Hard to Resist

by Jean Brashear

  Praise for Jean Brashear

  “Brashear skillfully intertwines a playful yet heart-tugging romance with the excitement and drama of the NASCAR world.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Jean Brashear is an incredibly talented writer.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Stella Cameron

  “Jean Brashear’s distinctive storytelling voice instantly draws in the reader.”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

  “Once again Brashear proves herself to be an author of fabulous richness, making her a favorite of romance readers.”

  —Midwest Book Reviews

  Praise for Peggy Webb

  “Elvis fans are in for a treat…[with] this comic crime caper.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Elvis and the Grateful Dead

  “An excellent voice, Southern style and humor make Late Bloomers by Peggy Webb a joy to read…Wonderful characters, story and heart make this a winner.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Laughter through tears is the Southern way, and…Webb proves it in spades in her latest novel, Driving Me Crazy.”

  —Starkville Daily News

  JEAN BRASHEAR

  is a three-time RITA® Award finalist, an RT Book Reviews Series Storyteller of the Year and recipient of numerous other awards and has always enjoyed the chance to learn something new while doing research for her books. But never has any subject swept her off her feet like NASCAR. Starting out as someone who wondered what could possibly be interesting about cars driving around a track, she’s become a diehard fan, who is only too happy to tell anyone she meets how fascinating the world of NASCAR is. (For pictures of her racing adventures, visit www.jeanbrashear.com.)

  PEGGY WEBB

  is the bestselling author of more than sixty novels. Her many writing honors include a 2009 Pioneer Award from RT Book Reviews. In addition to writing in multiple genres—romance, mystery and women’s fiction—this former adjunct instructor at Mississippi State University also writes screenplays. In 2009 Peggy formed an independent film company with documentary filmmaker Roy Turner and actress Philece Sampler. Their first project will be a feature film of Peggy’s popular Harlequin NEXT novel, Driving Me Crazy. Peggy sings, plays a mean blues piano and has acted in local community theater productions. She also loves gardening and sitting on her front porch with family and friends. She invites you to visit her at www.peggywebb.com.

  Hard to Resist

  Jean Brashear & Peggy Webb

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  An excerpt from Hilton Branch’s prison journal

  DOWNRIGHT DISTRACTING

  Jean Brashear

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHIFTING GEARS

  Peggy Webb

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  An excerpt from Hilton Branch’s prison journal…

  Dear God…I thought I was done with them. The courts said there was no money left. Hell, the newspapers, the TV, the Internet—headlines screamed it everywhere. But those thugs at Biscayne Bay don’t believe it. Word is somebody new is in charge—Kell Saunders. I seem to remember him. Sat back in the meetings, didn’t say much.

  But those eyes. Reptile eyes.

  He’s threatening my children. All of them.

  Heaven help me, he knows about Rose. Baby Lily—though she’s not a baby now, is she? Two, nearly three, she’d be, and pretty as a picture just like her mama.

  I was at my job in the bakery this morning, just another day in an endless stream of them. I’d had a bellyful of being surrounded by thugs—stupid criminals, most of them losers who deserve to be in here—and I was thinking about how some days I want to climb right out of my skin, just haul off and clock somebody, never mind that I’ve had a heart attack and I’m older than most and not in the best shape. I’d just picked up one tray of bread loaves to stick them in the slicer, when I spotted a piece of paper.

  I was about to complain—when I saw my name on it. B-R-A-N-C-H cut out of newspaper print just like in some B-grade movie.

  I know things get passed along in mysterious ways around here. The prison grapevine can smuggle not just notes but drugs, money, weapons…there’s a crime syndicate in here to equal anything outside, and I’ve done my best to stay as far away as possible because I want out of here so bad some days I think I’ll lose my mind.

  I have learned more than I ever wanted to about how careful you have to be. I’d rather live in the sorriest ghetto in the outside world than be in here, where a wrong look, a perceived insult you never meant…the smallest thing can get you killed.

  So I’ve kept my head down, and I’ve swallowed my pride so often it’s just about washed completely away.

  The note put all that to waste. Its message was clear as a bell. I am not invisible, there are people watching me.

  Biscayne Bay. Kell Saunders.

  He wants to know where the money is. He got Fred Clifton—questioned him, like this is some movie about drug dealers or terrorists. Fred was my friend once. He hid the money I put aside for Rose and the girls.

  Now he’s dead.

  I have to get word to Rose, but there’s no easy way without tipping my hand. There are eyes and ears everywhere. Saunders may not know where she lives—and thank God I never told Fred where to find her—but having Saunders know that she exists, that she’s important to me, is danger enough. He won’t give up until he hunts her down, her and her daughters.

  All I can think to do is string Saunders along and buy time. I cannot let him hurt my Rose, my Lily, my Amelia. Not my grown children, either—I have to warn them…but how, when they want nothing to do with me?

  They will hate me more when they know.

  But I have to find a way to protect my children.

  All of them.

  Downright Distracting

  Jean Brashear

  To all the wonderful authors in the NASCAR series, thanks for the fun of working together!

  And to Ercel, who’s taken the ride with me on more than one harebrained scheme.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CAN I REALLY BE considering this? Hailey Rogers asked herself.

  “Shavasana,” she said aloud. Her yoga class complied, assuming the final pose, knowing she would lead them serenely into a relaxation routine that would put the finishing touches on their very strenuous workout. The cherry on top of the sundae…if Hailey still ate sundaes, that is. Or cherries that weren’t organically grown.

  Hailey herself didn’t feel all that relaxed just now. Empty your mind, she counseled. Usually becoming one with the flow was as natural as breathing. Today, however, doing so required effort.

  But she managed, as she’d had to for years as she sought to make a peaceful existence for herself after growing up with a perpetually dissatisfied mother and minus the father she hadn’t seen since she was thirteen.

  Yoga and the meditative life were not only a cure but her salvation, her reason for being. That’s why this group of rich women had signed on for a very expensive retreat weekend in Santa Fe—because Hailey believed in what she taught and lived it every single day.

  So why was she going to risk rocking the boat by contacting her long-absent father? She d
idn’t really have an answer for that, except that in an existence built around peace and well-being, Dixon Rogers was the stone in her sandal, the gnawing mystery of her life.

  It’s only a phone call. And you need to know. Her relationships with men had been few and fragile because she didn’t understand why her father had dropped out of her life. The man she’d been dating most recently wanted more from her than she was willing to give and had leveled some devastating accusations about her caution. She was wary, yes, but also tired of feeling that way, and she’d realized that to move forward, she had to give the male sex a chance by finding out, for once and for all.

  Why, Daddy? Why was it so easy to forget me?

  As the last of the students departed, Hailey strode with purpose and picked up the cell phone where she’d programmed in a number she’d looked at a thousand times but never used. Before she could wimp out, she scrolled through and punched the call button.

  “Fulcrum Racing, how may I help you?”

  She’d sort of expected a voice mail system, not an actual person. Hailey swallowed hard before responding. “May I speak with Dixon Rogers, please?”

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  Hailey gripped the phone hard. “His daughter.”

  “His daughter?” The soft, Southern voice hesitated. “But Mr. Dixon doesn’t—” A male voice in the background spoke swiftly. The woman cleared her throat. “Ah, one moment please.”

  He’s never even told anyone I exist. Hailey nearly hung up then, but before she could, a man’s voice came on the line.

  “Hailey? Is it really you, sweetheart?”

  Even though she hadn’t heard him speak in fourteen years, that voice rose from long-buried memory. Tears crowded her throat.

  Sweetheart. He called me sweetheart. Not in a million years had she expected that.

  So exactly where have you been all my life, Daddy?

  “HEY, RYDER, THEY HUNG the car body for Bristol, but I don’t know, man…”

  Crew chief Ryder McGraw looked up from the spreadsheet he was building, switching gears instantly as he had to do many times a day. “What’s wrong with it?”

  His car chief, Marcus Conroy, responsible for setting up all the cars for the No. 464 team of Fulcrum Racing, shook his head. “I don’t think that tweak to the front bumper is going to make tech inspection, not the way it’s fabricated right now.”

  Ryder didn’t react with the frustration he felt. Every microscopic facet of the race operation was ultimately his responsibility, including personality conflicts between the shop’s fabricators and his increasingly difficult car chief. “You think…or you know, Marcus?”

  The clench in Marcus’s jaw didn’t bode well. Marcus had wanted Ryder’s job, but he’d never get it, not when he was becoming less and less a team player by the day.

  Ryder opened his mouth to respond just as one of the engineers appeared in his office doorway with a shock absorber in his hand.

  “Bingo. Ryder—I’m officially a genius! This baby’s gonna make Jeb Stallworth the best road course driver anyone’s ever seen. Oh—” The engineer faltered as he spotted Marcus in front of him.

  Ryder held up a hand. “Hang on, don’t go anywhere. I want to see this.” He turned to the car chief. “Marcus, get me tolerances on the new body and shoot them to me ASAP. I’ll come look as soon as I can.”

  “But, Ryder—”

  Ryder’s phone rang. “Hold on. McGraw,” he answered.

  “I need you in my office right now.” Dixon Rogers, the team owner. His voice was strained. He probably wanted to discuss Jeb’s less-than-stellar race at Indy.

  “Will do.” Ryder clicked off. The pressures of forming a brand-new team would have him eating aspirin like candy if he allowed himself.

  But he loved racing. And he owed Dixon Rogers everything.

  Including a championship-caliber team.

  Which he would deliver if it killed him.

  Marcus was still lurking. The engineer stood in the doorway.

  “I said I’d be there, Marcus, as soon as you get me the data.” He turned to the engineer. “I have to head for Dixon’s office. Walk with me.” He moved into the hallway, stopped every second or two to sign something or make a decision or give advice. To each person he tried to give his full attention because team cohesion was critical. Each member was important, and he wanted them to feel that way.

  It was only ten-thirty in the morning. He’d been here since five and would be lucky to leave by midnight, but he held out a hand for the shock, smiling. “Let me see that beauty.” He studied it as he walked and whistled appreciation. “Get me that win at Watkins Glen and I’ll name my firstborn after you.”

  The engineer chuckled. “Since you never take time to date, I’m not holding my breath.”

  Ryder couldn’t argue. Personal time was way down low on his agenda. “Well…someday.” He returned the equipment and paused at Dixon Rogers’s door. “Looks good. Let’s get one into a practice car and see how it tests.” He clapped the man on the shoulder, then started to knock just as the door was yanked open.

  Dixon Rogers stood on the other side of the doorway, a strange expression on his face. “Come in, come in.” He closed the door behind Ryder. “How are you today, Ryder?”

  “Fine, sir.” Ryder resisted the urge to frown. “You doing okay?” Dixon’s color was high, and there was a slightly manic air about him, unusual for a generally calm man.

  “Couldn’t be better,” he said. “Have a seat.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

  “About last week—”

  “I’m not concerned about Indy.”

  Ryder did frown then. Finishing thirty-fourth was hardly a matter to blow off. “Why not? It was inexcusable. Set us back in points.”

  It was Dixon’s turn to furrow his forehead. “I know. But I have faith in you. There’s not a better crew chief in the garage.”

  Ryder wished he shared the optimism. He was good, he knew that, but he was only one piece, and a championship team required all the members to perform flawlessly. He still had weak points, such as Marcus. “Mr. Rogers…” he began.

  “How many times have I told you to call me Dixon? You’re not a wet-behind-the-ears mechanic anymore.” Dixon chuckled. “I swear I never saw anyone bust their butt like you. Probably never will again.”

  “I had a lot to prove.”

  “Not to me. Not for long, anyway.”

  Ryder loved this man who was like a second father to him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to repay the confidence Dixon had bestowed by bringing him up through the ranks. “Thank you, sir.” At Dixon’s lifted brow, he amended, “Dixon. Just feels weird.”

  After a pause, Ryder continued with his original point. “I think I’m going to have to replace Marcus, maybe before the season’s over.”

  At the same moment, Dixon spoke. “I have a favor to ask. I need your help.”

  “What did you say?” both responded.

  “You first,” Ryder said.

  “You want to replace Marcus?”

  Ryder prepared for an argument, though Dixon mostly left decisions in his hands—with the exception that his boss was tight with money. But as long as Ryder kept expenses in line, he was okay. “His ego’s getting in the way. We can’t have that. Most of the good car chiefs are working, but I was thinking about Bodie Martin.”

  Dixon’s eyebrows lifted. “He’s been out of the game awhile.”

  “Yes, but when he was in, there was no one better.” Ryder cocked his head. “Think I’m crazy for going with an old-school guy?”

  Dixon shook his head slowly, grin widening. “Nope, I’m thinking you just might be a genius, son. There’s something to be said for age and experience.” But even as he spoke, worry slid over his features and he stared off into the distance.

  “But what?”

  Dixon snapped back to attention. “Nothing. Not to do with Bodie, I mean. You go ahead if you think you want him. I trust
you with the budget, as well as the team.” Then he rose and started to pace.

  “What’s wrong, Dixon?”

  The older man was staring out his office window, jingling the change in his pockets. “You ever made a bad mistake you’d give anything to fix, Ryder?”

  Ryder tried to imagine what he could be referring to. It had to be something to do with the team because in the twelve years he’d been with Dixon Rogers, they had never discussed anything personal. “You haven’t made any big mistakes with your racing teams, far as I can tell.”

  Dixon turned, his gaze piercing. “This isn’t about racing. It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  What could have the man so concerned? Ryder waited.

  “This is about my daughter.”

  Ryder’s eyes popped. “You have a daughter?” So far as anyone around here knew, Dixon’s life began and ended at the track.

  “Hailey. She’s twenty-six—no, twenty-seven, I think. I haven’t seen her since not long after her mother and I divorced. She was just turning thirteen.” His expression was filled with regret.

  Ryder wondered what had happened, but he had never been one to meddle, so he remained silent.

  “She called me today.” If Ryder hadn’t known better, he’d have thought the older man had tears in his eyes. “I didn’t even know where she was, though I’ve wished I did.” He glanced away and swiped at his eyes with finger and thumb. “I want her back in my life, Ryder. I loved that little girl with everything in me.”

  Yet you haven’t seen her in this long? Ryder bit back the question. Again…none of his business.

  “And that’s where you come in.”

  “Me?”

  “I’ve invited her to spend the next month with us, here at the shop and traveling with the team. I want you to help me make her feel comfortable.”

  I’m not a social director, Ryder wanted to say. I’m trying to build a championship team, and I don’t have time to squire some princess around.

  But he said none of that. Everything he had he owed to Dixon Rogers, and he was genuinely fond of the man, as well. “What does she do for a living? She can take this much time off, a whole month?” No. Please say no.