“Too bad you feel that way. Sleeping with you was the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

  In spite of herself she was caught. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  They were divorced. But her lips didn’t seem to care about the warnings coming from her brain. “How long?”

  “You mean how long since I’ve had a…good idea like that?”

  Did she even want to know? He was one of those guys who drew women not with macho good looks but with his great sense of humor and charm that she’d fallen for before she’d realized she was in danger. Once she’d gone, he must have had plenty of opportunities for companionship. She squeezed her eyes shut and then found she did want to know. “Yes.”

  “You won’t laugh?”

  “No.”

  “Fourteen months.”

  Okay, so math wasn’t her strong point, but even she could figure out this equation. “You haven’t had any…ideas since we split up?”

  “Nope. And it does my ego no good to admit that.”

  She could imagine. He was such a guy’s guy. When she’d first met him he always had a woman around. He was popular, funny, cute in that cuddly way he had. She’d assumed she was another in a string of women until one day she woke up to find her feelings were serious. His must have been, too, because next thing she knew they were vacationing together.

  In Hawaii. Beach-wedding capital of the world.

  How did it feel to find out that Mike hadn’t been with anyone since she’d left?

  It felt weird. Scary. But also nice.

  She knew he wanted to ask her, she could feel the question ebbing and flowing between them. She was a fool to let him know she’d been celibate, too, but she’d always been a fool where he was concerned.

  In spite of the fact that she’d warned herself not to encourage him, she said, “I haven’t had any ideas, either, since we split up.”

  She heard his breath huff out as he expelled it. “Thank God.”

  She laughed shakily. “Which is probably why we both acted so crazy last night. This is still a bad idea and way too complicated.”

  “Guess what makes it even more complicated?”

  A sixth sense told her she didn’t want to know. Again, her mouth took over from her common sense. “What?”

  “I hitchhiked to my car.”

  “In your tux?”

  “Yep. Guess who picked me up?”

  Her stomach started to sink. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  “I didn’t like it myself. It was Hank.”

  She’d guessed it was bad, but not that bad. “Oh, no.” Her hand tightened on the phone so hard she got a cramp. “You didn’t tell him you’d been with me, did you?”

  “Didn’t have to. He’s smarter than he looks.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no.” She breathed. This was not a disaster. “You didn’t confirm anything, right? I mean, he can guess all he wants, but if neither of us give him any—”

  “I tried to bluff it out but he busted me.”

  “Wh-what did you do? Tell me you didn’t confirm his suspicion.”

  “I told him I’m in love with you.”

  “You did what?” She felt a bubble of hysteria rising in her chest. He had to be kidding. Please let him be kidding.

  “I’m tired of playing games. I felt like telling the truth.”

  “But what about my career? My job? My reputation? I just started there this year, I don’t want—”

  “Last time I looked it didn’t hurt a woman’s rep to have a man in love with her.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “We don’t even work for the same company. Getting together when we worked for the same paper was a lot more complicated, but we worked it out. This is not a big deal.”

  It was a big deal to her. A big, scary, messy, bad deal. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “It’s true. I am still in love with you.”

  “Well, I’m not—”

  “Don’t say it,” he ordered her. “Just don’t say it.”

  “But—”

  “I have an idea.”

  She was still reeling from his declaration. She could barely focus. “What idea?”

  “Why don’t we go out for dinner like a civilized couple and get to know each other?”

  How had she ever married someone who was so completely off his rocker? “Mike, we were married for three years. We know each other.”

  “See, that’s what I’m figuring out. I spent a lot of time thinking today. We never did know each other. Not really. I think we should start over.”

  It didn’t even sound like him. To talk about them not knowing each other before meant he’d been thinking about their marriage, not simply running from the bad memories. She sank to the floor and sat cross-legged, her back leaning against her couch. “Start over.”

  “Yes. Like people who’ve just met. We’ll date, we’ll talk, we’ll—”

  “You want to date your ex-wife?”

  “I want more than that, but I’ll start with a date. Dinner, any night you say.”

  “Oh, Mike. I don’t know.”

  “Think about it. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She couldn’t sit still. She rose from the floor, paced across her small living area feeling confused, miserable and a little hopeful. “I’m not promising anything. But I’ll think about it.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  TAYLOR HAD A COUPLE of hours to kill at the track in Indianapolis. Hank was napping in his motor home, and she felt like being out with the race fans simply enjoying the day. As she made her way to pit road it was like passing 150,000 walking billboards for drivers and their sponsors.

  Every time she passed somebody wearing a Hank Mission shirt, jacket or hat she felt like patting the fan on the back and telling them they had great taste.

  Fans were getting their photos taken with the pit teams of their favorite drivers. The pre-race excitement was as bright as the sun overhead.

  “You look happy about something.”

  She hadn’t noticed Mike in the crowd. He was leaning against a stack of tires. His notebook was out and he’d obviously been getting some local color. Whether he’d been interviewing fans or pit team guys, it was impossible to guess. Mike liked to talk to all kinds of people, and one of his favorite rules for soft features was that instead of finding the story, he let the story find him. She guessed that was how he kept his column so fresh and the readers coming back for more.

  If she’d known he’d be out here, she’d have hidden in the hauler and caught up on e-mail or something. She hadn’t seen Mike since he’d walked out of her apartment in bits and pieces of his tux.

  And she still hadn’t given him her answer about dinner. She appreciated that he was giving her the space she needed to figure out her answer, because she knew that when he invited her for dinner, he was really asking her if there was any chance of them getting back together.

  The answer to that was a mystery, so she hadn’t called.

  Since they were staring at each other and he was walking toward her it was impossible to pretend she hadn’t seen him and keep on going. So she stood her ground and answered his question. “I like walking pit road. It gets me psyched for the race.”

  “Mind if I walk with you?”

  Screaming “Yes” seemed childish, so she shook her head and he fell into step with her.

  “It’s a good crowd,” she said, sending him a strong signal that this was her workplace and all conversation should be racing related.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” he replied, sending her an equally strong message, she supposed, that he was going to talk about personal issues whether she wanted to or not. How typical.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “See, that’s avoidance. You can always find time for somebody you want to talk to.”

  “Well, there you have it. You have seen right through me.” She threw up her hands. “You’re right. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  She increased her pace, dodging a tour group and squeezing past a family of six. The youngest, a little girl, dragged her feet and plucked at her Dylan Hargreave T-shirt as though she wished it were a sparkly Barbie outfit. Poor kid. Taylor couldn’t help but smile down at her.

  Mike, being Mike, didn’t slow his steps and disappear into the crowd; he stuck to her side, following her gaze when she smiled at the little girl.

  “You really like kids,” he said as though it were news.

  She turned to him, wondering what would make him say anything so stupid. “Have you got sunstroke or something?”

  “No. I’m trying to strike up a conversation.”

  “How’s it going on your end? ’Cause I have to tell you, on my end you’re closer to striking out.”

  “Ah, sports terminology. Excellent way to communicate with a jock reporter.” He tipped the bill of his cap as a trio of marines walked by. “Come on, give me a break. I’m here, you’re here. We’ve got some time before we have to go to work. Let’s spend it together.”

  “What happened to the part where I said I don’t want to talk to you?”

  “I think you do.”

  “But you are a monumental egotist.”

  “Taylor, I’ve known you for a while. Pretty intimately, I might add.” She glared at him, but he continued without a pause. “If you were done with me completely and irrevocably you’d have said so.”

  She stared off in the distance at the banked siding of Turn Two, which was quiet now but would see a lot of action in a few hours. Above them, bleachers rose toward the sky. Already, scattered fans were seated, playing cards or chatting to while away the time. “I thought I was,” she said softly.

  “I know. I thought so, too.” He sighed heavily. “When I saw you again, I don’t know, it felt like we’d been together the day before, you know?”

  She nodded. She did know. “Bumping into you was one of the bigger shocks of my life.”

  “Thought I might have a heart attack.”

  “We handled it pretty well, though. I don’t think anyone suspected anything.” Her forehead creased into a frown. “At least, not until—”

  “Not until Hank caught me at ten in the morning walking away from your place. Then, I told him I’m in love with you. I’m guessing he might suspect something.” He glanced at her sideways. “Has he said anything to you?”

  “No. Not a word.” Her frown deepened. “Which is very unlike him. If I end up the butt of one of his practical jokes, you will be a dead man.”

  “Hank’s a good guy. He wouldn’t do anything to embarrass you. I don’t think.” But he didn’t sound too sure. “Do you want me to talk to him? Tell him not to blab?”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like less. I don’t want Hank getting involved in my personal life.” She upped her pace as they neared Hank’s spot on pit road. “Maybe he thought you were joking.”

  When she realized he was not responding, not even still in step with her, she turned to find him rooted to the spot. “Isn’t that your little gal pal?” he asked.

  She followed the direction of his gaze and saw what he was looking at. The little girl who’d been following behind her family plucking at her T-shirt was standing all alone. She stood stock-still, searching all around her with a panicked expression in her eyes. “Where’s her family?”

  “Looks like they got separated.”

  They turned as one and made their way to where the little girl stood.

  “Hi,” Mike said, squatting down to her level. “Are you lost?”

  Her anxious look intensified and her lip quivered. “Not allowed to talk to strangers,” she said in a soft, scared voice.

  “Of course you’re not,” Taylor said, also squatting down. She was thinking fast. “And you’re right.” They could stay exactly here and wait for her parents to find her; trouble was that with so many fans coming and going it was going to be hard for this child’s parents to spot one little girl in this crowd.

  Mike glanced her way. She knew he was having the very same thought she was. It was spooky how they were still so in tune with each other. “I have an idea,” Mike said. He pointed to Dylan Hargreave on the child’s T-shirt. “He’s not a stranger, right? Dylan’s on your T-shirt.”

  The little girl stared at Mike solemnly for a long moment, then looked down at the photo transfer of Dylan standing with his car that was on her T-shirt. “Right. My dad says he’s got what it takes, so I guess that means he’s a friend.”

  “Good. Excellent.” He turned, still crouching, and pointed to where Dylan’s pit stop was set up. “Can you see that box over there? There’s a picture of Dylan Hargreave and the same car that’s on your T-shirt.”

  She looked at the pit area, busy with crew and fans, then back at her T-shirt. She nodded. “Is he there?”

  Mike glanced at Taylor. “Sticky point,” he said. “He’s probably not there, but lots of his friends are. Here’s what I’m thinking. You and me and Taylor will walk over there and then we can call your parents and tell them where to find you.”

  She contemplated this for another minute, then nodded. The two adults rose, taking each side of her, and she raised her hands, so used to holding the hands of adults, Taylor supposed, that it didn’t occur to her not to.

  Taking the small, warm and slightly sticky hand in her own caused a wrench somewhere under Taylor’s breastbone. She glanced across at Mike, holding the other hand, and found him returning her gaze. This could have been them, his look said, the three of them at a race. A family. She started to calculate how old their baby would have been and then stopped herself with an act of will.

  Instead, she went into chipper mode. “I know the guys on Dylan’s pit crew. I bet they’ll let you ask them anything you like. We could even take a picture of you with them.”

  This did not seem like the life’s ambition of the child walking between them. She looked up at Taylor and sighed. “I like Mary Kate and Ashley better.”

  “The Olsen twins?” Mike said. “Isn’t she kind of young?”

  “They made a bunch of movies for youngsters. Now butt out.”

  She turned back to the child. “Does your dad make you come to the races because he’s a fan?”

  “Everybody in my family is a fan. Even my mom.” She glanced up with a little-girl grin. “But if I come here, I get a new Mary Kate and Ashley DVD when we get home.”

  Taylor laughed. “I’m Taylor. This is Mike.”

  “Hello.” She bit her lip. “I’m not supposed to tell strangers my name.”

  “That’s okay. Your parents are really smart to teach you those rules.” Smart except for the part where they lost their kid at one of the most crowded venues in America.

  “Do they have cell phones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then we can phone them.”

  The little girl looked up in surprise. “Do you know their number?”

  Once more she and Mike shared a glance. He made a wry grimace. Right. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.

  Mike was in full protective mode, she noted, making sure their tiny charge was insulated from the pushing throngs as they got closer to Dylan’s pit box.

  Rapidly, Taylor explained the situation to Mike Nugent, Dylan’s crew chief. He was a father himself and she knew he was great with kids. Sure enough, he didn’t disappoint.

  “Hi there, little lady,” he said. “I have a little girl at home about your age. She’s six years old.”

  “I’m five.”

  “Well now, aren’t you a big girl. Listen, honey, I have an idea.”

  “For finding my mom?”

  “Yep. How would you like to climb right on top of this box and you can look down and see if you can spot your folks?”

  She gazed up. “I could do that.”

  “Good girl. I’ll help you. You know, that’s where Dylan’s best friend watches the race from. That’s where I watch the race from.”

  Taylor pulled out her cell phone. “Is it your mom or your dad who has the cell phone?”

  “They both do.”

  Mike immediately pulled out his phone.

  “Can you give us the first and last name of your mother and your father?”

  She looked a bit suspicious and also uncertain. Poor kid.

  The crew chief said, “I bet they are worried about you. If we phone them they can come get you right here.”

  “Can I still go on top of that box?”

  “You sure can.”

  “When my family gets here will you let my brothers climb up, too?”

  The crew chief was nobody’s fool. “No way,” he said. “This is for special guests only.”

  She beamed at him. “Okay. My dad’s name is Lester Stiggant and my mom’s name is Alice.”

  Mike was already punching numbers. “What are you doing? Four-one-one won’t find a cell phone number.”

  “Maybe there’s somebody home at their place, or they might have left a cell phone number on their recorded greeting. At the very least, I can leave a message so they can call me.”

  “I live on Bluebonnet Crescent. Number 145,” the girl said proudly.

  “That’s great. Do you know what city that’s in?”

  The small face creased. “Texas?”

  “Good. Texas is a great start, honey. Don’t worry. We’ll find your parents.”

  By this time, the child had been helped to the top of the pit box and was looking much happier. She and Mike Nugent were both scanning the crowd. “You’re looking for a family, all decked out in Hargreave gear,” Taylor told the crew chief.

  “Needle, meet haystack,” Mike mumbled.

  She was thinking that pretty soon they were going to have to call in some help from somebody who knew more than she did about the usual procedure when a child got lost. Maybe there was a “Lost Child Center” or something. Something told her this wasn’t the first time and probably wouldn’t be the last.

  Mike made a face. “There are a lot of Stiggants in Texas.”

  He stopped and they both glanced upward as a piercing scream rent the air. “Mommy!”

  Now, Taylor didn’t believe for a second that in a crowd that was in the tens of thousands, all milling, talking, laughing, yelling, that one child’s voice could reach its target.