"Sorry our reintroduction was... abrupt," she said, attempting a smile. "Good luck with the race."
She nodded at the other two men as she began walking toward the hotel, her arms full of salvaged art supplies. She could feel Hank's eyes on her as she walked, could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. Unable to resist, she bent forward to pick up her paint case from where it had landed, taking perhaps a bit longer than necessary, aware that her capri pants were probably providing quite a view.
When she straightened and glanced back, she caught him looking. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, a heat that made her stomach flutter in a way it hadn't in a very long time.
Behind him, the beach was coming alive with the morning sun, the copper light turning everything it touched into something magical. She could hear his friends approaching, could hear the questions that would surely come. But for just a moment longer, it was just the two of them, standing on a beach at sunrise, connected by shared history and an almost-accident that had somehow become something else entirely.
She thought about the broken canvas in her hand, about how she'd planned to paint the sunrise, to capture the peace and beauty of Copper Moon Beach. Instead, she'd nearly been run over by a man on a motorcycle named Julie, a man she'd known in another lifetime, in the before times when her sister was alive, and the future seemed certain.
Maybe Blake had known exactly what he was doing when he sent her here. Maybe Copper Moon Beach, with its copper light and racing motorcycles and men who named their bikes after women, was exactly what she needed. Not peace, perhaps, but something else. Something that made her feel alive in a way she'd forgotten was possible.
As she walked back toward the hotel, she could hear Hank's friends reaching him, could hear the low rumble of male voices discussing the morning's events. She didn't look back again, but she knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that this wasn't over.
This was just the beginning.
Chapter 4
Hank stared at the empty racetrack, his mind replaying yesterday's practice runs. Julie had performed flawlessly, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't enough. Not yet.
"Hey, daydreamer!" Brian's voice cut through his thoughts. "You planning to stand there all morning, or are you actually going to help us prep?"
Hank turned to find Brian and Colby approaching, matching grins on their faces. They'd been his crew for three years now, and he knew that look. They were about to give him hell.
"I'm thinking," Hank said.
"Thinking?" Colby laughed. "Is that what we're calling it now? Because from where I'm standing, it looked more like mooning over a certain blonde from the beach."
Heat crept up Hank's neck. "I wasn't..."
"Oh, he's blushing," Brian announced loudly enough that a few nearby teams turned to look. "Guys, our fearless driver is blushing."
"Will you two knock it off?" Hank grabbed a wrench from the toolbox, more for something to do with his hands than any actual need for it. "I just met her yesterday."
"Uh-huh." Brian crossed his arms. "And you just happened to nearly get yourself killed staring at her instead of watching where you were going."
Colby leaned against the trailer. "Not that we're complaining. Anyone who can make you forget about racing for five whole minutes must be something special."
"I didn't forget about racing."
Both men burst out laughing.
"Hank," Brian said, wiping his eyes, "you literally walked into traffic. For a woman. You, the guy who won't even take a coffee break during prep."
"It wasn't like that."
"See?" Colby gestured at him. "He's already defensive. This is serious."
Before Hank could respond, the sound of engines roaring to life echoed across the facility. Not the steady, controlled rumble of teams doing maintenance checks, but something louder. Aggressive.
Showy.
The three of them turned toward the entrance just as a convoy of vehicles rolled in. Five gleaming black trucks, each one sporting oversized tires and custom paint jobs that screamed money. The lead truck had flames painted along its sides, and mounted on its roof was a speaker system blasting heavy metal loud enough to rattle windows.
"Oh hell," Brian muttered. "They're back."
Team Red Dragon had arrived.
The convoy made a slow, deliberate circle of the parking area, ensuring every team saw them. The music pounded, the engines revved unnecessarily, and the driver of the lead truck laid on the horn in a pattern that sounded almost like a battle cry.
