Page 1 of Call it Reckless

PROLOGUE

Bristol

Tennessee State Line…185 miles

“It won’t be the same here without you.”

I swung the latch closed on the back of the small trailer I would haul to my new home and secured it with a lock. I needed the extra minute to respond to the man who’d technically been my boss as the crew chief for my dad’s racing team, but in reality, he was more like a favorite uncle.

“Y’all will be fine,” I said through a tight throat.God, please don’t let me cry!

Mike tapped his fist against the side of the trailer. “Well, just sayin’ that you’ll always have a place back here if you want it.”

I’d both dreaded and anticipated this day for months. It was time to move on. I knew that, and I accepted it—sort of. I would never return to my job without emotions overwhelming me, crippling my spirit to match the injuries and heartache I’d fought so hard to overcome.

Neither Mike nor I were showy with emotions except for the excited high fives that came with winning a race. But that gesture wasn’t going to cut it this time, and we both knew it.

“You take care, now, ya’ here?” The gruffness of his voice was my undoing.

“Damn leaky eyes.” I tried to smile, but my efforts were shaky at best. When Mike opened his arms, I sank into him, sniffing his familiar scent of tobacco and fresh aftershave, and held tight. Maybe we weren’t so bad at this as we both pretended.

“Your dad would be proud of you for moving on,” he said with one last squeeze.

“You think so?” I sniffled a few more times, desperate to hear his answer since he knew my dad better than anyone besides me, even more than my siblings. Definitely better than my mother.

Mike latched on to my forearms, bending his knees enough to bring his six feet down to my five and a half feet. He looked me dead in the eye. “Iknowso. He’d be glad you were finally forging your own path instead of sticking to his side.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? Being his race engineer was everything I wanted. That he wanted.”Wasn’t it?

“Now, don’t get your panties all in a twist,” Mike said as he straightened back up. “He loved having you alongside him more than anything. But he used to worry about what you would do when he quit racing.”

“That was supposed to be a long time in the future.”

“Not as long as you think, darlin’. Too many young drivers to compete against. Racing gets hard on the body. Your daddy told me more than once he was starting to look forward to getting some property back home in your mountain town and just watching the sun rise and set while playing some golf in between.”

That was news to me. My dad loved racing his Number 56 and had won multiple titles throughout his career. In fact, he named me for his first win at the Bristol Motor Speedway. When reporters would ask when he might retire so he could go out on top, my dad would laugh and tell them he’d race until the checkered flag in the sky dropped.

That flag literally dropped from the sky seven months ago, when the private plane he was piloting crashed on his way home after visiting me in the hospital after a freak accident.

I pushed those thoughts from my head and refocused on the crew chief who had been such an important part of my life, personally and professionally. Sometimes, we butted heads on the best course of action to win, but I always understood he had the final say—even if I occasionally made him say it more than once.

“He never shared that with me. I guess I bought the same line he always gave in interviews.” Or I ignored any hints he might have dropped.

I loved working with my dad, and I loved what I did. I’d put my mechanical skills and engineering degree to good use by helping his team figure out the best strategy to make his car take the track in the fastest and safest way possible.

“Just thoughts shared between two old geezers over a few drinks.” Mike’s face softened. I suspected he was remembering some of those times. “But he’d be thrilled to know your new plan. He’d be happy knowing you’ll be more settled and back with family. He always felt you gave up too much for him and wanted you to have a permanent home, to find a husband and have a family.”

“Ha!” Now that was a conversation I’d had plenty of times with my dad. “I’m not sure I’m marriage material.” I laughed. “Not many men would appreciate a tomboy for a wife.”

I got a stern look in response. “Any man worth his salt would be lucky to have you. He’d just have to get past your orneriness.”

“I’m not ornery,” I shot back. “I just know when I’m right. Like knowing how fast you take a turn on a twenty-five-degree bank.”

It was an argument I never let him live down. I was right out of college and had joined my dad’s racing team as a mechanic since that was the only open position. I got into an argument with the then senior engineer about the speed to take a particular turn. Mike went with the engineer’s opinion. Dad spun out of control and crashed. He’d been shaken up and had to leave the race he’d been favored to win.

Returning to the same track later, Mike went with my suggestion. Dad won.

Mike shook his head. “Stubborn gal, you are.”

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