“I’ve heard stories about cars smashing into the rock walls, and head-on collisions causing broken bones and leaving people unconscious.”

“Those rumors are true.”

I felt my frown deepen. “Why would anyone do it, then? If it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugged. “Because it isn’t easy, it takes patience and skill. Because it is dangerous and it’s fun to be a little scared sometimes.”

“A little scared?”

He gave me a crooked grin, his eyes on my mouth. “That’s right. Just a little.”

I snorted my disbelief. If dirt racing made Duane a little scared and sky diving wasn’t all that dangerous, I wondered what could possibly frighten Duane.

At the same moment a shot went off. The cars lurched forward and sped out of the starting line like demons from hell, the engines drowning all other sound. My eyes were glued to the action in front of me, how the cars—some old, some new, all souped-up—slipped and skidded all over the dirt track. Two of the seven spun out at the first turn, one of them bouncing off the rock wall.

I sucked in a startled breath and felt Duane’s hand close over mine. “He’ll be fine. He wasn’t going that fast.”

I leaned against his solid frame and watched the remainder of the race with rapt attention. Only three of the cars made it to the finish line and it was sickeningly close. The whole affair was irresponsible and dangerous, and I thought I’d disdain it.

I was wrong. I loved it. My heart was beating fast and yet I was sitting still.

I loved the sound of revving engines, the smell of engine oil mingled with smoke and earth. I loved the general air of excitement, camaraderie, adventure. I loved how these people loved their cars and raced them hard, used them, risked them. When the cars sped by I felt the rush of wind, the vibration in my chest.

Of course it helped seeing the people who crashed walk away from their cars with no assistance, looking more upset about losing the race and what had befallen their automobiles than about their cuts and bruises.

It was thrilling and everything seemed larger, brighter, clearer—likely a byproduct of the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I deduced the turns were by far the most dangerous part of the race. Maintaining control of over a thousand pounds of steel, around a sharp corner, while traveling in excess of ninety miles per hour, on a dirt track basically sounded impossible to me. But some of the cars managed it beautifully, artfully.

By the end of fourth race I’d basically crawled into Duane’s lap, and I squealed unthinkingly each time the cars rounded a curve. My squeals made Duane laugh and he held me tighter.

As soon as the—five this time—remaining competitors crossed the finish line, Duane peeled my fingers from where I’d dug them into his legs.

“Having a good time?” He nuzzled my neck, kissing it, then set me away and stood.

I turned to him and I’m sure my eyes were huge, as was my smile. “Yes, I’m having the best time. I never thought I’d enjoy all this craziness, but it’s amazing and I’m so glad you brought me.”

He gave me and my run-on sentence a distracted half smile as he pulled out a pair of leather gloves from his jacket. “Good. That’s good.”

I glanced between him and the gloves he was pulling on, felt my own smile wane. He took off his jacket and handed it to me.

“Where are you…?” My mouth couldn’t quite form the question because I already knew the answer. Abruptly, my heart thudded in my chest quite painfully, jumping around like it was trying to break free.

“Oh my God, Duane. Don’t you dare.”

At just that moment movement caught my attention beyond Duane. Devon—the biker from earlier—and a woman I didn’t recognize were walking toward us.

“I’ll be right back.” Duane brought my attention back to him, nudging my legs apart with his knee, and stepped between them. He wrapped a gloved hand around the back of my head and bent to give my open mouth a kiss, and it was a great kiss. It made me feel like I was being tasted, savored, remembered. Or maybe he was trying to impart the memory to me. Either way, I wasn’t going to forget it.

Too soon he straightened, holding my somewhat dazed but also panicked gaze for just a short moment—again, with plans in his eyes—then turned. Duane strolled away before I could think to protest again. As I watched him go, I stood, then sat. Then stood again. I didn’t know what to do.

As Duane passed Devon he shook the biker’s hand, nodded toward me, patted him on the shoulder, and then continued on his way.

I watched the exchange with incredulity, studied Duane’s long strides before he was completely swallowed by the crowd.

“Hey Jess, this is Keisha. Mind if we keep you company?”

My eyes moved to Devon, then to his pretty lady friend, then back to Devon.

My voice cracked as I asked, “He’s going to race, isn’t he?”

The biker flashed me a big smile, like he thought my nerves were funny. “Yep. And I got two hundred dollars saying he comes in ten seconds ahead of the next fastest car.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” Keisha squeezed my arm and gave me a sweet smile. “Red ain’t ever lost.”

I sat back down on the boulder and placed Duane’s jacket over my legs; it was still warm from his body.

He was going to race. And he’d sent a biker named Saint to watch over me.

A chill passed through me despite the added layer of his jacket. The food I’d eaten settled in my stomach like a cold lump. I was no longer having a good time.

I hardly noticed as the pair sat next to me, but I was irritated to hear how excited they were to watch my old man’s race. It was one thing to watch people I didn’t know, didn’t intimately care about, risk their necks. It was quite another to sit on the sidelines and not lose my mind as Duane revved the engine of his Road Runner at the starting position.

I thought about running forward and throwing myself in front of his car. I thought about it…but I didn’t. Instead I prayed and clasped my hands together. They were shaking. I was not okay with this turn of events.

If he hurt himself, I swore to God, I was going to kill him. And if he didn’t hurt himself, I was going to demand he take me home at once. With each passing second my anxiety increased as did my feelings of helplessness.

I didn’t want to watch him race. I was not amused.

By the time the starting shot echoed through the air, I’d worked myself up into a real tizzy, a temper tantrum befitting my bratty past. I wanted to close my eyes, bury my face in my hands, and wait ’til it was over, but I couldn’t.

Duane immediately pulled ahead and my stomach dropped. Devon and Keisha whooped excitedly, both standing. He was the first to reach the turn and every muscle in my body tensed, my nails digging in to the flesh of my palms, and I braced myself for the worst.

But the worst didn’t come.

In fact, he didn’t take the turn, he attacked it. He was, by far, the fastest I’d seen around the corner, and slingshotted around to the other side completely unscathed. His engine revved, sending thrills and worry to each of my nerve endings.

But after two more turns I realized Duane really knew what the hell he was doing. He was amazing.

Now my eyes were glued to Duane’s Road Runner. Devon and Keisha’s excited shouts faded, as it slid around the last return cone. He was in the lead by several car lengths. Rationally, I knew it was just an old car, but something about the way he drove it turned all that metal into a sexy machine. He drove with swagger, panache, control. How he could be so unbridled on the race track and yet dominate with precision at the same time rang my bell—like, blaring five-alarm fire bell ringing.

But I was still mad at him.

In fact, I was furious.

… Or at least I thought I was.

I felt the roar of his engine as he charged through the finish line, chased by a cloud of dust. The crowd cheered and I was up on my feet moving toward his car. I was still wound up in a tight knot of worry and tension. It was cold outside, yet I was hot all over.