“You proved us wrong,” Duke pointed out. “You were one of the best, Julie. I mean that.”
“Were,” she rasped. “I’m not dead yet, Duke.”
“I’m glad about that, by the way,” Duke immediately fired back, his heart breaking for her. He wanted to go to her then, wrap his arms around her small body and tell her to cry out her anger, latch onto him and hold on for dear life.
If he could only tell her how he planned to make everything all right again. Maybe then he’d see signs of the Julie he once loved, the Julie he knew still existed under the afflicted layers of sadness and defeat.
“We’re here to pick you up,” Hank announced. “I talked to Carl Carlton and he spoke to your publicist. You’re looking at the only ride you have today.”
“Remind me to switch race teams when I’m fully recovered,” she grumbled. “Carl has no loyalty.”
Duke ran his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose. That was an understatement. Carl was after that almighty dollar and when he had an injured driver, he tried to save public face. Unfortunately, Carl’s interest in his driver’s welfare generally faded when he realized he wasn’t about to profit off their improbable return to the drag strip.
Julie’s gaze immediately shifted between Sam and Frank, two employees who worked for them in several capacities. Frank had been a longtime employee and they considered him a friend, practically family. Sam recently joined their team as a highly recommended mechanic. Lucky for them, he had a thing for farming, too.
They’d asked Sam and Frank to come along for several reasons. Sam was a huge fan of drag racing but recently came to Hinman Racing when he heard the circulating rumors about a possible new driver joining their team. Frank was invited along for another purpose. Julie respected him. He was, in many ways, like the father she never had.
“Frank,” she whispered, a flash of genuine appreciation softening her cold, empty eyes as soon as he rounded the front of the SUV. “What brings you up this way?”
Frank shot her a gentle smile. He hurried toward her with open arms. “I heard my little girl was getting released today.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered, embracing him. “And let me guess, you couldn’t make the trip from Tennessee alone? Either that or the Hinmans were afraid they couldn’t handle me.” She quickly released him as she tossed out the accusation.
Poor Frank looked ambushed for about a minute. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and bowed his head. He lifted his gaze again and his eyes met hers. They were moist, but not because he felt sorry for Julie. Oh no, those piercing black eyes with folds of wrinkles underneath held nothing but love for a woman he often called “his” little girl.
Julie was visibly shaken by the old man’s expression. She tilted her head to one side and said, “You have to overlook me, Frank. I’ve been in a bad mood for the last ninety days or so.”
“Me, too, little girl. Me, too.”
Duke was touched by the older man’s reply. Frank tucked Julie’s free hand against the bend of his arm. “I have a feeling we have brighter days ahead.” He took a first step toward their rented vehicle, but Julie resisted.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Frank asked, studying her face.
Julie shook her head. “I know what you’re doing, Frank, and I can’t let you manipulate me like this.”
“Can’t and won’t are two different beasts. If you can’t because you’re disabled—and you aren’t, by the way, which is obvious—then that’s one thing. If you won’t because you’re stubborn as a damn mule, or even scared, then that’s somethin’ we’ll overcome together. We always do.”
“I ain’t scared, Frank.”
“Well that remains to be seen, I reckon,” Frank said, nodding toward the car. “Thing is, if you get in that backseat there, you belong to Hinman Racing. You ain’t backin’ out, because I won’t let you. We’ve got a plane waitin’ at the airport ready to fly all of us to Nashville. Hinmans have a nice little practice track over in Columbia, and I happen to think you’ll like it there.”
Julie gulped. “I’m not racing again.”
Frank took a deep breath, studied Hank and Duke for a moment, and just when Duke thought the old man might give up, he came back with a full-fledged rebuttal. “I hope you never sit down in a dragster again. I told you from the time you set your sights on a-racin’ that dragsters were no good. You wouldn’t listen. I tried to tell you, but that’s yesterday’s conversation. Today, I’m gonna spout off and say what I should’ve said then.
“I think you could be one of the best stock car drivers the sport has ever seen. You’re gutsy, smart, and have good instincts, remarkable reflexes. You grew up around stock cars and horses, Julie. How the hell you ended up inches off the damn ground in one of those death traps beats the beejeezies out of me, but you were determined to do things your way.
“Now, I want you to try something different. Give stock cars a shot. You tried your way. Now it’s time to try mine.”
“Don’t you mean theirs?” she asked, pointing at Hank and then Duke.
Hank cleared his throat. “Julie, we’ve got a car that’s unbeatable. We need a driver that wants to win.”
“Since when did you start giving handouts, Hank?” She addressed Hank but looked at Duke.
“This ain’t charity,” Duke said, feeling a strong “no” was inevitable. Julie had already been here and done this. She wasn’t a woman who typically jumped backwards.
Julie pressed her lips together. She studied Sam and after a brief moment of strained silence, she asked, “Who are you?”