by Eden Connor
“Lord, bringing us all together one roof is a blessin’ we recognize and thank You for. Bless the food and those who prepared it. And thank you for sendin’ me a wake up call ‘fore it was too late. Amen.”
Dale dropped Francine’s hand, but held on to Colt’s.
“Son, someone’s about to walk though that door. I ain’t explainin’, not tonight, but I need you to roll with it. Don’t you dare show less guts or grace than your sister.”
Dale tipped his chair back and tapped on the storm door. At night, the two glass panels let anyone see inside, but threw back the reflection of the room—a weird side-effect of the energy-efficient film on every window in the house.
I gaped. Little Shelby squealed, “Grandma!”
Powder blue scrubs set off Robyn’s cornflower eyes. Her sleek hair shone and her makeup had been carefully applied. She lifted a round casserole dish that matched the tea pot in the middle of the table.
“Seems none of your men know how to make a banana puddin’ from scratch. Congratulations, Shelby. Best racin’ I’ve seen in years happened this past weekend.” Her eyes were drawn to the opposite end of the table. She gave Colt a shy smile. “You drive like your daddy, son.”
Dale took Robyn’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, babe.” His voice was thick with gravel and colored with regret, but maybe I read what I wanted to see into those two words.
Colt’s chin wobbled, but he swallowed hard and held it together. My poor heart did the squeezing, expanding, flying thing when tears turned Colt’s lower lashes to spikes.
“So nice to see you again, Robyn. My goodness, you haven’t changed. Still beautiful. Won’t you sit down?” Francine gestured to the empty chair.
“Thank you.” Robyn slid the dish onto the bar, then moved to the table. “It’s been a long time, Francine. I was so sorry to hear about Ernie’s passin’.”
Wait a minute. They know each other?
Caroline hadn’t seemed surprised to see her mother walk in, but now, she turned my way and raised her brows.
I shrugged. “Pass the crab legs before Marley gets into ‘em, please.” I lifted the pair of channel locks beside my plate and waggled them. “Since we both grew up only children, I figure this could get ugly.”
“Hey, princess, I sterilized those so we could share ‘em.” Marley gave me a cheesy grin.
I squinted at the grease that remained on the handles. “Really? Don’t quit your day job, honey.”
The tense set to Caine’s shoulders relaxed.
Francine lifted the platter of steaks. “Take one and pass it around,” she urged.
Phillip picked up the story where Francine left off.
“I got an injunction to stop hold the car here in the county and petitioned the local court for a hearing on the merits of FCA’s claim that Francine’s in possession of stolen property, since she’s relocating here and we do not wanna have this fight in Detroit—or Maryland, or God forbid, Italy. I spent the last two days answering questions from the press and filing responses. We’re going to the mat on this. At worst, I’ll shove a massive bill for storage fees down their throats. At best, we’ll get the ‘Cuda back.”
He spread his hands. “And, while we’re being thankful, the partners at my firm are dancing in the aisles over all the press we’re getting.”
Aw, Robert’s dad must be so pissed.
“That’s the thing about the women you hang with.” Harry’s mile-wide grin made me give him one in return. “A kick-ass bunch if ever I saw one. Fiat thought Francine was just some little schoolteacher in South Carolina. I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when Phillip dropped the news that she’s now the majority stockholder in NASCAR.”
“What?” I blurted, louder than I meant.
Dale paused with his tea glass halfway to his lips. “You didn’t know she was an England?”
I rolled my eyes. “Uh, hell no. She mentioned she left Daytona Beach to get away from racing and race car drivers.” I squinted at Francine, while Caine plopped the huge pot of crab legs in front of me. “How’d you happen to leave out the part about NASCAR being the family business?”
“Bad habit I started back in high school.” My friend smiled the widest smile I’d seen from her since Ernie’s initial heart attack. “I kept waiting for Richard to spill the beans at the Christmas party. I knew Doris would choke on her giggle juice before she said anything. She prefers the view from up Georgie’s ass. Like him, it suits her to pretend I don’t exist.”
She gave a sharp snap of her fingers. “I wish ‘em luck with that, going forward.”
Loud laughter rattled the makeshift table. Caroline gasped through her giggles. “Mama calls Doris a witch.” She darted Dale an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”
“Doris is a witch.” Robyn leaned forward, fastening her eyes on me. “Don’t feel bad. I traveled with her and Ernie off and on for months. Learned she was George England’s first cousin on the eleven o’clock news last night.”
Marley waved. “Hi, Robyn. I’m Marley Taggert. Not sure how you feel about me, but meetin’ you has been at the top of my bucket list for a long time.”
Robyn’s cheeks matched the crab legs. “Uh, okay. Nice meetin’ you, too.” She unleashed that beautiful smile. “I love to watch you race. But girl, you need to put Rowdy into the wall.”
“Amen.” I waved the heavy pliers.
“Workin’ on it.” Marley promised. “I don’t have Kolby’s skills. Yet.”
“What are you doing here?” I smiled at Dale.
“I live here.” His progress with the steak knife was slow, but everyone ignored his struggle, until he threw down the knife. “Ah, hell. I gotta pay rent now, don’t I?”
“That steak looks tough.” Francine jumped to her feet and seized his plate. “I left a couple in the kitchen that might be more tender.”
She hurried around the bar. I filled my plate and passed Marley the crab, while Colt and Caine exchanged a look.
Caine turned to his dad. “Yep. If you’re workin’, you’re payin’ rent. If you ain’t workin’, your ass is in the street. Ain’t that how it goes, Colt?”
“Oh. I guess I have to pay rent, too.” I snapped the first fat leg on top of the pile, smiling to myself while I watched Francine slide a knife from the drawer with ninja-like stealth.
“What’d I tell you the day I moved you in here, young’un?” Dale peered at me, then frowned at Caine.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Every man here works hard so I don’t have to?”
He used his fork to point. “You’re gonna work hard. You just ain’t payin’ no damn rent.”
“Cutest Neanderthal ever.” I blew him a kiss. “Back to the question.”
“We had to spring him.” Caine snagged the bowl of foil-wrapped potatoes. Jonny seized a similar bowl filled with ears of yellow corn. “Doc said he can’t drive for a month. You can’t lift nothin’ heavier’n a hairbrush for at least thirty days, accordin’ to your doctor. I gotta be in Dover tomorrow night. Colt and Jonny are flyin’ up Friday mornin’. Means Dad had to step up.”
Something that felt a lot like a steel-toed boot pressed my bare foot. “Y’all can take care of each other.”
The doctor had said no such thing about me. Even if it were true, Caroline lived minutes away and was barely working two days a week. But, Dale felt needed now, which should ease his pride and help speed his recuperation. Caine could engineer more than a car, it seemed.
A chip off the old block.
Francine returned with Dale’s plate. We all pretended not to see the neat cubes of steak, Dale most of all.
The food slowed the conversation. I passed on the veggies to stuff down as many crab legs as possible. Marley matched me, bite for bite.
Francine shuddered when I used the pliers to crack a claw. “As a resident of Florida throughout my youth, I cannot resist buying seafood utensils. I know I have at least ten sets. I’m giving you five of them when I move.” She described the houses s
he’d screened on her search for a new home, saying her search had narrowed to two properties. At last, even Phillip and Colt pushed their plates away.
“Give me five minutes,” Phillip groaned, rubbing his belly. “We’ll clean the kitchen.”
“We savin’ that bubbly for somethin’ more important than a world record?” Dale demanded.
I grinned. “Let me guess. You drink, too, but you just quit buying booze?”
“Busted.” Colt chuckled. “She’s on to you, old man. We done what we could to slow her down from figurin’ you out.”
“I’ll do the honors,” Harry offered. We each got about an inch in our cups before the bottle ran dry.
“Why does that stuff seem to last longer when someone’s pourin’ it down the back of your racin’ leathers?” Colt rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
“Like you’d know.” Marley sniffed, getting chuckles from Robyn.
“The only thing better than a smart ass, is warmin’ that ass.” Colt stood and leaned across the table, pressing his finger to the tip of Marley’s nose.
Dale choked on his champagne, but Robyn laughed out loud. “I always said God had a twisted sense of humor, if you could stay alive long enough to see the punch line.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
“To six point zero one seconds. Long may she wave.” Dale lifted his glass.
“And, to a dual bachelor’s degree,” Francine reminded him. “English and Art,” she confided to Robyn.
The gulp of champagne went straight to my head. A warm, fuzzy glow settled behind my breastbone. The conversation became loud, irreverent, punctuated with laughter. I wondered how Francine slipped away from Mom, but wasn’t willing to bring up anything that might spoil the mood.
Harry and Phillip had cleared the table by the time I made a trip to the bathroom and returned. They looked so cute, standing side by side at the sink.
Dale had settled into the recliner I’d bought him. Francine took the opposite end of the couch from me. Robyn settled on the middle cushion. Caine knelt on the carpet at my feet.
“I can’t believe you own NASCAR,” Robyn said, wide-eyed.
“A fourth. Plus, those two all-important shares your daughter rescued from the trash bin, I’m told. Those shares give me the majority stake. Technically, my twenty-five shares still belong to my mother. She always resented the way George and his father just ignored her after my daddy died. I mean, she cashed the checks, but... when she learned I had those two shares, she gave me control of her stock the next day. Long and ugly family story y’all don’t want to hear.” Francine waved one flattened hand across the other several times.
“George and his brother still held the majority, assuming they voted together—and they always do. But Ernie foresaw something I hadn’t considered.”
It took Francine a minute to stop laughing and fill us in on the joke. “I thought we’d have to get George a bed next to Dale when Linda, his ex-wife, had her attorney assign control of her shares to me for the purpose of any vote about five minutes after I hung up from talking to my mother.” She smirked. “That means, if I want to do it, it’s already done.”
The room burst into laughter. Finally, I wiped my eyes. “So, what will you change?”
Caine took my hand. The strong cramps that had wracked me for two days had eased, along with the bleeding. I’d never felt more contented.
“That’s my girl.” Dale pointed. “Francine, she’s gonna change the world.”
“I believe you.” Francine smiled. “She already changed mine once or twice. For starters, I’m going to appoint a commissioner of racing. George is a fool for thinking he can handle everything. Especially what happens on the track. The rest, he’s pretty good at, but there’s no gasoline in his blood.”
George’s demotion infused me with happiness. Grind on that, asshole.
“Hell, yeah.” Caine balled his fist for a short pump. “Can you pick somebody who knows his ass from a hole in the ground about a damn car?”
“I was going to get a recommendation from your father, actually. I know who Ernie thought would make a good one.”
“Hancock.” Dale lifted his cap and scratched the red spot on his forehead where the band left an impression. “All the drivers respect Jesse. Most of the crew chiefs don’t hate him. Most of all, the fans love that man.”
I darted a glance at Robyn in time to see her roll her eyes.
Francine nodded. “Ernie’s choice, as well.” She studied her nails. “Assuming he’d take on the commissioner’s job, and he and I can come to terms on his compensation, he’d be precluded from backing any team.”
I craned my neck to see Marley, who’d curled into the corner of the loveseat. Colt perched on the arm at her side. He gripped Marley’s hand but stared at his mother like he thought she might disappear in a puff of smoke.
“And of course, neither can I.” Francine raised her head, drawing my attention to her again. “That’s one of the many tragedies about losing Ernie so soon. He planned to back Hannah-Built, one hundred percent. ‘Retirement fun-without-a-damn-D’, he called the plan.”
The lamplight burnished the remaining red in her hair. She swept her bangs off her brow. “Was it Junior Johnson who said the best way to make a small fortune in racing was to start with a big one? Anyway, Phillip’s drawing up papers to transfer the money he’d set aside for the project. I’m adding a fund that is equal to the value of the ‘Cuda. Cash, stocks, and bonds will be funneled directly from Ernie’s accounts, so people can’t say I backed Hannah-Built. You’ll have access to the money by weeks’ end.”
“What?” I gasped. “A trust fund?”
Francine reached past Robyn to pat my knee. “Ernie bought that damn car, thinking he’d hold on to it till Dale got settled in with Caine, and was ready to buy it from him. Then, he saw an opportunity in the stock market, but he didn’t want to liquidate any of his other stocks to buy this new one. Instead, he used the car for collateral, through one of his buddies who ran a small savings and loan. His stock choice performed well. So, he did that again. And again.” She cast a peek at Dale. “He built quite a portfolio, trying to compete with George, but his guilt made him pull away from you, Dale.”
“Hell, didn’t make no difference to me,” Dale assured her. “Never thought about that car but maybe twice in all them years, till Christmas, to tell the damn truth.”
Robyn’s eyes took on a suspicious gleam, making me think she knew Dale intended to give Jill the 6k ‘Cuda. I suspected that he lied to spare Francine.
“It mattered to him,” Francine assured Dale. “Guilt can kill a person. I’m convinced, he worried about profiting from the misfortunes of a friend until it affected his health. Then, we ran into Shelby at Krispy Kreme that day. I can’t tell you how much it eased his mind to know that you had your own ‘Cuda convertible.”
Digging into the pocket of her skirt, she dragged out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. Crumpling it in her fist, she added, “He knew you’d altered the interior of yours to look like the 6k ‘Cuda, because he tracked every one left in existence like a mama hawk with one chick.”
She shifted her gaze to me. “It thrilled him, how much you loved his old stories and watching the races with him. You drank in the knowledge he’d always ached to share with his own child. Sharing his love of the sport and watching it kindle inside you made his last days some of his happiest. I think he was more proud that you gave his story the place of honor on your site than he was of anything else he ever did.”
“He’s the star of the show. His video, and Dale’s, are my favorites.” Tears stung my eyes. “More than that, Ernie showed me who Dale is. Without him, I’m not sure I’d have pieced it all together. I loved him so much. He was nothing like my grandfather. He actually smiled at me. Told me his complex ideas about deal-making. How to think around corners and make money. My real grandpa thought making correct change was over my head. Because... tits.”
“I’m gonna have to try s
ome Demerol with my champagne,” Harry yelled from the kitchen.
“Go ahead,” Phillip retorted. “See how fast I nail that sweet ass.”
“Reckon they’re family now.” Dale tugged his cap lower.
Chapter Fifty-Three
I jumped when the side door bell rang. My heart broke into a gallop. It’d be like Mom to crash the party, betting Caine wouldn’t make good on his threat in front of Francine. Before anyone got up, the door swung open.
Dale peered around the wing of the recliner. “I oughta bust you right in the mouth.”
“Aw, now, don’t be like that, asshole. Besides, I didn’t come here to see you.”
“Lord, have mercy,” Francine said, under her breath.
Robyn waggled her fingers, but said nothing to help me identify the stranger. In fact, gazing around the room, only Caroline, little Shelby, and I seemed mystified about the identity of the man who came through the door like he lived here.
The party-crasher was shorter than Dale by half a foot. Straight hair the color of fresh-shined tires slicked back from his forehead. When he turned to be sure the door had latched, I spied a pony tail longer than mine, shot through with few threads of silver, although I had the sense he was older than Dale.
His hawkish nose looked right amidst craggy features. I could easily picture him wearing a kilt and lifting a broadsword. Muscles strained the buttons on his dress shirt, but the fabric lay loose around his waist. The shirt tucked neatly into a black belt that wrapped the waist of worn Wranglers.
He sauntered through the kitchen like he owned the place, but drew up short in front of the recliner.
Staring at Francine.
“Well, I sincerely hope they sent you to return my car,” Francine snapped. “In fact, that would make up for a lot.”
I clued in to the white Mopar symbol embroidered over the hot older dude’s heart.