Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3)

by Eden Connor

  He grabbed the roller and tackled the black section between the two front windows. I balanced the bucket on the ladder and fanned the bristles on the angled paintbrush.

  “Looks like this is gonna need two coats.” He paused to take the can from me. Scanning the label, he scowled. “I reckon ‘low odor’ is code for ‘half-assed coverage’?”

  We painted in companionable silence for a bit. “Don’t suppose I get a head’s up about what’s on the agenda for the Ridenhour party today?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about Dodge?”

  “If you hear the fax machine start spittin’ out paper, that’s our cue to start buildin’ Dodge cars.”

  “I thought all the NASCAR cars were just alike?”

  “New regs next season. We’re goin’ back to havin’ the car look like the stock model. ‘Bout damn time. Who wants to pull for a cookie-cutter car that looks just like all the rest? Can’t complain about the safety of ‘em, but makin’ ‘em all the same was disrespectin’ the fans and the manufacturers.”

  The door bell rang before I could respond.

  “I’ll go. Bet that’s Caine’s order for more Hannah-Built caps.” Adding ‘find a drop-shipper’ to the list of things to do I’d started in my phone, I headed through the foyer to the front door.

  Unremarkable brown eyes peered over a cardboard box.

  “Hey, Shelby. Is, um, Dale around?”

  I nearly tumbled over the sill. “What do you want?”

  “Uh, came to see Dale, if that’s all right.”

  I didn’t know if that was all right.

  The paint roller clattered into the pan. After a moment, Dale appeared in the hallway. “What’s up, Kolby?”

  Relief surged in the driver’s eyes. “Hey, Dale. How you doin’?”

  “Can’t complain. C’mon in the den. What’s in the box?” Dale turned away. I wanted to bar the damn door, but stood aside. To my astonishment, Kolby swiped his feet on the welcome mat before he stepped inside.

  Barnes thrust the box into my hands, but the flaps were interlocked, so I couldn’t see inside. Bigger than a breadbox, the carton weighed next to nothing. The contents rattled like a snake. He followed Dale into the den. I trailed the driver, feeling like the hired help.

  “Just stuff Shelby left in the Audi, boss man. You ever known a woman to move out without leavin’ half her shit?”

  Something flickered in Dale’s eyes while he settled into his recliner. “Can’t say I’ve had many women leave me.”

  “Ouch.” Kolby’s grin faded. He dug a finger into the neckline of his Red Bomb T-shirt. “Reckon that’s another part of my character I need to work on.”

  I carried the box to the kitchen table and lifted the flaps.

  “Twenty-six hair bows and fourteen ink pens,” Kolby announced, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Two paperbacks and three empty lipstick tubes. What’s up with those, Shelby? Mind if I sit down?”

  “Go ahead.”

  From the corner of my eye, I watched Dale gesture with a sinking heart. Barnes could’ve tossed all of this stuff.

  “Listen, Dale.” Kolby scooted forward on the couch. “Think you’ll be back by Darlington? I really wanna win that damn race. That track takes nerves of steel and a perfect strategy. If you ain’t there, I come up short both ways.”

  I held my breath. Barnes’ lips stretched, reminding me of Mack Brown. “I got an unbroken string of DNFs at that track.”

  Dale scratched his chin. “Better plan on runnin’ the Lady in Black with David.”

  “Yeah? Okay.” Kolby hung his head.

  Thanks to Ernie, I knew the nickname hearkened back to the days when the owner covered the track with fresh pitch before every race. But, who was this impersonator and what had he done with Kolby Barnes?

  Kolby sprang off the couch. “Listen, chief. Where you hidin’ the John Deere? I ain’t gonna make that party today, because I come to cut your grass.”

  My mouth fell open so far, he could’ve driven that big tractor inside.

  “Nah. I’ll get around to it.” Dale adjusted his cap. “Caine and Shelby got me paintin’ right now.”

  Barnes swept the Ridenhour cap off his head. “Your shrubs need trimmin’, too.” Red blotches popped out on the driver’s throat and lower jaw. “I’m real good with hedge clippers.”

  I fiddled with the empty tube of MAC lipstick, unsure why I’d kept the damn thing.

  “Nobody never give me nothin’,” Barnes blurted. “If I got it, I had to scrap for it.”

  Kolby’s grammar was usually better. Sweat popped out on his upper lip, giving a bedraggled air to his thin moustache.

  “My mama.” His Adam’s apple bounced. His voice scraped the inside of my skull, leaving an echo of pain that wasn’t my pain. “She died givin’ birth to Kasey. My dad had to get a hardship discharge from the Navy. He liked the military. More’n he liked us, I reckon.” Kolby plucked an invisible thread on his shirt. “Said he wasn’t raisin’ no pussies.”

  Barnes dropped his hand and turned in my direction. Shards of bewilderment churned the brown irises.

  “So, he’d buy one of somethin’ he knew me and Kasey both wanted. Whoever won, got it. Sometimes a new Power Ranger or G.I. Joe. Sometimes it was dinner.”

  “Made y’all race, huh?” Dale chuckled.

  My stomach knotted. “No.” With all the drama swirling around me, I’d forgotten about the folder Francine pulled out of her garage, but the stack of forms from Children’s Services floated in my head. “He made them fight.”

  Surprise flickered in Barnes’ eyes. The explosive driver lowered his lids, shutting me out. My knees went weak with relief at the disconnect from his personal hell.

  “Yeah. When we was three and two, it was just till someone cried. When we was twelve and thirteen, we couldn’t stop till one of us couldn’t get up, or we’d have to fight him.”

  For dinner? He made them fight to get fed?

  My stomach lurched. I calculated the distance to the sink.

  “So, when Colt joined Ridenhour, I figured... I dunno, Dale, I got it in my head you’d have his back and not mine. Nobody knew Jamie’d retire this soon, so I thought you’d make Colt look good and me look bad, so he could have my Cup ride. You wasn’t gettin’ nicked for cheatin’, so....”

  Enough, already. Somebody please, stop the bleeding.

  Kolby lifted his eyes. The pain there nearly knocked me back a step. I gripped the chair, unwilling for him to think I moved away out of rejection. I saw no trace of the arrogant man I’d wanted banned from NASCAR.

  “England made me talk to this shrink.” He plucked the button atop the cap. “Some of the crew told me you went toe to toe with him in the hospital, before the press conference. Said he owed me more’n just to make money off me. I ‘preciate that. Ain’t nobody never took up for me that way. I ain’t gonna blow my second chance. She’s okay. The shrink, I mean. And, Dale, I don’t know what to say about you gettin’ my charges dropped. I-I....”

  Dale jerked his chin in my direction, meeting my stunned gaze. “Bay six. Give him the key off the board. Don’t wreck it, don’t flip it on these hills, and don’t put it up until you rinse it off and fill it with gas.”

  “Yes, chief.”

  I lifted the key off the board. Before I could give it to him, the driver tugged a folded paper out of his shirt pocket.

  “I had the bank calculate the six months’ interest, so it better be right.”

  Certified. I blinked at the long string of numbers.

  Kolby chuckled. The smooth chocolate mask returned to his eyes. “Boss man, you’d have fell down laughin’. I’m still fumblin’ to find third, right? And she’s hittin’ fourth already.” Barnes darted a shy smile my way. “One of these days, you’ll have to show me how the fuck you done that. I, uh, saw that Caine ripped out the dual gear box.”

  “The Audi’s got a video system, you know. And a hot spot.” Dale laid his palm over his lower jaw, but
his eyes were merry. “Had the best seat in the house, but didn’t hardly have time to laugh.”

  Kolby’s grin turned sheepish. “Can’t figure that computer shit out.”

  “I can show you. Caine put a kick-ass dash cam in, too. For my birthday.” Okay, fuck being nice. “What was your race time? I never heard.”

  “Seven two. Seven flat’s the time I ever turned on a quarter mile.” He put a fist to his mouth and coughed. “Kasey’s got the 911 up for sale. So far, everyone who’s looked at it just wants to kick the tires and talk about how bad you beat it.”

  Out on the street, nobody bothered with the dial-in. It was nose on the line and the only currency that counted was earned by testing yourself against all comers. I couldn’t help it. I gave the man my very best Dale Hannah smirk.

  “I’m glad you’re both okay. And... I’m sorry.” He had trouble holding my gaze, but he did better when he turned to Dale.

  “We’re gonna be just fine.” Dale raised a thumb.

  Why can’t women be more like guys? You can be their biggest enemy and do one thing right. They’ll forgive and move on. I’d never heard my own voice in my head—till now.

  Barnes took the key from my numb fingers and let himself out the kitchen door. I turned to see Dale shaking his head.

  “The minute you land, head first, in the doctor’s hands, the whole damn world’s set against you. Why wouldn’t a man make his boys into a team?”

  “He wanted at least one to be worth the sacrifice he made.”

  Dale got out of the chair. We stood at the door, watching Kolby back the tractor out of the last bay on the right. I slid my hand inside the rough palm of the only father I’d ever known, or wanted to know.

  “What’cha gonna do with the money?”

  “Pay off my student loans. Guess I’ll save the rest for a rainy day.”

  “Plenty of those, in racin’ and out of it.”

  “Or....”

  He cocked a brow.

  “Ernie told me about a hardtop ’71 ‘Cuda down in Atlanta. I looked it up last night. Guy still has it. Might make a good drag car.”

  A wide grin split his face. “Gimme his number and I’ll get him on the phone.”

  “What about sponsoring an open drag night over at Lee’s place? Let anyone with a permit and a car race, even if it’s a Kia. We could give out safety helmets to the first fifty entrants. Sign autographs. Pick up the fee for any girl who wants to race.”

  He curled a hand around my shoulder and pulled me tight to his side. “Sounds like my kind of Ladies’ Night.”

  Who would warm Dale’s soul when he came home weary and cold from chasing our dreams? I didn’t think I could bear it if he was about to turn the world upside down in order to give it to us, only to end up alone.

  “Think she’ll show up today?”

  He squeezed my shoulder. “I dunno. Got no right to ask her, but the puddin’ wasn’t poisoned, so that’s a start. Don’t you worry none. If she don’t come, I got a backup plan.”

  He waggled his brows and gave my shoulder another squeeze.

  “Why do I think that backup plan is me?”

  He chuckled. “Because you’re the kid who thinks with her head and her heart. And, don’t act all put upon, neither. That fuckin’ pitcher didn’t walk to the hospital by its damn self.” His injured expression reminded me of Jesse. “Didn’t even put no flowers in it.”

  “Flowers? People who fake a three-day extension on their coma don’t deserve no damn flowers.” I shrugged, but my heart did that four-directions-at-once thing again.

  “Hammer down and hell-bent, then.” I patted his ass. “Maybe you can get her in the truck and explain about gas or ass.”

  He gave me that injured look again. “I didn’t have no car. That was Robyn’s rule.”

  Wearing Caine’s ring on my finger, while watching Kolby Barnes cut the grass and sharing a laugh with my dad, sure made it seem like any damn thing was possible.

  Before I share the news about the next book in The ‘Cuda Confessions series,

  take a sneak peek into two stand-alone novels coming in 2016!

  THE LOVE GOV

  Eden Connor

  There’s nothing bi-partisan about this candidate’s love life.

  Ben Collins is running for governor of South Carolina. He's determined to govern the state with a clean conscience and a balance sheet in the black, but his new campaign manager thinks Ben should get ahead of his critics. Ben reluctantly agrees to a tell-all interview about his marriages—one to a woman, the other to a man.

  Evony Millwood is running too, from her feelings about Ben. If trying to forget Ben wasn’t hard enough, when Ben’s interview goes public, people learn that Evony was more than the Collins’ former business partner and attorney. People like the man Evony just got engaged to, Keelan Bonner, who’s also running for governor. Half the mud that Keelan’s hankering to sling at Ben is made from dirt that Evony buried with her own hands. The ethical canons of Evony’s profession forbids her to talk about Ben’s affairs, even to warn off her fiancé, but someone else knows.

  With sex, secrets, and South Carolina’s love affair with the gun on the slate at the next South Carolina Gubernatorial debate, Ben’s expecting an explosive evening. But no one’s expecting the madman who will force him and Evony to bare their souls in a twisted game of truth or dare.

  •1•

  Cigarette smoke made a blue haze throughout the exclusive Columbia men’s club. At the back of the dim room, a man got to his feet. Maybe five-seven, his red hair gleamed despite the lack of light. When I approached, the political advisor’s smile slid across his face like an oil slick. The way he looked at me made me want to put my fist through his face, but he smiled. The disdain in his eyes sank beneath the mossy, muddy surface of his eyes. I left my hand clenched, in case I changed my mind.

  “Mr. Collins. So nice to meet you.”

  “Thank you for taking the meeting, Mr. Gaines.”

  The man didn’t respond, but that might have been due to the fact he was busy kicking me in the ankles under the pretense of settling down to talk. Fucking Napoleon complexes. This is a waste of time. This man was my last choice for a campaign manager, but by the time I’d made up my mind to run, the more desirable ones had already signed on with other people.

  “What are you drinkin’?”

  “Bourbon,” I snapped.

  Gaines lifted a hand. A waitress scurried to his side. The asshole stared at her thighs, not her face. “Darlin’, we need two fingers of Four Roses in two glasses.” He raised his eyes long enough to wink at the poor woman. Something told me he was a bad tipper. Like the fact the twenty-something server barely smiled and turned away quickly.

  “Let’s get right down to business. I want to run for governor.”

  “On the Democratic ticket.”

  I despise being interrupted, but fought to keep my tone smooth. “Yes. And I need a campaign manager. When I asked around, your name came up.”

  “Of course. Gaines men have put South Carolina governors in office in this state since the first settlers landed at Charles Town. But it’s been a minute since a Democrat sat in the governor’s chair.”

  Oh, right. Rub your blue blood in my face. I nearly asked what fault in his family DNA led them to strive for second place, but the waitress’s return stopped me. The way the young woman flinched suggested Gaines ran his hand down the back of her leg. Disgust burned my throat far more than my big gulp of liquor.

  “People are fed up with the Republican Party. They’re out of touch. I have the backing of some powerful men. I just need someone experienced to guide this campaign.” Ultra-conservatives called this state the motherland, but the winds of change were blowing.

  Gaines swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Let me be blunt, Mr. Collins. You’ve done a helluva job raising your public profile. I mean, restoring the governor’s mansion with your own funds? Filming a documentary while you did it? Talking the produ
cers into letting your ex-husband narrate? That PBS series sure as shootin’ made one of you a star. But that’s hardly enough to overcome the fact that you were, indeed, married to Jericho James. If you’ll pardon my French, no one in this state will vote for a man who’s sucked a dick.”

  You mean no straight man. The cut crystal bit into my fingers.

  “You’re overlooking one thing, Mr. Gaines. There’s a significant gay constituency here, whether men like you want to admit it or not. They’ll vote for me. When George Millwood’s candidate gets beat in the primary, the black vote will swing to me.”

  Gaines kept his eyes on me and smirked. “That’s not going to happen. The black ministers will fall over themselves to condemn an un-Christian lifestyle.”

  Don’t throw the glass. My lawyer might not show up to bail me out of jail.

  “Besides, I don’t think you can beat Keelan Bonner.” Gaines sipped his bourbon.

  Bonner started out as an investigator for the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division and was appointed to the top job after a huge scandal a few years back. He stood for law and order in a state that believed in that above all.

  I slid out of the booth. “Sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Gaines. Thanks for the drink.” Blood pounded in my ears, but I forced a smile. “For the record, a man who’s unemployed might want to hide his shortcomings the next time someone offers him big bucks to do a job.”

  I recounted the meeting to my driver, Nicholas, on the way home.

  “Your restraint was remarkable, Ben.” Nick’s dark eyes sought mine in the rearview mirror. “I can’t believe I’m not down at the jail, coughing up bail money. What a jackass.”

  I stared out the window at the city’s tallest buildings, wishing I had the guts to order him to head for Melrose Heights, a charming downtown Columbia neighborhood.

  “Find someone else to run your campaign. You deserve to sit in the governor’s chair.”