn, the other women eased back; now was the time to make a break for the hauler.
    â€œWalk with me,” Eli ordered Jennifer.
    Her eyebrows, darker than the brown hair peeking out from beneath her ball cap, drew together over her petite nose in distress. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ward, I didn’t make myselfclear. When I said I’m a race-weekend gofer, I meant for Bob. I’m very busy.”
    â€œAnd I’m going this way, so if you want me to hear that message…” Eli grasped her elbow and maneuvered the two of them through the crowd of fans, who parted obligingly.
    Despite the noise around him, he heard Jennifer’s hiss of alarm.
    â€œWe’re only going to the hauler,” he reassured her, amused. She obviously took her gofering seriously.
    Outside, the drizzle had stopped and sunlight had broken through the gray cloud, piercing in its brilliance. More women converged on Eli, but when they saw him with the track girl—Jennifer—they fell back.
    With Eli ignoring Jennifer’s protests about how busy she was, they made it to the hauler in record time. Someone should tell her that slow Tennessee drawl wasn’t about to hold up a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series driver. It might, on the other hand, warm up a cup of coffee…
    Where did that come from? Eli gave his head a sharp shake. They’d reached the hauler; the automatic door swished open, then closed behind them, cocooning them in silence.
    â€œOkay,” Eli said, still