Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (67 page)

“T
o six point zero one seconds. Long may she wave.” Dale lifted his glass.

“And, to a dual bachelor’s degree,” Francine reminded him. “English and Art,” she confided to Robyn.

The gulp of champagne went straight to my head. A warm, fuzzy glow settled behind my breastbone. The conversation became loud, irreverent, punctuated with laughter. I wondered how Francine slipped away from Mom, but wasn’t willing to bring up anything that might spoil the mood.

Harry and Phillip had cleared the table by the time I made a trip to the bathroom and returned. They looked so cute, standing side by side at the sink.

Dale had settled into the recliner I’d bought him. Francine took the opposite end of the couch from me. Robyn settled on the middle cushion. Caine knelt on the carpet at my feet.

“I can’t believe you own NASCAR,” Robyn said, wide-eyed.

“A fourth. Plus, those two all-important shares your daughter rescued from the trash bin, I’m told. Those shares give me the majority stake. Technically, my twenty-five shares still belong to my mother. She always resented the way George and his father just ignored her after my daddy died. I mean, she cashed the checks, but... when she learned I had those two shares, she gave me control of her stock the next day. Long and ugly family story y’all don’t want to hear.” Francine waved one flattened hand across the other several times.

“George and his brother still held the majority, assuming they voted together—and they always do. But Ernie foresaw something I hadn’t considered.”

It took Francine a minute to stop laughing and fill us in on the joke. “I thought we’d have to get George a bed next to Dale when Linda, his ex-wife, had her attorney assign control of her shares to me for the purpose of any vote about five minutes after I hung up from talking to my mother.” She smirked. “That means, if I want to do it, it’s already done.”

The room burst into laughter. Finally, I wiped my eyes. “So, what will you change?”

Caine took my hand. The strong cramps that had wracked me for two days had eased, along with the bleeding. I’d never felt more contented.

“That’s my girl.” Dale pointed. “Francine, she’s gonna change the world.”

“I believe you.” Francine smiled. “She already changed mine once or twice. For starters, I’m going to appoint a commissioner of racing. George is a fool for thinking he can handle everything. Especially what happens on the track. The rest, he’s pretty good at, but there’s no gasoline in his blood.”

George’s demotion infused me with happiness.
Grind on that, asshole.

“Hell, yeah.” Caine balled his fist for a short pump. “Can you pick somebody who knows his ass from a hole in the ground about a damn car?”

“I was going to get a recommendation from your father, actually. I know who Ernie thought would make a good one.”

“Hancock.” Dale lifted his cap and scratched the red spot on his forehead where the band left an impression. “All the drivers respect Jesse. Most of the crew chiefs don’t hate him. Most of all, the fans love that man.”

I darted a glance at Robyn in time to see her roll her eyes.

Francine nodded. “Ernie’s choice, as well.” She studied her nails. “Assuming he’d take on the commissioner’s job, and he and I can come to terms on his compensation, he’d be precluded from backing any team.”

I craned my neck to see Marley, who’d curled into the corner of the loveseat. Colt perched on the arm at her side. He gripped Marley’s hand but stared at his mother like he thought she might disappear in a puff of smoke.

“And of course, neither can I.” Francine raised her head, drawing my attention to her again. “That’s one of the many tragedies about losing Ernie so soon. He planned to back Hannah-Built, one hundred percent. ‘Retirement fun-without-a-damn-D’, he called the plan.”

The lamplight burnished the remaining red in her hair. She swept her bangs off her brow. “Was it Junior Johnson who said the best way to make a small fortune in racing was to start with a big one? Anyway, Phillip’s drawing up papers to transfer the money he’d set aside for the project. I’m adding a fund that is equal to the value of the ‘Cuda. Cash, stocks, and bonds will be funneled directly from Ernie’s accounts, so people can’t say I backed Hannah-Built. You’ll have access to the money by weeks’ end.”

“What?” I gasped. “A trust fund?”

Francine reached past Robyn to pat my knee. “Ernie bought that damn car, thinking he’d hold on to it till Dale got settled in with Caine, and was ready to buy it from him. Then, he saw an opportunity in the stock market, but he didn’t want to liquidate any of his other stocks to buy this new one. Instead, he used the car for collateral, through one of his buddies who ran a small savings and loan. His stock choice performed well. So, he did that again. And again.” She cast a peek at Dale. “He built quite a portfolio, trying to compete with George, but his guilt made him pull away from you, Dale.”

“Hell, didn’t make no difference to me,” Dale assured her. “Never thought about that car but maybe twice in all them years, till Christmas, to tell the damn truth.”

Robyn’s eyes took on a suspicious gleam, making me think she knew Dale intended to give Jill the 6k ‘Cuda. I suspected that he lied to spare Francine.

“It mattered to him,” Francine assured Dale. “Guilt can kill a person. I’m convinced, he worried about profiting from the misfortunes of a friend until it affected his health. Then, we ran into Shelby at Krispy Kreme that day. I can’t tell you how much it eased his mind to know that you had your own ‘Cuda convertible.”

Digging into the pocket of her skirt, she dragged out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. Crumpling it in her fist, she added, “He knew you’d altered the interior of yours to look like the 6k ‘Cuda, because he tracked every one left in existence like a mama hawk with one chick.”

She shifted her gaze to me. “It thrilled him, how much you loved his old stories and watching the races with him. You drank in the knowledge he’d always ached to share with his own child. Sharing his love of the sport and watching it kindle inside you made his last days some of his happiest. I think he was more proud that you gave his story the place of honor on your site than he was of anything else he ever did.”

“He’s the star of the show. His video, and Dale’s, are my favorites.” Tears stung my eyes. “More than that, Ernie showed me who Dale is. Without him, I’m not sure I’d have pieced it all together. I loved him so much. He was nothing like my grandfather. He actually smiled at me. Told me his complex ideas about deal-making. How to think around corners  and make money. My real grandpa thought making correct change was over my head. Because... tits.”

“I’m gonna have to try some Demerol with my champagne,” Harry yelled from the kitchen.

“Go ahead,” Phillip retorted. “See how fast I nail that sweet ass.”

“Reckon they’re family now.” Dale tugged his cap lower.

I
jumped when the side door bell rang. My heart broke into a gallop. It’d be like Mom to crash the party, betting Caine wouldn’t make good on his threat in front of Francine. Before anyone got up, the door swung open.

Dale peered around the wing of the recliner. “I oughta bust you right in the mouth.”

“Aw, now, don’t be like that, asshole. Besides, I didn’t come here to see you.”

“Lord, have mercy,” Francine said, under her breath.

Robyn waggled her fingers, but said nothing to help me identify the stranger. In fact, gazing around the room, only Caroline, little Shelby, and I seemed mystified about the identity of the man who came through the door like he lived here.

The party-crasher was shorter than Dale by half a foot. Straight hair the color of fresh-shined tires slicked back from his forehead. When he turned to be sure the door had latched, I spied a pony tail longer than mine, shot through with few threads of silver, although I had the sense he was older than Dale.

His hawkish nose looked right amidst craggy features. I could easily picture him wearing a kilt and lifting a broadsword. Muscles strained the buttons on his dress shirt, but the fabric lay loose around his waist. The shirt tucked neatly into a black belt that wrapped the waist of worn Wranglers.

He sauntered through the kitchen like he owned the place, but drew up short in front of the recliner.

Staring at Francine.

“Well, I sincerely hope they sent you to return my car,” Francine snapped. “In fact, that would make up for a lot.”

I clued in to the white Mopar symbol embroidered over the hot older dude’s heart.

Caine cleared his throat. “Hang on, now. Don’t run him off yet. He’s my graduation gift for Shelby.”

“What?” Francine jerked around to glare. “Were they all out of those little imitation, chocolate-flavored assholes, Caine? You thought you’d take a chance on the real deal?”

I nearly fell off the couch. Colt needed to throw out a hand to catch Marley’s eyeballs before they hit the carpet. Caroline let loose first.
Damn her.
I clapped my hand over my mouth to avoid joining her peal of giggles. Then Dale snickered and I lost it.

“Dutch Brannon. This is Shelby.” Caine raised his voice and gave Francine a wide-eyed, ‘
what the fuck’
look, but if looks were razor blades, Francine would’ve made that Mopar symbol bleed. “Shelby, all my life, I either called him Uncle Dutch or ‘the Dodge man.’”

Dale scrubbed the base of one hand into his eye socket. “Chocolate-covered asshole. That’s what I’m callin’ him from now on.” He threw his head back and brayed. “Oh, God, I can’t breathe,” he wheezed, between machine-gun bursts of laughter.

Harry rounded the bar. “Seriously, which one of you dissolved her pain meds in that champagne?” He jabbed a playful finger at Jonny, who threw out his hands.

Dutch moved around the room, shaking hands. Jonny introduced Caroline as ‘my girlfriend’.

“Damn, it’s good to see all you young’uns,” Dutch asserted. He glared at Dale over his shoulder. “You wanna laugh or talk racin’, asshole?”

“Well, let me think.” Dale burst out laughing again.

Harry dragged a chair from the table and offered it to the visitor. Dutch yanked the knees of his Wranglers up an inch and sat down. Leaning forward, he stabbed his elbows into his thighs, pinning Francine with burnished copper eyes.

Caine’s fingers tightened around my hand.

“I had to tell ‘em about that car, Frannie. The way Barnes went about tellin’ the whole damn world he had it, I wasn’t left with no choice.”

Brannon straightened, shifting his attention toward me. “So, what I done next was, I grabbed up the smartest exec we got in Marketing. Showed her the ‘Cuda Confessions site. Then, we took a look at the footage from both drag races. And she agreed with me, that you and Dodge need to be on the same team.”

Dale snapped upright in the recliner. He wasn’t laughing now.

The smirk must be a racing thing, because Dutch had one almost as good as Dale’s. “Yeah, that’s right, motherfucker.” He darted a glance at Francine, muttering, “Pardon my French.” Moving his attention back to Dale, he went on. “I know better than to crash a party without bringin’ a gift.” He yanked a thick sheaf of papers out of his back pocket and threw them into Dale’s lap, but turned toward me again.

Shifting his feet, Dutch parked his ankle on one knee. “Now, assuming Fiat gets possession of the ’71 ‘Cuda, she’ll get new rubber, new gaskets, and anything else she needs. All original equipment. A complete, off-frame restoration. A trailer’s been ordered so the car, her driver, and her team of security experts can meet you at every NASCAR and NHRA event where a Hannah-Built car’s runnin’.”

“Do you have that in writing?” Francine leaned forward to peer at Dale. Phillip rounded the bar, but hesitated because Dale still had his nose in the pages.

“I could settle out of court, for storage fees, if that’s iron-clad for an extended period of time.” She straightened and looked down her nose at Dutch, before she swept her gaze toward Dale.

“But, in case he neglected to mention it as part of his resume, Mr. Brannon comes by his tendency to bullshit naturally. My daddy gave him his first job, washing the cars on the retail lot at his Ford dealership. Next thing he knew, Dutch was selling more used cars than the guys making commission.”

Colt laughed so hard, I feared for the arm of the loveseat, but I was stuck on one line of the man’s astonishing speech.
What NHRA event?

Brannon ignored Francine. “We want you to keep talkin’ to folks, honey. Dodge wants to sponsor the ‘Cuda Confessions site. They wanna pull some footage off to make TV commercials, too.”

He broke my astonished gaze to give Francine a pleading look. “I reckon you’ve forgotten what your daddy used to say about a trailer queen, but they don’t pull their own weight. Why would you even wanna pay the insurance on that damn car? Bet your ass, by the time we got done, the big dawgs at Chrysler know, it was Shelby Hannah who put the ‘Cuda back on everyone’s lips.” He spread his hands. “When Shelby ain’t usin’ it, it’ll sit in the Chrysler Museum, with a plaque that honors Ernest Aaron Tipton for bein’ part of the conspiracy to save it from the crusher, and for maintainin’ it for decades, so she could take her rightful place, and provide enjoyment for every muscle car enthusiast.”