Winning It All (24 page)

Isabel stopped at the door. “With or without cute gift bags, bargains and chocolate cupcakes, we’re not going to completely eliminate personal appearances over the next few weeks, especially if Cade climbs into the top spot.”

“I know.”

“Why don’t we let Parker help? Maybe he can throw one of those fancy, cross-sponsor parties, Cade can breeze in for an hour, and everybody will be happy.”

“That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

She started to turn away, then glanced back. “With a huge sense of déjà vu, I’ll say I’m here if you want to talk.”

“Déjà vu about what?”

“Barely a year ago, Rachel and Parker didn’t know what the hell to do about being in love either, but I helped clue them in.”

Ignoring the way his heart rate sped up, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Who says I’m in love? In fact, I don’t really believe in love.”

Her eyes reflecting sympathy, she patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Why?”

“Repressing your feelings and living in denial never works. Trust me.”

I’m fine!
he wanted to shout after her as she left his office.

He stomped to his desk. He was terrific, in fact. Everything was great between him and Darcy. They were happy. Why couldn’t everybody let them enjoy each other? Not only did they not need commitment and flowery speeches about tingly emotions, they didn’t
want
them.

Irritated, he went back to work. He called Parker, who was spending the day at his office in Manhattan, and set up details for a multiple-sponsor event. The smooth style, the outright class that was so much a part of his brother-in-law had intimidated him in the past, but never more so than thinking about his family’s…What was it they’d really expressed?

Pity, he decided. They pitied him for not climbing on the happily-ever-after train they’d all boarded.

He’d tried that route, and it had been a flaming disaster. While he could say he’d simply picked the wrong girl, nobody would acknowledge Mom was the wrong girl, and look what had happened to his parents.

Of its own accord, the framed picture of the win at Indy drew his gaze. It would hang there for years, and he’d known that when he’d asked Darcy to pose beside him. Had he unconsciously been making a commitment to the future with her?

No. Ridiculous. It was just an impulse.

He wasn’t repressing or in denial about his feelings. What a crock.

His annoyance never abated. He snapped at people all afternoon and finally shut the door to his office, refusing to take calls.

When a brisk knock sounded on his door just after six, long after the office staff had gone home, he stormed across his office and flung open the door. “Look, I told you—”

“Hi,” Darcy said.

“Hey.” Trying to put aside his irritation, he stepped back and waved her inside.

When he closed the door behind them, she snagged his hand and placed it around her waist, then she looped her arms around his neck. “Long day?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She hugged him tight, and he closed his eyes, grateful for her touch. “The Chase. Cade. Strategy meeting. Schedule shuffling. I’m not even going to ask. What do you want for dinner?”

“Are you crazy about me?”

Leaning back, she had a slight smile on her face, though she also looked a little puzzled. “Sure.”

“Would you do anything for me?”

“Of course.”

She didn’t even hesitate.
And, for some reason, he felt like a jerk. But he’d do anything for her, wouldn’t he?

Even love her? his conscience—which mysteriously spoke in Isabel’s voice—asked.

Maybe not. He seemed to be out of stock on love.

“Dinner, Mr. Garrison,” Darcy said.

“I don’t know—cook, takeout or go out?”

“You seem to be in a pretty impatient, and—can I add?—strange mood.” She released him and crossed to the phone. “How about pizza?”

His lousy mood, which had risen the moment he’d seen her, jumped even higher. “Pizza?”

“Thin, whole-wheat crust, all organic toppings, which will mostly be vegetables.”

He barely resisted the urge to say
yuck.
“How about a side of spaghetti?”

She sighed, but only a little, and picked up the receiver.

“And I want a chocolate cupcake for dessert.”

A
S
D
ARCY PULLED
a batch of cupcakes out of the oven at Bryan’s house, she wondered where Kick-Butt Darcy had gone and what alien race had replaced her with Sappy Darcy.

“At this rate, he’s going to put the weight back on before the end of the season,” she muttered.

But then he’ll need you, won’t he?

She turned away—from the stove and her conscience. What more did she want? They were a declared, monogamous couple. They practically lived together. He gave her his full attention when they were alone, and she often caught him staring at her when they were surrounded by other people. He spent as much time with her as possible, even amid the chaos of the Chase, and Cade finishing only margi
nally the last few weeks, barely hanging on to third in points, while Chance had won the last two races in a row and solidified his hold on the top spot.

This weekend the races were both close to home and taking place Friday and Saturday nights. The teams would have a rare Sunday off—the only one, in fact. She knew Bryan couldn’t resist going down to the shop for at least a little while that day, but he’d promised they’d spend the afternoon and evening together, doing whatever she wanted.

With that kind of relationship, what could her heart do but simply fall a little harder every day?

The secret of her feelings, the love that she felt glowed from every pore, remained unspoken. They didn’t talk about the future. They didn’t discuss what their relationship meant except on the most superficial of terms.

She was as happy as she’d ever been in her life, but when she stood still, when she had a few moments of quiet reflection, she swore she heard a clock ticking.

When the doorbell rang, she was in the process of setting the cupcakes on a cooling rack. She called Bryan’s name, but then heard the shower running.

She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, then walked down the hall toward the front door. They were due to leave for the Concord track to cheer on GRI’s NASCAR Nationwide Series team any minute along with Cade and Isabel, who lived down the street
from Bryan, but they usually just gave a courtesy knock, then walked right in.

A man in a blue jacket and khaki pants stood on the porch, holding an envelope and clipboard. “Bryan Garrison?”

“He’s not available right now. Can I help you?”

“Are you…” he consulted his clipboard “…Darcy Butler?”

“Yes, but—”

“Sign here, please.”

He handed her the clipboard, which she signed, noting the name at the top—Lakeside Messenger Service.

Confused, she handed back the board, and he handed her a sealed envelope made of fine and weighted cream-colored paper. “I—” She glanced up at him, knowing she needed to give him a tip. “Let me get my purse.”

“The gratuity’s included, ma’am.” He nodded. “Have a nice evening.”

As he turned away, she shut the door and stared at the envelope. Both her and Bryan’s names were printed in elegant, hand-lettered calligraphy. It was sealed at the back with a gold label.

Should they open it together? Who could the note be from? And hand-delivered on a Friday afternoon? That must have cost somebody a mint.

She wandered up the stairs toward Bryan’s bedroom. As she walked through the door, he strolled out
of the bathroom. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark hair turned glossy black, his broad chest scattered with drops of water, she halted and stared, the envelope forgotten.

Wow.
Swallowing, she let her gaze drift down his body.

Would he always stop her in her tracks this way? Would she always have the privilege of holding him against her? Would there be an
always
at all?

“Darcy?” he said, his voice deep, familiar and arousing.

She continued staring at his chest. “Uh-huh?”

“Do you need something?”

She watched a droplet of water roll down his shoulder. Definitely. “Ah, well…”

“Did you burn the cupcakes?”

She shook her head.

“What’s that in your hand?”

“Ah…” She glanced at her hand, blinking without recognition at the envelope she held.

He moved toward her, laid his finger beneath her chin, tipping her face up for his kiss. “I invited you into the shower with me, if you remember. You said you’d burn the cupcakes.”

She laid her hand against his warm, bare chest. She
really
hoped there was an always.

That murky, scary future she’d avoided facing for so long was taking shape, and Bryan Garrison was standing right in the center.

With a great deal of will, she shook aside that image and held up the envelope. “This came by messenger.”

He took the envelope in one hand, then grasped her hand and led her over to the bed, where they sat side by side. It wasn’t the bed he’d shared with his ex, she thought vaguely as he broke the seal. The rest of the immaculately decorated house was pretty much the same as when she’d lived here, but he’d told her he’d completely refurnished the bedroom with darkly stained oak, a navy bedspread and cool gray walls. She wasn’t sure why that mattered, but it did.

Inside the envelope was an engraved card.

Mitch Garrison requests your presence for a late dinner on board Victory Lane. Lake Norman Marina. 10:00 p.m. this evening. Casual dress.

Bryan looked at her. “What’s going on?”

“I have no idea. It came by a hand-delivered messenger, so I guess it’s pretty important. A celebration for Cade maybe?”

“
Before
he’s won the championship? And the night before an important race?” Bryan shook his head. “That’s not like Dad.”

As another knock on the front door sounded, Darcy rose. “Who could
that
be?”

“I’ll get dressed and meet you down there,” Bryan said as he moved toward his closet.

Before Darcy got halfway down the stairs she heard Cade’s voice. “Everybody decent?”

“Coming!” she called. When she reached the downstairs hallway, she rounded the corner and saw Cade and Isabel. “Hey, Bryan’s getting dressed.”

Cade kissed her cheek, then immediately darted toward the kitchen. “Do I smell cupcakes?”

“I haven’t iced them yet,” Darcy called after him.

“Who cares?”

Isabel cast an affectionately exasperated look after her husband. “Men, they’re always thinking with their stomachs.” She glanced back at Darcy, her deep brown eyes sharp, as always. “We didn’t interrupt anything, did we?”

Darcy wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to Isabel’s direct, uncensored conversations, yet she appreciated them at the same time. “No. I’m baking, and he’s…showering.”

“Uh-huh.”

Alone with a woman who not only understood the magnetism of the Garrison men, but had fallen hard for one of them, Darcy walked into the living room and sank into one of the overstuffed chairs. “Do you ever get used to them? Cade, for you, of course. But Garrison men in general?”

Isabel dropped onto the sofa. “Nope.”

“That’s not encouraging.”

“It helps if you admit you love him, can’t live without him. Hard, I know, but it helps.”

“Hard for you?”

“Oh, yeah.” But she smiled when she said it.

Isabel was so strong and independent-minded. Tough, and some would say distant. But Darcy had seen her pacing for her husband and his team. She’d seen her compassion for sick kids whose greatest desire was to meet and talk to Cade. She’d seen her appreciation for his fans, when she’d delivered water to lines of people waiting in the hot sun at an autograph session. When she’d given private tours through the GRI shops to those who’d shown up the night before Fan Fest activities, wanting only to be the first in line the next morning.

“I’m working on admitting it,” Darcy said finally. “I really am.”

Cade walked into the room, a half-eaten cupcake in his hand. “What’s this invitation to dinner from Dad? Is he crazy? We’ll miss the end of the race.”

Darcy blinked. “You got one, too?”

“Yep,” Cade said, sinking onto the sofa beside his wife. “And so did Rachel and Parker. Isabel called them on the way here.” He extended the cupcake toward Isabel. “You want a bite, honey?”

“No. I’d rather—”

“Why am I always the last one to get a cupcake?” Bryan asked as he appeared in the room, dressed in black pants and a white button-down shirt with the GRI logo stitched over one pocket in red.