Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (68 page)

He darted Dale a grin. “It’s the stories that sell these old buckets of rust, right Hannah?”

Francine leaned forward to catch Phillip’s attention.

Phillip frowned. “Why would a museum want two cars just alike? What will happen to ‘Cuda convertible number 5,999? Throw that one in to sweeten the deal, and maybe we can talk.”

“That’s my kind of thinkin’.” Dale raised a thumb.

Dutch’s chest heaved with his sigh. “No flies on him, huh? Won’t hurt to ask.”

Bringing his unusual eyes to my face again, Brannon grinned. “That story you’re tellin’ has already translated into some big sales at Dodge dealerships. The marketin’ gal made pie charts and shit, showin’ how sales spiked after your first race with Barnes. She got some dealership owners on record, sayin’ they had customers who came in just because of what they seen on your website. People can’t get a ‘Cuda, but they bought Challengers, Chargers, and Vipers. They’re bringing back Plum Crazy as a paint selection when the new models hit the line in September.”

He tipped the chair back onto two legs, hooking leather boots around the front legs. “So, we want to put some Dodge engines under y’all’s hoods.”

My heart stopped. Dodge wanted to partner with us? They were coming back to NASCAR?

His gaze strayed to Dale. “Real-time engineerin’ support, Hannah. Satellite uplinks from the track. Whatever you need, I will get you. And it goes without sayin’, we hope like hell, you’ll spray them race cars out in that garage Plum Crazy purple. I got three cases of paint in the trunk.” He jabbed a finger toward Dale. “Me and you ain’t done winnin’ together, brother. Not by a long shot.”

I cleared my throat. Of all the thousand things I wanted to say, the one that came out of my mouth was, “Hannah-Built will compete in NASCAR, not the NHRA.”

Caine stretched to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be goddamned if you’re gonna stand in anyone’s shadow, babe. Not even the old man’s. You’re a world record holder. And we’re just gettin’ started. If you want to compete, let’s kick some ass.”

Caine opened the drawer on the coffee table. I held my breath, thinking about what usually came out of that drawer. But the plain white envelope he withdrew held a card. Two small pieces of paper lay inside.

“You registered me for the National Hot Rod Association? And got me an NHRA license application? But, you and Dale will be busy with the NASCAR cars.”

Dale glanced over the top of the page he scrutinized. “Honey, we know NASCAR better’n we know drag racin’. Big difference between settin’ up a car to make a six-second run and settin’ one up to make a four-hundred-lap grind. But, we know a fella.”

Caine tightened his grip on my hand. “He just lost a good job with Audi Racin’. You ever met Goodlowe Albright?”

Caroline coughed so hard, Jonny pounded her between her shoulder blades.

“Phillip!” Dale snapped the pages he held.

Yes, sir?” Phillip made the few steps to Dale’s side.

Dale jabbed a finger to the contract. “Translate that section into English, please.”

Phillip scanned the text. “It says that Hannah-Built Performance Engineering agrees to customize a minimum of five hundred units of the new Dodge Hemi ‘Cuda annually, for a period of three years, with an option to renew for five more. There’s an amount specified to license the Hannah-Built name, the trademarked names Dale Hannah and Shelby Hannah, and the ‘Carolina Cool’ graphic, for exclusive use on those vehicles. I suspect you can translate all the zeros yourself, chief.”

My body went numb from the roots of my hair to my toes. People were going to drive brand new ‘Cudas with my feather design on the sides? Not the fat, hideous Hemi stripe? I pinched my forearm, wincing from the pain.

“Back up to the part where it says ‘
Dodge
Hemi ‘Cuda’.” Dale lifted his cap and dragged his nails along the red mark left by the band. “I’d swear I was the one that got smacked on the head, Dutch.”

Now it was Brannon’s turn to laugh. “Timin’s every damn thing. They’ve gone plum wild for this idea, thanks in no small part to your daughter’s statement to the press the night you damn near give me a heart attack, Hannah. She proved she can get people fired up. And that was before she knocked me outta my easy chair with that whole space shuttle bit.”

“No offense, honey, but I heard boxer shorts spring open over America right then.” Dutch held up one arm and clenched his fist.

Caine buried his face in my lap and brayed. Barks of laughter came from every man in the house, with the exception of Harry and Dale, who exchanged offended looks.

Dale’s rounded eyes grew wider, setting off Francine and Marley.

Dutch shifted in his seat. “They’ve dusted off the plans for the old ‘Cuda. Gonna trot out a brand new version. It’s somethin’ they’ve played with off and on, so engineerin’s on the ultra-fast track. Lookin’ at a launch, not this September, but next. The surprise reveal’s comin’ at the big car show in December, so, we’ll deliver one of the prototypes as soon as we get everything signed, so y’all can get started on it. Gonna take a minute to get a design approved.”

My head had the same walking-though-gelatin sensation as after I’d climbed out of the wreckage of Dale’s ‘Cuda, minus the ache.

Brannon leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “They’re gonna build ‘em right in the heart of Detroit, Shelby. They’re addin’ the line to the factory where we build the Viper.”

He held out both hands across the coffee table. I had no idea what else to do, so I put my damp palms into the rough hands of the Dodge man.

“I don’t know what that means to you, young lady. To me, that means American jobs, right where they’re needed most. It means jobs here in your home town, to do the custom work. Because that’s what we all heard when we watched your videos. People want to see America get strong again. You showed us that folks see the ‘Cuda as a symbol of that strength. Help us take that vision and run with it. Let’s finish up what you started and kick some ass on the track while we’re at it.”

This man could persuade me to eat boiled paper bags.  From the corner of my eye, I noted Francine messing with her hair.

Dale dragged his thumb across his tongue and held it up. “Feel that, Shelby?”

Overcome and terrified I’d break down and cry, I shook my head.

“That’s the wind shiftin’, little girl o’ mine. Remember that little talk we had down in the garage, the day after Christmas? Think on what you can change while the world’s got its eyes on you, sweetheart. Then, tell Phillip, so he can write it all down.”

Caroline gasped. “Oh, my God. Shelby.” She gripped Marley’s knee. Marley’s nod was barely perceptible, but their brimming eyes made my heart skip a beat. 

I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the massive offer, so I had no idea what to say. Dutch let my hands go. “Heard you were relocatin’ here, Frannie. I have a house in town myself.”

“Good for you.” Francine’s tart tone set Dale off laughing again.

“Chocolate-flavored asshole.” Dale choked the words past his laughter. “What does that even mean?”

Francine leaned over to mutter in my ear. “Tastes good, till you hit the bitter truth in the center. Nothing ever shook Dutch Brannon harder than a goddamn car.”

“Oh, then I reckon I know a couple of those myself.” Robyn sniffed.

The day of Ernie’s funeral, Francine had said, “Find a man who’s as passionate about you as about his work.” Dutch hadn’t managed that as well as Ernie, it seemed. And I didn’t have a lock on the red-headed bitch market, either.

But damn, theirs was a story I wanted to hear.
No offense, Ernie.

D
ale slammed the chair into a reclining position and jabbed a stained finger toward the kitchen. “Harry, you’re gettin’ a marketin’ degree, right?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Harry turned to stammer. “Graduate the end of August.”

“That’s gonna be your job. His marketin’ genius? Her ideas get run past you for approval. If you like it, run it up the flagpole to Shelby. Don’t let them run the Hannah family name into the ground. When the money machine starts to roll, they forget all these sweet promises. Phillip?”

Phillip raised his head from the contract. “Yes, sir?”

“Read every damn word three times, at least. And, from experience, let me warn you, these numbers are always just jumpin’ off spots.”

Phillip lifted a thumb. “Consider it done, boss man.”

Dale finally eyeballed Dutch. “You hang me with one more damn college-educated idiot who can’t figure out how the hell to do what needs doin’, for yappin’ about what can’t be done, and I’m gonna whip your ass from here to Sunday.”

Dutch scratched his nose with his middle finger. “Didn’t I say we watched them drag race videos? Six gears in a drag car, Hannah? Everybody in the Performance Engineering department got your message, motherfucker.”

“Okay, five steps ahead,” Caine whispered. “Not four.”

At last, I could join in the laughter because I knew the joke.

I turned to give Marley and Caroline a silent, open-mouthed scream, but Caroline was sobbing into Jonny’s shoulder. I was the only person here whose main ride was shoe leather all of a sudden, but if I had to hitchhike to town, I was buying Marley a whole box of waterproof eyeliner.

“How many cars we buildin’ for next season?” Dutch asked.

“Three,” I interjected. “That’s a deal-breaker.”

The Dodge man snorted. “If that’s her deal-breaker, this is gonna be an easy ride.” His gaze touched on Colt, Jonny, and Marley. “A veteran on the roster wouldn’t hurt none. Think Jamie might stick around?” Brannon asked the question of Dale. “He probably don’t wanna go out like this. He’s had a shitty year.”

I shook my head.
Not Jamie. He did not keep the faith.

Dale adjusted his cap. “We’ll talk on it. One more thing. Shelby’s the sweet one in this crowd, Dutch. Here’s
my
deal-breaker.”

All mirth drained from his eyes. “If we sign with Dodge, Dodge can’t sign Richard. The minute any Ridenhour car—or any car with Ridenhour backing—rolls into the Dodge garage at any NASCAR facility, world-wide, any pre-existing contract with Hannah-Built is null and void at that moment. We keep every piece of equipment y’all gave us, right down to the satellite truck and the last box of bolts and we take back our name.”

“Harry, toss me a pen,” Phillip begged.

Dutch’s thick brows climbed his forehead. “Rick’s been a Mopar man as long as you.”

“That’s the price.” Dale laid his hands on the arm of the chair, but the veins in his arms stood up. “Absolutely non-negotiable. Get back to me when you got all your ducks in a row.”

While Dutch opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, Robyn got to her feet. “C’mon, Shelby. I just came to drop off a puddin’.” Her eyes twinkled. I thought the web of fine lines around her eyes only made them more beautiful. “And get my first look at Jonny.”

“No!” little Shelby cried. She’d been peacefully sitting on Jonny’s knee since dinner. Now, the child scrambled to her knees and threw her arms around his neck. She glared over her shoulder at Robyn. “First, you take my red boots! You ain’t takin’ me away from my daddy. He ain’t never around much.”

Robyn inhaled. And exhaled. And glared at Caroline. “Can’t wear boots shorter than your foot. Your toes’ll turn green and fall off. C’mon. You got to come to the party. Now, tell big Shelby goodnight. Grandma’s got to be at work by seven in the mornin’.”

“No!” The child shook her head and tightened her hold. “Jonny said I had to be here for his speech. And I didn’t get no puddin’ yet.”

I perked up. “You’re giving a speech? For me?”

“She has a point about the puddin’.” Dale didn’t get his hand to his face fast enough to hide the grin. “I didn’t get none yet, neither.”

With a sigh, Robyn sank onto the sofa.

“Puddin”? Dutch coughed into his fist. “Love some.”

“Didn’t nobody offer you none,” Dale drawled, dropping his hand to the chair arm with a thump. “Ain’t you got folks you need to go talk to?”

“That smack on the head knocked the shine off’n your manners,” Dutch observed, but he got to his feet and said his goodbyes.

Caine peered at his father after we heard the vehicle crank. “Do you have any idea how far up Dutch’s ass I’ve had my foot to get that offer?” He snorted. “Wasn’t his idea to take a look at Shelby’s videos.” He jerked a thumb toward Caroline. “Much less to track sales on a timeline in comparison with her videos uploads. That shit was some complicated math.”

“That’s racin’, son. Everybody and their damn brother’s gonna claim they had the winnin’ idea first. Got my reasons.”

I searched Caine’s eyes for resentment in response to Dale’s terse statement, but saw only puzzlement, wrapped around a whole lot of trust.

After falling hook, line, and sinker for Rick’s heartfelt proclamation on the bus the night of the press conference, only to have Doris turn around and undermine every word, it would be a while before I let go of my grudge against Ridenhour Racing, so I was down with any move to block the scheming couple. What was racing without a rivalry, after all?

I lifted the envelope again. Pulling out the NHRA membership card, I studied my name.
Shelby Hannah.
Which, legally, I was not. But, in every way that counted, I was a Hannah. I’d earned my way on the roster, to boot. Basking in the love shining in Caine’s eyes, I peeked at Robyn, only to catch her craning her neck to peek at Colt.