Out of Control. Julie Miller

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      “This doesn’t have anything to do with the Fisks or Mr. Worth or changes at the speedway. You’re afraid I’m going to screw something else up. But I’ve really thought this through, Dad.” Alex pointed out the letterhead on the paper. “The Nelson Racing Team is making a name for themselves on the circuit. Skyler Nelson won the Missouri Flats in 4.89, running with an LSX 427 iron block motor. Exactly what we specialize in building. If he puts our name on his car, just think of the advertising. Our business could grow exponentially. We might have to open a second garage.”

      “I suppose you’d want to manage it?”

      Why not? Nick had been the lawyer. She was the one with the business sense. “During my internship my senior year at Tennessee, I worked in that auto parts store in Knoxville. In six months’ time, my business plan saved a struggling business and helped put them in the black.”

      Her father scratched his fingers over the top of his silvering crewcut, gradually transforming from the grizzly bear who’d stormed into the garage into the gruff teddy bear who might love her, but who rarely understood her. “I’m not interested in opening another garage or going nationwide. We have a thriving business right now, right here in Dahlia, growing as attendance at the track grows. I hope we’ll continue to turn a profit once the speedway changes hands, but during this transition time, I can’t guarantee what kind of cash flow I’m going to have. I want to see how things pan out with Davis managing things before I start dipping into our cash reserves.”

      Alex used his perfunctory explanation as an opportunity to steer the conversation away from anything remotely personal. “What about sponsoring a local driver, then?”

      “This is five-hundred dollars out of our budget already. And you want to spend more?”

      “We have to spend money to make money, Dad. We need to sponsor a car, not just service the cars whenever the driver needs something. If we hook up with a big name and he or she is successful, then we’ll be successful.” Oops. Open mouth, insert foot. Retreat to the brig. “I mean, we’ll continue to be successful and you won’t have to worry about our future, no matter who’s running the speedway.”

      But his eyes shuttered and the debate was over. Her father drew back his shoulders, silently reminding her that it was his experience and own two hands that had started this business twenty-two years ago. Nick and Alex’s mother had died and George Morgan—former chief mechanic at the Camp LeJeune motor pool—had left the marines to settle in one spot and raise them. The garage had been built from a small military pension and big dreams. “My decision stands. I can absorb this bill. Just don’t surprise me with any more new ideas.” He reached out and tapped the point of her chin in a gesture he’d used as far back as she could remember. “Okay?”

      But Alex wasn’t Daddy’s little girl anymore. When he opened the door to the office corridor, she followed right behind him. “Drew Fisk and his father and grandfather have poured a lot of money into the speedway to bring it up to code, modernize the track and add the amenities that racers and fans want nowadays.” Her father’s sigh told her she wasn’t making any headway, but he held the door to his office open for her and let her keep talking. “Those upgrades brought in the Farron Fuels Racing Series, and Dahlia is turning into a booming little town again. We can do the same—increase our promotional budget, sponsor a team and take advantage of the influx of business and money.”

      He swiveled his leather chair forward, pointing to the door as he sat behind his big walnut desk. “I want to be careful about who we sponsor and where our logo shows up, honey. Remember, it’s my name on this company.”

      Alex’s hands fisted at her hips when she glanced back at the red-and-white logo painted on the safety glass. Morgan & Son’s Garage. It was a sad reminder of dashed hopes—for her father, and for herself. That sadness painted her voice when she turned back to face him. “It’s my name, too.”

      “Ah, honey, I didn’t mean…” A powerful engine gunned outside the front of the garage, loud enough to be heard in the interior offices. But George Morgan ignored the potential customer and reached for his daughter’s hand, pulling her closer as he sat on the corner of his desk. “I didn’t mean you aren’t an important part of this family. Or this business. Or that it hasn’t meant the world to me to have you close by these past few months. It’s just…”

      “Dad—”

      “Let me say this.” He grasped both her hands now, and Alex willingly held tight to his strong grip, wishing she knew the right words or actions to ease the pain that deepened the grooves beside his eyes and mouth. She couldn’t be hurting any more than he was. “I had it in my head all these years that Nick would be taking over the garage and running it with me one day. Even when he became a lawyer, he always found a way to stay involved.” He brushed his knuckles beneath her chin, and Alex did her best to summon a smile for him. “You’ve always been my little tomboy. But I hoped you’d grow up to be a fine lady like your mama was. I guess I’m still hoping to see you in a dress, with a good man at your side and little ones running around your feet.”

      Work boots, overalls and dirty hands hardly lived up to that legacy. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ve tried. I just don’t seem to have much success when it comes to being that lady you want.” Besides the fact she’d been raised by a marine, and hadn’t had much feminine influence growing up, most of the eligible men of Dahlia—like Artie Buell—didn’t see her as much of a lady. One man had created the lies about her being a teenage tramp, but it took the well-oiled gears of small-town gossip to perpetuate them. “But I do know my way around cars and business. I’m good at this. Please give my ideas a little thought, okay?”

      He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll think about it, honey. I promise. In the meantime, just run it by me first before you spend five-hundred dollars on anything besides car parts. Okay?”

      Not exactly a victory. But Alex wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, anyway. “Okay.”

      A sharp knock on the door ended the father-daughter moment. George stood as Alex pulled away.

      “You two open for business?”

      “Well, look who’s here. Drew Fisk.” George reached out with a smile. “Where have you been keeping yourself, son? You weren’t at the track during last weekend’s races.”

      Alex tilted her head to welcome the blond-haired man in the tailored blue suit and white dress shirt. As usual, the tie was long gone. “Hey, Drew.”

      “Alex.” He winked by way of acknowledgment and reached in front of her to shake her father’s hand. “George. How’re y’all doing? I’ve been in and out of town, taking care of business.”

      “For your father and grandfather? How are they?”

      “Fine. Dad’s in India, trying to work out an agreement to build an aluminum fabrication plant there like the one we have here. Grandfather is as cantankerous and crusty as ever.”

      “I can’t imagine him slowing down, even now that he’s retired.”

      “He seems to keep his nose in everybody’s business, for sure.” Drew turned his attention to Alex, his bright blue gaze traveling up and down her body, appreciating her curves in the same way he had from the day he’d realized his best friend’s younger sister had sprouted breasts, and was no longer just a tagalong for his adventures with Nick. “Alex. You’re looking as pretty as that spring day outside.”

      “And СКАЧАТЬ