Race To The Altar

“That’s a relief.”

Maybe so, but settling down wasn’t going to be permanent—but he wouldn’t tell her that.

“Who’s there with you?” she asked. “A woman? A girlfriend, maybe? If you were serious about someone, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

His mom would be the first to know. Everyone else in the Mayfield family was happily married, and when he and Pamela had divorced, he’d felt as if he was the only failure on the family tree.

He was just about to tell her he was alone and that there wasn’t a woman in his life that he’d consider significant when his Florence Nightingale returned to his room. And when she did, some of the pain-and drug-induced fog in his brain lifted.

If word got out that he had a girlfriend, maybe then the gossip that bordered on truth would die down, and then Barden and the others would lay off him for a while.

Of course, Chase didn’t actually need to have a girlfriend; rumors of a special lady in his life might be all that was needed.

A smile broke out, which forced the Vicodin-dulled ache in his head to return and caused him to relax his facial muscles. “Actually, that’s exactly what I’m doing, Mom. I’m with a pretty blonde named Molly, and she just walked back into the room.”

The nurse halted, and her lips parted as Chase decided to toss out information his mother could blow out of proportion. In fact, he was going to enjoy watching Nurse Molly’s reaction to his words.

“You’d really like Molly, Mom. She’s been giving me some long-needed TLC.”

Molly crossed her arms, shifted her weight to one hip and lifted her brows in an I-can’t-believe-you’re-doing-this way.

Her expressive blue eyes sparked with both amusement and disbelief, making her prettier than ever. And he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

Even in a pair of pale blue hospital scrubs, she promised to be shapely underneath.

For a moment the girlfriend rumor didn’t sound the least bit far-fetched.

When his mom mentioned the party again and suggested he bring Molly, Chase said, “You bet. I’ll tell her all about Dad’s birthday at the end of next month. Of course, she may get tired of me by them, boot me out of her life and tell me to find another bed to warm.”

“Now, you be nice to her,” his mom said. “And stop teasing her like that. I know you, and she must be listening, no doubt embarrassed. But if you really were sleeping with her, you wouldn’t be talking about it, especially with me. So she must be holding out. And if so, good for her. She’s got morals and brains. I like her already.”

Chase laughed, but only until the pain shot through his head again. “Hey, Mom, I’ll have to give you a call later with that address, okay?”

“Sure. But if you want it to arrive tomorrow, you need to get it to me before the post office closes. And be sure to say hello to Molly. Tell her that I hope to meet her soon.”

“I will.”

The call ended, and Chase fumbled with the phone as he tried to hang up.

“What was that all about?” Molly asked.

“My mother said to give you her best.”

“You told her you were on vacation? With a blonde named Molly?”

“Actually, ‘vacationing’ was her idea. I said I was kicking back.”

“Oh. So you’re one of those.” Her eyes sparked again, and her tone suggested she hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

His smile faded, but this time it wasn’t just to make his head and face feel better. “I’m one of what?”

“A creative liar. A guy who knows how to fabricate an alibi or an excuse without actually coming right out and perjuring himself.”

“No, I’m usually pretty up-front and honest, even with the ladies I date. But in this case, I didn’t want to worry my mother. So I’m just…creating a myth that will put her heart at ease.”

But for some reason, the thought of kicking back with Nurse Molly in his bed was making him feel better than any pain meds had.

Chapter Three

It had been a long, grueling day, and by the time Molly stopped at the market to pick up a bag of cat litter, a quart of milk and a dozen eggs, it was well after nine.

She had grocery shopping down to a science, though. As long as she could pack it all in a single bag, she could carry it on her bike.

After removing her helmet and leaving her bicycle on the front porch, she unlocked the door and entered the living room, where she’d left a lamp on earlier so she wouldn’t return to a dark house.

Rusty, who’d curled up on the recliner, meowed out a welcome, then yawned.

“You’re in luck,” she told the orange tabby. “The Brighton Valley Market carries your favorite kitty food again.”

She kicked off her shoes, made her way to the recliner and gave Rusty’s head an affectionate scratch. “How was your day?”

Rusty leaned into her hand to allow for a better massage and meowed his response.

“Yeah,” she said, “mine, too. Long and tiring.”

But it had been interesting, as well. And having Chase Mayfield as a patient had made it even more so.

Molly walked into the kitchen, with its pale yellow walls and white cafе-style curtains over the sink. She set the cloth grocery bag on the ceramic tile counter and put away her purchases. Then she fixed herself a microwaveable dinner, which she stocked in the freezer for nights when she didn’t feel like cooking.

Instead of sitting down at the table to eat, she carried her meal into the bedroom, where she kept her computer.

As the screen lit up, she logged on to the Internet and did a Google search on Chase Mayfield. She was only doing it because of professional curiosity, she told herself. As a way of getting to know her patient better.

But at the same time, she couldn’t deny more than a tinge of feminine interest.

Sure enough, she found page after page of references—to his Web site, to newspaper articles, to lists of racing wins and awards.

She spent the next several hours reading up on her famous patient, starting with the virtual press kit on his site which claimed he was a skilled driver with a winning personality. But as she went on, she found solid evidence that he enjoyed the nightlife, Texas A-list parties and beautiful women.

Somewhere in the midst of her search, she learned that he’d married Pamela Barden, the daughter of his primary sponsor.

The two had looked good together in photos, although Pamela, with her dark hair hanging long and straight, appeared to be more plain and nondescript than her handsome husband. The more Molly read, the more it seemed that Pamela preferred a simpler life, one of charity work and philanthropy, while Chase seemed to blossom in the limelight.

Apparently the couple had divorced a year or so ago. Molly, who’d already drawn her own conclusions, wasn’t surprised to hear that.

Had Chase fallen to temptation on the road? Had he cheated on Pamela? Dumped her for one of the leggy, voluptuous beauties that flocked around him these days?

There were certainly plenty of dots to connect, and Molly remembered Chase saying something about flying under the radar. What had he meant by that?