THE LEMAY FAMILY ARRIVED promptly at one o’clock, just as scheduled. They were delivered by a driver Melissa had employed, who probably wouldn’t dare be a minute late, Tom thought as he braced himself for the meeting.
He had been thoroughly drilled on his role for the afternoon. He opened the door with a smile, knowing the photographer would be standing behind the family to record the meeting. “Merry Christmas,” he said to the foursome on his doorstep. “Come on in.”
“Oh my God, it’s really you,” the chubby, red-faced blonde he assumed to be Debra LeMay gasped, her hands clasping in front of her. “Tom Wyatt.”
“He knows who he is, Deb,” her husband, a square-built, suntanned man with thinning reddish hair muttered from behind her. Of all the family, he was the only one who didn’t look particularly starstruck.
Closing the door behind them, Tom watched as Melissa hurried forward to take their coats. “This is Melissa Hampton, vice president of marketing for RightTime Realty,” he said smoothly, keeping both his voice and his expression as politely bland as possible.
“I’m Debra LeMay, the one who won your contest,” Debra said to both of them. “This is my husband, Dan, and our kids, Dustin and Angela.”
Tom shook the woman’s shaking hand, then her husband’s, who looked much less excited. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you, too,” Dan replied. “My wife’s a big fan of yours.”
Tom didn’t miss the fact that Dan hadn’t claimed to be a fan, himself. “Do you follow racing, Dan?”
“I’ve been watching most of my life. I was the one who got Debra interested in the sport. Some of my favorite drivers have retired during the past couple of years, but I guess you could say I’m a Ronnie Short fan now.”
“Yeah. Great guy,” Tom acknowledged about one of his biggest rivals. He liked the guy okay, but had been beaten by him entirely too many times this past season.
He turned then to the kids, who were impatient for their share of attention. The boy was stocky, like his father, blond, freckled and self-conscious when he shook Tom’s hand. Like his mother and chubby, red-haired sister, he wore a Tom Wyatt T-shirt with jeans. Dan wore a plaid cotton shirt with khakis.
Angela pumped his hand enthusiastically, no shyness at all evident in her behavior. “You’re my mom’s very favorite driver. She watches you every week and she’s got your car number on the windshield of her minivan. She just about fainted when she heard she won this contest. She told everybody that we were having Christmas at Tom Wyatt’s house. And she—”
“That’s enough, Angela,” her mother broke in hastily, setting a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Your house is absolutely beautiful, Mr. Wyatt. The decorations are breathtaking.”
“Thank you. Though I can’t take credit for the decorating, I’m afraid. And please, call me Tom.” He could be sociable when he had to, he thought, resisting an impulse to glance at Melissa.
“Why don’t you all stand in front of the tree so I can get some pictures,” Jim, the lanky, twentysomething photographer, suggested.
“Hey, cool, my name’s on some of these packages,” Dustin said as he obligingly moved to the tree.
“There are gifts for everyone,” Melissa said. “Courtesy of RightTime Realty and Tom’s other sponsors.”
Angela whirled toward her mother. “When can we—”
“After lunch,” Melissa replied, anticipating the question. “First, everyone line up in front of the tree. Jim, where would you like them to stand?”
Melissa was back in full directorial mode, Tom thought, posing as instructed. He didn’t think she had directly met his eyes since their guests had arrived.
The kids were restless during the photo session, eager to get on with the planned events, charged by the sight of all those presents with their names on them.
“I’m hungry,” Dustin complained.
“Mama, Dustin’s pushing me out of the picture,” Angela whined.
“Dustin, stop it,” Debra ordered through a frozen smile, her cheeks flaming. “Remember the talk we had on the way over.”
“I know your family is hungry,” Melissa said, skillfully stepping in. “Let’s all go to the dining room, shall we? The chef has our meal ready.”
“Hear that, kids?” Debra was beaming again. “A real chef.”
“I’m starving!” Angela squealed. “Can I sit by Tom?”
“Mr. Wyatt,” Debra hissed.
“He said we could call him Tom.”
“He said the adults could call him Tom.”
“Everyone can call me Tom,” he interrupted hastily. “I really prefer that to Mr. Wyatt, anyway.”
The rather smug look Angela gave her mother made him wonder if he’d made a tactical error there, but at least it stopped the argument.
“I want to sit by Tom,” Angela sang out again, rushing toward the dining room.
“No, I want to sit by him,” Dustin argued, hurrying after her. “Mom—”
“Both of you just wait up.” Debra gave Tom an apologetic grimace and moved after her children, with Dan following unenthusiastically behind.
“Yeah, this is going to be great,” Tom muttered to Melissa, who was beginning to look harried as her “perfect” party spiraled out of control. She gave him a look that let him know he had just made yet another tactical error.
DEBRA LEMAY COULDN’T SEEM to stop raving about Tom’s beautiful home during the meal. “The view is breathtaking,” she enthused. Her seat at the dining room table faced a wall of windows which offered a clear view of the mountain scenery on this beautiful winter afternoon. “And everything inside is so nice and decorated so beautifully,” she added. “You must love spending time here.”
Sitting at the head of the table, with Angela on his right and Dustin on his left, Tom nodded. “I don’t get to spend as much time here as I would like, since we’re on the road so much during racing season.”
“That must be so exciting, going to all those fascinating places,” she said. “We don’t get to travel much, ourselves. This was the kids’ first time on a plane and only my second time.”
“Actually, I spend most of my time at each location in the hauler, the garage or my motor home,” Tom said with a wry smile. “Or out on the track, of course.”
“You’re, like, a hero or something, aren’t you?” Dustin asked naively. “People always want your autograph and pictures of you and stuff.”
Melissa noticed that Dan’s frown deepened at hearing his son refer to Tom as a “hero.” Dan had said very little during the meal, though he’d seemed to enjoy the food. She’d wondered if he just hadn’t had a chance to get a word in with his garrulous family, but the truth was, he didn’t act as though he really wanted to be there. She wondered why.
“I’m no hero, Dustin,” Tom replied kindly. “Heroes are the guys who run into burning buildings to save lives or who arrest bad guys or teach school or defend our country overseas. Or the moms and dads who work to raise their kids to be decent citizens. I’m just a guy who’s lucky enough to make a living doing what I love to do, race cars.”
It was a comment Melissa had heard him make before. He honestly didn’t consider himself a hero, though he’d told her once that he was all too aware that some considered him a role model. Even that weighed heavily on him, especially when things were going badly for him, making it difficult for him to control his emotions.
“Would anyone like more sweet potatoes?” Melissa asked, motioning toward the enormous bowl that was still half-filled. “Or anything else?”
“Can I have some more of that red stuff?” Angela asked, pointing toward another bowl at Melissa’s left.
“The cranberry sauce? Of course you may.” Melissa passed the bowl toward Angela.
“Say thank you, Angela,” her mother prodded.
“I was going to,” the girl replied indignantly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Deciding he had enough footage and photos of the group dining, Jim set down his cameras and piled a plate for himself. He sat at one side of the big table next to Melissa, who had convinced Dan to sit at the opposite end from Tom. Since Tom was still being pelted with questions from Debra and the kids, Melissa chatted quietly with Jim for a while, confident that Tom was handling the situation well enough without her assistance.
Not that he wanted her assistance, of course, she thought, pretending to concentrate on what was left of her meal as resentment flooded through her again at the things he had said to her earlier. He had accused her of trying to control him. And Christmas, for that matter. He’d been very cutting about why she’d put this event together, even about her feelings for him. Had he really implied that their relationship depended on how well he represented RightTime Realty?
If that was what he believed, then he was right about one thing. They had serious problems, she thought with an ache in her heart that she tried to conceal as she socialized with Tom’s guests.
Desserts were served, to the children’s delight. Debra smiled as she watched them dig into pastries filled with chocolate and topped with strawberries and whipped cream. Her gaze met Melissa’s.
“Winning this contest has been like a dream come true for me,” she said, her eyes misty. “The prize money, the chance to meet Tom, all the nice things you’ve prepared for my family. It’s the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
“Me, too!” Angela agreed, her round face smeared with chocolate. “Can I have some more dessert?”
“No, Angela, that’s enough,” her father said.
“Then can we open presents?”
“You will sit quietly until everyone else is finished with dessert,” Dan ordered her firmly.
Apparently, there was something in her father’s voice that made Angela decide not to test him this time. She subsided into a pout.
Debra made an effort to quickly divert attention away from her daughter. “You must be looking forward to February, and the start of the next racing season,” she said to Tom.
He nodded. “I’m always looking forward to the next season.”
“Think you’ll win the Championship next year, Tom?” Dustin asked, still relishing his permission to use the first name.
Dan made a sound that was a bit like a snort. “Going to have to make some big changes for that to happen,” he muttered.
“Dan!” Debra said with a gasp. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”
“He’s absolutely right,” Tom assured her, his smile frozen in place. “We’re going to be making a lot of changes next season. New crew chief, new strategies, new attitudes. We fully intend to be in the running for the championship come the end of the season.”
“You can do it, Tom,” Dustin assured him loyally. “You’re a champion.”
Dan set his coffee cup down on the tabletop with a thump, but he didn’t say anything.
Feeling the tension mounting at the base of her neck, Melissa left her own dessert barely touched. She didn’t know what was bothering her so badly. Debra was obviously thrilled with the way the day was progressing, the kids were better behaved than some she’d been around and Tom was making a visible effort to be on his best behavior. Sure, Dan was being rather surly and she didn’t know quite why, but she could handle that, too. But there was still a heavy weight sitting directly on her chest—right in the vicinity of her heart.