No Holding Back (1 of 2 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
No Holding Back by Liz and Etherington Allison. Copyright 2007 by Liz Allison and Wendy Etherington.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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NO HOLDING BACK

Liz Allison & Wendy Etherington

This book is dedicated to our husbands, Ryan and Keith, who keep our engines fired every day.


CHAPTER ONE

“CADE, JOHN HEPNER’S ON the phone!”

Involuntarily, Cade Garrison’s hand jerked, causing his Sharpie marker to smear a jet-black line across the publicity photo he was autographing. Great. NASCAR’s chief cop calling? “I haven’t done anything,” he called back to his sister.

Lately, anyway.

“He didn’t say you did. I think he wants to congratulate you on Saturday’s win.”

Wary, Cade capped the marker and walked across his office, where he was spending the afternoon autographing fan memorabilia. He peeked around the edge of the door, eyeing his sister, Rachel, at her desk as she typed on her PC. “You sure?”

“I think,” she said, flicking him an annoyed glance.

“Mmm.” He didn’t think he could take seeing his name attached to a violation of NASCAR rule 12-4-A (actions detrimental to stock car racing) or hear the “you need us a lot more than we need you” speech again. It had been rumored that a continuous betting pool circulated the racing body’s offices in both Daytona Beach and Charlotte, with everyone plotting and profiting on the next time he’d face disciplinary action.

“Don’t be such a chicken,” Rachel said. “What can he do to you that he hasn’t done already?”

“I’m not chicken.” He’d marched back across the office and had picked up the phone before he realized she’d easily goaded him into answering. What had ever possessed him to hire his sister as his manager?

She’s saved your butt a million times and still loves you.

Oh, yeah. There was that.

“John, how are you?” he said into the phone with false cheer.

“I’m good, Cade. I just wanted to congratulate you on your big win Saturday.”

Unaware until that moment that he’d been holding his breath, Cade dropped into a chair with a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. It was a team effort.”

“And the press conference went well, I hear.”

“You were there, sir?” Cade asked, his voice rising.

“No, but I heard.”

Of course he had. A driver couldn’t sneeze in the garage without somebody noticing it, and—if the driver was him, anyway—reporting it. He used to laugh off the scrutiny, but that was before his fall from grace. In the aftermath, he was all too aware of every move, gesture and comment he made. “My sponsor was pleased,” he said neutrally.

“And we all know how important that is, don’t we?”

Refusing to give in to the disappointment that flowed through him, he rolled his shoulder. He’d made a mistake. One he’d definitely paid for. “Yes, sir.”

“Good luck at Nashville.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Almost immediately after he set the receiver in the cradle, and before he could wipe the bead of sweat rolling down his face, his sister called to him again. “Some woman named Mandy is on the phone!”

“Who’s Mandy?”

“Brunette. Five-seven, a curvy one-fifteen.”

He darted to the doorway and glanced around the meticulously neat office. No curvy brunette. Other than his sister, anyway. “She’s here or on the phone?”

“Phone.”

“Then how do you know what she looks like? I don’t even know who she is.”

“Neither did I, so I asked.”

“And she told you... ”

“Brunette. Five-seven, a curvy one-fifteen.”

He searched his memory for Saturday at Dover. After his amazing win—his first in eighteen months—he’d slid out of his only slightly banged-up Go! Energy Drink Chevrolet, stood on the window frame and was showered with soda and Busch beer by his team. TV interviews, hug from Dad, hug from Rachel and crew chief, more beer, some of which might have reached his mouth. Press conferences one and two followed, then some champagne...

Back to his motor coach in the driver’s compound. Remote control car racing? More champagne? The details were fuzzy for some reason.

He’d woken up with a headache on Sunday morning—how had that happened? He’d bummed around his motor coach, gone to the garage, then watched the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series race from the Budweiser suite. Everybody was full of congratulations, and with the beer company being the sponsor of the entire series he raced for, he’d had to toast them with a bottle of Busch beer. Or two. But surely he’d switched to ginger ale at some point.

“I’m drawing a blank,” he said finally.

“Your brain’s just having a hard time seeing through all the champagne bubbles.” She paused, her fingers stilling on the keyboard. “Or maybe it’s the suds.”

“Cute. I talked to a lot of people this weekend, but a curvy brunette wasn’t one of them. Though, there might have been a blonde.... ”

“I thought you’d sworn off women after that weird chick chased your golf cart through the infield at Charlotte.”

He waved his hand. “That was last week, Rach.”

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