Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (60 page)

He squeezed me. “You changed your own life. You just let me ride shotgun a couple a times.”

The room blurred, but somehow, I made it to the door.

“Shelby?”

Blinking hard, I turned, trying to still my trembling lips enough to smile. “Yes, Daddy?”

“You’re my hero, too.” He frowned and scratched his chin. “Or is it she-ro?” The grin reappeared. “Anyhow, I always heard havin’ a little girl would make a fella into a better man. Reckon it’s so. You made Colt a better man. Ain’t no doubt about that. You’re gonna make Caine into one, too, even though he don’t see that shit comin’. Now, go do the same for Kolby, because I wasn’t smart enough to get the damn job done.”

George England had been right. Dale cared about Barnes. So, how had he done such a good job with me and his sons, and yet, made such a mess with Kolby?

I was a few steps from the door when he yelled. “Atta boy! Go high and get out front. God fuckin’ dammit, why ain’t she got Caine on speed dial? The seven-digit romance went out with the wall phone.”

When I passed the desk, one nurse had her back to me. “I liked the guy in 304 so much better before he opened his eyes.”

The nurse seated behind her darted an apologetic glance my way. “My husband says he’s a god.” Her smile stretched into a grin. “But. That would be the same husband who can hit a deer at fifty yards and can’t hit a toilet that’s right between his knees.”

For the first time all week, I left the ICU smiling. “When you race one Hannah, you’re racing us all,” I whispered, sauntering through the wheezing double doors. “Fear that.”

C
ars lined both sides of the lane. Weird, because it was barely eight p.m. and the parking lot was practically empty. A man in an orange safety vest jumped off a truck tailgate and waved me to a halt. He grabbed a five-gallon pail. I eyed the sign pasted on the side.
Parking $5.

I couldn’t lower the window. Caine had turned off the juice to most of the power options. I opened the door. “Um, I’m racing.”

Grinning, the pot-bellied attendant reached into the bucket. He pushed a bumper sticker into my hands, along with a pen. “Mind signin’ that for my little girl, Shelby?”

I nearly fumbled the pen. “You want my autograph?”

“Damn straight. My daughter’s got two home-grown women in motorsports to look up to now.” His eyes misted over. “Y’all’re my heroes’ little girls, to boot.”

I’d signed the thing he handed me before the familiar design penetrated my astonishment. “Where’d you get this?” I waved the bumper sticker, emblazoned with the Hannah-Built logo.

“Lee’s got ‘em for sale inside. He give ‘em to me to sell out here.” He tipped the bucket. Scattered five-dollar bills covered the bottom. A paper bag taped to the side held about fifty bumper stickers. 

“Huh.”

A cluster of people stood behind two pickups vehicles parked along the fence to my right. A fifty-five-gallon drum rested behind the Ford F-100, tipped to the vertical position, atop a stand with wheels. Smoke billowed when a man in denim shorts lifted the lid. The delicious aroma of grilling meat—
omg, is he cooking bacon, too
?—made my tummy growl.

“There she is!” One of the women seated in the lounge chairs gathered around the grill jumped to her feet. She jerked a sign from the bed of the truck, waving it up and down.

Much love for the House of Hannah.

“Kick his teeth down his throat, Shelby.” The parking attendant slapped the top of the Audi, but I waved to the woman, motioning her over.

“Shelby.” She scurried across the gravel lot, smiling like we were old friends. I’d never seen her before. She looked about Mom’s age. “How’s Dale?”

“He’s wide awake today. He’ll make a full recovery.” I pointed to the sign. “Were you at the hospital with that sign last Sunday?”

“Yeah. I been a fan of Dale’s since high school.” Her cheeks turned pink and she laughed, fanning her face. “But he only ever looked twice at Robyn Masters.”

“Thank you. That sign... the message, got me through the toughest night of my life.”

Her cheeks grew ruddier. Tears gleamed in her eyes. “Will you sign it for me?”

“Delighted to.” I had to step out of the car. The parking guy handed me his pen again. I laid the poster on the hood.
Much love for you, too. Shelby Hannah

“I take back every ugly thing I ever said about your mama. And hers.”

I blinked, then spun to look behind me. Caroline waved through the windshield of the Viper, fingers spread like a kid.

When I turned back to the woman, squinting in confusion, she tittered. “He was single for so long, I had my hopes pinned on him showin’ up at one of our reunions. Where of course, he’d tell me he’d been secretly carryin’ a torch for me all these years.”

She batted her lashes. “When I heard he got married, I mighta said some mean things. Outta jealousy, you know.”

Do we ever outgrow wanting the fairy tale? Or putting each other down?

Shaking my head, I climbed into the Audi. “She’s with me.” I jerked a thumb toward the Viper, then slammed the door.

“Kick his ass, Shelby!” the strange woman cried as I drove away. A uniformed sheriff’s deputy waved me through the tunnel entrance.

The instant I pulled out of the dark tunnel, I spied the prize. Though it was barely twilight, every bank of lights glowed. The old Plymouth blazed under a fresh coat of polish.

The German and his crew were already in place. Niles waved my car into the left lane pit box. I ignored him in favor of gaping at the Plymouth—or, rather, the pair of armed guards on either end. I put the tranny in neutral, yanked the park brake up, and slung my door open.

“You’re early.” The pale-haired man’s expression implied I’d never been anywhere on time in my life.

“Knock yourself out, Niles.” I swept a hand toward the R8. “I’m gonna go say hello to my next new car.”

The German scowled over his shoulder. “I don’t get what the fuss is about. So many better-made German cars around.”

Bite my ass
. “It’s an American thang, I reckon.” Unwilling to dwell on how Dale and this guy might get along, I jumped into Caroline’s passenger seat.

She sped down the strip to the turnout and gunned her engine as she hit the oval track. A heartbeat later, she dove into the infield. Her rear tires spun on the dewy grass. She darted me an innocent look.

“Oops. Hey, did you realize who that woman was you waved over?”

“Never saw her in my life.” I drew back to frown.

“I figured you didn’t know her.” Caroline laughed. She braked near the ‘Cuda. “Remember Marie Nixon, the girl you beat up for me?”

“The one who opened that sex toy store?”

“Yeah. That’s her mama.”

My mouth fell open. “Buy me a pen with disappearing ink, will ya? I can see this happening again.”

She made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, then pressed it to her eye. While she giggled, I scanned the grandstand. People already dotted the seats, but more hung over the rails nearest the field, snapping photos of the ‘Cuda. Security guards wore bright yellow T-shirts and stood watch at the stairs that led down to the field, keeping the crowd off the grass.

“What say we watch these guys’ balls draw up into the assholes?” I slung her door open and dashed across the grass, fingers of both hands poised like revolvers. 

“Fellas, either whip ‘em out or turn your heads.” The two muscular guards exchanged horrified looks. One actually put his hand on the butt of his gun.

Country music spluttered, then blared through the loudspeakers, but the whisper of air brakes told me Lee and his golf cart had arrived.

“Let her be. That’s Shelby Hannah.” His bark was followed by the call letters of a local Charlotte FM radio station. The opening strains of
John Cougar, John Deere, and John 3:16
floated on the humid air.

I laughed.

Kolby signed autographs on the far side of the stadium. “Don’t think it’s gonna be your night, Barnes,” I whispered. “Even the radio’s on my side.”

The guards stared straight ahead, looking for the next challenge to their authority. I dragged my fingertips across the hood.

“It almost seems a shame, to be so old and yet, never allowed to run like you were born to.” I pressed a kiss to the hood, letting the memories of every naughty act from Wednesday night flow through me. Just another demonstration of Caine’s attention to detail. Knowing he wouldn’t be here tonight, he’d seized the chance to paint an unforgettable scene—one I’d see in my head just by looking at the ‘Cuda—putting me in just the right mood to kick Barnes in the nuts—metaphorically, I hoped. “You’re gonna love it at the Car Porn Ranch with all the other cars your age.”

Caroline fell across her steering wheel, laughing until she gasped for breath. “Girl, you are in a mood.”

I hurried to give Lee a hug. My first philosophy professor grinned. “Ladies, I got the lounge open for y’all, but I was hopin’ you’d sign some autographs for the crowd, Shelby.”

“I had no idea you were up to all this.” I grinned at the dancing letters on the new sign.
Shootout at Midnight! Hannah vs. Barnes!

The old man pushed the John Deere cap to the back of his head. “Best time to make hay is while the sun shines and the sun don’t shine on the same dog’s ass every day.”

I supposed that was country for
Carpe diem.
Lee’s colorful phrase seemed right to me. At the same time, it summoned a ghost.
I miss you, Ernie. Come on down and ride shotgun, how ‘bout it?

“You had a bunch on your plate.” I focused on Lee again. “I showed Caroline the numbers. Figure we’ll split the take three ways after expenses?” The old man grinned so wide, I spied pearly pink gums. “Pure genius, holdin’ a grudge match durin’ Race Week. At midnight, on a holiday, when everybody and their brother’s off work tomorrow?” He readjusted his hat with a bark of laughter. “Every seat in the house sold out. Didn’t even have to buy no advertisin’.”

I stared, trying to guess how many seats the stadium held, but why bother? Caroline could tell me before I could locate the calculator on my phone.

Lee stretched a leg out of the cart. “Our mutual friend sent car polish samples to give out, too. My nephew spent all day yesterday, tapin’ one to each seat.” He winked. “You sure bit that man with the speed bug.”

I kissed Lee’s stubbled cheek. “And we all know, once the speed bug bites, there’s no cure. All you can do is douse the puncture wounds with gasoline to ease the itch.”

“’Zactly.”

Looking around, it sure seemed like Kolby had dared me to show up to his race, only to end up driving in mine.

***

“F
rancine!”

She waved, plopping down in a seat by the rail at Mom’s side. I finished scrawling my name and returned the autograph book to the young owner who squeaked out a breathless, “Thanks, Shelby.” I smiled at the guard, who stepped aside. I bounded up the steps and made my way along the railing.

“This is off the hook.” Mom gazed around with wide eyes. “I don’t even recognize this place.”

In the hours since Caroline and I had arrived, the seats had steadily filled. While I signed autographs, Caroline had paced the pit area, scowling. Niles had Marco all but dismantle the Audi, but Caroline and the R8 had both survived the inspection. When the ordeal was done, she’d decamped to the lounge to watch the Cup race on television.

With Kolby about to start his dial-in runs, I spied few empty seats, other than the handful around Mom and Francine. Two were for Harry and Phillip, who’d have to fight their way through traffic to get here from the Speedway.

Mom scowled. “You would not believe how far away we had to park.”

Francine laughed. “I’m not going to worry about what I eat for a week. I feel like we hiked across North Carolina to get to the gate. East to west.”

“Too cheap to spring for the five bucks? Or got here with no cash?” I grinned.

Mom huffed. “Every lot’s full. We’re way, way down by those old exhibit halls near the old fairground gate.” She drilled a finger into my side. “Rick and Doris get me VIP parking, you know. Hannah-Built needs to step it up a notch.”

The apology shone in her eyes. My heart soared, but I snorted. “Give me a break. I just started this job. Do y’all know how Colt’s doing?”

Mom straightened, but Francine answered. “Oh, I watched on television till it was time to leave. He’s pretty much run in third place all night. His pit times are outstanding. The whole Ridenhour crew is killing themselves for him.”

“Really? Dale must be over the moon. He was yelling at the TV when I left the hospital.”

Mom’s smile never faltered. “Is he awake?”

“He’s awake. From what I could see, the man doesn’t even have a headache.”

She heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’m so glad.”

If Francine thought Mom’s reaction odd, she kept her thoughts to herself.

Below, Barnes revved the engine of his brother’s Porsche. The gleaming 911 was a thoroughly predictable shade of red. The pit official sauntered down the lane, barely visible through the smoke coming off the rear tires.

“How’d you do on your times?” Mom asked, scooting forward on the bench. She dove into her purse, coming up with Dale’s cell phone. “Got your text. It unlocks with your birthdate.”