Harlequin Heartwarming April 2018 Box Set

by Amy Vastine

  “You’ve certainly won their vote, Mr. Congeniality,” she teased, her smile wavering then fading as she took in Justin’s bright padded racing suit and the helmet tucked under his arm. How much protection did they provide?

  “He can take his vote and—”

  “You ready to ride?” asked Cole, joining them. Streams of light rain snaked down the clear plastic goggles he’d pulled over his open-faced helmet.

  “You ready to get beat?” Justin rejoined, his handsome mouth, perfectly shaped like the rest of his flawless features, lifted in a taunting smile. Brielle caught herself staring at Justin’s gorgeous, chiseled face and almost wished back his beard. Like Doreen said, looking at him was like peering directly at the sun; it scrambled her brain.

  “Should be asking you that question.” Cole led them past the entrance through a muddy back field toward the course.

  The sopping ground stained her jeans’ hem brown, the moisture-filled air frizzing the ends of her hair. It was a light rain, but enough to seep through everything. The wet chill froze her hands, and she shoved them deep in her pockets.

  How would Justin hang on to his bike in this slippery mess? An image of him lifting his fingers from his motorcycle bars, moments before he’d slammed into her moving van, stabbed her between the eyes.

  No.

  That was a long time ago.

  He’d been a different person then—someone who didn’t care if he lived or died. Now he had a reason to live…didn’t he?

  Although you haven’t told him you love him yet, a voice inside said.

  True. An omission she’d rectify after the race and the open house, when her panic had subsided, allowing her to think more clearly.

  “See you at the riders’ meeting, stepbrother!” Cole boomed then jogged off toward a huddle of riders gathered at the start of the course.

  “They’re not married yet!” Justin shouted after him, shaking his head.

  “Did Boyd propose?” Brielle drew the strings of her hood tighter around her wet face.

  “You look cute like that.” Justin pulled on his helmet and goggles. “And not that I’ve heard.”

  “Cute?” She glanced down at her drenched, stained jeans and her shapeless rain parka, flattered by the outrageous compliment. “Never known you to be a liar.”

  He pressed the tip of her nose with a gloved finger. “Cute. Like a bundled baby.”

  “I think you’ve got baby fever.”

  “Can’t deny starting a family’s been on my mind lately.” His hazel eyes gleamed down at her through his plastic googles, steady and certain.

  Her mouth dried up, and her heart beat double time. “Why?”

  He stepped closer and sank his gloved hands into her pockets, gathering her chilled hands in his. “You make me want to live, to have a life…with you.”

  “Justin,” she sighed, breathless, her knees dipping slightly as she melted at his proclamation. “Please don’t race.”

  He stiffened and slowly withdrew his hands. Someone with a bullhorn announced the first heat’s start time in ten minutes. “We’ll talk later,” he promised. “Nothing’s going to happen. Look.” He turned and showed her a large patch with Fresh Start’s name and logo sewn on the back of his suit. “I’m wearing your colors, m’lady. So, wish me good luck. I need your blessing.”

  His eyes twinkled down at her, mirroring the brilliant smile lighting up his face. He was in his element here, amid the scents of diesel, burning rubber and adrenaline-fueled testosterone. But she was in misery. His blessing request reminded her of soldiers who’d asked the same thing before heading out to battle…and then never returned—at least, not alive.

  “Good luck,” she choked out. “And be careful!” she called as he jogged away after a last reassuring hand squeeze.

  Please, please, please, she thought, her eyes raised to the dripping sky, wanting to cry along with it.

  Moments later, she huddled with the sodden group crowding the muddy track. Flags, buffeted by the chill wind, flapped along its sack-lined course. Engines sputtered and revved as the drivers sat astride their bikes at the gated starting line. Across the way, Justin’s family waved at her and she returned the gesture, jerking her lips into a smile, wishing she could feel as excited as they looked, cheering and holding a sign spelling out Justin’s name.

  Her heart felt full of ice when she spotted Justin in the middle of the pack. He stared straight ahead, his lean body taut as a wire and angled forward. Even from this distance, she sensed his intense concentration, his fierce drive to win.

  Just make it through in one piece…

  Come back to me…

  She pushed back against the images of men who hadn’t returned to her base, the door to her dark past cracking open.

  Somewhere far away, thunder rumbled. The wind raced off the mountaintops, snatching off hats and flapping women’s skirts. She spotted a couple of officials conferring while some of the riders swapped concerned looks. Would they cancel?

  No.

  An official shook his head and strode back to the starting line. The wind picked up, pelting the assembly with stinging cold rain. She realized she was cradling her elbows like she was hugging herself. She relaxed her arms and stood tall. Body language said a lot about you, and the last thing she wanted to do was look vulnerable in front of potential voters, especially after the Halloween debacle.

  “Hey, Ms. Thompson.” A dark-haired woman a couple of feet away waved. “Heard Maverick Loveland’s coming to the open house.”

  Brielle strove to force words off her sluggish tongue. “That’s right.”

  Another man smiled, revealing a crooked row of teeth. “I’ll be there with my grandkids. Maverick’s a hero around our place.”

  “Justin Cade used to give him a run for his money,” someone volunteered. “Can’t wait to see those old rivals throw down.”

  The crowd’s answering, bloodthirsty roar deepened her trepidation. She struggled to watch Justin in a motor cross race today. How would she handle seeing him astride a raging thousand-pound bull?

  She willed back the sting rising in her eyes.

  “If Maverick supports Fresh Start, so should we,” a middle-aged man mumbled, chewing his way through a bag of sunflower seeds.

  “Vote’s in a couple of days,” the brunette reminded the group. “Everyone needs to come out and vote.”

  Brielle nodded, appreciating the support. Hopefully a large attendance at the open house would equal a big—and favorable—turnout for the charter vote.

  “What’s the holdup?” asked the snacking man, nodding to the riders revving their engines on the start line.

  “An official’s walking the track to make sure it’s safe,” someone supplied.

  “I’ve seen worse,” another attendee grumbled then shouted, “Let’s go already!”

  Cowbells clanged along with the man’s shout while others whistled and hooted. Why couldn’t Brielle be as excited?

  Because you’ve seen too much…

  Plumes of white exhaust billowed from the waiting riders’ bikes. Justin hadn’t shifted an inch, his eyes still aimed dead ahead, despite the bustle of race officials. At last, one of them waved and, without any fanfare, the half gates lowered and the competitors blazed off the line, engines gunning.

  Her ears filled with the mechanical roar, and her heart leaped to the back of her throat. It clung there, beating frantically. She tracked Justin’s blue-and-white suit as he zoomed to the head of the pack, Cole hot on his wheels. They zipped along a hairpin turn then ripped up a steep hill.

  “Face of that’s rutted,” someone exclaimed.

  “Tracked right up,” came swift agreement.

  At the crest, Justin launched his bike, whizzing through the air lightning fast, before his front wheel, then the rest of the bike, touched ground without losing
his breakneck speed.

  “That boy will kill himself,” someone swore, and Brielle pressed her shaking lips.

  “And break his mother’s heart,” another answered.

  Brielle tuned them out, her eyes peeled on Justin as he whipped around another sharp turn, narrowly avoiding a mud patch that dragged down a rider behind him. Cole, however, now drew even with Justin, the pair increasing their lead as they sped into a higher incline.

  “Can’t they go around that?” she gasped, not realizing she spoke out loud until someone answered.

  “Not if they plan on winning.”

  Her lungs stilled as Justin gunned straight over the top, standing in his seat as he went airborne, before bouncing back down to the course. How did he keep his seat at such a crazy speed?

  “Nice block pass!” the sunflower eater shouted when Justin passed Cole in a corner, forcing his rival to slow down and fall slightly behind.

  “Way to go, Cade!” shouted the teenage boy Brielle met earlier. “Brraap…”

  A series of three shorter jumps loomed in the final turn of the first lap. Justin led, trailed by Cole and an advancing group who’d made up time on the last jump. The crowd screamed as the pack raced through the triple then gasped when one of the riders came up short and landed on the back side of the obstacle.

  “He cased it!”

  “Here comes medical.”

  “Looks like he busted his nose.”

  Brielle fixed her eyes on Justin, trying not to focus on the injured, bleeding rider.

  Please, please, please…one more lap to go…

  The diminished group barreled around another ninety-degree turn, and Cole edged out Justin just before the next jump. His rear wheel kicked up mud, spraying Justin full force, obscuring his vision. A sinking sensation dragged her stomach to the boggy ground. Justin wouldn’t take second to a Loveland, even if he had called a temporary truce last night.

  Justin let out his throttle, his bike leaping forward, wheels barely touching ground. When he launched over the next hill crest, his body and head bent low over his handlebars to pick up speed. He and Cole banged to the ground at the same moment.

  “Go, Cole!”

  “Get him, Justin!”

  The crowd had clearly picked their favorites, and it was anyone’s guess who’d win given how evenly the pair was matched. Another insane turn appeared, and this time Justin zipped slightly ahead then tapped his brakes, slowing Cole’s momentum so that he faltered, wobbled and nearly lost his balance. The rest of the racers streaked by Cole, hot after Justin, who now commanded the lead.

  Despite everything, excitement mounted inside Brielle. Watching Justin expertly navigate the treacherous field was exhilarating, his skill, confidence and daring on full display. Maybe she should have more faith in him and trust his promise nothing would happen to him. He looked invincible.

  On the next jump, Justin twisted his bike in midair, a showy feat earning him wild cheers from his growing fans.

  “Goon ridin’,” a voice roared from the back of the crowd.

  At last, Justin approached the final obstacle, the triple jump, and her tight chest eased as the finish line loomed. He flashed over the first two bumps effortlessly and pumped his fist, catching the cheering crowd’s mood.

  Then his bike splashed down into a mud puddle, his wheel sinking instantly before he could steer it away. He flew over the handlebars and slammed into the ground. A scream ripped from her throat and she rushed to the track, halting when Cole skidded to a stop. He blocked Justin, protecting him, as the rest of the racers careened around them while warning flags waved.

  Cole helped Justin up, and the pair dashed off the field. Dizzy and disoriented, she wobbled one step, two, then her knees gave out.

  She sank to the ground and the world turned black on the edges, tunneling down, down, down until only a tiny prick of light remained, then—nothing.

  * * *

  “BRIELLE!” JUSTIN GENTLY tapped her ashen cheek as she lay motionless on a sofa inside a nearby RV. Minutes ago, he’d snatched her limp body from the ground and carried her to the makeshift medical spot, feeling every one of his trembling muscles, every staggering step, every struggling breath. Had his accident caused her to faint? To relive her time in Afghanistan and trigger her PTSD?

  Pain radiated from his right wrist, but he ignored it, his eyes fixed on Brielle’s motionless face. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

  “Should I call an ambulance?” asked Cole, poking his head through the door.

  Justin opened his mouth to say yes then noticed Brielle’s lashes flutter. Slowly her lids lifted, and she stared at Justin blankly, as if he were a stranger.

  “Brielle? It’s me, Justin.”

  Her eyes welled, pain shading them a dark forest green. “Justin’s dead.”

  Her anguish stung his heart to a stop. He never wanted to cause her suffering. She’d already endured so much. “No, I’m not darlin’. I’m right here.”

  “Ambulance?” Cole prompted from the door.

  “No. She’s awake now.”

  “I’ll be outside if you need me.” The door slammed shut behind Cole.

  Justin gathered Brielle’s small, cold hands in his. “Do you know where you are?”

  She looked up at the ceiling. A tear sparkled on her lashes. “No.”

  “We’re in a medical RV at the racecourse. You fainted.”

  “I—I don’t remember.”

  “What’s the last thing you recall?”

  When she pushed herself up on the cushions, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and supported her, careful not to jostle his aching wrist. A moment later, she nestled against him and he breathed in the subtle raspberry scent of her shampoo.

  “You were thrown off your bike.” Her entire body shook, and he pulled her onto his lap gently, cradling her close, pressing her head to his chest.

  “But I’m all right.”

  She shook her head slowly, looking down. A tear dropped onto her jeans. “You could have been killed.”

  “There was little chance of that.”

  “But the possibility existed.”

  “It always does, no matter what we do in life. Last year Carl Letty fell off a ladder cleaning his drainpipe and broke his neck. Year before that, Martha Clearmont slipped on icy pavement crossing the street and got run over by a car. Then there was a silo incident with—”

  “Stop.” Her lips moved against his shirt fabric. “I don’t want to hear any more about death.”

  “It’s a fact of life.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” she rasped. “I lived with it day in and day out in Kandahar.”

  “That was an extreme situation. Not reality.”

  “It was my reality.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Yes, it is,” she insisted, her voice low and tight, as though forced through a tiny straw. “I can’t handle it, Justin. Today proved it.”

  “Handle what?” he asked, already suspecting the answer, dread settling hard and heavy in his gut.

  “Danger. Thrills. Whatever you want to call them. It’s not exciting for me. It’s torture.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “If that’s a part of your life, I can’t be in it.” The sadness in her voice was the sound of heartbreak, splintering him in two.

  “You want to keep me in a box? Clip my wings?”

  “You make living a quiet, safe life sound terrible.”

  “It wouldn’t be terrible, but I wouldn’t be happy. I want to live, not hide.”

  “You said you wanted a family, marriage…”

  “I do, but…”

  “It’s not enough.” Brielle scooted away. Her face looked tired and drawn. From the circles under her eyes, Justin was pretty sure she was near her breaking point—a c
ondition he’d created.

  His body turned numb with remorse. “I want both.”

  “Both isn’t possible. Not with me.”

  “What if someone had prevented you from enlisting? Said you weren’t allowed to—”

  “I risked my life for something bigger than myself,” she interrupted, fury giving her voice authority. “To serve and protect my country. I held up my hand and said, ‘I’m willing to die for America.’ But you. You’re doing it for thrills.”

  “Once, yes. I wanted to feel something, anything after Jesse passed. But before I lost him, I was always chasing an adventure. I once told you Jesse wanted to climb those mountains more than me, but I wasn’t honest with myself. I wanted to scale all of them, just as bad. Even Mount Everest.”

  She slid farther across the seat. Now there was an energy around her. The air all but hummed. “That’s one of the world’s deadliest mountains.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re still trying to cheat death.” She trembled and her hands clenched into fists.

  “No. I want to live life to the fullest, and I can’t do that hiding out in Carbondale, unable to leave it like when I felt tied to Jesse.”

  “You’d choose Mount Everest over me?”

  “You said you wanted me to live, and it can’t be just for you—I see that now—or for Jesse, but for myself. I choose freedom over suffocation.”

  Her harsh intake of air cracked in the cramped space. “That’s how you see me, someone who’d smother you?”

  “Not on purpose.” He tried to lace his fingers in hers. When she snatched them away, he winced.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Just my wrist.” He waved his good hand. “I’ll have it checked later.”

  “Then you’re not bull riding tomorrow.”

  Something inside him fluttered like captive wings. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you won’t be able to hang on.”

  “I’ll use my other hand.”

  “No. As head of the facility, I forbid it.”

  “And disappoint all the people coming to see me and Maverick square off? We need their goodwill and their votes.” This time when he reached for her with his uninjured hand, she didn’t pull away.