Turn and Burn

by Eden Connor

  Surprise flickered across both of their faces.

  “But tonight, I’m here for Dale and no one else. That should mean something, even to you. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.” Moving close enough to spit in Colt’s eye, I added, “You had no issues telling my mother half the truth. But did you ever once consider what would happen if I told Dale? Because, if you had two working brain cells, you’d realize I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

  He opened his mouth, but I spun and stalked away. The pencil skirt tightened across my ass with every step. Every pore tingled with the knowledge they stared. Take a good look, assholes.

  I had to stop to allow another vehicle to whiz past. The low-slung car’s sleek lines were so sexy, I had to stare. Four interlocked rings on the grille proclaimed the vehicle an Audi. Plenty of girls I went to school with drove Audis, but I’d never seen one like this. I crossed to the sidewalk while the car wheeled into a space near the door.

  I smoothed the skirt down my thighs, watching the driver get out. The floodlights burnished short, wavy hair and lit the black satin stripes down the sides of his tuxedo pants. His red bow tie matched his cummerbund, but why in the world had he worn a shirt with red-trimmed ruffles? This wasn’t a wedding. All he needed was a red cape and he’d look like a matador.

  “Twin turbos.”

  I glanced around to see Caine. Reaching past me, he opened the door, but his eyes were narrowed on the car, too. The throb in my nipples kicked up a notch, but my mind raced.

  I could play nice with Caine, because he rarely opened his mouth. In fact, that might be the best way to go. Maybe I could play the pair against each other. And what was the only topic Caine had strung together more than ten words about? Cars.

  “Jesus, what a sexy ride,” I blurted. “It’s gorgeous.” The entire vehicle was luscious ebony, even the Audi emblems. Low profile tires hugged black rims. Raindrops beaded on the black paint.

  “Five point two liter V-10. That baby’s cranking a thousand horsepower to the tires. Shame it’s haulin’ around about two hundred pounds of pure horse shit.”

  I blinked, but recognized the Audi driver’s face when he skirted the rear end and rounded to the opposite side of the vehicle.

  “Oh, that’s the problem child? The tuxedo threw me. I’ve only seen him in racing gear.” Kolby Barnes, Ridenhour Racing’s young superstar driver, opened the passenger door and helped a bleached blonde step out. I eyed her low cut, sequined gown. And I’d been worried my outfit was too racy.

  “Fake tits.” Caine’s comment came wrapped in a deprecating tone. He pressed a big hand to the small of my back and pushed me toward the open door. “I like ‘em real myself, and more’n a mouthful is wasted.”

  If he was trying to say he liked my small boobs, the attempt made me roll my eyes. I stepped inside, but immediately drew up short. The huge entrance was easily fifty feet wide.

  Watching the race on television in no way prepared me for the impact made by sixteen racecars, parked at forty-degree angles like gleaming sentinels, eight on a side. The hoods were raised. Engines cleaner than my dorm room floor glinted under tiny overhead spot lighting. Shiny paint rioted with colorful decals. I inhaled the scent of carnauba wax, detecting undertones of gas and motor oil. Caine’s hand still rested on my waist. Between his touch and the aroma surrounding me, my panties got wet.

  Make nice. Make him believe all is forgiven.

  I darted a smile at Caine. “Your tie’s adorable. When did you decide to grow a beard?” He ducked his head and slid a hand along his necktie, decorated with drawings of vintage glass Christmas ornaments.

  “It fucking itches,” he muttered, letting go of the tie to rake his jaw. “I was fooling around with something in the garage. Just ran out of time, or I’d have shaved.”

  The display hall opened onto an elegant reception area, replete with an Oriental rug large enough to carpet Dale’s entire house. Round tables, replete with red and gold linens, dotted the elegant carpet. Place cards shaped like cars dotted the tabletops. On my left, glass cases housed gigantic trophies. Despite my heels, I had to go on tiptoe to see the very tops.

  What were these guys compensating for?

  Opposite the trophy wall stood an evergreen that had to be twenty feet tall. Gold ribbons festooned the branches. Thousands of tiny white lights glowed amidst glittering red balls. The ceiling loomed three stories above. On the second and third floors, offices overlooked the huge space. A glass ceiling capped the giant atrium.

  I glared at floating balls of mistletoe. They dangled from the skylights by thin threads of clear filament. There were so many, they’d be hard to avoid.

  A white-haired woman interrupted her conversation with a man I pegged as the caterer and came forward to greet us.

  “You must be Shelby. So nice to finally meet you, dear. I’m Doris Ridenhour. We spoke on the phone.” The team owner’s wife also wore a red gown, but her neckline was more modest than that of the bimbo on Kolby Barnes’ arm.

  Caine let go of me and took a step toward one of the hallways that led off of the airy space.

  “Not so fast, you handsome devil.” Mrs. Ridenhour grabbed Caine’s sleeve, halting him in his tracks. To my amusement, she put her hands on either side of his jaw and tugged his face down to hers, holding him like a naughty child. “Never mind that I used to change your diapers during the race. I’m stealin’ a kiss.” She lifted a thick fringe of false eyelashes toward the mistletoe overhead.

  Caine’s cheeks turned ruddy beneath the painted lips she pressed to the side of his face. When she let him go, he shot me a dirty look and hurried out of the room.

  Oh, poor baby, was I supposed to save you?

  I was still laughing under my breath when Colt appeared. Spreading his arms, he grinned at Doris and swiveled his hips. “Come here, darlin’.”

  “Good God, Colt, you get better lookin’ every time I lay eyes on you,” Doris purred. When the elderly woman kissed him right on the lips, I decided she’d already hit the punch. I scanned the room to see where the hell the bar was. I could use a drink.

  Eyeing the way Caine’s pants tightened across his sculpted ass before he disappeared down the long hallway, I decided to forego booze for the evening. That’s the fastest way to end up buck-naked on someone’s desk.

  “You gotta be Shelby.” A deep voice boomed behind me. I got a fast impression of a red, gold, and white plaid jacket that shouldn’t be allowed off a golf course, before I was enveloped in a bear hug. I held my breath, trying not to inhale the generous application of Old Spice. After a firm slap between my shoulder blades, the man let me go and took a step back. His steel-toned hair was so thick, I decided it had to be a toupee.

  He beamed. “Dale talks about you so much, I swear, I feel like I’ve known you all my life, sweetheart.”

  Friendly bunch. “You must be Mr. Ridenhour?”

  “Shucks, darlin, we’ve talked on the phone so much, why don’t you just call me Rick?”

  What the hell. I gave him a warm smile. “Nice to meet you, sir, and Merry Christmas. Thank you for letting me add a few folks to your guest list. Sorry I couldn’t be more forthcoming with names.”

  “I love a good surprise,” Richard assured me.

  Doris let Colt go at last. While he shook hands with the owner of Ridenhour Racing, I laid a hand on her arm, deciding not to tell Colt about the red stain on his lips. “About my speech? When will that happen? What time, I mean?”

  “I thought we’d start the award thing around seven, after folks have a chance to mingle a bit. Do you want to go first, or wait until after Rick says his piece?”

  “Folks will be more interested in what the boss has to say, I’m sure. Better let me go first, so they don’t get up and leave.”

  She laughed as if I’d told a hilarious joke. I had my doubts she’d remember what I’d said, but maybe Richard had overheard.

  The young driver and his date—or wife, I had no idea which the chesty blonde might be—made t
heir grand entrance ahead of several other couples. Richard broke off his conversation with Colt in mid-sentence and hurried to shake the driver’s hand. Doris rushed to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over the blonde’s dress. It seemed rude to leave Colt standing alone, but I supposed the driver made them money and they’d known Colt all his life.

  Not that I cared if Colt felt awkward.

  I didn’t see Mom and Dale among the arrivals, but I recognized Jamie Roark, the senior driver for the Ridenhour team, who’d become Caroline’s favorite driver after a run-in with Jesse Hancock his rookie year. Roark’s wife didn’t have on sequins, thank God, but her gown was floor length. Floating layers of knee-length, gold chiffon set off raven hair. A red sash wrapped her waist. Mrs. Roark used her hands a lot when she talked. Nearly every finger sported glittering diamonds.

  Chuckling at the way the blonde eyed those rings, I felt confident in my assumption she wasn’t Kolby Barnes’ wife—but she wanted to be.

  I moved aside to study the photographs lining one alcove. Gilded letters painted near the seven-foot mark read, In Memoriam. The only face I recognized was Dale Earnhardt’s. I knew that particular deceased racecar driver’s mug because Dale Hannah’s idea of home decorating, before Mom took that task in hand, had been to feature the image prominently and in as many places as possible.

  Across the room hung a chart, listing drivers, car numbers, and crewmembers. They were broken down as white, gold, and red, with Dale on the red team. I finally realized why everyone was dressed like a court jester. Red and gold were the Ridenhour team colors. Duh.

  Someone raised a voice above the growing hubbub. “Who the hell’s drivin’ that ’71 Barracuda Hemi parked outside?”

  I turned to see Kolby Barnes craning his neck to look around the room.

  “Asswipe,” Colt muttered, coming out of nowhere to stand at my side.

  I gave a half-hearted finger wave. Barnes’ brows went up. He gave the blonde a firm pat on the ass.

  “S’cuse me a minute, darlin’. Just a little car talk. You keep sweet talkin’ the boss man’s wife for me. You know I been a bad, bad boy this year. Need all the help you can give me.”

  He abandoned his date to Doris and strode over. “Well, now, hon, that’s a pretty damn sweet ride.” His appraisal of me was far from polite. In fact, given that he’d brought someone, I felt his slow look was ruder than even Colt’s had been. He smiled and held out a hand. “And who might you be?”

  I jerked around at the surly tone in Caine’s voice. “Our sister.”

  I took the hand the man extended. “Shelby Roberts.”

  I supposed he didn’t think introducing himself was necessary. He pumped my hand once, but locked gazes with Caine. I wondered which one would cock a leg and piss on a chair first.

  Finally, Kolby fixed me with ordinary brown eyes. I found him average looking, nothing that appealed to me, but I smiled. My jaw hurt already and I was just getting started.

  “Now don’t get mad, but what you did to that interior’s a cryin’ shame, sweetheart.”

  Another voice, from farther away, drawled, “Well, now, Barnes, that wasn’t none of Shelby’s doin’.”

  “Dale!” I jerked my hand free so I could wave. I wanted out of this dick-measuring contest, but to my annoyance, Caine and Colt edged in front of me, pinning me against the memorial wall.

  Mom returned my wave, but Doris held her up, introducing the bimbo. Dale threw up a hand to Richard, but marched past the team owners to wedge his broad shoulders between Colt and Kolby. Despite my six-inch heels, I felt like a toadstool in a redwood forest. The testosterone in the air made my eyes water.

  “See, I never had no girl before, so when Shelby come along and she was already seventeen, I decided to fix it up into somethin’ I thought she’d like.” Dale gave me a warm smile that evaporated when he cut his eyes toward the young driver. “Don’t you worry none, hot shot, I got all the original parts. I can put that car right back to showroom condition.”

  I assumed Dale was offended by Kolby’s remarks to the media, but the tension rolling off my brothers made me think there was more to the situation. Or were they just jealous of Barnes’ success?

  “So, how fast you ever had her goin’?” Kolby asked, smiling in my direction. I noted the way he ignored Colt and Caine. And for that matter, Dale.

  “Eight point nine’s the best time I ever turned when there was a stopwatch around,” I admitted. “But the speedometer only goes to one-twenty.”

  “A quarter mile in under nine? Not bad.” His tone implied he thought otherwise. I didn’t give a shit what this cocky asshole thought, but Dale had to work with him, so staying quiet seemed wise. Getting the hell out of this corner seemed even smarter.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I haven’t seen my mother in—”

  “And that was just two weeks after I taught her to drive a stick,” Colt interrupted.

  Your sister taught me to drive a stick. I bit the inside of my cheek. This seemed like a good time to present a united front. Goddammit.

  “Always said she was a natural on a damn clutch.” Caine put his hand on my waist again. “Dad, you ever had to replace that clutch since Shelby started drivin’ the ‘Cuda?”

  Dale scratched his chin and I caught the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Now, her mama tears up one a week, it seems like, but come to think on it, just standard maintenance and few adjustments is all I’ve had to do on that ‘Cuda. Shelby’s been drivin’ it for, what now? About four years?”

  He angled his chin toward Kolby. “And I know damn well, these three put that car on the line a hell of a lot more often than they let on.” Dale chuckled and lowered his voice. “Now, I doubt they’re all NHRA sanctioned runs, Barnes, but all that means is, they ain’t got no damn finely tuned team on standby to fix what they fuck up. Always drove that car home, too. No tow truck required.” He slapped the driver on the back. “Gotta find my wife. She’s lookin’ so good tonight, I better not stray far.” Dale bowed out of the conversation.

  Red splotches spread up Barnes’ neck. The look in his eyes turned surly. I realized the Hannahs had walked him right into a spot he didn’t like, a conversation about not tearing up a car. I smothered a grin.

  “Then what’s the point of racing, if no one knows you won?”

  His belligerent tone, the way he’d tried to embarrass me over the ‘Cuda’s interior, and the fact that he’d humiliated Dale in the press, made me strike a match to my vow to be polite. Fuck you, buddy.

  “Well,”—I smiled and crooked a finger, beckoning him nearer. Around us, the room buzzed with conversation, but I darted a glance around. Dale stood just a few steps away. His back was to us, so I figured he wasn’t listening. When Barnes bent forward, I gave him the free look down the front of my bustier that he was enough of a prick to take.

  He didn’t seem impressed, so that made us even.

  “Where we come from, winner gets head. Not that I ever had to give any.” I unleashed my brightest smile when his eyes went wide. While he was trying to close his mouth, I took my advantage. “I would say it was nice meeting you, but I try not to tell any big lies this close to Christmas. Please excuse me.”

  I gave Caine a shove and tried to walk away, but the driver grabbed my arm, spinning me. I glared pointedly at his hand, then turned my furious gaze on his face. Colt and Caine moved in like two wolves, pissed off because someone was trying to take their dinner, but I’d had it with this fool and I sure as hell didn’t need their help.

  I drove my nails into his wrist. “Take your hands off me while your nuts are still where God put ‘em.”

  He let go with innocent eyes. “All I was gonna do was ask where this raggedy-ass quarter mile strip is. I’m not busy tomorrow night. Hell, for that matter, I can drop Candy off and meet y’all later tonight.” His smile became wolfish. “I do enjoy me some good head.”

  Colt and Caine both grew about a half inch, but I slapped a hand on each brother’s chest. Walked right
into the trap, didn’t you, smart-ass?

  My jaw felt like it was about to crack, but I widened my smile. “See, now I’d genuinely love to do that. I know you can spot me half the distance and still make it a race. I’d just be thrilled to be out on the track with a driver of your stature.”

  His expression turned cockier—if that was even possible. “But see, we just can’t let you come out and play with us, Barnes. I’d be worried that you might jam that fancy Audi up my tailpipe like a three-year-old who didn’t get his candy, if something didn’t go your way.”

  Moving right into his face, I shook a finger under his nose, the way I’d do a naughty child. “Touch me again and I will put you on your knees.”

  To my surprise, Caine folded his hands under his chin. His eyes sparkled with anger but he smiled. “Please, Barnes, just grab her one more time. I didn’t put much on my list this year, but damned if that ain’t at the top.”

  For once, Colt said nothing, but menace rolled off him. The tight set of his shoulder muscles stretched his shirt.

  “Oh, honey, there you are. Who are your friends?” I hoped the bleached blonde wasn’t trying for a career on the stage, because her timing sucked. She shoved her arm though Kolby’s and narrowed her eyes at me.

  Using the condescending, polite-as-hell tone I’d learned from all the rich girls at my school, I smiled at the woman. “Oh, hello. Candy, right? I see you brought pacifiers in case of a tantrum. Bet those come in handy all the time.” I dropped my gaze to the big bags of saline on her chest, then gave Kolby an exaggerated wink.

  Caine spluttered with laughter. The blonde knitted her brows, as though burning brain cells trying to figure out the joke.

  “Just a bunch of rednecks. No one I’d introduce you to.” Kolby jerked her away to join in another conversation.

  “Who’s he calling a redneck?” I propped my hands on my hips, then scowled at Caine and patted his rear pockets. “Caine, did you bring the lawn darts again? How many times do I have to tell you, those things aren’t for target practice?”