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  “Make sure you practice safe sex,” Indi said just before the driver closed the door.

  “For God’s sake, Indi,” Todd cried.

  “I could stick around if you like,” the woman said, her lashes flickering.

  Todd stared between the woman and Indi, and as he did so, it hit him hard that he didn’t want a one-night stand with her. Not with any woman. He was tired of the inevitable aftermath that always followed a fling—the woman’s persistent phone calls, the notes left on his motor coach’s door, the woman following him around in the garage. He wanted…he wanted.

  Indi. Or someone like her.

  “If you want, we could go out—”

  Damn it. It was all too much. The stress of the upcoming race. Benjamin. Dealing with Indi.

  He turned to the blonde. “Listen…” But damned if he could remember the woman’s name.

  “Lorraine,” she said.

  “Lorraine, I appreciate you dropping by, but I’m not interested.”

  The SUV’s engine started. Todd resisted the urge to pound the window in frustration.

  “No?”

  He took a step, thought about yanking open the vehicle’s door, but he stayed put, instead. The taillights lit up as Ron put the SUV in gear.

  “No, I don’t,” he told Lorraine.

  Because now that he’d kissed Indi, he knew there was something there, even if she didn’t. The question was—would she let there be more?

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d fallen for his I-know-how-you-feel-and-I-have-a-cute-dog routine.

  “Damn him,” she muttered, the SUV making slow progress through the city streets. The race had ended right as Indi had left the track, meaning her and a few thousand fans tried to make their way back to their hotels. As a result their top speed had yet to exceed that of a tricycle, which meant the dress she wore had started to dry by the time they pulled into the hotel’s parking lot. Unfortunately, it looked worse than before she’d tried to wash the oil away—if such a thing was possible.

  “You sure you don’t want to stop at a dry cleaner?” Ron asked again. He posed the same question when she’d first climbed inside. “Might be one open late.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Well, here you are then,” he said, rolling to a stop a few minutes later.

  “Thank you,” Indi said when he opened the door and offered his hand.

  The lobby was full of race fans. She headed for the elevators, and noticed the full-size cardboard cutout of Todd that sat near the concierge’s desk. She’d spotted it yesterday, but tonight the grin on his face seemed to mock her.

  I kissed you.

  And you liked it.

  No, she hadn’t, she mentally corrected herself. She hadn’t liked it at all.

  Liar.

  She had a message from Linda when she made it back to her room. “Call me when you get in,” Linda’s voice mail message said. “Can’t wait to hear about your evening.”

  Indi shook her head and turned to stare out the window. The depression that consumed her from time to time overcame her, making it difficult to swallow. In the parking lot, people were still straggling in from the track, more than a few cars bearing antennae flags of their favorite drivers. The fans themselves carried bags filled with souvenirs, electronic equipment and seat cushions. They all looked so happy.

  And Benjamin was two rooms away, fighting for his life. Damn it.

  She shrugged off the dress and changed into sweats. Next she called the concierge to see if they offered dry cleaning. As she suspected, they did. Only after seeing the dress off did she dial Linda’s number.

  “How was it?” Linda said without preamble, but the words were whispered.

  “Is Benj asleep?” Indi asked.

  “He is.”

  “How’s he feeling?”

  “Better, if you ask him. But he’s still stuffed up. Guess who we got a call from while you were out?”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Ronald King.”

  “Who’s that?” Indi asked, leaning against the pillows on her bed.

  “Are you kidding? The King name is like racing royalty, or so my son tells me. He’s the son of a famous race car driver, and an M.D. He’s going to look in on Benjamin in the morning.”

  “Wow. How’d that come about?” Indi asked, but she could guess.

  “Todd arranged it,” Linda said. “This guy even called Benji’s oncologist this evening. They’re going to draw blood in the morning and check his counts. I told Benji that if the doctor approves it, and he’s feeling better, he might—and I stressed the might—be able to go to the race tomorrow.”

  Indi sat up. “The race?”

  “He does sound a bit better,” Linda said. “I just worry that his immune system is weakened, but we should know if that’s the case in the morning.”

  “You’re thinking you might actually go to the race.”

  “Yeah. Isn’t that exciting?”

  No. It wasn’t exciting at all. It was a disaster. The whole way home she’d told herself not to be ashamed of herself for letting—yes, letting, because she could have drawn away—Todd kiss her. That even if she had let his lips connect with hers, it didn’t mean anything. It had been a moment of weakness. Stupidity. Utter insanity. But ultimately, it was all behind her because she’d never see Todd again.

  “Indi?” Linda said into the silence that had followed her words.

  “Yeah. I’m here. And it is great news. Very, ah…exciting.”

  “So…tell me about your evening.”

  Indi quickly recapped her night with Todd, but she left out the part about the salad dressing and going back to Todd’s motor coach.

  “Sounds like you had fun,” Linda said.

  “Yeah. It was. He’s a surprisingly nice man.”

  And he has soft lips.

  Argh!

  “Good. Well, Benji will expect a full report first thing in the morning. Call us when you get up.”

  “Will do.”

  But she knew it would be a sleepless night, and an even longer day tomorrow…if they went to the race.

  “Please, God, don’t let us go to the race.”

  BENJAMIN, HOWEVER, LOOKED tons better the next morning. So much so that Indi knew he was on the road to recovery—at least as far as his cold was concerned. Of course, he might have more color in his cheeks because he was excited to hear all about her evening. She told him everything (well, almost everything), glamorizing the event and putting extra emphasis on the two dances she and Todd had shared. Benjamin seemed more than satisfied, although Linda kept giving her pointed looks.

  They got the results of Benjamin’s labs while Indi was there, Dr. King having come by first thing in the morning to take the sample, just as he’d promised.

  “They look good,” Linda said, hanging up the phone.

  Or as good as could be expected given Benjamin’s illness. Those words were unspoken, but Indi could see them in Linda’s eyes.

  “Right on!” Benjamin cried, somehow mustering the energy to spin his wheelchair around. It was a good-news/bad-news situation. She tried to be thrilled—and she was, for Benjamin’s sake—but she wasn’t happy about having to go to the race.

  “What’s the matter?” Linda asked while Benjamin went to the next room to call his father. Linda smiled at her son’s excited squeal. Granted, he still sounded stuffed up, but his delight was obvious.

  “It’s just…” Indi shook her head. “I’m not feeling real well and so I was thinking I might pass on the racetrack.”

  “Something happened between you and Todd, didn’t it?”

  Indi straightened. “Linda. No. For goodness’ sake. Of course not.”

  But Linda knew a lie when she heard one. “What happened?” she cried. “I know something must have because you wouldn’t bail on Benji without good reason.”

  She wasn’t bailing. Okay, maybe she was.

  “Nothing happened,” Indi repeated b
ecause the last thing she needed was Linda getting ideas in her head. “Absolutely nothing. We had a great time.”

  Lies, lies, lies.

  “Oh, no,” Linda said, wagging a finger. “You are not getting off the hook that easily. What happened?”

  “Nothing. And you and Benj don’t need me there tonight,” Indi said. “I’ve already seen the racetrack. You two go.”

  “Indi Wilcox,” Linda said, sounding like the parent she was. “Don’t think for a minute I believe you. And don’t think you’re not going with us. Benjamin expects you there. You know it and I know it. Besides, aren’t you just the least bit curious what this NASCAR thing is all about?”

  “No. I’ve had my fill.”

  “Something did happen,” Linda murmured. “Well, well, well.”

  “Linda—”

  They were interrupted by Benjamin, who came to tell them his dad wanted to speak to Linda.

  But Linda hesitated a moment before she trotted off. There was even a hint of disappointment in her eyes before she went to get the phone.

  Terrific. Now she’d alienated a woman who’d become a friend in recent months.

  “What’s wrong with Mom?” Benjamin asked.

  “She wants me to go to the track with you guys this evening.”

  “You mean you’re not?” Benjamin asked, a look of surprised distress on his face.

  “Benjamin, this is your day. You should do this all on your own. You don’t need me there.”

  “No, but my mom does. She counts on you. You cheer her up. Or did you think I was too young to notice how often she cries?”

  Oh, Jeez.

  “Indi,” he said, his green eyes sad. “I know how sick I am. I hear the doctors talking. I don’t want—” She watched him swallow, his frail hands clutching the arms of his wheelchair. “I don’t want to make her cry now—”

  “Oh, Benjamin,” Indi said over the lump in her throat.

  “And today, maybe if you go out to the track with us, she’ll be able to forget—”

  How sick he was.

  Indi released a breath she’d been unknowingly holding in. “For a little boy, you’re awfully bright.”

  “I skipped a grade when I was younger.”

  “You did?” She hadn’t known that.

  “I used to enjoy school….”

  Before.

  The deep breath she expelled was jagged with pent-up emotion. Everything was before. “All right, kiddo. I’ll go.”

  “You will?” Benjamin said, his pale face filling with color, his eyebrows lifting almost to the brim of his ball cap.

  “I will.” “Awesome.” Yeah. Awesome.

  YELLOW FLAG

  Is It Love or Is It Memorex?

  By Rick Stevenson, Sports Editor

  Recently, I wrote an article about drivers that are reviled, not revered, by NASCAR fans. In it I wondered whether drivers really care if they’re despised by the racing public. Well, after today’s press release, I have to wonder if Todd Peters took my words to heart. The announcement says that he intends to champion his “biggest little fan,” one “Miracles child named Benjamin Koch,” all in the hopes that “his association with the boy will help bolster his spirits as he engages in his battle with cancer.”

  Could this be a more obvious attempt at currying the public’s favor?

  I don’t know if I’m being overly cynical, or if Mr. Peters truly has taken an interest in the child’s welfare. All I know is my stomach turned when I read that all members of the media were welcome to speak to the child prior to the race at Richmond. Why? Why does Mr. Peters feel it’s necessary for the press to meet little Benjamin unless it’s to curry the public’s favor? I suppose I should attend the event and find out.

  But will I go?

  More than likely not. I’ll sit back. If Mr. Peters truly HAS turned over a new leaf, good for him. I’ll be the first to shake his hand when next I see him. Until then, I remain jaded.

  Call me a cynic, but there you have it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “ARE THEY HERE YET?” Todd asked.

  “Yes,” Jen said. “The limo driving them in just cleared the front entrance. Benjamin should be here shortly.”

  Todd nodded. He’d just finished up a signing at a sponsor booth and so his driver, Ron again, piloted the golf cart. He was flying through the two-lane access road that circled the racetrack. Well, he went as fast as a golf cart could go without running over race fans, track officials and other unsuspecting individuals heading in various directions. But the speed was necessary. The last thing they needed was for a fan to spot him. That had happened in the past and it had never been pretty.

  “Where are we meeting them?” Todd asked right as he braced his hands on the golf cart’s dash.

  “What the hell is this crap?” Ron muttered, jerking the wheel to the left and darting around the row of cars to their right. It was a line of vehicles waiting to get inside the infield.

  “Motor home,” Jen said. “It was too much of a hassle to get them an infield parking pass. What with space so limited inside the track. You know how it is.”

  Yeah, he did. Hell, there were times when even he had a hard time getting in.

  “Hang on,” Ron said as he steered the cart up an incline, one with a concrete wall on one side, the grandstands to their right casting a gray-brown shadow over them. The golf cart’s engine strained as they made the climb.

  Same track. Different day.

  It was a thought he’d had more than once this past season. Nothing had perked him up. Nothing except dating Kristen. But that was over now. She and Mathew were a couple. And he was happy for them. It was just so damn monotonous. About the most exciting thing in his life right now was the prospect of making the Chase.

  And kissing Indi.

  “Here we are,” Ron said, turning the wheel left. The driver/owner gate loomed ahead.

  “What the hell is that?” Todd cried immediately, because even from outside the lot he could see the news vans and media personnel milling around the front of his bus.

  “Those are the reporters I invited,” Jen said, smiling proudly.

  “Reporters.” Ah, hell. “Jen, I don’t want the media involved in this.”

  “Why not?” she asked, brows raised.

  “Because this is private. It’s between me and Benjamin, not the whole world.”

  Jen was shaking her head. “Todd, I don’t think I need to tell you that you’re not exactly loved by race fans. If you do happen to make the Chase, we could use a story like this. Something that makes people feel warm and fuzzy instead of wanting to throw beer bottles at you. Unless you like negative press?”

  “I don’t give a damn what the fans think of me,” Todd all but growled, although he was more irritated at Jen for using the word might again. He would make the Chase for the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup. “Did you talk this over with Mrs. Koch?”

  “Of course. She was fine with it—”

  “Hold on,” Ron said. Todd’s butt slid forward as Ron hit the brakes.

  “I’m not happy about this,” Todd muttered. He might have a bad reputation thanks to previous run-ins with the press, but this was no way to repair the damage.

  “I’m sorry,” Jen muttered. “I just thought—”

  Todd lifted a hand at the same time he jumped out of the cart. “Hey, everybody,” he called. “There’s been a mistake—” But his words that were cut off by the arrival of a car.

  “Is that them?” one of the cameramen asked, and it was obvious that it was. A limo pulled to a stop near the side of a news van, one of about five that lined the narrow road. That ought to make his neighbors happy.

  “Todd, did you arrange for the limo?” someone from a local affiliate asked.

  “When did you meet…Benjamin, is it?” one of the print reporters asked.

  “What does Benjamin think of NASCAR?” someone else asked.

  Todd resisted the urge to groan. Indi was the first to get out of the limo,
and he could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t happy.

  “Guys,” Todd said, holding up his hands. “I really wasn’t expecting y’all to be here. Is there any way you can maybe give Benjamin and me some time alone?”

  “Is that him?” one of the national TV broadcasters asked. “Is that little Benjamin?”

  Camera’s swung toward the limo.

  Ah, hell.

  “Hi, everybody,” Benjamin said right as his mom helped him into the wheelchair the limo driver had opened for them.

  “Are you Mrs. Koch?” one of the reporters asked Indi after she made her way through the myriad of cables.

  “No. I work for Miracles.”

  “Terrific,” the guy said. “I’m Brad, from KRVR. We’re one of Kentucky’s largest radio stations and I’m sure our listeners would love your thoughts on Todd championing little Benjamin there.”

  “Oh, I’ll give you my thoughts,” Indi said. “But why don’t we get Benjamin inside first. He hasn’t been feeling well.”

  “Sure, sure,” the guy said, retreating.

  Indi headed right for Todd. “You know,” she said in a low voice, “I really hoped I was wrong about you, but exploiting your relationship with Benjamin has to be one of the most hedonistic forms of self-promotion I’ve ever encountered.”

  “Indi. No. I didn’t have a thing to do with—”

  But she walked away, and Todd didn’t have the chance to call the whole thing off because by now the reporters swarmed Benjamin. And bless the little kid’s heart, he seemed to be enjoying himself. He had a grin on his face as wide as an ocean in a world atlas.

  “She’ll get over it,” Mrs. Koch said, stopping by Todd’s side.

  Todd met the woman’s gaze. “Something tells me it won’t be in this lifetime,” he said.

  That feeling seemed to be reinforced when he opened his bus’s front door and Lex all but bounded out, nearly tumbling ass over teakettle during his descent because he was so excited to have company. The dog headed straight for Benjamin’s wheelchair, his stubby little body somehow managing to stretch to the boy’s height. The media snapped photos, and Todd could see the derision in Indi’s eyes.