He grabbed her arm, but she shook it off. “Don’t touch me again. You know I have a good left hook and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Carter let go. Actually, her left hook was great and he’d been the one to teach her how to make a fist properly. The rest came naturally. But none of that mattered, because he’d hurt her. “Would you stop and listen to me?”
She tossed her ponytail and crossed her arms. “Why—so you can tell me how smart I am?”
“No.” A little gasp left her mouth and she spun on her heel. Son of a bitch. Way to go, Carter. He strode after her. “Let me finish.”
Ignoring him, she kept walking and he kept following.
“Melanie Ann Smith, with God as my witness, if you don’t quit acting like a child, I’ll turn you over my knee and spank your ass.” That got her attention. He smiled in grim satisfaction as she froze in place. Unfortunately, it also got the entire kitchen staff’s attention.
All conversation stopped. Eight pairs of eyes stared at the two of them. Only the radio blared and pots of noodles bubbled in the background.
“I have to get my things,” Melanie said, her voice hoarse. She knelt in the floor and pulled out her purse and pullover. “We can talk tomorrow morning, unless you’re firing me, too.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. Her job. It was all his fault. “Tomorrow’s fine. Don’t be late.”
“I’m always on time,” he heard her say before she marched out the way she’d come in, face scarlet and head held high.
What was wrong with him? First he’d all but screwed Melanie in the parking lot, up against a building for Christ’s sake. Then he’d humiliated the hell out of her when they’d gotten caught. He had to fix this for her. It was the least he could do before he apologized.
Carter nodded at Jack, who’d just walked in. “We need to talk.”
“She’d already been warned about taking too long of a break,” Jack said, wiping his hands on the apron around his hips.
“This is was my fault, not hers,” Carter insisted, hoping to get the man to listen to reason. He’d known Jack since first grade. They’d played high school football together and sneaked six-packs of beer on the activity bus after games.
Jack grunted. “Maybe so. But I’ve got a business to run.”
“I know you do and I respect that, but she needs this job.” Carter shook out his coat, then put it on.
“Then you hire her.”
“I did.”
A slow smile kicked up the corners of Jack’s mouth. “Problem solved.” He turned his attention to the cooks. “Get back to work. I’m not paying you to stand around.”
“Thanks for your help, Jack,” Carter called over his shoulder.
“Consider it payback. I lost ten grand on you last year.” Jack grabbed a plate, inspecting it before sending it out. “Now that you’re a has-been, I can recoup my money on your teammate, Jake.”
Has-been? He was twenty-seven years old and could beat anyone in a race, blindfolded. Done it once too. Although it hadn’t turned out so well on the victory lap.
Carter started to tell Jack to go fuck himself, then shook his head and strode outside. People like Jack were exactly why Carter should open his business in Charlotte. Small towns bred small minds.
***
Forty-five minutes later, Carter found himself crossing the Johnston county line. To his right he spied a sign advertizing a Sprint Car Race and it just so happened to be tonight.
He glanced at the clock on the dash and grinned. It was almost seven, plenty of time to catch the last few races. Downshifting, he headed to his old stomping grounds.
Turning down a dark, bumpy road, he headed to the brightly lit track where he’d gotten his start. A man with a light baton pointed to a semi-full row of vehicles. Carter found the closest empty space and parked, his heart pumping with adrenaline.
The roar of Sprint Car engines had him pick up his pace, until he jogged to the entrance. He paid admission, bought a beer and ambled over to the stands. He climbed up to the back of the bleachers, where he wouldn’t have to wear protective eye-gear or ear plugs. Men and women covered in a sheen of dirt nodded at him, some widening their eyes and whispering.
The stands and his chest rumbled as a pack of cars raced by, a chain length fence the only thing separating the spectators from the action. The smell of racing fuel and burnt rubber filled the air, making him feel right at home.
A little boy, wearing a shirt with Carter’s face on the back, glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening as Carter grinned at him. Tugging on his dad’s arm, the kid pointed behind him. Both turned to Carter and this time it was the dad who got that holy-crap-it’s-you look on his face.
“Come on up,” Carter mouthed at the duo, with an uptick of his chin.
Grinning big, the kid and his dad made their way to him.
“Hi, I’m Carter. What’s your name?” Carter shook the boy’s hand.
“Kyle.” Kyle’s grin nearly split his face in two, as he continued to shake Carter’s hand. “I knew it was you, Mr. Ambrose.”
“C’mon now, Kyle, Mr. Ambrose is my dad,” he said, finally getting his hand back. “You can call me Carter.”
“My cousin, Beau, is racing right now. He wants to be just like you, Mr. Carter, only without hitting the wall twice in one year.”Kyle’s skin went white under his freckles, as though he’d just realized he’d insulted him.
“Ouch.” Carter gave the kid a mock wince, then tapped the brim of Kyle’s baseball cap. “Beau sounds like a smart kid.”
Another pack of cars approached and all conversation stopped as the three of them braced for the next mini-earthquake.
“Stanley Phelps.” Kyle’s dad extended a hand. “Hope we’re not bothering you, but Kyle’s a real big fan, just like the rest of us. My nephew has posters of you all over his room.”
Carter clapped the man on his shoulder, a puff of dirt floating up. “You’re not bothering me at all. I’m mighty honored that y’all are taking time away from watching your nephew to come talk to me.”
“There he is,” Kyle shouted, pointing to a bright green car. It broke sideways on the corner, then righted itself on the straightaway.
“He’s good.” Carter took a pull of his beer when Beau almost painted the bumper of another car. And seriously reckless. The kid was going to get his ass kicked after the race if he didn’t watch it.
“Can we sit with you, Mr. Carter?” Kyle sat down on the bleacher.
Nodding, Carter sat down beside him and Stanley took the opposite side of this son. They watched the race, the occasional hiss of breath and cheer from Kyle breaking their silence.
A woman waved a flag over the track, signaling that it was the last lap.
“Go, Beau, go,” Kyle shouted, but the kid’s enthusiasm didn’t help. His cousin came in next to last place. “Well, crud, tonight was his last race. Daddy said he couldn’t spend any more money, until he won one.”
Stanly and Kyle stood, shoulder slumped and faces glum.
“Thanks for letting us sit with you,” Stanley said with a tip of his hat.
“Beau won’t believe it when I tell him who we sat with during the race,” Kyle crowed, jumping up and down on the bleachers.
Carter stood, craning his neck to find the driver of the bright green car. Beau emerged, tossing his helmet to another kid, then kicked at the dirt. Carter knew exactly how he felt.
“Would it be alright if I said hello to Beau?”
Stanley nodded and Kyle grabbed Carter’s hand. He followed them down to the Pit. Memories bubbling to the surface of his first race, his first wreck and the first time he got his ass handed to him. Carter couldn’t fight the grin. So much better than all the frowning and grimacing he’d been doing in the past twenty-four hours. The tightness that had worked its way deep inside of him eased and he exhaled, blowing away the frustration.
“Is that Carter Ambrose?” A sandy-haired boy’s mouth dropped open, gum falling to the ground.
Winking, Carter put a finger to his lips. He didn’t mind people discovering he was here, but having it advertised was another. The fans in the bleachers should be cheering on their local favorites, not him. Taking away another driver’s fifteen minutes wasn’t anywhere on his radar.
Carter hung back as Stanley talked to his nephew. All of seventeen, with hair the same shade of green as the Sprint car stuck up in clumps, Beau pointed to the track and shook his head. A silver hoop pierced his lip while dirt streaked his face and his suit.
Beau walked over to him, an expression of chagrin on his face. “Holy shit, it is you.”
“Watch your mouth,” Stanley shouted.
Rolling his eyes, Beau leaned into Carter. “He gets on my ass all the time for my language but my aunt’s the one that curses like a sailor. Uncle Stanley don’t say a damn thing to her.”
“Yeah, well…happy wife, happy life,” Carter said. He sliced his gaze to the Sprint Car. “Can I take a look?”
“Have at it. Maybe you can tell me what’s wrong with her.”
Carter ran his hand over the roof, sliding his fingers down to the hood that was still hot. The kid’s ride was sweet. Popping the hood, he checked out the engine. You could tell a lot about a man by the cleanliness of his engine. Or lack thereof. Chrome glinted under the track lights, shiny and mostly free from dirt.
Beau cared alright. A point in his favor, but would he be able to take some constructive criticism? Being able to not only take, but follow a season racer’s advice took a good driver to great, maybe even outstanding.
“Ever consider it might be the driver and not the equipment?”
Beau crossed his arms. “Maybe.”
Kyle ran over and climbed in the window. He began to make racing sounds.
“You a betting man?”
“Sometimes.” Beau lifted his chin, all cocky attitude. “If the prize is worth anything.”
“Four hundred says you come in the top two the next time you race, if you listen to my advice.” Carter pressed the hood down and looked Beau in the eye. “If you don’t, I’ll pay your entry fees for the rest of the season and for your fuel. Either way, you win.”
Beau grinned and stuck out his hand. “You got a deal.”
An hour later, Carter was four hundred short and covered in dirt from head to toe as he headed back to his truck. Sometimes everything worked out just right. Beau was teachable and not totally stubborn or hot-heated.
Turned out, the kid and his family had just moved to the outskirts of Holland Springs, from Forestville. He would be starting Holland Springs High School next week.
So, Carter had given him a job in his garage. Which meant that he would have to find something for the kid to do when he moved back to Charlotte…if he moved back to Charlotte. If, if, if.
Letting his head fall back against the headrest, he considered driving his truck into the ocean. That made about as much sense as giving Beau a job and getting involved with Melanie.
Only it made complete sense. Yeah, he was completely screwed.
Chapter Six
Melanie flipped down the visor and took one last look at herself, before heading inside to Carter’s office. Her make-up was subdued, her hair straight as a board (and boring as one) and there was nothing remotely sexy about her outfit.
She got out of her old Honda, locking the door behind her.
Her borrowed lime green skirt swished around her legs as she walked, gravel made of oyster shells and rock crunching under her boots. The skirt was supposed to be ankle length, only she had borrowed it from Zoe who was about four inches shorter and had had it hemmed.
A cold breeze blew, making her wrap the bright orange wool cardigan tighter around her. It was possibly the most hideous outfit she’d ever worn. What looked cute on her best friend, made Melanie look like a Halloween costume gone wrong.
Carter blinked at her a couple of times as she walked through the garage. In his hand he held some kind of tool and there was a black smudge on his cheek. The dark grey thermal t-shirt he wore emphasized his muscular arms, and she knew that if he gave her the back view of his jeans, her lady parts would get all tingly.
Stupid lady parts.
“Morning,” he said, setting the tool down and grabbing a cloth. Walking toward her, he wiped off his hands and smiled. “There’s fresh pot of coffee in there.”
“I don’t drink coffee, and you missed a spot on your cheek.”
“Not you, too.” After wiping off his face, he threw the towel in a hamper by the office door. “I need at least two cups before I even feel human.”
“Maybe I’m just too dumb to know any better,” she snapped, then inwardly cringed. This wasn’t how to keep a job. Thanks to her lack of good judgment and ability to tell time, she couldn’t tell Carter to take his assistant position and shove it.
His deep green eyes grew serious. “I don’t think you’re dumb.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. And it came out all wrong. I’d like for you to forgive me and for us to start over.” He moved closer to her and she had to tilt her head back look at him. Something she thought was sexy as hell. Being five foot eight, it made her feel all dainty when she wore heels and a man towered over her. Well, not a man. Carter.
She frowned at her wayward thoughts.
Misunderstanding her frown, he took a step forward. “Tell me what I have to do to fix it. This isn’t us.”
“There isn’t an ‘us’, Carter.”