Slide Job (Cameron Motorsports) (13 page)

Morgan barely had time to think it before she slid around the next corner, pedaling the gas and brake. Working the groove.

Engines thundered and screamed as they drove. She searched, like every other driver, for the fastest line around the track. The strongest in front led the way. The weakest always fell behind.

She came out of turn four hard on the gas. Morgan could see the number seven of Jim O’Bannon slide up beside and past her, taking over the third position. He almost touched her left front wheel with his right rear one. What a slide job that was.

Smug S.O.B. thought he was so special. She drove the car harder and faster, to the edge of control. Morgan flashed up next to Jim. She sawed at the steering wheel, feeling every bump and rut on the track, bounced around like an orb in a pinball machine. Her car edged closer and closer, working the outside line. The flag stand came into view; she could see the flagman holding down his right hand, fingers spread wide open.

Five laps to go.

Morgan willed the car to go faster, driving deep and hard into turn one. Jim fought her for position, moving to the outside.

Mud worked into dust covered her face shield and seeped through the seal of her helmet. With stinging eyes, she reached up to the side of her helmet and pulled one of the thin, clear layered tear-off sheets away so she could see again. She released the slight piece of film to float into the air, saw smoke up ahead and smelled burnt rubber—the tell tale signs of a used-up right rear tire. Being the largest of the four tires, she knew they had the most pressure on them. Physics always came into play and made them the first to go.

Lightly tapping the brake with her left foot, she moved down the track to avoid Bobby Harms. His car slowed with an uneven wobble and roll that told her he’d broken something besides his tire. She quickly worked the throttle with her right foot and rapidly maneuvered her car around Bobby’s, while his car hobbled into the pits, preventing a caution flag from being thrown.

In less than the blink of an eye, Jim was there. He passed her while she slowed for the injured car. Back on the gas hard without thinking, she knew Jim would beat her into the next corner. To and fro they struggled, changing position every corner. They became more desperate with every lap, each driven to beat the other. Closer and closer they came, wheels nearly touched time after time. Each of them mentally and physically wrestling, sweating, and fighting for the same spot.

Jim passed her again on the inside going into turn three close enough to reach out and touch. Morgan rushed up on the outside and forced her car deep and fast into the corner. She felt her front tire hit a rut as it blazed into turn four.

The front end of the car lurched, throwing itself crazily to the left. She fought for control, nailed the throttle and turned the car to the right. If she could save them both, it had to be now. She turned the wheel and Jim’s right rear tire was there. Next to her left front one.

Too late!
Morgan felt the contact. The tires slipped and rolled, tangled and bit—polar magnets driven together, forced apart.

Her world tilted.

The horizon rose before her, a Van Gogh painting. Vivid green trees of every shade blended like brush strokes. Bright lights and dark sky spun wildly together, held motionless and silent in a clear Tennessee sky.

A
irborne at over one hundred miles per hour is not good
. She felt frozen in a single moment of time, a slight breath, a shift of wind.

Morgan knew she was now along for the ride, an innocent bystander sucked into the forces of the universe. She could feel her stomach lurch, her body strain against the safety harness as her car twirled through the air. She let go of the steering wheel with a fleeting thought not to break her wrists.

A trick of the mind, in slow motion she could see parts flying into the air. In the same moment, propelled fast forward into the vortex, she could see the ground rushing up to meet her. With no time to utter a prayer, she closed her eyes. On impact, the crunch of metal roared in her ears. Annie’s face appeared in her mind’s eye, just before the world went black.

Chapter 14

“Morgan, Morgan, come back to us,” the safety worker commanded. Peering into her face from inches away, he raised her visor. “Wake up Morgan. There’s a fuel leak and we’ve got to get you out of here.”

Closed eyes opened slowly, tried to focus. As Morgan gathered her wits about her, she realized three things at once. The horrible pressure on her shoulders was from her safety belts. She was upside down. Something very cold and wet soaked the back of her drivers’ suit. The burning, tingling sensation on her back and the caustic smell told her it was fuel, again.
Damn.

“Be very still while I cut your belts. Jimmy will hold on to you.”

She felt the panic of every driver. They could tear up their own racecars, but the safety workers best not destroy any of the racer’s equipment trying to save them. Hanging her racecar from the safety fence was somewhere in her job description. She was sure of it.

“No, no, don’t cut them. I can get out,” Morgan said quickly. “Just hold me and I’ll release them.”

Although the methanol would evaporate fairly quickly, there was still a danger of fire. Morgan needed to hurry so she wouldn’t endanger the safety crew. She reached for the quick release near her crotch, and braced her left arm on the roll bar. With two sets of hands holding her in position, the quick pull of the hook turned her loose.

Because she was small, it was no strain for the safety workers to help her slip through the top of the roll cage and out of the car. With the top wing ripped off, it only took a few seconds, since there was nothing in the way to block her exit.

They flipped her over, and her feet hit the dirt with a bone-jarring thud. She bent quickly at the waist, trying to catch her breath as blood rushed to her lower limbs. Feeling light-headed and awkward, she turned to acknowledge the cheering fans with a wave, and headed toward the waiting ambulance.

Once inside, she took off her helmet and gloves, letting the safety crew have their way. They checked her pupils, took her blood pressure, and poked at her from every angle it was possible to poke someone who still had their clothes on.

The ambulance moved slowly around the track, headed to the pit area. The ride seemed to take forever. It was always embarrassing to wind up in the ambulance. A necessary evil, it mortified her. Assuring the safety crew she felt fine and nothing was broken took several precious minutes.

“I’m fine. I just need to see to my car.” Narrowing her eyes, she held open hands out toward the earnest young EMT, waving him off.

“Are you sure nothing hurts?” The safety worker enquired. “That was a pretty rough tumble.” His voice was full of concern for his patient. “You should go to the hospital and have x-rays on your neck and back.”

“Really, I’m okay. Now that the little birds have stopped circling my head, I’m fine. I promise if anything hurts even the slightest bit, I’ll have it looked at.”

Shaking from adrenaline overload, Morgan stepped carefully down the stairs of the ambulance. Her legs were weak, and her hands trembled when she turned to look at her car coming around the corner on the end of the tow truck. Nausea reared its ugly head, making her stomach sick. This was the last thing she needed.

Holding her helmet and gloves, she stood at the end of her pit stall and motioned to the truck driver so he would know where to drop the twisted pile of metal. While the car was unhooked from the tow truck, her crew, along with a few curious fans, gathered around shaking their heads and pointing. Morgan stared at the car, noting the flat tires, bent rims, broken rods, shocks and torn sheet metal. Looking at the mess only increased her frustration. It was so not a good time for this to happen.

Her crew chief was the first to comment. “Damn girl, we might be able to save the seat.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence, Jack.”

“Wow, Morgan, I’ve never seen you flip that many times! This was nothing like when you flipped in California,” chirped Phil with excitement. Eyes wide and a big grin splitting his face, he couldn’t help but shake his head. “Look at your car!”

Phil handed her a bottle of water, fulfilling one of his responsibilities as pit crewmember. He roamed around the broken wreck as she sipped at her water. Around and around he went, touching here and testing there. Whistling at the pieces of broken drive shaft left in the pit stall next to the crinkled top and front wings by the track workers, Phil grinned over at her.

“You’ve got company, don’t look now.”

Morgan closed her eyes and sighed. For a brief moment she had forgotten about the camera crew, a gangrenous extension of her life these days. They were always there, draining joy from every personal and private minute, forcing her to be on guard constantly. It didn’t take long for the spark of injured pride to light the fire of humiliation. Whipping the cloak of anger around her like a shield, Morgan turned to face the camera.

Cheeks blazing, Morgan glared for a moment at the man who stood just behind the cameraman. Tyler. Quickly masking her feelings, she spoke. “Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you.”

With a half smile she shrugged her shoulders and made a rapid turn on her heel. Movement took her swiftly to the hauler to see what could be done about loading the wrinkled remains of the sprint car.

While she looked in the toolbox for a wrench, Morgan glanced up to see Jim O’Bannon striding angrily toward her pit stall. Knowing the cameras were rolling didn’t stop her as she hurried out of the hauler to come toe to toe with him.

“Why don’t you learn how to drive your damn car!” Jim snapped at her, fists held at his sides and clenched tight.

“If you hadn’t been in my way, we’d both be racing right now, moron!” Morgan countered as she stabbed her water bottle in his chest, splashing cold water on both of them. Intimidation didn’t work on her. He was nothing but a little bully with a big attitude.

Omniscient in his scent for trouble, the track owner quickly appeared to grab Jim by the arm, and attempted to lead him away before he could create more difficulties.

Never one to miss a cue, Phil stepped in, forced himself between Morgan and Jim. “Back off, O’Bannon.”

“You better call off your puppy before I hurt him,” Jim growled.

“That’s enough, boys and girls. Jim, you better get back to your own pit stall,” said the track owner. “You know the rules here. Just in case you forgot, let me refresh your memory. No one and I mean
no one
from a competing team is allowed in another pit stall directly after a race. You’ve got to wait at least an hour. Give everybody time to cool down. You got that?”

With one last rude look and gesture, Jim stalked away through the gathered crowd. Morgan watched him go through narrowed eyes.

Pit stall was a true exaggeration for dirt racing. Some racetracks she’d raced at were lucky enough to have a few concrete pads to unload the car on. In this case all the haulers and trailers were lined up side-by-side and row-by-row, like soldiers, camped out in a field of dirt.

Her pit was simply the invisible space around the area where the hauler and car were unloaded. It was clearly recognizable to those in the racing community, just like one’s own personal space. Truly a matter of territory. She was damn tired of Jim invading hers.

“That is going to make great television,” Tyler said to the cameraman, Blake Hardy, with a grin. “What a piece.”

Still furious about wrecking her car, Morgan overheard the last comment Tyler made. Like lightning looking for a place to strike she jumped all over him with both feet.

Striding forward, she put her hand over the camera lens and barked, “Shut that thing off!” Blake backed quickly out of range and raised the camera out of reach, which wasn’t hard considering he was a foot taller than she was. She rounded on Tyler.

“What was that chauvinistic remark you made? Next, I suppose you’re going to make some archaic remark about women drivers.”

Tyler simply stared at her, his gaze serene. He looked at her like one might a kindergartener. Full of patience, hoping the kid will grow out of it.

“No comment from the peanut gallery?” Morgan sneered. Pacing around the other side of the car, she stared at him. How could he look so cool and unaffected? Not a single blond
e hair out of place. Those cool, sky blue eyes looked at her like she had just sprouted two heads.

“Don’t you want to get your shots in as well?” She tried again to bait him. It was hard to fight when the other person wouldn’t cooperate.

The smell of grilling hamburgers and popping corn from the concession stand, combined with the sudden drop of adrenaline, made her stomach pitch and heave. Her arms were starting to throb like a toothache, and her knee felt like someone had taken a bat to it. She must have banged it on something in the car. Her back felt sticky and gross from the fuel spill and the sweat. It was easier to hide in her anger than to admit she was in pain, so she tried once more.

“Or is this too much for you? Are you afraid you might get dirty? Why don’t you take those fancy shoes of yours and your cameraman and go film someone else?” She knew she was being infantile, but couldn’t stop. As she stormed into the hauler, she made sure to deliberately pass by him, shuffle her feet and kick dirt on his shoes.

*

Tyler knew she needed to blow off steam, so he let her roll. She appeared to be okay. His momma had taught him never to poke at angry animals, so he didn’t voice his concern.

Watching the car flip over and over, knowing she was inside, he’d felt his heart stop in his chest. Never in his thirty-five years had he witnessed a crash like that. And she walked away! It amazed him that she was so nonchalant about it. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but his knees were still shaking from the scare.

Remembering their last night together, he knew she acted nonchalant about a lot of things. Well, he couldn’t. Being that afraid of intimacy, as he well knew, told him she hurt soul deep. Curiosity and desire drove him to find out why. Once she’d cooled off, they’d talk. Until then, he’d ride out her tirade.

She was magnificent!
No wonder she was the fan favorite, with hair the color of fine mink, sweaty and plastered to her head in the places it wasn’t curling and sticking up. Her brown eyes blazed amber fire.

He’d looked at the final edits for the last five weeks and was captivated by the prickly brunette as she appeared week after week on film. This was the first time she had really lost her poise in public. Tyler was itching to find out what kept her so tightly wound she wouldn’t drop her guard.

Looking down at his dust-covered shoes, he realized maybe they were a little impractical for a dirt track. He simply hadn’t given it a thought. He always wore Gucci loafers. In his estimation they were the next best thing to being barefoot. Tyler looked around at the pit crew wearing worn sneakers and work boots. Funny, everyone seemed intent on getting the car fixed up. No one looked in his direction. He was sure, if he were to replay the film, every pair of eyes would have been glued to him until the moment he raised his head.

Since patience was his strong suit, he just shrugged his shoulders, nodded his head in the crew’s general direction and walked away. He knew from having three sisters, it was best to let an angry female cool off in her own space.

*

Cooling off wasn’t exactly what Morgan was doing. She sat on a folding chair and contemplated her own stupidity. She knew she had to win this competition. Her family desperately needed the prize money.

Not to mention endorsement money she might be able to make from winning a FASPRO truck ride. Running a racing team full time was an expensive proposition at the best of times. Things were getting tighter and tighter. Messages from bill collectors were saved on her phone. Return calls would have to be placed soon, or there would be lawyers instead.

She would be lucky if she didn’t get kicked off the show this time. Morgan leaned her head back, closed her eyes and groaned. Not about the pain it caused her to tilt her head, or about the fact she and her crew would have to work most of the night to get the back-up car ready.

It was all about the fact she had just completely insulted the show’s producer. Not only insulted, but kicked dirt on the man’s shoes, for goodness sake. Let’s not forget the fact she’d seduced him in his own hotel room.
Damn and double damn.

She knew Jack would drain the battery in the cell phone giving her mother every detail. At least he didn’t know about her sexcapade with Tyler.

Jack walked through the door just as the cabinets in the hauler started to spin.

“Morgan, are you feeling well enough to give us a hand with the car?”

Her stomach lurched as everything spun faster. One hand pressed to her abdomen, one pressed to her mouth, she didn’t have any more hands to stop the pounding in her head. She was going to be sick.

“Call...the ambulance back. I’m...”

*

Tyler took turns with Jack, pacing the hospital emergency room hallway.

“Would both of you sit down! You’re only making it worse.” Stephanie frowned at both of them, standing up. “I’m going to get some coffee. Do you guys want any?”

Jack shook his head. “No thanks, I’ve had enough.”

“Get me some from the doctor’s lounge, it tastes better.”