Turn & Burn: Revenge is a Red-Headed B*tch (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 2)

by Eden Connor

  I glanced at the gleaming, black coupe parked in the grass at the end of the garage, while Jonny did what everyone else did. He ran his hands over the steering wheel and studied the instrument panel. Caressed the shifter. When I played back the recording, I knew his eyes would have the faraway look I’d come to recognize, as people reached inside to find where this car touched them.

  The odd thing about the ‘Cuda’s powerful mystique was the detail I’d learned from Ernie: the car’s low sales figures. If everybody wanted one, why hadn’t they sold better? The price had been on par with the Camaro and the Mustang, but the Barracuda’s sales had been so embarrassingly low that the company executives wanted to crush the last convertible.

  Another thing I’d have to ask Dale. So, Jonny wasn’t the last ‘Cuda Confession after all. I felt stupid for not seeing sooner that my stepfather was the obvious person to wrap up the video series.

  Jonny cleared his throat. “He never got one, of course. He met my mom late in his life, and when I came along, family life didn’t allow for a second sports car. By then, ‘Cudas were scarce and expensive. But he never quit lovin’ ‘em. Nothing is as American as these big block monsters made of Detroit pig iron. In its day, this car represented everything that was right about this country. Damn near every piece of it was produced here, from the steel in the frame, to the switches behind the dash, to the scoop popping through the hood, to the real chrome on the fender. They’re pure America; arrogant, brash, and defiant as hell. You look at one and it pulls on you. Every drop of rebellion in your soul rises to the top.”

  That sentiment struck a chord with me. Might be the truest thing I’d ever heard said about this car.

  “People never saw Dad as an American, even though he loved this country the way only an immigrant from a war-torn land could love the place that offered him refuge.”

  “My name’s Jonny Jet Huỳnh. I drive for NASCAR to honor my father’s dream. Not his dream to own a car like this, but the one where he wanted to be seen the same way I want to be seen. As just another American guy who loves big block engines and tall blondes.”

  Well, that explains so much.

  I jabbed the button to stop the recording. “When are you leaving to go back to Spartanburg? Got room for my suitcase, just in case?”

  “Don’t think like that. You’re gonna kick his ass, Shelby.”

  “Why do y’all keep saying that? I mean, I barely beat Colt by a car length last night. I know that Audi has more horsepower than the GT500. I can’t figure out why every man here acts like it’s a given that I can win. I feel like everyone’s just blowing smoke up my ass. Caine said the RS7 was cranking a thousand horsepower to the tires.”

  “Besides the fact that the best crew chief in NASCAR says so? You want the technical explanation? Or the short version?”

  I held up a palm. “I haven’t had one cup of coffee. Choose your words wisely.”

  He chuckled. “This baby is absolutely in the same league now. But, if he’s got the dual gearbox, he’ll beat your best time, I figure, which gives him the late start. So, all you need is to get off the line clean and keep your fucking foot in it. Uh, can you do that, princess?”

  The twinkle in his eyes told me he was thinking about me going down on Caroline. I just gave him a middle finger.

  “By the time you’ve both dialed in your times, you’ll be over any nerves. Then, there’s Kolby’s winning personality. I’ve seen first hand what that does for your competitive spirit. Like I said before, I almost feel sorry for the dude.”

  My competitive spirit would have to take a back seat. I’d fallen asleep thinking this thing through. Losing the ‘Cuda was the only way I could come up with to get even with Caine. He wasn’t going to get away with blowing off what he’d done to me by pretending he loved me.

  I’d need to leave as soon as possible after that, so I didn’t have to look into Dale’s eyes for long.

  ***

  “Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes!” Mom rhumbaed her way into the den. Francine trailed her, smiling. Dale lowered his section of the newspaper and muted the television. Ernie started awake from his doze in the corner of the loveseat.

  Jonny, Colt, Caine, and I exchanged looks around the kitchen table.

  “The furniture store just called.” Mom threw out her arms and gave her hips a shake. “They’re on their way with the rest of our new furniture. Bliss is meeting me to help me get the linens on the beds, so plan to sleep there tonight, Dale. You know the Tiptons will be much more comfortable. Grab your purse, Shelby. I can’t wait to show you your new room.”

  “I’m waiting for Chris to call back. He thinks we can get in at drag strip this afternoon. I need to work on my starts.”

  She scowled, turning to Dale. “Is her car still street legal?”

  He darted me a look. “Not exactly, but if she don’t blow anyone’s doors off, she should be fine.”

  She shot me a triumphant look. “When this Chris guy calls, you can leave. Get up! This is a big deal for me.” She made the face that said I wasn’t being a good minion, so I shoved away from the spades game while she explained to Dale that he and the boys were to move all their clothes.

  “Today?” Dale let the top half of the newspaper fall with a snap.

  “Yes, today. You’re done messing with that car, right?”

  Moving on Christmas Eve? I could tell by the set of her mouth, she was ready for an argument. Which was totally unfair, since Dale wouldn’t want to argue in front of Ernie and Francine. She’d sandbagged him. This was punishing Dale for the race.

  “Uh, I’m goin’ to the track with Shelby.” Caine straightened. “It’s me or Dad. Someone’s gotta tune that engine between runs.”

  “Oh, no.” Mom turned plaintive eyes to Dale. “Didn’t I hear you say that guy you’re waiting to hear back from won the National Hot Rod Association championship a few years back?” Dale nodded. “Then he can teach Shelby whatever it is she needs to know while Caine pitches in, right?”

  “No, ma’am. While she’s there, she might as well test and tune, and no one touches that engine but me or Caine. As for movin’, me and the boys will be glad to do that. On the 27th.”

  “But, Dale!” Mom wailed.

  “I can see her point.” All eyes turned toward Colt. “What?” He shrugged. “She’s been waitin’ on that shit to arrive forever. It’s not that much work. We can toss blankets down in the trailer and just lay the clothes on the floor. It’s less’n five miles. If we take the drawers outta y’all’s dresser, Macy, then you can just swap the stuff into the new furniture and we’ll bring ‘em back.”

  Mom beamed at Colt like he’d just won at Daytona. “Thank you, son. At least one man around here listens to me.”

  “C’mon, you slack asses, get movin’.” Colt tossed his hand down and shoved his chair back. “Caine, help me hook up the trailer.”

  The resignation in Dale’s eyes made me want to slap Mom and Colt, but he forced a smile. “Okay, sounds like a plan.”

  When we all tromped down the stairs, Caine waited till Mom and Francine went through the sliding door to mutter, “The upside to this is, we get the king sized bed tonight.” He slapped me on the ass. “Prepare to be ravished till dawn. No excuses, woman. I know you got lube.” He grabbed my arm and glared. “You coulda warned me. I can never un-see that image of you with a dildo in Colt’s ass.”

  His shudder made me burst out laughing. I poked him in the ribs. “You’re next.”

  “Hell, no, I’m not. I know not to confuse an intake with an exhaust.” He nearly knocked me down, pushing past me to jog down the steps. I leaned against the wall and laughed until my sides hurt.

  ***

  I stared as I swept up the circular drive behind Mom’s car. The three-tiered fountain would look more at home in front of a hotel than a private residence. The yard was already green, so I supposed she’d ordered sod. The lot was tiny for such a large house, but brick walls lined the square of too-green grass. R
ed dirt peeked from under a few leafless trees.

  Slate-colored shutters set off pinkish brick. Four fluted, tapering columns supported a second-story porch roof. Gables popped from one end of the house. She parked inside the three-car garage. I pulled into the bay beside her.

  “The boys still have to install the garage doors. And Dale hasn’t put the water pump in the fountain yet.” She held the car door open for Francine, then dashed up a couple of steps and unlocked the door. We stepped into the kitchen. She showed off the convection oven and new stainless steel appliances.

  “Come see the formal rooms.” She beckoned.

  Custom draperies swooped over the tops of long, narrow windows. Elegant silk pink-and-cream stripes covered a pair of loveseats, parked perpendicular to the living room fireplace. She gestured to the blank spot above the elaborate white-painted mantelpiece. “That’s where I’m putting the portrait, if I can ever choose a pose.”

  “This rug is gorgeous,” Francine declared, scuffing her toe across the luxurious pile.

  “It’s silk.” Mom beamed. “Hand-woven.”

  I peered at the brass feet that capped the tapered legs of the mahogany dining room table. The inlaid mahogany top looked like it could handle the emergency landing of a small plane.

  “The chairs are still back ordered.” Mom sighed. “It’s always something.” Her face brightened. “But they’re gorgeous. Adams style. The fabric on the seats matches the loveseats.” She gestured to the sparkling chandelier above the table. “That’s layered with twenty-two karat gold and those are genuine lead crystal prisms.”

  I blinked at the tiny, octagonal prisms, strung in long swags. Since when did Mom know her period styles? Eying the ivory carpeting and thinking about the pale ceramic flooring in the kitchen, I wondered if she’d forgotten what paid for this place. The house was stunning, but I saw potential for grief everywhere I looked. Poor Dale was going to have to install a decontamination unit out in the garage, or risk getting his ass chewed out every time he stepped through the door.

  Had she waited all her life to have a man or a fancy house?

  “I guess the recliner’s on back order, too?” I scanned the den, running my hand across an elaborate roll top desk. The piece was bracketed by a pair of wing chairs with tall backs and matching ottomans. The red plaid cotton made a cheerful contrast with the light, knotty pine paneling. They faced a wide screen television that was bigger than the one at the old house.

  “Oh, no. I am so over those ugly chairs. Dale can sit in that wing chair or he can go straight to bed.”

  Francine’s brows lifted. I just stared at my mother. Why would she make it a challenge for them to sit together in the evenings, when he was home so infrequently? If she wanted the man to talk to her, she should make him a comfortable spot and then hide his damn remote control.

  Mom held out her hands and turned. “Isn’t it gorgeous? It’s everything I always wanted.”

  “Just beautiful.” I wasn’t lying, the place was stunning. I saw nothing of Dale, but we weren’t finished with the tour.

  “Do you think we should bring the tree from the old house? Go buy a tree? Bring the gifts over here? The boys can drive over in the morning.”

  “No. Seriously, Mom, no. I think Dale might run away if you ask him to move the tree. It’s too late to buy and decorate a real tree. Besides, you’d have nothing to pick from at this late date if you try to find an artificial one.” Francine nodded her agreement.

  Mom’s face fell. “I guess you’re right.” She sighed.

  “Yoo hoo!” Bliss Roark stepped into the room. “The truck’s outside.” She grinned and waved something that looked like a small car vac. “Brought my steamer. Let’s get this done. I know you can’t wait.”

  “Why don’t we work in teams?” I suggested.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.” Mom nodded. “It shouldn’t take long to set up four beds and steam any wrinkles out of the bedding. Shelby can help me put the linens on my bed and hers.”

  Bliss nodded. “Francine and I will tackle the two guest rooms.”

  Why does she need four bedrooms?

  “Many hands make light work.” Francine smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Roark.”

  “Oh, just call me Bliss, dear.” The woman waved a hand. “So nice to see you again.” Dressed in skinny jeans and a T-shirt, without evening makeup, Bliss didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Two men came through the front door, holding a mahogany headboard with tall, rope-carved posts, before I could think of a way to find out.

  “That bed goes in the master. Top of the stairs, last door on the left. Do not scuff the paint, boys. It’s fresh.” I eyed Bliss in surprise. It took a special kind of bitch to refer to two older black men as ‘boys’. I’d liked her at the party. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  We tromped up the stairs behind the deliverymen. I admired the bedroom wallpaper and furnishings while we waited for the pair to get all the beds set up.

  “This is your room. Surprise!” Mom grasped the handle and flung the door open.

  I peered inside. The dormer windows had built-in seats, fitted with plump, button-tufted cushions. This was my first glimpse of the wallpaper she’d selected. The subtle blue pattern was a popular product by Laura Ashley. I flipped through the bed linens piled on top of the dresser. They matched.

  I slid a hand across the top of the dresser. No Formica, no faux finish; this was wood, and each piece was exquisite. The design was still French provincial—a favorite of mine—but the adult version, stained in a medium honey shade that I loved on sight.

  And I might spend two nights here in the next year, but meanwhile, had nothing to use to furnish my own place in six months, since it seemed she’d handed my furniture over to Caine and Colt along with the title and keys to the old house.

  “It’s pretty.”

  “I just knew you’d love it.” She didn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm.

  The queen-sized bed didn’t take the delivery crew long to assemble. Mom lifted the dust ruffle off the dresser. We had it in place when they returned with the mattress. She tossed me one end of the fitted sheet.

  “It’s been nice having Francine to talk to, but I’ve hardly gotten a word with you.”

  “I know.” I bent to shove the elastic underneath one mattress corner, then slid my hands along the edge to find the other corner. “There’s not much to tell, anyway.”

  “About the car.”

  I popped the sheet over the edge of the mattress and raised my head to frown. “Which car?”

  “The new car Dale’s talking about buying you.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in the taut cotton and turned to grab the flat sheet.

  “I uh, plan on getting Kolby’s Audi. No purchase required.”

  She snapped the folded sheet open. “Let’s be realistic.”

  I tried to breathe through the pain that sliced me.

  “How’d you like driving the Passat yesterday?”

  I blinked. “Fine.”

  She moved to the foot of the bed to tuck in the sheet. I moved, too, like her puppet, grasping the bottom edge of the sheet with one hand, lifting the edge of the mattress with the other, still locked in sync, like I had been since the day she’d taught me to help with this little chore.

  “I think I’m going to give you the Volkswagen and let Dale buy me something else. It only has forty thousand miles on it and it’s much nicer than anything you’ve ever had.”

  Except, Dale wants to buy me my first new car, like a real Dad. Except, that’s just not true. I’ve been driving a collector’s dream car.

  “Why can’t you just trade it in on an automatic?” It’d been four years since she’d showed up driving the thing. Even if it had been financed, she’d be in good shape on a trade.

  “Hrmph. The man thinks that you don’t get your money’s worth out of a new vehicle unless you put the first hundred and twenty-five thousand miles on it. I stay home sometimes, just so I don’t have to drive that thing.
All those damn vehicles in the yard, and nothing’s automatic.” She scowled, like I’d had a hand in choosing her man.

  So, one more time, I was supposed to pay the price for her snap decisions? The Dale Hannah I knew hadn’t picked a Volkswagen Passat. If the damn car had been free, he’d have walked past it to peer under the hood of the closest Ford or Dodge.

  “I plan on leaving here in that Audi RS7day after tomorrow. And if I lose, I’m not letting Dale buy me anything. I don’t feel comfortable taking a new car from him. I’ve arranged to ride home with Jonny after the race, just in case.”

  “Don’t be so,”—her mouth turned down and the skin around her eyes tightened—“obstinate.” Snatching the comforter off the floor beside the dresser, she slung the coverlet into the center of the bed, then yanked one side. “Just tell him you’ll take the Passat.”

  My cell phone buzzed. I read the message from Caine with relief. She could get on her knees and work for her Lexus or Jaguar or whatever.

  “The guys are here. I’ll just grab some clothes, so Caine and I can go.”

  “Shelby.” I halted in the doorway, but refused to look back. “No one expects you to win. Dale might not like Kolby, but he’s a professional driver, with several Cup wins under his belt. I have no clue what the hell the man expects this race to prove, but when you lose, he’ll laugh and say something that sounds profound, but isn’t. Then, he’ll load you into his truck and spend one more damn day away from this house and all the things I need him to do, so he can find you a car.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her snatch a pillowcase off the dresser. I took a step.

  “Shelby, don’t you dare walk out on me. You’re right, of course. You barely know him, because you’ve avoided me ever since I found someone to love. I understand you feel jealous. But I need you to tell him you’ll take the Volkswagen.”

  An unseen fist squeezed my heart with such force, I couldn’t get enough breath to respond. My name echoed through the still house in that tone that made me grit my teeth while I dashed down the stairs.

  “You’re her minion,” I snapped at Colt when I hit the driveway. “So, you and Jonny got this, right?” I scowled into the back of the trailer, grabbing Caine’s shirt. “Let’s go.”