by Dianne Miley
“Careful there, Grant,” Bo immediately called on the radio. “Remember, the track’s cold.”
Brett slipped his headset on. There was no response from the other end. Grant gradually got the car up to speed, but in the first turn it headed for the wall and spun out. Curse words grumbled over the radio, blaming Brett. Anger welled within him, but he struggled to hide it. Grant punched the accelerator and the car spun again.
“Take it up slow,” Bo reprimanded.
“This car’s way too tight,” Grant punctuated the airwaves with a few choice words, and then a dare. “It has nothin’ to do with the pavement. Tell Mitchell to try and drive this car!”
“Bring it on, Neal!” Brett yelled into the mike. “I’ll show you how to drive.”
“Now wait a minute,” Bo argued.
But the car was leaving the track and Grant drove right up to Brett. He threw his helmet on the floorboards and yanked down the window net.
“Calm down, now,” Bo demanded. “If the car’s too tight, Brett’ll fix it. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Then fix it!” Grant fumed and climbed out the window of the welded-shut door.
Brett clenched his teeth to keep from saying something he’d regret. Grant Neal was a hotshot from day one, but Brett had no idea the guy was this arrogant. Sizing him up, he figured they had similar measurements. Brett pulled him out of view of the tower and removed his jacket. “Give me your suit.”
“Gladly!” Grant retorted, unzipping his fire suit and pulling it down around his shoulders.
“Now just a minute!” Bo looked at Brett incredulously. “Brett, you can’t drive this track...you’ve got no experience...”
“Yes, I do. I raced in Ohio all through high school on tracks a lot smaller and colder than this.”
“But not in cars this fast.”
“Or this well built.” Brett forced calmness as he rationalized, “If the car’s not right, I’ve gotta tweak it. The best way to know what it’s doing is to feel it in the seat of your pants.”
“The officials won’t allow it,” Bo declared. “You can’t race this track unless you’re approved.”
“I’m not racing, I’m testing.” Brett stared into Bo’s eyes. “You know as well as I do, a bunch of locals run here every weekend when NASCAR’s scheduled somewhere else. My racing back home gives me just as much experience as any of them.”
Bo’s hesitation told Brett he’d won. He took the suit from Grant and stepped into it. The legs and body fit like a glove, but the shoulders were too tight. After zipping it snugly, his arm movement was slightly restricted. No big deal. He picked up Grant’s helmet and slid it on.
Bo turned to Grant. “Put on Brett’s jacket.”
Grant begrudgingly did as he was told.
Brett walked to the car and climbed through the window.
“Fasten the belts good and tight,” Bo said, keeping an eye on the tower. “Be careful out there, and don’t let them know it’s you.”
Brett buckled the five-point harness and clipped in the window net. With a flip of a toggle switch, the engine roared to life. It felt good to get behind the wheel of a racecar again. Especially one this professional compared to the junkers he’d pieced together in his dad’s garage.
College had ended his racing days but now he was back. He pressed the accelerator gradually and pulled onto the track. The car sped down the straightaway. As he approached the first turn, he backed off, but the wheels headed straight for the wall. He fought the steering wheel and tapped the brake.
Like the fire suit, the car was too tight. That stinkin’ jerk was right.
He pulled the wheel to the left, but the car still headed for the wall. He pressed the brake harder and reefed on the wheel until his arms hurt. The car leaned into the bank, hugging the turn within inches of the wall, and he cleared turn one.
Now for two. He let off the brake slightly to prevent a skid. Diving for the low side, he tapped the brake again to get through turn two.
A little smoother this time, he cranked the wheel left as the car pushed to the high side. Pressing the brake firmly, he kept the car about a foot from the wall, and then hugged it close down the straight.
Raindrops suddenly appeared on the windshield. The radio crackled to life. “Rain, fifty-three, pull it on in.”
“Okay, Bo, I’m coming in.” He let off the gas and touched the brake on approach to turn three. The slick tires didn’t respond. He braked again. Nothing. He gradually steered low.
Bits of dirt on the track had already turned to mud. He tapped the brake, then pressed it, with no response.
Panicked, he pumped the brake and jerked the wheel back and forth, begging it to catch. Sliding straight for the wall, he had no control.
“Come on,” he yelled. “Come on!” He braced for the crash.
Metal crunched, parts flew, and everything went black.
****
Laura hadn’t seen Rachel since last Sunday. The day Jake’s body was found. The day her sister slapped her. That infamous Sunday when the James family dinner didn’t happen.
Today, they’d continue the Sunday tradition at the farmhouse. After all, it was Rachel’s birthday. Hoping it wasn’t disastrous, Laura encircled the base of her cheesecake with trios of pink rosebuds. Fresh flowers for every occasion were definitely a florist’s perk. Pink roses were Rachel’s favorites.
“She’ll speak to you,” her mother assured. “When she sees that raspberry cheesecake you slaved over, her heart will melt.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Give her time. She’ll come around.”
“I hope you’re right,” Laura responded uncertainly. She couldn’t bear the betrayal she’d seen in Rachel’s eyes, just before she slapped her in the face. They’d been best friends all their lives. Jake was always a sore point, but nothing ever came between them like this.
She couldn’t imagine feeling any worse until she overheard Chad speaking to her father. “Yeah, Laura finally found a good one and she let him go.”
Chad was the best judge of character she’d ever met. He never liked her other boyfriends. And he was right on all counts. Brett made her feel loved and secure. He’d never pressured her for sex like Ronny and Alton had. Funny thing was, she’d never even wanted to with either the hot rod or the weenie. But she wanted Brett. Desperately. His moral resolve had remained intact while hers tossed like a tent in a tornado.
Besides physical attraction, he’d become her best friend. He’d taken an interest in her business, and asked the name of “those purple flowers” on the square. And he cared about family. He adored his mother, and only when pushed would he reluctantly reveal his father’s faults. He’d fit into her family too—treating cranky Jessica with understanding, befriending Chad, and helping her dad fix the cottage. He’d even gone riding, although he clearly knew nothing about horses.
Pain wrenched her insides.
Brett loved her, but fear convinced her not to trust him. Like a fool, she’d sent him away. After he’d begged her to come with him.
She chose her family, her job, and her hometown over the love of her life. Exactly what Grandma warned her not to do.
“Will you be renting out the cottage again?” Chad asked.
“I guess we might as well,” John said. “No sense in letting it get run down.”
Grandma was probably waving a heavenly finger at her.
Pretending she hadn’t heard her father, Laura swallowed hard and asked her mother, “How long do we bake the biscuits?”
Deep creases lined Emily’s forehead and her eyes grew troubled. “Twenty minutes,” she answered.
She didn’t point out that they’d been baking biscuits together since Laura was eight. Or that the timer was already set and ticking loudly. Instead, her mother set a bouquet of pink cabbage roses on the dining room table.
“It needs a doily,” Laura said. With nervous energy, she hurried to the buffet and pulled one from the drawer.
“You know how Rachel loves doilies.”
“Well aren’t you the suck-up today?” Emily teased. Then she obliged, placing the bit of lace beneath the cut glass vase. “There. Victorian style, just for Rachel.”
“How are my girls today?” John’s voice boomed from the living room, signaling Rachel’s grand entrance.
Laura tensed.
“It’ll be fine.” Her mother rubbed her back a moment, and then pulled her toward the wide doorway.
Rachel had lost a remarkable amount of weight in the last few weeks. Her coat hung loosely as she bent to remove her daughters’ jackets.
“I’ll take those,” Emily reached for the girls’ coats, and helped Rachel out of hers.
Laura stared at her sister’s bony figure, jutting like a skeleton beneath an oversized sweater and too-loose pants. Black was not her best color. Rachel pushed a strand of straggly blond hair from her gaunt face.
“Happy Birthday, Rach,” Laura said with enthusiasm.
Cool green eyes averted her as Rachel turned to hang her coat. Hurt and foreboding swelled in Laura. Spinning on her heel, she went to the kitchen to check on dinner. All her sister’s favorites were present: shrimp, scallops, Fettuccini Alfredo, Cobb salad, and garlic cheddar biscuits. And of course, the raspberry cheesecake.
She busied herself setting out the meal, and carefully avoided Rachel. She took a seat across from Chad to escape the green gaze beside her, and breathed a sigh of relief when Jessica squeezed between her and Rachel. After grace, she passed bowls to her niece without looking past her.
“Has business picked up?” Chad asked, trying to calm the flare up between his sisters.
He knew darn well it had.
“Why, yes.” Emily perked up. “Yesterday we had over a dozen tourists come in. With all the publicity—” she abruptly cut herself off as tension filled the room. “Uh, a lot of visitors are coming to Crystal Falls. It’s been good for business.”
“So everyone knows,” Rachel commented with sarcasm, “that Rosebuds is related to the big murder case.”
“Well, yes,” John intervened. “But your sister was wrongly accused.”
Laura’s heart pounded. As silence filled the dining room, her cheeks burned. Even Chad held his fork in mid-air for half a minute.
Gradually knives clicked against plates, pasta spun around forks, and glasses lifted to silent lips.
During dinner no one mentioned Brett. In typical fashion, Chad joked and teased like nothing had happened, while Rachel picked at her food and remained distant from them all.
Amelia stared at her food without touching it. Jessica prodded and poked at hers, flicking a piece of lettuce until it flew into her sister’s hair.
Amelia wailed. Jessica giggled and Rachel scolded. Emily soothed and John cleaned up. Chad tried to make a joke of it, but no one laughed. Laura cringed.
Finally, Emily calmed Amelia and convinced her to eat some scallops, even if that was all she’d touch. The child finished them off hungrily, and pointed to the bowl.
“More scalps, please!” she requested. Pleased by the muffled snickers, she cried out, “More scalps!” and grinned with the adults’ nervous laughter.
By the time cheesecake was served, the tension reduced to a tolerable level. Chad raved over Laura’s culinary effort. Rachel said nothing, but did eat a few bites.
“Time for presents!” John announced, ushering everyone into the living room. Laura pulled her large gift bag from the pile of presents and hesitantly approached her sister.
“Happy birthday,” she said flatly.
Without a word, Rachel took the corded pink handles. She pulled bright pink tissue from the rose-print bag and removed the curved gathering basket. A miniature pink rose bush nestled beneath the handle.
“Now that the garden is fading, you can have roses inside,” John suggested.
Rachel picked up the wrapped package tucked alongside the roses. As she unwrapped the symbolic gift, Laura held her breath.
“Bunch cutters,” Emily exclaimed, “And a stem stripper. What a great gift.”
Rachel fingered the professional florist tools.
“When Rosebuds gets back on its feet, we aim to hire you back,” Laura vowed.
“I can’t come back.” Rachel directed the response to her mother.
Before Laura could react, the phone rang. Jarred, she left to answer it.
“Hello,” the female caller said. “May I speak with Laura James, please?”
“This is Laura,” she replied with agitation, ready to hang up on a telemarketer.
“I’m Angelina Mitchell, Brett’s mother.”
Her stomach flip-flopped.
“He’s been...in an...an accident,” the woman choked.
No! Her brain screamed but a giant lump lodged in her throat.
“He’s...” Mrs. Mitchell collected her voice. “He’s unconscious. He’s calling your name in his sleep.”
“I’ll be right there,” she blurted out without thought.
“Let me give you directions.”
Laura snatched a pen and paper. The address was a hospital in Charlotte, North Carolina.
****
A slide show flashed through Brett’s mind. A swan bit a cute little butt in a lavender skirt, purple bushes bloomed, and pink lips wrapped around his submarine sandwich. He smelled flowers, tasted a kiss, and saw love in those violet eyes...
“Brett,” a soft voice called. “Brett, wake up.” Warm fingers stroked his forehead.
He forced his eyes open to a blur of tan and black. Something moved in the middle. “Brett, you’re awake.” It was Mama’s voice, Mama’s face coming into focus, Mama’s hand on his cheek.
He tried to say her name but only a groan came out.
“You don’t have to talk,” she soothed.
A white blanket covered his feet. A TV protruded toward his bed. Charts and plastic containers hung on a beige wall. He was in a hospital.
“Ah, he’s awake.” The voice came from the doorway. A tall man came into focus. That man on TV—the racing guy.
“Hello, Mr. Hatley,” Mama said. “Good to see you again. He just woke up.”
“Hello, Mrs. Mitchell, Mr. Mitchell.”
Another man rose from the corner to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming.” That voice sounded like—Dad?
“Hey there, Brett,” the TV man said softly. “Glad to see you’re among the living.”
“Hey.” His drugged speech wasn’t any better, but at least he saw the man’s face now. Bo. His name was Bo.
“I won’t keep you from your family. But I wanted you to know—your job is secure. Grant Neal is fired.”
Brett nodded, but nothing made sense.
“Was this his fault?” his father asked.
“Not entirely. The rain didn’t help, and neither did your son’s pride. But Neal’s a cocky prima donna and I won’t put up with it. Brett did what Neal asked and he’s lying in this bed because of it.”
Warmth touched his cheek again.
“Laura—” he murmured, and drifted away.
****
Purple flowers scented his pillow, violet eyes haunted his dreams. Brett thrashed awake, calling out, “Laura!”
Warm hands held his arms down. “Brett, I’m here.”
Man, Mama’s voice even sounded like Laura. And he smelled those flowers. He dragged his eyes open from a drug-induced stupor. Mama’s hair blurred to blond. He had it bad.
“Whoa,” he moaned. “Am I dreaming?”
“What do you think?” She sounded like Laura and looked like Laura. He blinked to focus. Violet eyes held love and concern.
“Laura!” The wooziness vanished. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he slurred.
“Hey, hey!” Angelina stood in the doorway, feigning offense. “Homely old Mama will be leaving then.”
“Good night, son,” his father said with feeling. “We’ll be at the hotel if you need us. Your nurse has the number.”
; Son? Was that his real father? Wayne traipsed off with his wife, who closed the door behind her. His mother closed the door while he and Laura were alone in the room? This was weird.
“Brett.” Laura bent over him and kissed his lips gingerly.
Tingles floated through his brain. Shock waves traveled to the nether regions of his body. As quickly as it began, her lips pulled away. Please don’t stop...
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I hope that didn’t hurt.” Her violet eyes searched his.
“No. Do it again.”
She did, and sent his aching body into heaven. “My angel,” he murmured. “Have you come to rescue me?”
Her eyes lit up. “If you’ll let me.”
His heart floated to heaven with his body. “Thank you.”
“Are you all right?” Anxiety tinged her voice.
“Hmmm. I am now.” He took in her beauty, barely believing she was really there.
She caressed his hand. “What happened?”
His doctor’s prompting had helped him recall the crash. He relayed to her as much as he remembered. “Broken collarbone, they tell me. How did you find out?”
“Your mom called me this afternoon.”
“But it’s an eight hour drive.” He glanced out the window. Street lamps lit the darkened hospital grounds.
“Yeah. I drove down as fast as I could.”
“Hey, watch it.” He scowled. “That’s how I got in here.”
Her tiny laugh caught with worry.
“How long can you stay?” His thumb stroked her hand.
“I’d like to stay forever.”
Brett’s heart stopped and his hand went still. “Are you serious?”
Fear settled in her face. “I know I blew it. I understand if you changed your mind, I...” She fiddled with her purse.
“Laura, stop.” He grasped her arm. “I haven’t changed my mind. Stay with me.”
Jubilation mixed with anguish in her expression. “I want to, Brett. I’m so sorry I sent you away. I love you more than anything.”
His heart soared. “Then stay.”
Tears welled in her dark blue eyes. “I can’t.”