Книга - Fast, Furious and Forbidden

Fast, Furious and Forbidden
Alison Kent


Trey is determined to get down and dirty with Cardin. However, he is one of her car-racing family’s bitter rivals.Could pretending to be her charming Southern fiancé win his old enemies round – and could he lose his heart into the bargain?









Fast, Furious and Forbidden

By Alison Kent







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Alison Kent is the author of several steamy books for Mills & Boon, as well as a handful of fun and sassy stories for other imprints. She is also the author of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Writing Erotic Romance. Alison lives in a Houston, Texas, suburb with her own romance hero.


To Lori, Julie and Jennifer for making sure a good time was had by all of us in Dahlia.

And for Jennifer especially, for knowing Outlaw 10.5 racing and understanding insanity.




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#uc38078e9-4f6a-5fe3-a327-67a23805bc06)

Title Page (#u89617e41-41ef-5937-9abd-0839bb2790ce)

About the Author (#uecde9246-3b3d-5608-bdc1-33fd8e251090)

Dedication (#ud0cbd2f5-fbf9-5446-aa99-9d62ed82fdae)

Chapter One (#u5f6e64ec-e600-50ff-9ca0-8ae91c505653)

Chapter Two (#u92ca8231-5e6d-5990-ab7a-e952500f432f)

Chapter Three (#u45da1e67-39bc-5c1f-8958-28e00202c9ab)

Chapter Four (#u0bec94d6-aeef-57fe-ac90-7183902909bf)

Chapter Five (#u975950d6-0a44-5ce2-aba0-163b5b7e8120)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 1


Thursday a.m.

“WHIP! I GOTTA HAVE THAT torque wrench or I ain’t never gonna get this done.”

“Take a look in the far chest, Sunshine. The second drawer. I got it out of there earlier.”

“Well, it ain’t in there now. It ain’t in any of ‘em. Drawers or chests. I done looked.”

Hunkered down outside the Corley Motors rig, the tractor-trailer used to haul “Bad Dog” Butch Corley’s dragster to National Hot Rod Association events, Trey “Whip” Davis straightened from where he’d been securing an extension cord against the movable race pit flooring, and mentally retraced the day’s steps.

He’d had the torque wrench with him when he’d grabbed for his BlackBerry to call Butch—the driver had been enjoying a late breakfast with his wife and son—only to realize he’d left the PDA on a shelf in the hauler’s workshop. He’d obviously set down the tool when he’d picked up the phone, but—crap on a cracker.

What was wrong with his head?

This wasn’t like him, being off kilter, disorganized, careless. He was making stupid mistakes. It had to stop. And it had to stop now. He headed for the racing trailer’s open door. “Take a break, guy. Grab a corndog. Get a cup of coffee. I’ll rustle it up.”

Sunshine got to his feet, twisted and stretched his stocky five-foot-seven frame, and gave Trey his trademark sunny smile—one that reddened his already ruddy complexion, which in turn made his blond eyebrows appear to have been bleached within an inch of their life. “Can’t turn down that million-dollar offer. See ya in a bit, Boss.”

Trey watched his assistant crew chief make his way toward the concession stands, zigzagging through the haulers, popups and motor homes turning the Dahlia Speedway pits into a virtual campground.

The late morning sun shone off the reds and greens, and the blues and yellows of hundreds of logos decorating everything from trucks and T-shirts to ball caps and tattoos. Behind him, Trey knew, the snarling Corley bulldog, with its spiked silver collar, would be gleaming bright white against the backdrop of the team’s black trailer.

The vibrant colors, the beehive activity, the smells of exhaust and fuel as mechanics test-fired engines, the din of the fans whooping and hollering along with the jetlike roar—he would never tire of witnessing a dragstrip coming to life and was, in fact, going to miss it like hell while away.

When Corley Motors pulled out early Monday morning following this weekend’s Farron Fuel Spring Nationals, Sunshine would be taking over Trey’s crew chief duties—working with Butch on developing racing strategies and supervising the crew of mechanics who precision-tuned the engine for optimum performance.

It was a temporary arrangement only; Trey had made sure his crew and his driver understood he would be back. For now, however, he was staying in Dahlia—the town where he’d lived the first twenty years of his life. It was long past time to go through the paperwork and personal belongings he hadn’t touched in the six months since his father’s death from heart failure.

And since he rarely visited, he’d decided there was no reason to keep the house or the property he owned here. It held memories, sure, but he wasn’t the sentimental type that attached them to a place. He could think back to his childhood anytime he wanted to remember the past.

Unfortunately, getting the place fit for a buyer was going to require a hell of a lot of manual labor, and most of it would have to be his. He was the only one who would know what to keep, what to toss, what to store until he could make arrangements to sell or give away.

All that weight pressing down had everything to do with his mind being on the fritz. But clearing away those obligations was only one part of it. Solving the puzzle of why the hell, shortly before his death, his father had taken a swing at a pillar of the Dahlia community and nearly killed the older man’s son when he’d come to his defense was another.

Both had to be done if he intended to remain in the top fuel game. He did—leaving him no choice but to take this sabbatical.

It was either do so, or find himself canned as Butch Corley’s tuning boss, and he’d worked too hard to let that come to pass. No mechanic with a lick of sense wanted to work for a screw-up. No driver worth his salt would let one near his car.

Knowing Sunshine couldn’t resist a conversation anymore than he could a corndog, Trey stepped up into the hauler’s workshop, figuring he had a free thirty minutes while the other man schmoozed the vendors setting up around the track.

The rest of the crew would be rolling in throughout the day to prepare for Friday’s first round of qualifying. There would be no downtime over the weekend; work would continue from dawn to dusk to dawn again, the team tweaking their formula to guarantee a “Bad Dog” performance the Corley fans wouldn’t forget.

This breather was the last one Trey figured he’d have until at least Sunday night. By the time Sunshine got back, all hands would be required on deck and—

“You know, the last time I saw you standing still, you had your pants around your ankles.”

What the hell?

“And it’s nice to see my memory hasn’t failed me. You do have a fantastic ass.”

Glowering, Trey turned. The woman in the doorway had the sun at her back, which put her face in shadow. It didn’t matter. He knew without question who it was standing there giving him the eye. Had known who was speaking the moment he’d first heard her voice.

That didn’t mean he was able to answer without taking a deep breath first. Seven years had done nothing to dull his body’s response to having her within reach. “Cardin Worth. It’s been a while.”

She wore black Converse sneakers, low-riding jeans, and a black Dahlia Speedway logo T-shirt. His pulse began to hum, but not because of the way she looked in her clothes.

Humming was what it had always done when she was around. What it had done even before the pants-around-his-ankles incident all those years ago. What it had done anytime he’d thought of her since.

He’d thought of her a lot. A whole hell of a lot. “How are you?”

Pulling off her sunglasses, she came further into the trailer, her long black ponytail swinging, her cheekbones more defined than he recalled. “I’m good, Trey. You?”

“The same.” He looked on as she laid down the glasses, as she picked up and fondled the wrench he’d come for. He’d always thought she had the most graceful hands, had always wanted her to touch him more than she had the night she’d caught him bare-assed. “What brings you out here so early on race weekend?”

“I’m actually looking for my grandfather.” Her gaze came up, intense, searching. “Have you seen him?”

“Jeb? No.” Trey shook his head. He hadn’t remembered her eyes being so blue. Her body being so…fine. But he finally did remember his manners. It didn’t matter that her grandfather was someone he really didn’t care to see. “Is he doing okay?”

A comma of a dimple teased one side of her mouth. “Flying as right as ever, thanks.”

“And you? You’re doing okay?” Because he sure as hell wasn’t.

Her smile took pity, her gaze softened. “We already did that part.”

“Right. Sorry. My mind’s—”

“On the race?”

Actually, it had gone back seven years to the night of the kegger celebrating her class’s high school graduation. The night of the pants-around-his-ankles incident. The night he’d backed her into the wall and listened to her breathe.

He still wondered how long she’d been standing there, why she’d stayed and watched instead of skittering away. If she’d been as turned on as he’d thought. If she dreamed about that night the way he did, for no reason that made any sense.

He cleared his throat, went back to what she’d asked him. “Yeah. Farron Fuels is always a big one for Butch.”

“For all of Dahlia,” she reminded him sagely, her hometown pride strong.

He nodded in response, knowing her family, along with the others whose businesses thrived on the income generated by visitors who’d come to the spring drag racing series to see “Bad Dog” Butch, would get the bad news soon enough.

Thanks to one Artie Buell, son of the local sheriff, who’d messed with Butch’s wife at a local watering hole where she’d stopped for a drink with Sunshine’s wife last night, this weekend’s Farron Fuels was the last one for Butch—who would’ve landed behind bars and had to forfeit the race if Trey and the others hadn’t kept him from kicking Artie’s ass.

Butch had no use for a town where a supposed upstanding citizen, one related to what passed for the law, didn’t know that a married woman’s no meant no. So this year’s race was it. Corley Motors, one of the biggest outfits in top fuel dragster racing, wouldn’t be coming back to the Dahlia Speedway.

And once he’d finished his business here and cut his personal ties with the town, that meant neither would Trey.

Cardin turned the torque wrench over in her hands, a thoughtful crease appearing between her arched brows. “It has to be strange to have grown up here, yet never visit. Except during the Farron Fuels.”

He wanted to tell her it wasn’t strange at all. That these days he didn’t think of Dahlia as anything more than another quarter mile strip of asphalt he needed to get his driver down as fast as he could. But he didn’t say anything, just waited for her to dig deeper for whatever it was she wanted.

She did, switching from a gentle trowel to a more painful pick. “Surely you miss seeing old friends? Spending time at home? Hanging out with Tater, as inseparable as you two were?”

He missed Tater, sure. They’d been best friends before either of them could spell his name. But the only thing that would’ve kept Trey here had never been his to come home to—even though she’d sought him out and was standing in front of him now.

And so he shook his head.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Hmm.” Her tone said she didn’t believe him. “There’s not anything about Dahlia you miss?”

“Nope,” he said, and knew he lied.

“Or anyone?”

“Nope.” Another lie.

“Not even Kim Halton?”

Kim Halton had been the girl on her knees when his pants had been around his ankles. The girl who’d finished what she’d started, then left Trey alone to pull up, zip up and deal with the girl who had watched.

“There is one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I miss seeing you.”

“Pfft.” She fluffed her fingers through her bangs, hiding behind her hair and her hand. “When did you ever see me before?”

He wondered if her refusal to look him in the eye meant her cool was all a ploy. Then he wondered how much of the truth she really wanted.

He went for broke. “You mean besides the time you stood there and watched Kim blow me?”

Color rose to bloom on her cheeks, but it was her only response until she gave a single nod.

That one was easy. “I saw you at school, in the halls, shaking your ass on the football field. I saw you every time I came into your family’s place for a burger or a beer.”

“That was a long time ago, Trey,” she said, her voice broadcasting her bafflement. “At least—”

“Seven years,” he finished for her.

Her frown was baffled, too. “You say that like you’ve kept track.”

“I have.” He knew exactly when he’d moved away from Dahlia. When he’d last seen her except in passing at the annual Farron Fuels.

“I don’t get it. You were two years ahead of me in school. We didn’t exchange more than a couple dozen words.”

Words had nothing to with the heat she’d stirred in him then. That she still stirred now, a stirring he felt as his blood flowed south. “So?”

“So, there’s no reason for you to miss seeing me.”

“None you can think of, you mean.”

“Whip—”

“Hold up.” He lifted a hand. “Forget about me missing you. Let’s talk about the nickname instead.”

That got her to laughing, a throaty, bluesy sound that tightened him up. “Hey, I had no idea it would stick. You can blame that on Tater.”

She returned the wrench to the shelf, her fingers lingering, her lashes as thick and dark as the bristles of an engine brush as she lifted her gaze coyly to his. “At least most people think it’s about you cracking the whip over your team.”

That was because most people hadn’t been there to hear the gossip about him whipping it out for Kim Halton.

He was lucky their secret had stayed close. That no one knew he couldn’t have cared less about Kim. That, instead, he’d wanted the girl watching from the doorway as Kim stroked him. The one too close to his doorway now.

He moved to block it. “I suppose it could’ve been worse.”

“You’re right.” She paused, added, “I could’ve called you…Speedy.”

Ouch. But he grinned. “Maybe I was wrong when I thought I’d missed seeing you.”

“I’d say that’s a distinct possibility.” Coy was gone, a come-on in its place. “Especially since I’m right here, and you’re still missing seeing me.”

He was pretty sure his definition of missing and hers of the same word were two different things. That didn’t mean she wasn’t right. That he wasn’t overlooking something vital.

He crossed his arms and widened his stance, furrowing his brow as he gave her an obvious once-over. “I’m seeing you now.”

Her tongue slicked quickly over her lips. “You’re too far away to see much of anything.”

There were less than three feet between them. He came closer, backing her into a waist-high storage locker. “Is this better?”

“You tell me,” she said.

He leaned in, flattened his palms on the stainless steel surface, one on either side of her hips, and hovered, her body heat rising, his breathing labored and giving him away. “Not as better as it needs to be.”

Her hesitation in replying wasn’t about uncertainty, or impropriety, but about making him sweat, making him wait, making him want and ache. He was doing all of those things, strangling on the tension that was thick in the trailer around them, and robbing him of his air.

Finally, she moved, her hands coming up, her palms pressing to his chest, her fingertips finding his nipples and rubbing circles where they dotted his shirt. He shuddered, and she tipped forward, nuzzling her nose to the hollow of his throat.

He closed his eyes, inhaled, caught the scent of her shampoo, of her sun-heated skin, of her perspiration that was sweet, a damp sheen. Keeping his hands to himself had seemed smart, but she made him too stupid to care about anything but taking up where seven years ago, they’d left off because they were too young to know better.

He held her upper arms, her shoulders, sliding his hands up her neck to cup her face, her cheeks, her jaw, sliding them down to her ribcage and over the sides of her breasts.

There was no sense in any of this, no reason, no rhyme. They hadn’t kept in touch since he’d pressed her into the wall with his body. They’d never talked about how close they’d come that night to tumbling into bed. He had no idea what had driven her here, and the climb of his temperature left him unable to figure it out, to do anything but feel.

She met his gaze, parted her lips, pushed up on her sneakered tiptoes to find his mouth. He bent to make it easy for her, but mostly he bent for himself. Her tongue slipped between his lips to tease and seduce and show him the years he’d missed out on.

He couldn’t let himself wonder about or regret any of that now because she was here, and he didn’t want to miss any of what was happening. Her hunger was that of a long separation, a desperation, neither which he understood or which fit.

What he did understand were her hands at his waist, tugging up his T-shirt, slipping beneath. Her fingers threaded into the hair on his belly, then through that on his chest. She toyed with his nipples, and drove him mad with wanting her.

He broke the kiss because he had to, and rested his mouth at the corner of hers to catch his breath, his control. Her lips parted. He felt the urgent beat of her heart all over. “Cardin, why are you here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s been so long. I wasn’t sure. I need—”

“Yo! Whip! Where you at? You’ll never guess who I found holding a corndog in each hand.”

Sunshine was back, and Trey had no choice but to set Cardin away, his question unanswered, her reply incomplete. He looked down, trying to find something to clue him into the truth, seeing only the flush of her arousal.

His own strained obviously and would take time to calm. “We’ll finish this later.”

“Yo! Whip!”

“Be right there,” he called toward the still open door, smoothing down his shirt as Cardin checked that nothing was out of order. “You heard me, right?”

“That we’ll finish this later?” She nodded.

Good. But also…“And you’ll tell me then what you need?”

She didn’t answer. She brushed her mouth one last time against his before turning, snagging her sunglasses and hopping from the trailer to the ground.

Trey took another few seconds to gather himself, grabbed for the torque wrench and walked from the rig’s interior into the white-hot light of the sun.

He squinted, then shook his head at the irony of the interruption as he recognized Jeb Worth standing beside the four-wheeler with Sunshine. That settled one thing at least.

Cardin looking for her grandfather was not as far-fetched as Trey had thought. Whether or not finding Jeb was what had brought her to the Corley hauler was yet to be seen.

Trey had a feeling it was something a whole lot bigger—and with a whole lot more baggage—than that.




Chapter 2


Sunday p.m.

CARDIN SERENITY WORTH had lived her entire life in Dahlia, Tennessee. She’d sold Dixie cups of lemonade and Girl Scout cookies and fund-raising candy, tchotchkes and Christmas paper to half the folks in town.

She’d been a member of the Dahlia High School Darlings, high-kicking her way across the football field during three years of half-time shows, and a member of the local FFA, raising rabbits to show at county fairs.

She’d worked at Headlights, her family’s ice house, since she was old enough to pay taxes and social security on her wages, but had earned her allowance busing tables and sweeping peanut hulls from the floor before that.

She was twenty-five years old, a hometown girl known to one and all, and well aware that two decades from now, she would still be thought of as her father Eddie’s shadow, her mother Delta’s princess, and her grandpa Jeb’s pride and joy.

It came with being a Worth, a family that was as much a local fixture as the Dahlia Speedway, the drag-racing track where in less than two weeks, the whole town would switch gears from this weekend’s NHRA race to Dahlia’s annual Moonshine Run.

The midnight race was the only event in which Jeb still entered the car he called “White Lightning”—a nod to the years of Prohibition when her great-grandpa Orin’s moonshine had kept the folks in three counties from feeling any pain, while keeping his own family out of the poor house.

Right now, however, the race still on everyone’s mind—Cardin’s included—had featured top fuel dragsters: long, narrow purpose-built race cars with thin front tires that tore in a straight line down a length of the quarter mile track in under five seconds and at over three hundred miles an hour.

The Farron Fuel Spring Nationals had wrapped up earlier in the day, and the entire Corley Motors crew—”Bad Dog” Butch Corley having taken top honors again this year—was chowing down and raising hell at two of Headlights’ tables not fifteen feet from where she stood scooping crushed ice into red plastic tumblers for cokes and sweet tea.

Except it wasn’t the whole team causing her mouth to go dry, her palms to grow damp, her nape to tingle from the heat. It was one member, one man.

The man sitting at the far corner of the second table, the garage door style wall behind him rolled open to the early evening breeze.

The man polishing off the last ear of corn from the platter the group had ordered to go with their burgers, hot wings and pitchers of beer.

The man she’d thrown herself at three days ago and kissed with unheard of abandon as if she were a woman in love.

Trey Davis was the crew chief for Corley Motors. He was also Cardin’s counterpart: a hometown Dahlia boy. Granted, he hadn’t stayed in Dahlia the way she had; though he still owned property here, he only managed to visit during the spring drag racing series.

She liked to think his growing up here connected them. Trey knew what it was like to have sprouted from small town Tennessee roots, to be saddled with the stereotypes, the prejudices, the accent…the family that could drive a person mad.

And then there was that woman in love thing, and the possibility that what she felt for him wasn’t an “if”. The high school crush. The continuing infatuation. The way March roared in every year, a lion bringing with it the Farron Fuels and a chance to see him.

The way she felt like a lamb once he was gone—a victim of her own weakness because she’d been afraid to seek him out and talk to him about that night seven years ago…what they’d almost done, how the things he’d whispered had made her feel, the way she’d been unable to get him out of her mind since.

Because of all that, and because of their families’ shared history—Trey’s great-grandfather Emmett had been her great-grandfather Orin’s partner in the moonshine biz—she trusted him, and hoped his instincts could help her put an end to the Worth family feud.

It was obvious she couldn’t do it alone; Lord knew she’d tried to patch things up between her parents, to no avail. Eddie and Delta were now estranged. She’d tried, too, to smooth things over between her father and her grandpa Jeb, who’d stopped speaking to Eddie when he wouldn’t shut up about the fight that had nearly cost her father his life.

For a year she’d played the part of peacemaker, insisting her mother be understanding of her father’s moods; they’d come so close to losing him, after all. Insisting her father be patient, that his recovery would be a long process, not one with the overnight results he expected from his doctors and himself.

Insisting her grandpa cut his son a break and answer Eddie’s questions; he’d been the one to break up the fight before either of the other men got hurt…so, yes. He did have a right to know why Aubrey Davis had taken a swing at Jeb. And since that blow-up twelve months ago that sent Eddie to the hospital had involved Trey’s father, well, Cardin figured he owed her.

Of course, he was totally unaware of her plans to use him.

And she still wasn’t sure how to go about her…proposal.

During her Thursday visit to the Dahlia Speedway, she’d had no time to lay out for him her thoughts. All she’d managed to do was test the waters, see if the electricity that had always crackled between them was still there.

It was, burning as hot as the night his unyielding body pressed hers into the bedroom wall, trapping her, molded to her, an imprint she felt always and would never forget.

She shivered, silenced a moan. This was not a good time to be remembering the bristly sensation of his beard against her cheek, or the hardness of his bare chest beneath her hands.

But that was the direction her mind had decided to travel, following a map that took her imagination into territory that had her pulse thumping, her breath quickening, her belly growing taut…

“Cardin?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t leave any room for the drinks.”

“What?”

“The drinks. The ice. Cardin!”

Cardin pulled her attention from the hands holding the corn that she wished were holding her, and turned toward the biting voice and the woman with the teeth.

Sandy Larabie had been working at Headlights as long as Cardin. She was six years older, had two divorces under her belt, and was both the most caustic and well-tipped of all the ice house’s serving staff.

She nodded at the tumblers Cardin held, not a hair out of place in her big brassy ’do. “Get your head in the game. It’s hopping like hell bunnies in here.”

Cardin’s head was in the game. Just not the game Sandy was talking about. “Sorry. I got…distracted.”

Sandy scooped ice for her own drink order, following the direction of Cardin’s gaze. “You know he’s staying behind when the team checks out tomorrow, right?”

She did know. She’d even heard it earlier than most; as Dahlia’s unofficial herald, Jeb had his ear to the ground. She’d been surprised by the news, as had everyone, but the lead she’d gained from her grandpa’s announcement had given her time to put together her plan.

Too bad she’d got caught up in kissing Trey before she could explain it to him. Just seeing him again had unraveled her to the point of barely being able to think.

She turned to Sandy. “So I’ve heard. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Pop, pop went Sandy’s gum as she nodded. “Tater told me Whip’s taking a few months to get his place cleaned up and sold.” Winston Tate “Tater” Rawls, a mechanic at Morgan and Son Garage, had been Trey’s best friend in high school, and was Sandy’s newest boy toy.

“I don’t think Trey’s set foot on the property in a year, at least. I wonder how long he’ll be here.” Might as well see what else Sandy-by-way-of-Tater knew. The more information Cardin could sock away, the more convincing she’d be when she finally talked to Trey.

“According to Tater,” Sandy said, “Whip’s gonna join back up with the Corley team later this season. But since they’ve put the kibosh on coming back to the Speedway, I’d say this might be the last time we see him around here.”

Sandy spun away at the sound of the order bell, while Cardin just spun. She’d heard the rumors of Corley Motors blacklisting the Dahlia Speedway. The winning team was a Dahlia favorite and a huge draw; having one of their own working as crew chief was a highly prized bragging right.

But now with that moron Artie Buell having put the moves on Butch Corley’s wife, “Bad Dog” Butch was done with Dahlia. A shame, too, because the town needed the income generated by the big boys. Big boys like the team that employed the man she was about to ask to pose as her fiancé.

Both her parents and her grandpa Jeb needed to move beyond the hell of the last year, and get back to acting like a family. Her thinking was that introducing Trey as her fiancé would shake them out of their funk, would give them a new outlet for their focus, a common goal toward which they could pour their combined energies—that of doing all they could to break up the engagement.

Trey was Aubrey’s son. Aubrey who had taken a swing at Jeb. Aubrey who had sent Eddie to the hospital. Aubrey who had instigated a fight with an elderly man, and taken the genesis of his beef with Cardin’s grandpa to his grave. If the thought of her marrying Aubrey’s son didn’t shake them out of their blind self-absorption, she knew nothing ever would. This was a last-ditch effort, and an admittedly desperate one.

But there was more to her choice, to her plan. Trey was also the man Cardin hadn’t been able to get over in seven long years. She had to find out if what she felt for him was as real as her heart insisted it was, as real as her head told her every time she thought of him.

He’d been two years ahead of her in school, but since the teen crowd in Dahlia was small, they’d crossed paths regularly. At school functions. At sporting events. At parties classmates threw behind their parents’ backs.

Like Tater’s post-graduation kegger. Where Cardin had opened what she’d drunkenly mistaken for the bathroom door only to find herself looking into the master bedroom, and into Trey’s eyes. His pants had been around his ankles. And Kim Halton had been kneeling open-mouthed in front of him.

Cardin had been more tipsy than not, but Trey had been one-hundred percent sober. She’d seen it in his face when the light shining from the hallway spilled into the darkened room; it had exposed his raw emotions as fully as the part of his body she’d been certain he’d wanted her—and not Kim—to take care of.

She was twenty-five now, not eighteen, but she had yet to forget the way their eyes had connected, the intensity in his craving, the look that had beckoned her to wait, to stay, to want him the way he wanted her. She had waited. Wanted. Watched him while he’d come, knowing all the while he was imagining it was her hand stroking him, her lips sucking him, her tongue slicking over the head of his cock.

Kim had finished her, uh, service, caught sight of Cardin in the shadows, and smirked as she’d stormed out of the room, leaving Trey halfway dressed and Cardin’s cheeks to flame while she watched him tuck himself into his pants, while she listened to him curse in a voice harsh with anger.

Once he’d caught his breath and his composure, he’d come for her, swiftly, pressed the length of his body to the length of hers and told her to forget what she’d seen.

He’d toyed with a lock of her hair and asked her how she could smell like sunshine in the middle of the night. He’d stroked her throat from her chin to the hollow and told her she was softer than down. She’d stayed silent, shaken her head at his words, given in to a longing she didn’t understand and laid her hands on his chest.

His heart had pounded, a match to hers. His breathing had grown ragged and rushed. She had barely been able to think, or to swallow, or do more than chew at her bottom lip. He’d stopped her with his thumb, and the contact had sent her belly falling to her feet.

She’d moved one hand to hold his wrist, but her fingers didn’t fit around it. She felt his skin, his bones, the crisp hairs there, wondering at how human he felt to her touch. And so she’d touched more. The back of his hand, his nails, the pads of his fingertips, the dip between his forefinger and thumb.

She’d touched his face, found the bump where he’d broken his nose during football, learned the arch of his brows, his right that was especially wicked, the thickness of his lashes, the way his dimples deepened when he smiled. She’d threaded her fingers into his hair, and he’d turned his face to kiss her palm, holding her gaze while his tongue circled around and around on her skin, while his teeth took hold and marked her.

Nothing had been the same for her since.

Ridding herself of the disturbing musings with a very deep breath, on shaky legs Cardin delivered the drinks she’d taken too long to serve, apologizing to the family of four who were long past ready to eat. Once she had their order, she made a beeline for the kitchen and entered the menu items into the system that would queue them up for Eddie and his staff.

That done, she slipped away to the ladies’ room to check her face and hair. She needed to know if she looked the harried mess she felt before heading over to finish her business with Trey. He was here. She was here. Why wait?

Surprisingly, the reflection staring back at her wasn’t a harried mess at all. Yes, flyaway wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail to frame her face, and her cheeks were understandably flushed, but it was a sexy rather than flustered look, if she did say so herself.

The loosely rolled neckline of her Headlights T-shirt revealed her collarbone from shoulder to shoulder. The big, round lights of the truck-grill logo were strategically screen-printed to outline her breasts. It was cheesy, sure, but since this was Trey and her quest so important, Cardin was not above using her arsenal of female ammunition.

And with her long bare legs beneath her short denim skirt, her big baby blues and her 34Bs looking like Cs with help from Victoria’s Secret, she figured all angles—and curves—were covered.

Another steadying breath, and she headed back to the kitchen, bypassing the service window where orders sat waiting. Grabbing a clean platter, she ducked around the two high school kids who worked as dishwashers, and dodged Albert, the second shift cook, who was carting a tub of freshly ground beef from the walk-in refrigerator to his station.

With Albert’s hands full, Cardin didn’t have to worry about the retired and grizzled military man slapping her on the ass, and she reached her father unscathed. Holding out the platter for him to fill, she got straight to the point. “I need a half dozen ears of corn.”

Eddie Worth had been only eighteen when Cardin was born. Now separated from her mother, he was considered a very hot property by single women of all ages. He turned from stirring a big pot of chili, his blue eyes that he’d passed to his daughter twinkling. “This corn’s going out free of charge, I’m guessing? Since you’re back here after it yourself?”

“It is, yes. Compliments of the house.”

“Who are we complimenting this time?”

Cardin stuck out her tongue. “You say that like I give away food on a regular basis.”

“You do give away food on a regular basis.” He reached for a pair of heavy duty tongs, steam from the boiling vat clouding around his face and his already sweaty forehead. “I just like to know the who so I can puzzle out the why.”

Hmm. She didn’t really like the idea of her father puzzling out anything about her plans for Trey. “It’s for the Corley Motors table. They finished what they ordered, and I thought it would be nice to toss another platter their way. Butch won today, you know.”

Eddie dropped the sixth ear on the pile Cardin held and looked up at her from beneath his narrowed black brows. “Something tells me you’re not tossing anything at the whole team. And that Butch winning doesn’t matter to you any more than it does to me.”

And to Eddie, she knew, it didn’t matter at all. He’d gotten over racing when his accident left him unable to drive Jeb’s car. He’d gotten over Corley Motors at the same time because the team’s crew chief was the son of the man who’d almost killed him. “Okay. It’s for Trey. Happy now?”

“Happy that you’re singling out Whip? No.” He shook his head. “Not really.”

Cardin sighed her frustration. Her father could hold a grudge longer than anyone she knew. And a stupid grudge at that, since it had been Aubrey Davis—not Trey—who had put Eddie in the hospital. “Even if I were singling him out for more than a few ears of corn, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Eddie went back to stirring the chili. “What part of that is supposed to make me feel better?”

It was hard, but Cardin managed not to strangle him. “The part where you remember all the things you taught me about dealing with men. The part where you remember that I can take care of myself. You can trust me, okay?”

The spoon stopped. The chili bubbled around it. “My trusting you doesn’t mean he won’t break your heart.”

“Oh, Daddy.” Cardin rubbed her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he stared down, reducing the fire on the stove when the chili started getting too hot. “No one is going to break my heart. I won’t let them. And that includes Trey Davis.”

Eddie took a minute to shake it off, then he banged the spoon against the side of the pot and used it instead of his finger to point. “I’m going to remind you of that when you come to me with tears in your eyes because he has. Now get that corn out there before it’s too cold to melt butter.”

With a quick kiss to Eddie’s stubble-covered cheek, Cardin was off, dodging Albert’s hands, the dishwashers’ sudsy puddles, and Sandy’s biting tongue—the other woman snapping about Cardin expecting her tables to be covered while she was off doing God knew what.

It hadn’t been that long, and Cardin was well aware that she needed to get back to work, but if she didn’t snag Trey’s attention now, she’d have to hope for—or manufacture—another opportunity. Waiting would be a waste of the time he would be in Dahlia, and this trip would very likely be his last.

She was only halfway there when he saw her coming. He was leaning on one elbow, his beer mug palmed in his hand, listening to one of his tablemates tell a whopper of a story when he caught her eye. It was a live-wire jolt, the way their gazes fused, and she had to step carefully since she couldn’t see a thing in her path.

Reaching the end of the row of tables, she turned the corner, vaguely aware that the men had gone silent and all eyes were on her. She couldn’t let herself wonder what they were thinking or care about that now. Trey was waiting, his dark eyes broadcasting his curiosity and a much more personal interest.

Good. That’s what she wanted. To see she wasn’t alone in feeling this connection, the one driving her impulsive actions and the staccato beat of her heart.

With the television mounted high in the corner playing clips from today’s Farron Fuels, she stopped at his side, set the platter of still steaming and sweet smelling corn in front of him, reached across him for the salt, pepper, and bowl of softened butter balls, pulling them close.

And then with a tingling rush of heat tightening her to the core, she leaned in, her breasts brushing his shoulder as she whispered for his hearing alone, “I’m ready to tell you what I need.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond, but walked away, smiling to herself at the catcalls and raucous whooping-it-up that erupted at the table behind her.




Chapter 3


“C’MON, WHIP. What did she say?”

“Yeah, man. Don’t leave us hanging.”

“I tell ya. That little gal can whisper sweet nothings in my ear anytime she wants. ’Course I’d have to explain to the wife that whispering was the only thing going on.”

“Look at yourself, Sunshine. Now look at that little gal. You’d have a hard time convincing anybody that something more was.”

While the wolf whistles accompanied Cardin to the kitchen, the digs, jabs and good ol’ boy ridicule continued around the table. Ignoring the noise, Trey watched over the heads of dozens of customers, his gaze following her until she pushed through the swinging saloon doors, her dark ponytail bobbing as she crossed behind the order window and disappeared from sight.

Only then did he think about breathing again, or respond to the ribbing his crew members were killing themselves over. The group of men he worked with were also his friends. He could take whatever they dished out, could dish it right back, tit for tat.

But he had absolutely no intention of repeating what Cardin had said to anyone, dead or alive. Not when he was about to find out why she’d come to see him the other day at the hauler.

He set down his beer mug, wiped his mouth and hands on one of the towelettes Headlights provided, then slapped the table and got to his feet. “If you boys will ’scuse me, some unexpected business has just come up. I’ll catch up with y’all later.”

“What kind of business would that be, coming up?”

“Sure you don’t need some help with whatever it is?”

“Holler if you do. The wife’s pretty understanding when it comes to helping out a friend.”

“I know your wife, Sunshine. I don’t think she’d be anything close to understanding about you helping out yourself.”

Trey waved one hand and ignored the lot of ’em, winding his way through the tables, dodging serving trays and customers and kids running wild. Kenny Chesney on the jukebox singing about his sexy tractor added to the din. He wanted to catch Cardin before she ditched him for work; with a crowd this rowdy, he figured that scenario was seconds from coming to pass.

At the swinging doors, he gave a smile to the waitress with the big mouth and big hair who told him he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen. He looked toward the grill, the fryers, the freezer, the fridge, searching for Cardin…nothing. Staff scurried like ants on a hill, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Her father was, however.

“Hello, Whip.” Eddie Worth was as tall as Trey, as strong as Trey, and sixteen years more clever. His eyes saw all. His keen wit missed nothing. He wasn’t anyone a smart man messed with.

“Hello, Eddie.” Trey shook Cardin’s father’s hand. It was hard to know what else to say when Eddie was obviously well aware of what had brought Trey into the back. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been fine.” He held on to Trey’s hand as he added, “Sorry to hear about your dad.”

Though his dad was the one who’d put Eddie in the hospital and there wasn’t any love there lost, Trey acknowledged the condolence with a nod. He’d had six months to put it behind him. “Thanks. It was, uh, rough there for a bit, dealing with the funeral and all.”

“But things are better now?”

Another nod. It was an easier response than explaining what he needed to make things even better than they were.

“That’s good. That’s good.” Eddie crossed his arms, a dish towel slung over one shoulder. “And I hear you’re going to get your place ready to sell?”

Another something Eddie no doubt thought was good. Trey stood his ground. “This economy, it might take awhile, but holding on to it doesn’t make much sense considering I’m never here.”

He imagined his never being here was also to Eddie’s liking. Trey was his father’s son after all.

“Well, I hope it all works out,” Eddie said, stepping back, but adding before he turned to go, “I guess you’re looking for Cardin?”

“I am. Yes, sir.”

“She’s out back.” Eddie gestured toward the door. “Took a load of trash to the Dumpster.”

“Thank you, sir. Good to see you again,” Trey said, then made his way to the exit, feeling the heat of Eddie’s gaze boring into his back. He’d deal with Eddie and Jeb and the cause of the fight with his father later. Right now, he had other things on his mind.

Outside, he found Cardin wrestling a huge black trash bag out of an equally huge gray plastic can. She didn’t notice him there, and as much as he wanted to help, he waited, looking on as she scrunched up her face and rocked the bag side to side, working to dislodge the items wedged against the sides of the container.

He watched the flex of muscles in her arms and shoulders, the tendons in her neck as she tugged. He watched her frustration mount, her frown deepen, her aggravation grow until disgust took its place.

She stopped then, blew a puff of air up at her bangs, stretched her back and groaned. She was still unaware of his presence. He knew that because when she swiped her wrist across her forehead and saw him leaning against the building, she straightened, stiffened and glared.

“How long have you been standing there?”

He liked that she wasn’t wearing her sunglasses this time. Her eyes were so blue, full of such life, and though he’d expected to see anger, he hadn’t been ready for the thrill he saw in them. He wondered if it was a reflection of his own.

“Well?” she prompted.

He pushed away from his perch. “Long enough to see that you could use some help.”

“Just not to offer it?” When he shrugged, she added, “In that case, I’m sorry I wasted the corn.”

“Trust me. The corn was no waste,” he said, making his way slowly to where she stood.

She watched him approach, her fingers tightening on the bag, crinkling the plastic, stretching it, piercing through. The set of her shoulders grew taut as he neared. Her pulse was visible in her throat. “Then brace this here so I can get the trash out and get back to work.”

He stopped in front of her, planted his palms on the can’s rim and used his weight as an anchor, leaning forward into her space. He smelled sunshine, sweat and cooking smoke, and wanted to be closer still. “This is certainly not the reception I was expecting.”

“Sorry.” She jerked the bag free, and hauled it toward her. “I’m not my best when surrounded by garbage.”

The trash in one hand, she climbed onto an empty crate, lifting the Dumpster lid and tossing the bag inside. Once again on the ground, she dusted her hands together, keeping the can between them as a buffer. “Thank you.”

Trey took a minute, cleared his throat. His mind’s eye was still looking up her short skirt and at her black panties. “Can we get to what you need now?”

He could’ve stepped around the can, shoved it to the side and out of the way. He could’ve reached for her the way she’d reached for him that day in the hauler, wrapped her close and finished what they’d left undone that night he’d pinned her against him as long as he could. But this ball was in her court, and he would play by her rules for now.

She considered him closely, dodging his question as if not sure how to answer, and asked him one of her own. “What made you decide to sell your place?”

He pushed up from the can to stand straight. “You heard about that, did you?”

“Everyone in town has heard about it. You know how Dahlia is.”

He knew well, and that was part of the reason he was cutting his ties. He was tired of everyone being in his business. “Dad’s gone now, and I spend most of my time on the road. I figured it was the best solution.”

“But then you won’t have a home.”

He ignored what looked like sadness—was it sympathy? Pity maybe?—in her eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Home is where the heart is. Isn’t that what they say?”

“Do you need help?”

He frowned. “What?”

“I’m happy to give you a hand. Packing, organizing, tossing out trash.” Her mouth twisted as she gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. “I’m good with trash.”

Huh. This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear when he’d decided to hunt her down. “Is that why you came to see me the other day? You’re offering to help me get things ready to sell?”

Again she avoided a straight answer. “I’ve seen your family’s place, Trey. That’s a lot of work for one person.”

She was right. Making order out of the chaos left behind at his childhood home was not a one-man job—not if that man didn’t want to spend an eternity living in his past. Not that it was such a bad place to be. He just liked the here and now a whole lot more.

As an only child with two working parents, he’d spent a lot of time with a sitter until he’d been old enough to stay alone. By the time he was twelve, his mother had split, leaving him and his father in each other’s care. He’d hated her for leaving, until he’d learned of his father’s indiscretion. Then he’d decided the hate was a waste since both of his parents had done wrong.

But he didn’t believe for a moment Cardin had him out here to talk about his plans for his property. “You’re welcome to help, but I gotta know. What’s behind the offer?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, affecting a frown that raised his suspicions not already at full mast.

“What do you want from me, Cardin?” he asked, taking hold of the lip of the can and spinning it out of the way, leaving the space between them filled only with a tension that lived and breathed. “Because I can’t imagine it’s the same thing I want from you—no matter the message you delivered with the corn.”

She licked her lips as she looked away, lifted her chin as she looked back. “If you take me up on my offer, you’ll find out, won’t you?”

Trey pulled in a deep breath, blew out a sigh. Her rules, he reminded himself. Her rules. And since he wasn’t getting anywhere today…“What about your hours here? Don’t you work pretty much full time?”

“I do, but I have connections.” Her smile punched him in the gut, and he was already aching. “The boss won’t mind scheduling around me.”

In that case, he wasn’t going to say no. “You wanna start tomorrow? I figured I’d tackle the outbuildings first. See what’s worth selling. Burn the rest, and haul what won’t burn to the dump.”

“Sure. I’ll talk to Jeb about using his truck. He gets a kick out of driving my Mini.”

Trey tried to picture the wide shoulders, six feet two inches, and prominent paunch of Cardin’s grandfather behind the wheel of her red Mini Cooper convertible and had not a bit of luck. “That I’d pay to see.”

“Then I’ll get him to quote you a price.”

Funny girl. He took a step toward her. “Say eight o’clock then? Or do you need more beauty sleep than that?”

“I’m okay on the beauty sleep, don’t you think?”

Cocky girl. A second step. “Could be you’ve had too much already. Could be an early morning would be good for you. Say…seven?”

“If I didn’t have so far to drive, we could get started at six.”

Brave girl. He took a third. “You looking to spend the night?”

“I might consider it,” she said, wetting her lips—and causing his head to blow a fuse.

Fuses elsewhere were inches from overload. “I’ve been at the track since I got here. I’m not sure there’s a mattress worth sleeping on at the house, but I do have a second sleeping bag in my gear.”

“Sounds great. We can stack them and spread them out. Or even zip them together.”

“Don’t toy with me, sweetheart.” Another step, and their thighs brushed. “I might think you’re actually of a mind to see to our unfinished business.”

“Do we have unfinished business?” she asked, backing away.

He followed. She stayed. “Cardin? Toying?”

“Now that you mention it, there is something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”

“So ask me.” He was willing to give her any answer she wanted as long as it meant he could touch more of her, and do so with something other than his denim-covered thighs.

“It’s about Tater’s kegger.”

“What about it?” As if he didn’t know.

“When I saw you…” She let the sentence trail and backed into the rear wall of the ice house.

“With Kim?”

She nodded. “What were you thinking?”

Hands at his hips, he snorted. “There wasn’t much thinking going on there.”

“I know that, but I’ve always wondered if your mind wasn’t on me…instead of Kim.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Admit the truth? Tell her that he had trouble remembering that Kim had been there at all? That his mind saw only the look of fascination that had been on her face? That even now he could feel how firm her breasts, how hard her nipples had felt against his chest?

“I’m thinking about you now. That’s all that matters.” He pressed his body to hers finally—finally!—raising her hands and pinning them to the wall. Then he lowered his head and nuzzled his cheek to her jaw, finding her earlobe and nipping it, nipping it again when she groaned.

“It’s softer than I thought it would be. Your beard stubble.”

The last time they’d been this close, he’d been fresh from the shower. “I need to shave.”

“No. Don’t. Not until I get a chance to feel more.”

This time Trey was the one to groan. Two sleeping bags zipped together. Her skin smelling like the sun. Crap on a pinhead, and he was supposed to wait? “Are you talking about now? Or are you talking about tonight?”

“I’m talking about anytime you want me.”




Chapter 4


IF CARDIN WASN’T CAREFUL, kissing Trey Davis was going to become her favorite pastime, and she would forget all the other things she needed his help to accomplish. But right now? All she wanted was this kiss.

Like the one in the Corley trailer, this one wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t be; it was stolen, desperate, next to a Dumpster against the ice house’s back wall. Anyone could come along at any moment…

She increased the pressure of her lips on his, pulling him in, needing him nearer to have her way. His mouth was warm, tasting of butter and salt and yeasty beer. His hands holding hers above her head were possessive and strong, and being his captive thrilled her.

He angled his head in one direction, she angled hers the other, fitting against him to deepen the tangle of their tongues, the crush of their lips. The heat deepened, too, as did the beating of hummingbird wings in her belly.

He saw to the close fit of everything else; the threading of their fingers, her hands pressed to the wall, the in and out weaving of their thighs, their flush torsos. She felt as if she was the tiniest thing beneath him, hiding in the shadow of his shoulders, disappearing behind his breadth.

He felt like hard work, and smelled like clean clothes and fresh country air. He was everything a girl could want in a guy, and more than most would get. He was decent, honest, a good man. She’d wanted him since high school, and was close to admitting she had been a little in love with him all this time.

She nuzzled his ear, whispered, “Trey?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you marry me?”

TREY JUMPED BACK AS IF Cardin had jabbed him with a cattle prod. Not exactly the response she’d hoped for, but then he hadn’t given her time to explain.

“That didn’t come out exactly right,” she heard herself saying, though she supposed even had she used the words she’d carefully thought through and planned for her proposal, it would still have been an unexpected shock.

“I goddamn hope not,” Trey said, his hands at his hips, the furrow of his frown deep enough to get lost in. “Marriage is the last thing I’m looking for.”

“Oh, me either,” she hurried to assure him, thinking the frown and the “goddamn” were a little over the top.

He blinked, blinked again. Shook his head. “You just proposed.”

“You’re right. I did.” She held up one hand, then rolled her fingers into a fist of frustration, wondering if punching herself would help. She didn’t want to screw this up any more than she already had. “But it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“So you didn’t mean it?” Trey rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It just…slipped out?”

Oh, yeah. This was going just great. She blew air up into her bangs. “Let me try this again. Trey, how would you feel about posing as my fiancé while you’re here? No permanent strings. No hard feelings when you leave.”

He was looking at her as if she’d grown a second head. “I’m going to need a whole lot more than that before I can figure out what you’re asking here, much less give you an answer. Is there a beginning where you can start? I mean, with our families’ history, who would believe for a minute that you and I were engaged?”

Their families’ recent history was at the root of as many of his problems as her own. She was Juliet to his Romeo. A Hatfield to his McCoy. But right now, her family was at risk of imploding. “If I start at the beginning, I’ll have to go back to the days when our great-grandfathers ran moonshine, so why don’t I start with the fight between your father and mine?”

Trey’s scowl darkened. “The one where Eddie got all busted up?”

“Exactly,” Cardin said. “A broken hip, a broken leg. Pins holding him together.”

Trey went on the defensive. “Even Eddie said that was an accident.”

“Guess what? I don’t care. All I know is my family went nuts after the fight. No one talks about anything except work, and they only do that while at work.” She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes for a moment, hoping to stave off the stress headache bearing down.

It didn’t work. Surprise, surprise. Her temples pounding, she went on. “It’s like Headlights is one big eggshell now, and I can’t deal with it anymore. I just can’t. If things don’t get back to some semblance of normal, I’ll have to leave town before I lose what’s left of my mind. Seriously.”

“And since my father was involved, you want me to help you settle your family’s feud?”

“Give the man a cigar,” she said, and punched him in the shoulder.

Frowning, he rubbed at the injury that really wasn’t one. “How long is this engagement thing going to take you to explain? I’ve got to get back to the Speedway and pack up the hauler. The team’s hitting the road at first light.”

Wow. He hadn’t said no. Initial hurdle cleared. “It’ll take longer than either one of us has now, that’s for sure.”

“My place tonight, then?” he asked after studying her for several long seconds, the light returning to his eyes, the dimples to his cheeks. “Or was the offer to help me mock foreplay? You know, to get me on board with the mock engagement?”

“What time do you want me there?” was her only response. She didn’t think it would be a very good idea to talk about foreplay when they were only minutes separated from that kiss.

He grabbed his BlackBerry from his waist and glanced at the screen. “It’s already six. I might not get out there till ten.”

“Then I’ll be there at ten. With Jeb’s truck, if I can get it.” She waited for him to come back with something about sleeping arrangements, the lack of mattresses, his camping gear, her suggestion that they zip two bags into one.

But he didn’t. He just nodded, contemplating something she was certain had to do with her, but keeping his thoughts to himself.

She stared into his eyes, and realized she didn’t need to hear him say anything at all. She could see the way he wanted her in his expression. Could read the story of his desire in the language of his body.

He hovered close, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than just moments ago. She expected him to lean in and continue the kiss, to lift her short skirt and explore.

He did neither, smiling as he took a step back, as he raised one hand, a temporary farewell to hold them until later. It made her stomach flip, that smile, so lazy, so sure.

She leaned against the wall of the ice house and watched him go, wondering if she’d bitten off more than she could chew—and if she’d come out the other side of this adventure the same person she was now.

TREY DIDN’T THINK HE WOULD ever finish closing up shop and making his escape from the Speedway. Sales by the track vendors were winding down, and most were engaged in the same sort of packing up as the Corley team. That didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty of action happening all around.

Smoke from charcoal fires lifted the aromas of bratwurst and burgers into the air, and the same wind carried the music of slide guitars, fiddles and accordions to appreciative ears. Monday morning was going to come a whole lot earlier than a lot of the beer-drinking, barbecue-eating, hard-partying folks in the pits would be ready for.

Trey couldn’t have cared less about Monday morning. He was waiting for ten o’clock tonight, the hour he’d finally get Cardin Worth alone. No pit crew to interrupt. No family hovering. No one but the two of them. Just him. Just her. Just like it had been seven years ago the night she’d left an imprint he’d never been able to shake.

But as ready as he was to have Cardin to himself, this trip was about more than getting laid. A big part of Trey’s temporary homecoming was to dig into the fight between his father and Jeb. The one that had sent Eddie Worth to the hospital after being slammed to the floor of the slicker hole—the oil changing pit in Morgan and Son’s garage.

The same fight Cardin had said made everything in her life go wrong.

He couldn’t say his life had been left unchanged, either.

A year ago this month, the fight had brought him back to Dahlia. When he’d left a week later, he’d owned his family’s home, buying the place from his father for the price of a beer, and paying off the huge gambling debt Aubrey had racked up in the years since Trey had hired on as a mechanic for Butch Corley and split.

Trey hadn’t even known about the gambling debt when the sheriff’s office had called to let him know about Aubrey’s arrest for assault. It had been after he’d settled things and was on his way out of town that he’d learned the full truth of the trouble his father was in. He’d stopped by the track to see Tater, who worked on site there with Trey’s father at Morgan and Son’s garage, and heard the story straight from his best friend’s mouth.

Trey hadn’t even hesitated, but turned and driven straight back to the house, striking a deal with his dad: Aubrey turned over the house, the barn, the five acres to Trey, and Trey paid off the damage Aubrey had done—as long as Aubrey left Dahlia and found a job in a town without the temptation of a track.

Sure, Trey’s father could’ve gone to Vegas, gambled online, found bookies anywhere to take a bet. But looking like a broken man, Aubrey had sworn he would do what Trey asked, thanking his son for having faith and staying true, for helping him in his time of need.

All of that had happened almost a year ago. Even so, Trey couldn’t help wonder if Aubrey losing everything he had left and being forced to move on hadn’t contributed to his decline, and six months later, his death. Or if the damage to his heart had been years in the making, and it simply his time to go.

Shaking off thoughts of his loss, Trey unlocked his pickup’s retracting bed cover and started sorting through his supplies. Knowing he could pick up what he needed in the way of tools, building materials, fuel and food in town, he’d packed only his laptop, his camping gear, his clothes and essentials.

No one had been living in the house for a year, and though he’d hired Beau Stillwell to keep the place from falling down, he had no idea what condition it was in. It didn’t matter. He wanted to stay on site. And if he had to camp out to do it, he was ready.

“Looks like you’re set for some kind of vacation.”

Trey looked up, and saw Jeb Worth standing a couple of feet away in the shadows cast by the truck that pulled the Corley hauler. “A change of scenery. A temporary change of vocation. But not much in the way of relaxation or time off.”

“You don’t have to stay out at your place.” Even at this late hour, Jeb’s crisp white shirt tucked into khaki pants worn with a cowboy hat and boots painted a picture of the lawman he should have been. “You’re welcome to stay at the house. We’ve got plenty of room.”

Trey wanted to sleep with this man’s granddaughter. There was no way he was going to stay at his house. He turned around, leaned against the open tailgate, the heels of his hands curled over the cool metal at his hips. “It’ll be easier if I stay out there. I’ll save gas and time not having to drive back and forth.”

Jeb nodded. “Any idea how long you’ll be in Dahlia?”

“As long as it takes to get the place ready to sell. Since I’m doing most of it on my own…” Trey stopped, wondering what Cardin’s grandfather would think were he to learn of her offer to help. Wondered, too, if the older man secretly harbored any hard feelings toward him because of the fight his father had started, a fight that had seriously injured Jeb’s son. “It’ll take as long as it takes, I guess. Depends on how fast I do the work.”

“So you’ll still be here in a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, I’m not that fast,” Trey said, hoping he hadn’t read Cardin wrong and that he’d be spending a lot of what he’d planned as work hours otherwise engaged.

Jeb glanced toward the racing rig where Sunshine was dismantling the pop-up under which the crew worked on the car between heats. “I’ve got a ’69 Chevy Nova SS with Crane lifters, an Eagle 4340 Nitrated Pro Crank, and more goodies than you can shake a stick at sitting in the garage behind my house.”

Interesting. Trey crossed his feet at the ankles. “That so.”

Jeb nodded, still looking away. “Eddie’s always driven it for me in the Moonshine Run. Doesn’t look like he’s going to be doing that anymore.”

Was Jeb here to blame Trey for what Aubrey had done? Putting Eddie out of commission and leaving Jeb without a driver for the annual event? He kept silent rather than broach a subject he wasn’t sure was on the other man’s mind.

“The car’s won the last six out of seven years. It would be a shame not to run it this one.”

Trey knew the legend of the Moonshine Run. Hell, his great-grandfather, Emmett Davis, had been one of the moonshiners to draw the attention of the gangster Diamond Dutch Boyle. Jeb’s father, Orin Worth, had been Emmett’s partner in crime, and Boyle had hunted the two of them like dogs in his effort to put an end to their enterprise that had encroached on his.

The whole town knew that Jeb, at fourteen, had found the gangster’s ’32 Plymouth at the bottom of the LaBrecque ravine. The car had been there since before he was born, having crashed down the mountain during a wild and wooly midnight chase. Rumors that a fortune in diamonds were lost along with the car and Dutch Boyle had been circulating just as long.

Jeb had sworn since being told the story of the gangster’s disappearance that he’d find it. He had. And brought up the car’s two headlights from the bottom of the ravine as proof. Those same two headlights now hung on the plaque in the entryway of their namesake ice house, the inscription between them reading, “A wrong turn can be the downfall of anyone.”

Trey had always wondered if the epitaph meant something special to Jeb.

“I was going to ask you about it the other morning in the pits. But never got the chance.”

Trey frowned. What had he missed? “You were going to ask me what?”

“About driving White Lightning in the Moonshine Run.” Jeb turned toward him, pushing his hat a couple of inches up his forehead.

Ah, finally. The point. “I don’t know. I’m not a driver.”

“You know how to drive. You know cars.”

He knew both, had driven more cars than Butch Corley’s in his time. He just didn’t know why Jeb would ask him of all people. “Why not get Tater to drive?”

“Because I want you.”

A loud crash came from the other side of the hauler, followed by Sunshine yelling at someone to watch the hell where he was going. “I don’t know your car. I’d have to look it over. Take it down the track first.”

“You’ll do it then.”

Trey laughed. “Now, I didn’t say that. But I will think about it.”

Jeb nodded as if that was good enough. “Don’t be a stranger while you’re in town. As many meals as you can eat are on the house at Headlights.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Good showin’ today, by the way. I never thought Bad Dog would hit three-twenty on that track.”

“The amount of time I’ve spent on that engine? I was hoping for better,” Trey said, thinking he should grab his fireproof driving gear before the hauler pulled out, just in case.

“I knew you were the right man for the job,” Jeb said, patting Trey’s shoulder before walking away, leaving Trey to wonder if Cardin’s grandfather wanted more from him than his skills as a mechanic—and what the hell it could be?




Chapter 5


DELTA WORTH DIDN’T THINK there WAS any job in the world more boring than keeping a business’s books, and she’d been doing Headlights’ accounting long enough to hold stock in her own opinion.

Oh, she took the occasional break to schedule employee work hours and meet with restaurant vendors hawking their wares. But since she did it all from her small windowless office tucked between the kitchen and the restrooms, the breaks in her routine didn’t feel like breaks at all.

And it didn’t help that she was still working up to seven days a week with her estranged husband a closed door away.

Pushing out of her chair, she circled the desk to the corner file cabinet where she jammed the folder of reconciled bank statements into its top drawer slot, breaking one of the nails she’d just had done at Lila’s in the process. She and Eddie were going to have to resolve this thing between them—and soon.

Not only could she not afford the abuse to her manicure, she didn’t want to spend more time than she had to living in her daughter’s apartment—and she was quite sure Cardin was ready to get away from the house she’d already moved out of once.

Living with Eddie and Jeb for eighteen years would be enough for any young girl. Delta had made it twenty-six years before she couldn’t take it anymore—though if Aubrey Davis hadn’t turned her whole family end over end, she would likely have stayed until the Mississippi ran dry. And probably to her own detriment, she mused with no small amount of self-deprecation.

Grabbing their produce supplier’s vendor file and returning to her chair, she forced herself to admit she was as set in her ways as the men in her family; more than once she’d wondered how much of the trait was inherent personality, and how much she could blame on having married into the Worths.

A knock on her door stopped her from doing more with the folder than setting it on her desk. “Come in.”

Ah, Eddie. The last person she wanted to see. He tossed his hand towel over his shoulder, and leaned against her door jamb, arms and ankles crossed. The noise from the dining room flooded her small office, but asking Eddie to close the door meant he would have to move.

And she’d been lying to herself when she said he was the last person she wanted to see.

Looking at him now—his blue eyes bright, his black hair too long, his beard stubble way too sexy—had her stomach tumbling just as powerfully as it had the day he’d walked up to her at the Speedway, and licked her cone’s melted ice cream from her thumb.

She dropped into her chair, hating that he was her weakness.

“Why are you here, D? It’s Sunday. Your day off.”

Thanks. Way to rub salt in the wound of her having no life since she’d left him. “I had a few things I wanted to catch up on before tomorrow.”

Eddie frowned, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “What’s going on tomorrow?”

“It’s Monday,” she reminded him, resisting the urge to get up and smooth her thumb from the fringe of his lashes to his temple. “Monday’s always insane. You know that.”

“I do,” he said, pushing away from the door and closing it behind him. The chatter from outside was silenced, and the room became a cocoon. “I also know you’ve been here too many weekends lately. What gives?”

He grabbed for the only other chair in the office—a molded plastic waiting room number—stepped around it, straddled the seat, and took it over. That’s what had gotten to her all those years ago. The way he took over. A chair, a conversation, an ice cream cone.

There was no way she was going to tell him she was here because he was. He’d take over then and demand she come home.

“Am I hearing you right? Eddie Worth questioning an employee for putting in extra hours?” She crossed her arms, crossed her legs, sat stiffly in her seat.

Eddie spread his legs and slouched farther in his. “You’re not an employee, D. You’re family, and you know it.”

She was a Worth in name only, one who had moved out and left her husband because she couldn’t take his silences—or his rage—anymore.

“Did you want something, Eddie?” Besides to sit there and make it hard to remember how bad things were?

“Yeah, actually. It’s Cardin. She’s out back.”

He wasn’t worried, so Delta knew there was no reason for her to be. “And?”

“With Whip Davis.”

Ah, well, now she understood why Eddie was here. God forbid their daughter become involved with a Davis. Though to be honest, Delta wasn’t overjoyed with the news. She wanted better for Cardin than a life spent on the road, a life not her own, but Whip’s.

“If you’re worried, why aren’t you out there playing chaperone?” she finally asked, realizing she’d been lost in thought way too long, and Eddie had been staring at her all the while.

“Because Cardin’s twenty-five, making Whip twenty-seven, and I remember being that age.”

What he meant was he remembered being seventeen and not even out of high school, and then by eighteen, both a husband and a father. “Are you more concerned with their privacy, or with the embarrassment of catching your daughter in flagrante delicto?”

“Up against the Dumpster in broad daylight?” Eddie shook his head, snorting an incredulity Delta didn’t buy. “I hope we taught her better than that.”

“Oh, Eddie.” Frustration squeezed her like a too tight belt. “It doesn’t matter what we taught her. Hell, if kids listened to what their parents said, Cardin wouldn’t even be here.” She paused, added, “Or maybe your memory of being that age isn’t so great after all?”

His eyes flared with heat, then grew smoky, smoldering as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his fists bracing his chin. “I have the memory of ten thousand elephants, D. I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

That made two of them, and was the reason this conversation was now at an end.

She looked down at the folder she’d completely mangled, and at a second fingernail that was now a mess, and tried to find a thought that didn’t have the remembered imprint of Eddie’s hands and mouth all over it.

She had absolutely zero luck, so couldn’t have been more appreciative of the interruption when Cardin opened the door.

“Mom, I need to change my schedule—” Cardin cut herself off and careened to a stop, her ponytail flying, her face flushed. “Dad. What’re you doing here?”

“He’s worried about the company you’re keeping,” Delta answered before Eddie could say a word.

Cardin looked at her father and frowned, her black hair and blue eyes so similar to his that Delta couldn’t breathe for the crushing ache in her chest. How had things gone so wrong?

“What company?” Cardin asked Eddie. “You mean Trey? Are you kidding me? Why in the world would you worry about me talking to Trey?”

“I’m worried that you’re not just talking,” he told her, delivering the words as he would a reprimand.

Cardin rolled her eyes. “Is this more of that broken-heart crap?”

Delta raised a brow at that. “What broken-heart crap?”

Spinning away from her father, Cardin pushed up her bangs with one hand, parked her other at her hip. “He told me earlier he doesn’t want Trey to break my heart, and I told him it’s not going to happen.”

Oh, to be young and certain and naive. Delta sighed, choosing her words carefully. “His breaking your heart would imply there’s something going on between you two.”

Cardin didn’t answer. She faced the room’s small air conditioner instead, the refrigerated breeze blowing her hair here and there. Delta switched her gaze to her husband. All Eddie did was shrug and drape himself at an angle in the chair.

That left Delta to do the dirty work. Hardly a surprise. She’d been doing it all this last year. “Cardin? Is there something going on with you and Whip?”

Their daughter’s shoulders stiffened before she turned, her expression bright and wary, the color in her cheeks giving her away. Delta stifled a groan, and barely managed to keep herself from looking toward Eddie, from telling him silently that they did, indeed, have cause for concern.

If Delta knew anything about her daughter, it was how much Cardin hated the way her parents could talk without saying a word. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“I don’t want to talk about Trey. I want to talk about my schedule.”





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