HOLA AND I WAS RIGHT I GOT THIS POSTED JUST IN TIME! WELL I'M ON MY WAY TO FLORIDA, AS YOU READ THIS SO I MIGHT NOW POST A CHAPTER FOR A WHILE.

RECAP:

He stepped forward and squeezed her shoulder. "You're going to be fine, Cammie. You've got to trust yourself more. You're smart, decent."

She nodded, glad to be reminded that some of who she thought she was still remained. "Right." She repeated the words. "I'm smart. Decent."

He grinned at her. "And a great kisser."

RACE DAY:

Zach was ready. He heard the noise of the crowds, but almost as a background buss. More, he felt the energy of all the fans, excited to be here. For many, races were part of their annual vacation. They were here for the noise, the speed, the action, to cheer their favorite and take sides in on-track rivalries. Zach and forty-two other teams were here to make sure every one of those fans got his or her money's worth.

Cammie stood beside him taking it all in. Her eyes were big as they scanned the bleachers that seemed, from down here by the track, to stretch to the sky.

A TV reported wandered over to do a prerace interview. Media was as big a part of this sport as the fans and the sponsors, and Zach always tried to play nice. This one asked a lot of questions about his string or recent bad luck and wondered aloud and on camera when his streak was going to break.

"Today," he said, smiling broadly at the camera pretending, as he always did, that the lens was the face of a real fan. "Charlotte is my track." Cammie was still standing beside him and he made sure to pull her close in care Macey ended up watching this interview.

"Do you have any superstitions before a race, Zach?" the reported asked.

He thought it was a pretty stupid question, but he didn't say so. Instead , he grinned, seeing another opportunity to beam his message to his ex-wife. "I sure do. Kissing a beautiful women is about the luckiest thing I know." And with that he turned to Cammie, who'd been doing her best to hide from the glare of the camera lights, and pulled her close. Her eyes widened and he liked the way she looked up real close. He remembered how she'd felt in his arms the other night, had a feeling she remembered, too. He took his time and kissed her until the oh-no-you-don't vide melted beneath his lips.

With a cheer and a lot of wolf whistles from his team, he figured the lady reported had a pretty good sound bite and some nice visuals.

"Good luck, Zach, and thanks," she said before heading on her way.

"Good luck, Zach." Cammie echoed. Then she added, "Drive carefully."

He slid into the car with a smile on his face and the taste of her still on his lips. She had it wrong. He always drove carefully. What he needed to do was drive fast.

People often thought that all a driver needed to do was jam his foot down hard on the accelerator and hang on. In fact, Zach believed that a great driver was one who could read a car, one who was perceptive to small changes. Using restraint made him faster, which he'd had to learn when he first started racing. He'd trained himself to channel that impulse to win into a heightened awareness of what his car was trying to tell him, which he in turn would communicate to his crew chief, and they'd made adjustments during pit stops, fine-tuning as they went.

He took his place, midpack because of his less-than-spectacular qualifying results, and cleared his mind of everything but the machine surrounding him. Talk to me, baby, he told the car silently. He'd probably have spoken aloud if it weren't for the tact that a whole lot of people were listening in. He only heard two voices, that of his crew chief, sitting on top of the war wagon, and that of his spotter, up high on top of the grandstands with a bird's-eye view of the course.

He settled in and prepared to do what he did best. The race began.

There was something about five hours of nonstop concentration, where it was him and the track and the sound of the other cars that put him in a zone. Everything was so clear—well, it had to be. He didn't have a lot of time to mess around.

He listened to his spotter, used his wits and his own observation to get his car as good as he could get it. "I think we might need a pressure adjustment," he told Grant, and at the next pit stop, they made small changed and he was off again in twelve and a half seconds.

The heat inside the car climbed, but he was used to that and pretty much ignored it, sipping water as needed from the built- in water system.

There were days when nothing went right and he'd known too many of those lately. Then there were days when everything settled and it was absolutely right. He'd thought he was there yesterday, and then suddenly he wasn't. Today, he had that feeling, only stronger.

There wasn't room for much idle thought, but he knew Cammie was enjoying her first day at the track and he didn't want to be towed back in, or coast in. Not today. He didn't want to think about the possibility that he was pushing himself and his vehicle to impress a girl he barely knew, but something was giving him an extra edge today.

Maybe, he thought with an inward grin, it was that kiss. That way she had of looking at him all wide-eyed as if she'd never been kissed before. She did that every time he kissed her, and it gave him a crazy thrill. He'd kissed his share women, and he never recalled one who looked at him afterward in quite that way. As if he'd given her a gift.

Crazy.

He licked his lips. They were dry. Hot. Like he was, coming into the final laps.

He was racing well, he knew that. His spotter was warning him of debris ahead, but he saw it and skirted the problem easily. It was so simple it was scary. He felt in control. Fast. Slick. Everything working together as it was supposed to, from the car's engine and parts all meshing and revving together to the team, working fast and efficiently.

His pit crew had been a dream team today. He wanted to reward them with the best possible time.

He told himself he was glad to finish at all, after yesterday's fiasco, but in truth he couldn't get there fast enough. He wanted more than a finish. He wanted a good finish. Not just for the placement in the race, but to show Cammie a good time.

Everything was humming and he felt good. "You're the fastest car on the track, Z," Grant told him.

"Awesome," he yelled back. All he had to do was repeat the process every lap.

There were half a dozen cars ahead of him; if he could hold it together, he was going to have a sweet finish.

"Go high, Zach," his spotter's voice crackled through his headset. "Looks like some trouble ahead."

What it looked like, from where Zach sat, was that somebody'd taken a sharp left without signaling. And there went the car in the number-two sport, shooting into the grass. The third-spot holder had been hanging on, riding his draft, and he got sucked right off the track, too. Zach was already climbing, coming into Turn Four. It was a decision moment. He could play it safe and guarantee a fourth-place finish or he could put the pedal to the metal and have some fun.

He thought of the mess they'd been having the last few weeks and fourth seemed like a dream come true.

Then he remembered that Cammie was out there watching. This was her first race ever, and he thought about how her lips had felt under his, and the way her eyes lit up when she wasn't calculating the interest on the retirement nest egg she wouldn't be needing for three or four decades.

The heck with it. He pressed his foot down and hung on.

His arms ached. He felt as if everything from his butt to his ears were on fire. Luckily, so was his driving.

He came out of the Turn Four close enough to the car ahead to kiss it's pretty paint job and squeak in front.

"How do you like that?" he yelled. He was sitting in third.

"How many laps?"

"Twenty-six," Grant told him. "You goin' all the way?"

Zach laughed. He gave his trademark rebel yell. That was plenty of answer.

He didn't know when his chance would come, but he knew it would and he tried to be as patient as a man can be who smell victory and knows how easily it can be snatched.

A third-place finish was good. It was fine.

It wasn't good enough today. Not nearly.

Of course, the other two gentlemen currently holding the first and second sports felt pretty much the same way. So the three of them stuck together. Even inside the car, he could feel the energy of the crowd. There'd be discussions over beers and tailgates, in the media and in the dens and the TV rooms across America about how this happened and how the other thing could have been avoided, but that would all come later. He'd be a hero or a goat depending on how he performed in the next ten or so minutes.

"I love Charlotte!" he yelled, because he felt like yelling.

"Looking good. Take it home, buddy."

And so he did. Not through any tricks or maneuver, or even superior driving, though he'd like to think it was that. In these last few laps, all he could do was drive fast and hope the tires, engine, transmission and every little piece of his car held together. And that on this particular day, the only luck coming his way would be the good kind.

He edged past the vehicle in the number-two spot and felt the glorious kick of energy in his guy. He was getting tired. His arms were approaching the rubber stage, his scalp was itchy under his helmet and his eyes felt gritty—and he loved it.

At this moment, he knew, he was truly happy.

Hang on, baby, he told his car silenetly, the way he'd soothe a horse. We're almost there.

CAMMIE'S POV

Cammie had half her fist in her mouth. She couldn't take her eyes off the tiny blue-and-yellow blur that was Zach's car. Her breathing was coming so fast and shallow she was amazed she didn't pass out from lack of oxygen.

She was on top of the war wagon, a big metal box that housed the tools and supplies for pit stops, on a chair that reminded her of a bar stool, right beside her Grant Newman. He'd given her a headset so she could hear the three-way conversation between Zach, Grant, and the spotter. Her heart was bumping crazily.

She smelled the hot dust, motor oil, hot dogs, and the odor of thousand of warm bodies packed together. The fans were incredible. So colorful with their T-shirts, jackets, caps, and seat cushions with their favorite drivers. They rose and cheered when the action heated up, colorful waves of bodies.

At first, she'd wanted Zach to hang near the back of the crowd of bright cars, where it seemed quieter and he was less likely to get into any pileups. But then she watched him move forward, a little at a time, fighting his way through the pack of wizzing colorful bullets and a crazy excitement filled her.

She'd never known anything like it. The speed, from this close, was too much for her eyes to focus on, so she saw blur after blur. For the first few laps, it felt like a sonic boom each time a car flew by, and she jumped in her seat until she became accustomed to the noise.

The crowd was crazy, the energy was infectious.

"Yes!" she yelled when Grant confirmed he was in second place. "Go, Zach!" she shouted so loud she'd have embarrassed herself if everybody around her wasn't yelling a whole lot louder.

By the time he'd maneuvered his way into second, she was a wreak. Her throat was sore from cheering, her palms were damp and her entire body was keyed up. When she'd learned that this race took more than five hours, with each team making able twelve pit stops, she'd imagined she'd be bored stiff. But she was having possibly the most exciting day of her life.

Now there were only minutes to go and she didn't think she could take any more. Still, her eyes stayed riveted on the contest between two front-running drivers. Zach pulled ahead and then the other did, and then it was Zach again. Suddenly there was a huge cheer and she realized the race was over.

"Who won?" she asked frantically, but there was so much noise and activity that nobody heard her.

Then Zach's car kept going, and he was driving into the middle of the pristine lawn and making a big mess of it by turning his car in circles. Nobody seemed to mind.

That's when she knew he'd won the race.

ZACH'S POV

Zach couldn't believe it.

They'd won.

In eight weeks he hadn't come closer than a tenth-place finish, but today it was as if the black cloud had blown away. A curse lifted. His bad luck routed.

Nothing was different. The team was the same, he was the same, the stock car was one of the two that had given him problems for weeks. Why today?

He gazed out at the crowd, at the TV cameras running for him, the crew and anybody who could get close, and he remembered that moment when he'd stated before a television reporter and her camera that kissing a pretty women was his good luck superstition.

It had been a foolish piece of bravado, not said seriously, not meant to be taken that way, and yet… look what had happened

He'd kissed Cammie Morgan and his team won a race.

Zach wasn't a big believer in good-luck charms.

He wasn't a fool, either.

You didn't throw good luck away.

He hauled himself out of his car and looked into a sea of people, looking for his four-leafed clover.

And there she was, beside Grant Newman, shading her eyes with his hand and looking his way. He still had his mic on, so he yelled into it to whomever was still plugged in, "Bring Cammie, will you?"

His crew chief turned and grabbed Cammie's arm and started dragging her forward. She didn't need a lot of persuading; she ran toward him. She squeaked a little bit when Zach picked her up and swung her around, high in the air, but her eyes were dancing with excitement.

"Play along with me for the camera, okay, honey?" he whispered.

She nodded, obviously having no clue what he was up to.

He let out a rebel yell, and then he kissed her.

Maybe she was more media savvy than he'd guessed, because this time she helped. She threw her arms around him and kissed him back.

She smelled a lot better than the inside of a stock car, tasted better than the cold beer he was looking forward to cracking. She tasted, he though as he smiled against her lips, like luck.

Then he pulled away, keeping an arm around her waist since he knew Macey had to be around here somewhere, and if she wasn't she'd be seeing him on TV with his new girlfriend.

Maybe that would be enough to get the women finally headed off on her honeymoon.

His PR guy passed him a ball cap with one of his sponsor's logos on, and then a few microphones were stuck in his general direction.

His answered the usual questions, described some of the critical moments of the race as he remember them, and then the gal who'd interviewed him prerace asked, "So, Zach, introduce us to your good luck charm."

She was a nice lady, and she always tried to go easy him, so he felt he owed her, but he hadn't expected to have to introduce Cammie on without talk to her about it first.

"This is Cammie," he said finally.

To his astonishment, instead of directing the next question to him, the TV lady said, "Cammie do you think you helped Zach win the race today?"

He gave Cammie's waist a tiny squeeze, hoping she'd take the hint.

She turned his way and those cool blue grey eyes looked brimful of mischief. "I think every fan who cheered Zach on today helped him with that race."

Good for her. His PR guy couldn't have scripted anything that would have sounded better. In fact, he'd have thrown something in there about that sponsors, and as much as Zach appreciated his sponsors, he liked that Cammie had complimented his fans.

"Do you think your kiss before the race helped?"

Cammie glanced at him again. She seemed to hesitate a second, and he knew she wasn't one for blowing her own horn. In fact, he doubted she even knew how pretty she was and how much he'd enjoyed those kisses. Then she smiled wider. "Absolutely."

"Where did you and Zach meet?"

She hesitated and he knew she picturing, as vividly as he was, the way she'd walked into his hotel room by mistake dressed pretty skimpily. Cammie was the kind of honest women who would have trouble telling the whitest of white lies, so he leaned in and said, "We met through mutual friends."

He kept Cammie with him as he did post-race interviews and photos, autographs and backslapping.

"Hey, Nick," he said, as the younger driver strode up, deep-set blue eyes twinkling about a big grin.

"Nice job, Z. I like you good-luck charm, here. Hi, Cammie."

She seemed pretty happy to see a familiar face, but then he thought his buddy had that kind of smile that made women smile back and a charm much older than his years. In the movies of Nick Edward's life, Matt Damon would play him.

"I liked your victory kissing."

"Can't manage those backflips of yours," Zach said.

"A man doesn't like to be predictable," he said, turning his attention to Cammie. "Anything you want to bring me some luck…" He was enjoying himself so much a dimple appeared.

"You find your own girl to kiss," Zach said.

"I'll try," he said and walked away with a wave.

"Somehow, I don't know he's going to have any trouble."

Zach laughed, "You're right about that."

"Still, he sure seems like a nice guy. I'd like to help any friend of yours."

"Don't even think about it. On the track, the only guy you kiss is me."

He looked so fierce and seemed so serious about the whole luck think that she kept her stowed.

"I see. What about off the track?" She had o idea what she thought she was starting here, but the way he was gazing at her made her wish she'd kept her mouth shut. He was staring at her mouth, and the expression in his eyes could only be termed possessive. "What would it take to get an exclusive contract with those lips for the entire season?"

Cammie had never been much for flirting, but there was something about this whole NASCAR thing that was turning her into a completely different women. So she licked those lips he was staring at. "And exclusive contract on these lips?"

"That's right."

"For a whole season?"

The head around her wasn't coming entirely from the sun. She felt overwarm and reminded herself too late that she was toying with a man who'd been voted on of People magazine's hottest 50 bachelors. Her most exciting media appearance had been when her picture appeared in the company newsletter as Employee of the Month.

However, she thought, as she settled a ball cap with Zach's picture and car number on it more firmly on her head, she was a fast learned. She sent him a saucy look. "I'll get back to you on that."

WELL THAT'S IT! I'LL TRY TO WRITE AS SOON AS I CAN, BUT I'M GOING TO BE VACATIONING IN FLORIDA FOR A MONTH AND A HALF AND MIGHT NOT HAVE TIME TO WRITE. BUT I LOVE YOU GUYS AND LOVE WHEN YOU REIVEW THEY MAKE MY DAY!

REMEMBER DON'T OWN THE GALLAGER GIRLS.

~KRISTINA