by Eden Connor
I cranked the window down. “I plan to make Kolby force a change in lanes.”
He shook his head. “He ain’t here yet. Just fucking take that lane, Shelby.”
I leaned forward to peer through my windshield. People crowded the low seats close to the rail. I saw a fair number wearing the number twenty-two—on everything from hats to sweatshirts, to jackets. Maybe the sheriff was wrong. From here, it sure looked like the arrogant driver owned this county.
When several jumped to their feet, I knew he’d arrived. I peered into the rearview mirror. Behind the sleek Audi loomed a jacked up four wheel drive truck painted neon orange.
“Well, well, looks like he brought Kasey for his pit crew. He might as well just sign the check and hand it over.” Caine scuffed the asphalt with the toe of his boot. “Be ready for a bunch of trash talk, Shelby. Those two love to mouth off, and when one brother’s around to instigate the other....” He shook his head.
“Oh, I think I can handle it.” I tossed my head, but was relieved when Dale’s truck barreled through the tunnel. Colt brought up the rear in the GT500. Dale swung into the grass beside the right lane pits. Colt pulled up beside him. I eyed Dale, but he greeted Jonny with the same hearty tone he’d used all week.
From the corner of my eye, I watched the tinted window on the driver’s side of the Audi glide down. I hoped that tint could be removed, since it was too dark to be legal.
I raised my voice again. “Nothing was said about choosing lanes. I got here first. I’m racing from the right and that’s all there is to it!”
Kolby climbed out of his vehicle. “Don’t want you on the track when I run my time trials. Move it.”
I propped one hand on my hip and turned, eyeing his NASCAR racing suit. “Ever heard that line about ladies first?”
“Ladies don’t try to compete in a man’s sport, so I reckon that makes you somethin’ else.”
I didn’t have to force my smile. “You’re right. I’m the redheaded bitch who’s about to kick your ass.” I swept a hand toward the strip. “Be my guest. But,” I strode close enough to drill a finger into his chest—“listen up. I only race from the right hand lane. Got it?”
Dale slammed a fist to his lips, coughing loudly. I stalked to the ‘Cuda and flung myself behind the wheel, trying not to laugh. Gunning the engine to a deafening roar the Audi couldn’t match, I slapped the gearshift into reverse and backed off the start line. I pushed in the clutch and revved the hell out of the motor again, skipping first gear so I could make the tires bark before I pulled off the concrete and stopped at Dale’s side.
“You do a pretty good crazy chick imitation,” he drawled when I hopped onto the hood.
I took the foil-wrapped piece of Juicy Fruit he extended. “Little something I picked up at school.”
He leaned a hip against the ‘Cuda, folding a stick of gum into his mouth. “Uh huh. I know my trash talk. More like you picked it up workin’ in bars.”
“Shows what you know. I’m convinced the college should shoot testosterone into the a/c once a month, just to balance out all the estrogen. Every full moon, my dorm’s like living in a lair full of honey badgers.”
Dale laughed so hard the car bounced on its shocks. I kicked my feet, watching Kolby move into the right lane. Smoke began to roil from his rear tires. “Can he really be that stupid?”
Dale tipped his Ridenhour cap off his forehead and dragged his nails across his furrowed brow. “That boy’s a different kind of smart. Just about the time you decide he’s got the brains of a garter snake, he’ll rear up and bite you on the ass with all the cunning and venom of a copperhead. Never seen nothin’ like it.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Swear to God, I think his mama dropped him on his head the day he was born.”
The tree lit up. I watched the lights count down with baited breath. The Audi came off the line like a streak of black lightning. I waited for the trap—the system that measured time and speed—to flash on the big board.
“Jesus.” I blinked. “Even I can beat that time.”
“Eleven point one. He ain’t on his game yet.” My heart dropped. Dale cut his eyes to my face. “You gonna be able to handle that rocket ship when it’s yours?”
That grin, dear God. If he pulled over on the interstate and flashed that particular one at my mother... yeah, the whole we-got-married-at-lunchtime thing made way more sense now.
I threw my arms around his neck. “You’re still spotting me that one speeding ticket, right?”
“I dunno, kid. You’re costin’ me an arm and two legs.” He couldn’t quite hold the scowl.
“I think you got me confused with Mom.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He shook with silent laughter and gripped the hand I draped over his shoulder. “Light up the road one good time, hon. I got your bail money.”
I blinked back sudden tears. This moment with Dale—basking in the pride and assurance radiating in his tone—was something out of my dreams.
Colt and Jonny dropped his tailgate and hopped on to watch Kolby’s next run. Colt’s baseball cap was set backwards and sunlight glinted off the gold rims of his Oakleys. Did he and Jonny sit too close? Was anyone watching them? Trying to fight my anxiety, I tucked the protruding tag inside the back of Dale’s shirt.
“Shelby!” A sharp whistle followed the call. I searched the stands, waving when I spied Caroline walking across the infield. Did she own that Rowdy Collins shirt before last night? Sauntering to the truck, she elbowed Colt, who wriggled to one side, while Jonny moved the opposite way. Jonny leaned forward, kissing Caroline on the cheek.
Dale stiffened, but I relaxed. Caroline finally looked in my direction. Her giggle floated over the applause that told me Kolby had completed another run. My heart did a little jig.
The Audi zipped past in reverse, the pulled up at the track official’s signal. Another man wearing an ‘official’ windbreaker scrawled his time on his windshield. The tree lit again.
“No tune between runs.” I jerked around to meet my own face, reflected in Caine’s black aviator sunglasses. “He’s gonna trust the technology.”
Dale nodded, popping his gum like automatic gunfire. “That’s all he believes in.”
Kolby got another excellent start. He didn’t seem fazed by the Christmas tree. I eyed the guy leaning against the door of the huge orange truck on the opposite side of the track. He jerked his hands out of the pockets of his baggy khaki shorts and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Hannah! Wanna save some gas and just walk them keys over? Been wantin’ a ‘Cuda since I was seven. Nice of you to donate one.”
The board lit up.
Ten point nine? Not awesome.
“Nah. We’re here now, Kasey. Reckon we’ll run,” Dale drawled.
The testosterone wafting across the lanes nearly blotted out the stench of gasoline.
I couldn’t sit still any longer. I’d explode. “How about telling me a bit about the ‘Cuda, on camera? For my You Tube site?”
Dale craned his neck to stare. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” I jumped down. “Too bad the passenger seat’s gone, but I have questions for you. C’mon.” I tugged his sleeve.
“Just drop the top, honey, and you get behind the wheel. No sense in me messin’ up where you got your seat set.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “You’re getting behind the wheel, Dale. I want my fans to see you there. I wanna see you there.”
He lowered the top and lifted me into the back. Shoving the seat back, he climbed behind the wheel. I stuck my hand through the steel bars and turned on the camera.
“Hi, guys. This is my stepdad’s car, as you know, and he’s agreed to an interview. Have I mentioned that my stepfather just happens to be Dale Hannah, the crew chief for Ridenhour Racing? After letting me drive his baby for four years, he’s decided to get rid of it. But, we’re sending her off Hannah-style. We’re at the Cabarrus County Fairgrounds Drag Strip, about to put the �
�Cuda up against a new Audi RS7, owned and driven by Kolby Barnes.”
I reached through the cage and squeezed his shoulders. “Whoever wins, walks away with both cars. If we win, Dale’s got a buyer for the ‘Cuda, so this is my last video.” I swallowed hard. “Before we get underway with our time trials, I have a couple of questions. Dale, is it true you won this car in a drag race, right here on this track?”
“Yep.”
I dug my nails into his shoulders. “Care to tell us who you beat to win it?”
He chuckled. “Well, I don’t rightly know the dude’s name. He was backed by someone else, and that guy actually held the title. I didn’t know that till after the race, though. But, I don’t know too many ways to get a free car, so, when he hauled this baby in here on a trailer and offered to take on all comers for the title, I jumped on it. It was a publicity stunt. I doubt he was expectin’ to lose.”
“What were you driving the night you won this car? And what was the other guy driving that night?”
“Raced a brand new Ford Mustang Cobra with a ’68 Shelby GT 500. Now, that Shelby had a Hannah-built engine under the hood. Won by about two full seconds.”
I hoped he gave my fans that trademark Dale Hannah smirk.
“So, if everybody loves a ‘Cuda—and that’s the entire reason for this site—why were so few sold?”
He finally did what everybody did—caressed the wheel. Unlike most, he pulled it to the right. “I reckon I don’t have to tell you, this car corners like a damn truck. They stripped out all the power options to put more juice to the wheels, and the convertible’s haulin’ around extra weight, to make it harder to flip. But the biggest thing the entire Barracuda line had goin’ against it was Chrysler. They assigned two brilliant engineers to the program. I reckon Lee Iacocca hoped the pair would sharpen each other. But, that ain’t how it worked out. One undermined the other, instead.”
I darted a glance at Kolby, backing up to the start line again.
“The whole program was a series of compromises, rather than a single vision. As the years wore on, they compensated by throwin’ more horses under the hood, but they never fixed the light rear end and they never got a decent version out there that offered comfort and speed.”
He stroked the gearshift. “This thing’s got the heart of a thoroughbred. It just got raised as an orphan. I reckon nobody expected it to become nothin’. She’s that high-strung fox you dated once, but who had a bad home life. So, you turned away for somethin’ less high maintenance. Easier on the wallet. But all us boys are lookin’ back now, sayin’, damn. I should put a ring on her finger. Ride mighta been rough, but no one else ever stirred you that same way.”
“Looks like ten point two’s his best time.” Caine slapped me on shoulder. “Turn and burn, little sister.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I adjusted the seat in a daze, sensing Dale had told me about more than the car. This place—this family—was like stepping in chewing gum. Lifting my eyes, I studied the faded red, white, and blue bunting on the stands. The crowd was swelling, but I was past caring.
If I ripped the guts out of this car, the way it had done me, I’d go down trying. I fastened the crash helmet strap under my chin, breathing deep and closing my eyes.
Each hitch in the engine sank through my skin. Every growl reverberated inside my chest. I didn’t need this to be about sex. Now, I understood, it had always been about power. Dale had given me more than a car to drive. Colt and Caine had given me something it’d take a while to sort through and figure out. I patted the dash and turned on the camera. “You and me, girl. One last time.”
Caroline waved like she’d walked into a spider web. “Go, Shelby!” I threw her a kiss, stomped the clutch, and shifted into first.
I took the right-hand lane. I was over the juvenile posturing. The time for gamesmanship was past. A green light was a green light. No matter which side it flashed from, I’d be gone.
This was for family.
The track official motioned me forward, then threw up his hand. “Whoa!”
He stuck his head in the window, eyed my racing harness, and tapped me on the head to be sure the helmet was fastened. Backing out, he slapped the hood and jogged backward a few steps. As soon as I completed my burnout, the Christmas tree lit up. I sucked down a gulp of air tinged with the seductive smell of burning rubber and gripped the shifter.
Red.
Amber.
I slammed the gas pedal and my foot tensed on the clutch. Since spending the afternoon here with Caine and Rowdy, the timing was part of me, like breathing.
Green. A lift of my knee and the Barracuda reared. I was ready when she touched down, shifting into second. The faces in my peripheral vision blurred. As I worked through the gears, the bunting became a purple stripe against the wide white streak that was the grandstands.
I spied the flash of red numbers and pumped the brakes. I reached the end of the track and circled around the oval track, not bothering to check the board. Only one trip down the lane counted.
On the line again, the official flipped his fingers. I eased forward, braking when he raised a palm. On my right, Caine and Dale exchanged a look, but they didn’t come forward, so I eyed the tree.
Red.
Amber.
Clutch. Shifter. Gas.
Green.
Let’s be realistic. My mother’s voice rang in my head as I flew down the track. Tears trickled from the corners of my eyes.
The board flashed by again. Fuck you, Mom.
Again, I approached the start line. Again, Dale and Caine looked at each other and stayed put, like that Chevy truck was a damn pool float or something.
I lined up on the left, for the hell of it. Kolby was three feet from my elbow. He yelled, but I yanked the hand brake and shut his ass up with a good puff of burning rubber and the roar of the engine he said couldn’t win.
Watch this, motherfucker.
Red.
Amber.
Sometimes love doesn’t look like you think it should.
Green. I leaped off the line, but the stands and people were already blurred. Blinking fast, I worked through the gears. First. Second. Third. My breath came in gasps, and then, I couldn’t breathe, but my limbs moved of their own accord. Fourth. Fifth. Motherfucking Sixth. I slammed the gearshift into position and lifted my foot off the clutch.
Red dots lit up on the big board at the finish line.
Brake.
Brake.
Brake.
Jesus effing Christ, brake!
I yanked the wheel to the left. Tires screamed when I hit the oval track. I kept the wheel turned hard to the left, feeling the ache in my arms as I spun into the grass.
The stands flashed by at a dizzying speed. The brake pedal was useless. I came to my senses and slammed in the clutch, gearing down.
Finally, the car lurched to a stop. I gasped for breath and blinked sweat from my eyes. An intense flash of heat swept over my skin like an ocean wave, leaving behind a film of sweat to be trapped by the racing suit.
When my vision cleared, through the windshield, I saw Caine leap the barriers and start racing toward me, with Dale on his heels. Why’d they have their arms over their heads?
Something caught my eye to the right. Colt jumped up and while I gaped, climbed on top of the cab of his truck. Turning in a circle, he vaulted onto the hood, hands first. Twisting his body, he leaped off the front end, landing on his feet. I slammed my eyes closed and collapsed against the uncomfortable headrest.
Sensations streaked through me as my body sorted out the reactions to the physical forces that hammered me. My nipples pounded. The thud in my clit kept time with the engine, which sounded like it was trying to catch its breath, too.
My bladder ached like it would explode.
“Lost the brakes,” I whispered when Caine yanked the door open. I jabbed the harness latch and tried to swing my leg out of the car, but the limb refused to move. Caine shoved his should
ers into the car, jamming one arm under my legs and one behind my back. I wriggled out of the harness and looped my arms around his neck, trying to tell him I had to pee, but he took two steps back and started spinning.
His voice came through his chest, making an indistinct roar in my ear. I couldn’t make out the words, but underneath the gasoline, I smelled Hugo Boss, Dial soap, and Caine.
Colt galloped to his brother’s side. He grabbed Caine’s arm, stopping his spin. Caine let my feet drop, but before my toes touched the grass, Colt gripped me under the arms. Lifting me again, he straightened his arms, and for some reason, he started spinning, too. Maybe I should puke. That might stop their annoying shenanigans.
My hearing came back in a rush. “... that fuckin’ time?” The cords in Colt’s neck stood out. I shook my head, grateful beyond words when he stopped revolving. He lowered me until my nose touched his.
“Eight point goddamn two. Didja come?”
“Gotta pee,” I gasped. “Out of gas. Lost the brakes. And the timing’s fucked. How long’s it gonna take to fix?”
Dale’s bark of laughter made me look over my shoulder. The sudden motion made my head reel, but all three of his mouths stretched into a wide grin.
“She sounds like a goddamn racecar driver to me.” He slapped Caine between the shoulder blades so hard, he stumbled forward. “Let’s get to work. I’m shootin’ for twenty minutes, Shelby. Go wave at your fans, girl.”
I had a different salute in mind. “Put me down, Colt.”
I had to take a wide stance, else I’d fall flat on my face, but when Dale moved toward the car, I had a clear line of sight to Kolby Barnes. The man stood in his pit box, arms crossed and glowering in our direction. I jerked the strap loose and yanked off the headgear.
I stood still as I could, until my brain shed the sensation of spinning. Kolby never moved. Something flashed at the end of the track.
Shelby Roberts-Hannah. 8.2 seconds.
Roberts-Hannah?
The guy in the tower got cute and the words changed.
Manual gearshift, y’all.6-speed.
There were maybe two hundred people in the stands. Every one of them got to their feet, clapping.