To her great surprise, he started to laugh, a low chuckle. “You have to admit there is a certain irony to us both moving far away and taking new jobs, only to find ourselves working together again.”

  “It’s certainly made for an unforgettable first day on the job.”

  “Started off my racing season with a bang.”

  She considered the ramifications of this new relationship. “Speaking of us working together, I hope you won’t let our past relationship interfere in the way you treat Hank.”

  All vestige of amusement left his face in an instant. He leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “First, I hate that word ‘relationship.’ We had a marriage. It may have been a lousy one, but give it the dignity of calling it what it was. Second, I’ve made a name for myself with this column. The reason so many people read it is because I’m fair. I play no favorites, I don’t jerk anybody around.”

  “I’m not saying—”

  “Hank’s a good kid. He’s starting out and he’s got a lot of potential, but there’s also a big downside for him. He’s one of three rookie drivers this year. He’s coming in with some good credentials and I’m watching him like everybody’s watching him. He won’t get more ink because we used to be married and he won’t get less.”

  She knew he spoke the truth and felt ashamed of herself for even hinting otherwise. Mike might have been a crap husband but he was a good man and he’d always been a fair reporter. “I had to bring it up.”

  “Part of your job, as Dylan so eloquently put it, is sucking up to me. You might want to start working on that.”

  “Oh, and aren’t you going to love that.”

  He didn’t quite smile, but she knew him well enough to know the restraint cost him. “I’m human.”

  “So you say.”

  “Hey, Mikey!” a male voice bellowed, and Taylor turned at the same time Mike did to see a trio looking like they were out to party. The guy was probably in his early thirties and with him were two women about Taylor’s age, young, hip and trendy.

  “Jay, my man,” Mike said, rising and shaking hands.

  The guy called Jay looked at Taylor and Mike and at the long table. “Did you scare all your friends away?”

  “Not me. Taylor here. She’s Hank Mission’s new PR manager. Taylor, this is Jay Barnham, a local reporter.”

  “Hi,” he said, and they shook hands. “Tracy and Natasha are both in PR. They’re in town for a convention and we hooked up.” After a general greeting, Jay said, “Why don’t you two come join us for a drink?”

  “Sure,” Mike said. “You go ahead. Taylor is doing a big suck-up job on me. I should let her finish.”

  Jay laughed. “Got it. See you in a minute.”

  “You’re enjoying having me at your mercy way too much.”

  “Makes a nice change from our marriage.”

  Her jaw dropped. “That’s not true. I—”

  “Okay, forget I said it. This is weird for both of us. But here’s what I want to know.”

  Her brows rose in a silent question.

  “How do we handle this?”

  She let out a breath. “I don’t know. When we saw each other at the rookie thing, we played it like we’d never met before. I guess we should stick to the script.”

  “Fine by me.” There was another pause. How were they ever going to work together if they couldn’t even breathe the same air comfortably?

  She’d made a three-month commitment to Hank, and she tried to honor her commitments. Okay, so the for-better-for-worse-till-death-do-us-part commitment hadn’t worked out so well, but then she didn’t think she was entirely to blame for her marriage hitting the dust with all the grace and subtlety of a tornado.

  Around them the restaurant was busy with groups talking and laughing over a shared meal. The smell of barbecue warmed the air. And here they were, two people stranded among the mess of a dinner party that was over. It seemed somehow symbolic. For the next three months at least they were going to have to work together, and she thought they’d have a better chance if they tried to act polite. So she sucked in a breath and took on her first and probably toughest PR task.

  “How have you been?” she asked at last.

  “Fine. Good.”

  “You’ve put on weight,” she said, then could have bitten her tongue. What was wrong with her? “But it’s fine. It looks good on you.” She’d always liked the little bit of roundness to him. And when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye she knew he was thinking, as she was, how she’d always called him her teddy bear. Nauseatingly stupid pet name. She was the biggest idiot on the planet.

  “You’ve lost some weight.”

  “Yeah.” She’d left so much of her old life behind, from her blow-dryer—who needed it with a short, breezy cut—to the wedding dishes—who needed a set of twelve anything? She had exactly two plates, bowls, glasses, cups and cutlery. She’d rented a furnished apartment until she got settled and looked around.

  Simple. Uncluttered. No ties.

  “You could have sent a postcard.”

  “A postcard? What would I have said?”

  He sent her a hard look. “That you were okay.”

  A prickle of guilt crossed her skin. She scrunched her toes inside her pumps, a nervous habit. “It never occurred to me you’d be worried.”

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I needed to know you were okay, that’s all. Call it closure.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Don’t worry, none of your family or friends gave you away. Not even Reena. I improperly used office resources at the paper and tracked you down.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She could have e-mailed him from an Internet café somewhere. It wouldn’t have killed her. But the truth was she couldn’t even think about him without it hurting too much to bear. Writing to him would have been awful. What if he’d written back?

  There was another silence. She remembered in the old days how they couldn’t seem to talk fast enough, they had so much to say to each other. Now she couldn’t think of any subject that wouldn’t lead to awkwardness.

  “So, you want to join Jay and his friends?” She could imagine Jay and Mike and the two women having plenty of fun without an ex-wife clogging up the picture. She tried not to imagine which of the two Mike would end up subtly paired with as the evening wore on. She didn’t want to know.

  She shook her head. “I’m still jet-lagged. I need to get to bed.”

  “Come on,” Mike said. “I’ll drive you back to your car.”

  She was surprised he’d offer, but then he’d always been the kind of man who’d change a light bulb you couldn’t reach or who’d remember to pick up milk on his way home without being asked. “I’m getting a cab. And so should you. I saw you drink three beers.” She only hoped the fact that he had downed three beers dulled his attention to the fact that she had noticed. She was acting like a wife.

  But he didn’t call her on it. “Right. We’ll get a cab.”

  “I’ll get my own cab.” She stood and picked up her bag. “Are you coming?”

  His gaze rested on hers for a moment. “No. If you don’t need me, I’ll go join Jay. See you later.”

  If you don’t need me. Oh, Mike, she thought, where were you when I really did need you?

  Would he hit it off with one of the PR women? They both looked like a lot of fun, and were clearly attractive. Or, for all she knew, he already had a girlfriend. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be seeing somebody and the thought gave her an odd pang, but the chances were good. He was fun to be with, attractive in his way. Single.

  He’d always been responsible, never drinking and driving, but she wasn’t sure she even knew him anymore. “Do I need to steal your keys?”

  “No. I’m not stupid.” He glared at her. “And you are not my wife.”

  She turned and stalked toward the exit. “Lucky me.”

  MIKE WATCHED TAYLOR WALK away—something he’d sworn to himself he’d never do again—and once she was out of sight he wandered to the bar area of the restaurant, where he could see a screen in the corner flickering with a tennis match. Ironically, it turned out to be the Australian Open.

  Australia! There ought to be some kind of prize for a man who not only drove his beloved wife away, he drove her to the other side of the planet.

  He stared at the figures battling out Down Under. Didn’t matter. Sports was sports, and something about the televised version soothed him and helped him think. What he needed was some clarity on this situation.

  Jay and his friends were part of a big, laughing group at a table in the back. Mike did not feel like being part of a big, laughing group right now. He felt like being alone with a big sports screen.

  However, the guy beside him had other ideas, and they quickly struck up one of those basically anonymous sports conversations. Soon he was drinking Scotch with his new buddy and putting his problems aside for a couple of hours. They’d find him again soon enough, he knew.

  The whole Taylor thing was a disaster, but the more Scotch he downed the more fuzzy his problems seemed. He knew the booze-induced haze would be temporary, but if a guy wasn’t allowed to get plastered after coming face-to-face with the woman he thought he’d finally got out of his system, only to find he’d been fooling himself, then he couldn’t think of a better occasion.

  Some time later, after Jay and his group had left, he was thinking he should find that cab and haul his butt home, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  He turned. Squinted. Dylan Hargreave stood before him, in the same leather jacket he’d been wearing before and with his car keys in his hand and another jacket folded over his arm. “Dy? What you doing here?”

  “Kendall forgot her jacket in the cloakroom. I saw your car still in the lot. You need a ride home, buddy?”

  “Don’t bother.” He waved a hand in the air. “I’ll call a cab.”

  “It’s no trouble. Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  There was a tap on his other shoulder. He turned and his tennis buddy said, “See that guy there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s a NASCAR driver.” In a loud whisper, he said, “I forget his name, but I think he’s famous.”

  He patted his new friend on the back. “I know. See you.”

  He shook his head in Dy’s direction. “Poor guy’s had a few. Not himself.” He swallowed the last of the liquid in his tumbler and said goodbye to the whole bar. Most of them knew him by now, so he got a cheerful farewell.

  Dylan seemed amused by him. There was probably a reason. He’d think about it in the morning.

  Luckily, Dylan knew where he lived. He and some of the other boys had played poker together at Mike’s place, so Mike didn’t have to concentrate on giving Dy directions, which was good. The road seemed windier than he remembered and the sky wouldn’t stay in one place. When they arrived at his town house, he found his driver walking to the door with him. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, but he had his pride. “I’m okay. Fine.”

  “Where are your keys? I’ll get you inside.” Dylan shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to have your head tomorrow.”

  Mike fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his keys, wishing they wouldn’t make quite so much noise knocking together.

  “Believe me, you wouldn’t want my head tonight, either. I wish I could get the damn woman out of my mind.” Dylan got the door open and Mike held on to the door frame as he entered his town house. “I tried, you know.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The door shut behind them. Couple of stairs to navigate, but he could handle it. It was Taylor being in town that was going to be tough. “Of all the gin joints, in all the world, she had to walk into mine,” Mike mumbled.

  “Okay, up the stairs. Let’s get you to bed.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re quoting Casablanca. Proving you are not fine.”

  “Casablanca.” He snorted in derision. “A movie about losing the same woman twice. And you know what?” Mike turned, using his hands to help him make his point, and almost toppling before he righted himself. “Women love that movie. Can’t get enough of it. You know why?”

  “Keep moving. We’re almost there.”

  They were in his bedroom. Oh, good. His bed. He really needed to lie down. He pulled off his jacket, dropped it on the chair in the corner, and it slid to the floor. “I’ll tell you why. They’re all the same, women. Kick a man until he’s down and then kick him again.” His head hit the pillow and came up again. “Harder.”

  Dylan’s voice came from the doorway. “This woman who’s got you all tied up, she got a name?”

  He snorted. “Oh, yeah. She’s got a name. And it’s not mine. She wouldn’t take my name, either. Should have known then. Thought she was a modern feminist, but that wasn’t it.” He shook his head and then stopped because the room was swimming. “She didn’t take my name so she’d never have to give it back.”

  He heard water running and some clinking noises, and then Dy reappeared with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet. “I’m guessing you’ll need these.”

  “Thanks.” He struggled to his elbow and downed some water, sluicing liquid down his chin. “You know, you’re a good friend, Dy.” He nodded sagely. “Good driver, too.”

  Mike got a snort of laughter in return. “I wish you were writing your column right now. I have a feeling I’d come out looking pretty good.” He pulled off Mike’s shoes and dropped them to the carpet. “If anyone could make sense of it.”

  “No. It’s true. You’re all right.”

  “So are you. Take it easy.”

  “I need some sleep, that’s all.”

  A low chuckle answered him. “You sure do.”

  “Dylan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “A woman should stick. Don’t you think?”

  Dylan turned back. “I do. And the right woman will stick.”

  “Hah.” He heard his own world-weariness in the single syllable. “That’s what you think. You’re in love. You poor schlep.”

  The bedroom light flicked off. Vaguely, he heard the front door to his town house close.

  His last thought was, why?

  Why did she have to come back?

  MIKE WOKE TO THE NEW DAY with a pounding head and a vague feeling that he might have had one Scotch too many. Rising slowly, he downed the glass of water he found at his bedside and shook out a couple of aspirin, pleased that he’d thought ahead. He must be getting smarter as he got older.

  He padded to the kitchen still in the clothes he was wearing from last night, started a pot of coffee and, while it brewed, stripped and stuffed himself into a long, hot shower.

  By the time he’d shaved, drunk two cups of coffee, eaten some toast and dressed, he was functional. Maybe he wouldn’t be trail-riding or tap-dancing in the next few hours, but he was on his feet and moving.

  For one long, dazed moment outside by his parking spot, he thought his car had been stolen. Then he remembered that it was still at the restaurant. And that Dylan had driven him home in his less-than-sober state.

  He didn’t like appearing like that in front of a driver. But if it had to be anybody, he was glad it was Dylan. Dylan was a good guy. One of the best, and as much as a columnist reporting on racing could be friends with one of his subjects, they were friends.

  He’d said some stuff last night, he was sure he had. Only he couldn’t remember what.

  Probably he should warn Taylor that he might have slipped up. But he didn’t want Taylor to know he’d drunk himself silly last night because she’d come back. Or that he’d been so glad to see her again—setting eyes on her last night had been like the very first time he saw her when every fiber of his being had shouted, Yes!

  Had he learned nothing?

  How could he be so stupid?

  How could he still want the woman who’d stomped all over his heart?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TAYLOR DROVE INTO THE Winfield Racing lot in the funky little Toyota Echo she’d leased the day before, right after returning from her very satisfactory climbing expedition with Hank.

  The physical exertion had helped get rid of some of the tension flooding her body since discovering Mike worked in the same industry in the same town. But, once her irritation dimmed, she found that she and her driver were both having fun climbing. He was focused, tenacious and determined to succeed, qualities she had expected to find in him.

  That she had the very same qualities had obviously come as a bit of a surprise to Hank. Especially when she outscored him. She was still smiling when she recalled the expression on his face. He’d been a good sport, though, and she had a feeling that with a few hours of climbing, they’d bypassed weeks of getting to know each other.

  As she pulled into an empty parking space, she had no doubt the car would get her laughed out of the employee parking lot by the guys in their big trucks. She didn’t care. She intended to set herself apart from the gearheads and drivers. She was in the image business now, and she might as well start with her own.

  She and Hank were both starting from scratch, she reasoned as she parked her little red car between a black Dodge Ram and a gleaming silver Yukon. When she got out and turned back to lock the doors, her tiny car looked like their offspring.

  Day three of her new job in North Carolina. Here, she’d make a new start. Here, she was ready to settle. She’d felt so confident of her future that, on impulse, she’d bought herself a house plant—okay, so it was a ficus, which was only slightly less indestructible than a plastic plant. But for her it was a symbol. She was putting down roots again. And this time, she wouldn’t make stupid mistakes—like marrying a man such as Mike Lundquist. This time, she’d get it right.

  She crossed her eyes to check out how her moisturizer was holding up and saw the telltale white. Her nose was peeling again.

  When she entered the building, she took one step toward her own office, then turned to track down the woman who hired her.

  Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today, her mom used to say. She’d died when Taylor was sixteen. Dropped dead of an aneurism while she was cooking dinner. There were times, lots of times in the past few years, when she longed to be able to pick up the phone and hear her mother’s voice. At odd times, like now, she’d hear her, though, as clearly as though she were in the room. She wondered what her mother would think of her old friend’s behavior and was pretty certain she would not approve.