Alison Kent - Fast, Furious and Forbidden

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?

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