Tentative release early 2014
Still stinging a year after being dumped by her boyfriend for a fast-talking, black-clad, high-heeled New York writer, Beth Lawrence decides to leave her calm, predictable, obviously boring life behind and try life in the fast lane for awhile.
Popular race car driver Eric Davis is just the man to take her for a few laps around the track.
She just wants some laughs with no commitment, but can she keep from falling in love with a man with an unexpected gentle side? Or will her heart hit the wall at two hundred miles an hour?
Popular race car driver Eric Davis is just the man to take her for a few laps around the track.
She just wants some laughs with no commitment, but can she keep from falling in love with a man with an unexpected gentle side? Or will her heart hit the wall at two hundred miles an hour?
Excerpt from My Spare Lady
Chapter One
There is no doubt about precisely when folks began racing each other in automobiles. It was the day they built the second automobile. (Richard Petty)
BETH LAWRENCE TAPPED HER BRAKES, her heart revving as her new car slowed toward the speed limit. “Oh, please, please, please don’t turn on your lights.”
Her cousin, Angie O’Brien, twisted in her seat to look back, her long black hair blowing in the convertible’s breeze. “You already snagged a highway patrolman?”
“It’s not me he’s after. He’s after somebody else.” It could be true. She couldn’t be the only person in the state of California speeding today.
“Maybe he’s not, but the last one was. Why’d you choose fire-engine red, anyway? Everybody knows red cars get the most tickets.” Angie tapped a manicured fire-engine red nail, which she used to collect men rather than tickets, against the center console. “Like you need help in that department.”
“Shhh.” When Beth risked a glance in her rear-view mirror, her own brunette hair too short now to get in her eyes in the wind. Actually, her hair wasn’t even brunette with just a hint of red any more. She’d had it dyed bright red when she had it cut this morning. She practically glowed.
No lights, thank heavens, but her heart continued to pound as the highway patrol car pulled in behind her. “Oh, no, no, no, please not again. I can’t afford another ticket. I still have to get through three more months without one.”
When the lights started flashing, Beth groaned and pulled her brand new ticket-catching fire-engine red Mustang to the side of Freeway-99 north of Sacramento. Just five more miles and she’d be on the exit to Aspen Grove. At least he hadn’t used his siren.
“Oh, your mother is going to love hearing about this,” Angie teased. “She warned you these changes would bring you no good, not thirty minutes ago.”
“Not one word to anyone.” Beth glared at her cousin. “Or I’ll tell your brother who bashed the fender on his Jeep.”
“Sheesh. Okay. Fine. I won’t tell.” Angie settled her voluptuous curves back into the passenger seat. “I really think you should be nicer to me on my birthday, though.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, Beth turned to watch the patrolman approach in her side mirror. “I don’t believe this.”
“I do. Because you have a lead foot. But this is a record, even for you. You’ve had this new car for what? Three hours?” Angie laughed and shrugged. “Just flirt with the guy. That’s how I get out of my tickets.”
“That might be a great idea in racecar-land, but not in real life. I’m just going to be nice, keep as quiet as I can, and hope he writes me down for fewer miles over the speed limit so I can still keep my license.”
Good thing the Mustang’s top was retracted, or Beth would have had an awkward time getting the window down with her own newly manicured nails with the orange-red tips. But at least they matched her new dress and shoes. If only her ticket were red, too, then everything could match. Her finances would be in the red, too, after her insurance company got through raising her rates again. Wait, that wouldn’t be the problem; she’d spend a fortune on cabs unless her mother drove her everywhere, because she probably would lose her license.
The July sun beat down on her head. Without the wind from driving, she was heating up fast. Her heart pumping blood at twice the normal speed didn’t help any, either.
The patrolman walked up beside the car and she looked up at him. A long way up. He was a big man, six-foot-something, heavily muscled, dark moustache and shades, and in his early thirties, she’d guess. Good-looking if only he was smiling, she’d bet. And ticked off at her.
She’d wanted to attract male attention when she’d made the changes, but not male highway patrolmen, especially not ones wearing a wedding ring.
With a frown, he stood there quietly for a moment, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. His deep voice rumbled when he finally asked, “Do you know how fast you were going, miss?”
Still not believing she’d been pulled over again, Beth shook her head and admitted meekly, “No, sir. I lost track for a moment.”
“You were going eighty-two in a sixty-five zone.” He shook his head as if disappointed in her. “In fact, you were driving like a regular bat out of—”
“Heck!” Beth blurted out and could have kicked herself. Who cared if he swore at this moment, if it would keep her from getting a ticket. Not that there was anything that could keep her from getting a ticket with eighty-two in a sixty-five zone. Especially not flirting, as Angie had suggested. Ring or no ring.
The patrolman nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”
“Officer, she couldn’t help it. She just got this cool car and I begged her to take me for a ride.”
Oh. Just. Great.
Surprised, the officer peered across at Angie, who continued blathering. “I’m like the biggest fan ever of NASCAR racing and I asked her to show me what her new car could do. I’m really, really sorry, sir.”
When Angie actually batted her eyelashes at the guy, Beth shook her head.
The officer’s frown deepened. “Do you want a ticket, also, young lady?”
“Oh, no,” said Angie, folding her arms innocently. “Definitely not.”
“Good. Then I’ll address myself to the driver.” Leaning over a bit, he turned back to Beth, now close enough she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Old Spice. Her father’s favorite. “May I see your license, please?”
“Yes, sir.” Beth’s stomach churned as she handed it to him.
This was usually the part where they took the license, glanced at it, walked back to their car, and came back with a ticket and a story about how they could have charged her with seventeen miles over the speed limit, but because they were such nice guys they’d only put down ten.
He did glance at it, but then he stopped and studied it. He looked back at Beth. Back to the picture on the license. To Beth’s face.
Warmth spread up to her cheeks. She knew what was coming. She’d already gotten blasted by her family. Why not the law?
He lifted his sunglasses and studied her again. His frown deepened, if that were possible. “You don’t look like this photo.”
“That’s because she just went crazy and gave herself a makeover, officer. It’s all James Jackson’s fault, though.” Angie just couldn’t stay quiet, and she spat out the name. “You should have seen the fit her mother threw when she saw the short spiky hair. And the tight dress. So of course she doesn’t look like the photo. She’s a brand new woman. Created today.”
Beth could feel her face reddening.
“Is that right?” The barest hint of amusement tinged the officer’s question.
He continued to stare at Beth, so she stammered, “Yes, sir. I decided I needed a change.” Oh, boy, had she ever. She’d changed everything, from the hair on her head to the new stilettos on her feet to the car she drove.
He dropped his sunglasses back over his eyes. “And did your mother throw a fit?”
“Oh, yes.” Beth nodded, remembering said fit vividly. She’d known everyone would be shocked when she made this drastic of a change, but whoa, mama, the you-know-what had really hit the fan. “She certainly did.”
“You wouldn’t have believed it, Officer. Aunt Lucille kept saying, ‘You cut your beautiful waist-length hair.’” Angie chuckled as she remembered. “And you’d think my parents would be used to tight clothing with me around, but they put in their two cents’ worth, too. She got it from everyone but me.”
Beth rolled her eyes and looked straight ahead through the windshield. Go to your happy place.
“She was going for a racier look, officer, and vroom, vroom, she nailed it.” Angie sat back with a satisfied sigh. “No more boring, conservative Beth Lawrence. She’s gone forever.”
“Are you through revealing every last detail of my personal life?” Beth glared at Angie. “He doesn’t want to hear this.”
A sound escaped the officer’s lips. A sound suspiciously like a repressed chuckle. Sure, it was easy for him to laugh. He wasn’t the one who’d had to walk into the family party or the one who was about to get the ticket that could give him enough points to have his license taken away.
She looked at him and scowled.
It didn’t seem to bother him. “You just bought this car today?”
She sighed. “Three hours ago.”
“Pay full price for a new car?”
“I was making a change, not going insane. I bought it used. But it looks brand new.”
He nodded appreciatively. “It certainly does.”
“She used her wedding fund, officer. She didn’t need it any more because exactly one year ago tomorrow James Jackson told her they needed to date other people, and she’s not planning on getting married any time soon, so she blew the whole bundle on this car. It would have been quite the wedding, I’m telling you.”
James Jackson was the man Beth feared she might never get over, but she certainly didn’t want this officer to know that. Exasperated, Beth said, “Will you please stop saying things, Angie?”
“No, please, do go on,” said the officer. “This is getting interesting.”
“You tell him, Beth. Like you told me.” Angie may have been talking to Beth, but she was still batting her eyelashes at the patrolman. “It’s been a year since James dumped you for that New York woman and you decided to make a total change in your life and you’re going to date a lot of different men and not get caught up with just one again. And you’re never, ever going to let a man dump you again.”
The patrolman looked back at Beth. “Having a tough week?” His voice was gentler now.
She blinked back tears. She’d be darned if she’d cry over James Jackson ever again. Or the ticket she was about to get, either. “Yes, sir.”
He sighed and handed back her license. “Slow it down, sister. The next officer might not be as nice as I am.”
As he walked away, she heard him mutter, “Or as gullible.”
There is no doubt about precisely when folks began racing each other in automobiles. It was the day they built the second automobile. (Richard Petty)
BETH LAWRENCE TAPPED HER BRAKES, her heart revving as her new car slowed toward the speed limit. “Oh, please, please, please don’t turn on your lights.”
Her cousin, Angie O’Brien, twisted in her seat to look back, her long black hair blowing in the convertible’s breeze. “You already snagged a highway patrolman?”
“It’s not me he’s after. He’s after somebody else.” It could be true. She couldn’t be the only person in the state of California speeding today.
“Maybe he’s not, but the last one was. Why’d you choose fire-engine red, anyway? Everybody knows red cars get the most tickets.” Angie tapped a manicured fire-engine red nail, which she used to collect men rather than tickets, against the center console. “Like you need help in that department.”
“Shhh.” When Beth risked a glance in her rear-view mirror, her own brunette hair too short now to get in her eyes in the wind. Actually, her hair wasn’t even brunette with just a hint of red any more. She’d had it dyed bright red when she had it cut this morning. She practically glowed.
No lights, thank heavens, but her heart continued to pound as the highway patrol car pulled in behind her. “Oh, no, no, no, please not again. I can’t afford another ticket. I still have to get through three more months without one.”
When the lights started flashing, Beth groaned and pulled her brand new ticket-catching fire-engine red Mustang to the side of Freeway-99 north of Sacramento. Just five more miles and she’d be on the exit to Aspen Grove. At least he hadn’t used his siren.
“Oh, your mother is going to love hearing about this,” Angie teased. “She warned you these changes would bring you no good, not thirty minutes ago.”
“Not one word to anyone.” Beth glared at her cousin. “Or I’ll tell your brother who bashed the fender on his Jeep.”
“Sheesh. Okay. Fine. I won’t tell.” Angie settled her voluptuous curves back into the passenger seat. “I really think you should be nicer to me on my birthday, though.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, Beth turned to watch the patrolman approach in her side mirror. “I don’t believe this.”
“I do. Because you have a lead foot. But this is a record, even for you. You’ve had this new car for what? Three hours?” Angie laughed and shrugged. “Just flirt with the guy. That’s how I get out of my tickets.”
“That might be a great idea in racecar-land, but not in real life. I’m just going to be nice, keep as quiet as I can, and hope he writes me down for fewer miles over the speed limit so I can still keep my license.”
Good thing the Mustang’s top was retracted, or Beth would have had an awkward time getting the window down with her own newly manicured nails with the orange-red tips. But at least they matched her new dress and shoes. If only her ticket were red, too, then everything could match. Her finances would be in the red, too, after her insurance company got through raising her rates again. Wait, that wouldn’t be the problem; she’d spend a fortune on cabs unless her mother drove her everywhere, because she probably would lose her license.
The July sun beat down on her head. Without the wind from driving, she was heating up fast. Her heart pumping blood at twice the normal speed didn’t help any, either.
The patrolman walked up beside the car and she looked up at him. A long way up. He was a big man, six-foot-something, heavily muscled, dark moustache and shades, and in his early thirties, she’d guess. Good-looking if only he was smiling, she’d bet. And ticked off at her.
She’d wanted to attract male attention when she’d made the changes, but not male highway patrolmen, especially not ones wearing a wedding ring.
With a frown, he stood there quietly for a moment, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. His deep voice rumbled when he finally asked, “Do you know how fast you were going, miss?”
Still not believing she’d been pulled over again, Beth shook her head and admitted meekly, “No, sir. I lost track for a moment.”
“You were going eighty-two in a sixty-five zone.” He shook his head as if disappointed in her. “In fact, you were driving like a regular bat out of—”
“Heck!” Beth blurted out and could have kicked herself. Who cared if he swore at this moment, if it would keep her from getting a ticket. Not that there was anything that could keep her from getting a ticket with eighty-two in a sixty-five zone. Especially not flirting, as Angie had suggested. Ring or no ring.
The patrolman nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”
“Officer, she couldn’t help it. She just got this cool car and I begged her to take me for a ride.”
Oh. Just. Great.
Surprised, the officer peered across at Angie, who continued blathering. “I’m like the biggest fan ever of NASCAR racing and I asked her to show me what her new car could do. I’m really, really sorry, sir.”
When Angie actually batted her eyelashes at the guy, Beth shook her head.
The officer’s frown deepened. “Do you want a ticket, also, young lady?”
“Oh, no,” said Angie, folding her arms innocently. “Definitely not.”
“Good. Then I’ll address myself to the driver.” Leaning over a bit, he turned back to Beth, now close enough she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Old Spice. Her father’s favorite. “May I see your license, please?”
“Yes, sir.” Beth’s stomach churned as she handed it to him.
This was usually the part where they took the license, glanced at it, walked back to their car, and came back with a ticket and a story about how they could have charged her with seventeen miles over the speed limit, but because they were such nice guys they’d only put down ten.
He did glance at it, but then he stopped and studied it. He looked back at Beth. Back to the picture on the license. To Beth’s face.
Warmth spread up to her cheeks. She knew what was coming. She’d already gotten blasted by her family. Why not the law?
He lifted his sunglasses and studied her again. His frown deepened, if that were possible. “You don’t look like this photo.”
“That’s because she just went crazy and gave herself a makeover, officer. It’s all James Jackson’s fault, though.” Angie just couldn’t stay quiet, and she spat out the name. “You should have seen the fit her mother threw when she saw the short spiky hair. And the tight dress. So of course she doesn’t look like the photo. She’s a brand new woman. Created today.”
Beth could feel her face reddening.
“Is that right?” The barest hint of amusement tinged the officer’s question.
He continued to stare at Beth, so she stammered, “Yes, sir. I decided I needed a change.” Oh, boy, had she ever. She’d changed everything, from the hair on her head to the new stilettos on her feet to the car she drove.
He dropped his sunglasses back over his eyes. “And did your mother throw a fit?”
“Oh, yes.” Beth nodded, remembering said fit vividly. She’d known everyone would be shocked when she made this drastic of a change, but whoa, mama, the you-know-what had really hit the fan. “She certainly did.”
“You wouldn’t have believed it, Officer. Aunt Lucille kept saying, ‘You cut your beautiful waist-length hair.’” Angie chuckled as she remembered. “And you’d think my parents would be used to tight clothing with me around, but they put in their two cents’ worth, too. She got it from everyone but me.”
Beth rolled her eyes and looked straight ahead through the windshield. Go to your happy place.
“She was going for a racier look, officer, and vroom, vroom, she nailed it.” Angie sat back with a satisfied sigh. “No more boring, conservative Beth Lawrence. She’s gone forever.”
“Are you through revealing every last detail of my personal life?” Beth glared at Angie. “He doesn’t want to hear this.”
A sound escaped the officer’s lips. A sound suspiciously like a repressed chuckle. Sure, it was easy for him to laugh. He wasn’t the one who’d had to walk into the family party or the one who was about to get the ticket that could give him enough points to have his license taken away.
She looked at him and scowled.
It didn’t seem to bother him. “You just bought this car today?”
She sighed. “Three hours ago.”
“Pay full price for a new car?”
“I was making a change, not going insane. I bought it used. But it looks brand new.”
He nodded appreciatively. “It certainly does.”
“She used her wedding fund, officer. She didn’t need it any more because exactly one year ago tomorrow James Jackson told her they needed to date other people, and she’s not planning on getting married any time soon, so she blew the whole bundle on this car. It would have been quite the wedding, I’m telling you.”
James Jackson was the man Beth feared she might never get over, but she certainly didn’t want this officer to know that. Exasperated, Beth said, “Will you please stop saying things, Angie?”
“No, please, do go on,” said the officer. “This is getting interesting.”
“You tell him, Beth. Like you told me.” Angie may have been talking to Beth, but she was still batting her eyelashes at the patrolman. “It’s been a year since James dumped you for that New York woman and you decided to make a total change in your life and you’re going to date a lot of different men and not get caught up with just one again. And you’re never, ever going to let a man dump you again.”
The patrolman looked back at Beth. “Having a tough week?” His voice was gentler now.
She blinked back tears. She’d be darned if she’d cry over James Jackson ever again. Or the ticket she was about to get, either. “Yes, sir.”
He sighed and handed back her license. “Slow it down, sister. The next officer might not be as nice as I am.”
As he walked away, she heard him mutter, “Or as gullible.”