Gas or Ass (4 page)

W
hen we reached the interstate, Colt withdrew his hand, but propped his forearm on my knee. Since there didn’t seem to be anywhere else for him to put it, I refrained from comment, but suppressed a sigh of relief. “So, what’s Ridenhour Racing?”

“Only the hottest race team in NASCAR at the moment.”

NASCAR?
I bit my lip. My mother had outdone herself this time. I associated NASCAR with tobacco-chewing rednecks who dropped out of school in the eighth grade. I sure as hell couldn’t see how anyone thought driving around in a circle for five hundred miles qualified as a sport. I shifted my worries to what kind of living quarters she was dragging me to, but asking seemed rude when I could just wait and see.

Instead, I turned to Colt’s earlier words.
Who says I won’t treat you like a princess?
He acted like our getting... involved... was a foregone conclusion. I wanted to laugh that off. He reeked of bad boy, but I had to admit, I found him attractive. They were both attractive, but I supposed Colt had my attention because he was more talkative.

The cab was redolent with testosterone, ‘new car’ air freshener, and cologne. I thought I smelled tobacco, but neither lit up. Or dipped, or chewed, or whatever that nasty habit was called.

So far.

“So, do y’all work for your dad?”

Caine’s snicker puzzled me, but Colt snapped. “Hell, no. Caine works at a custom shop in town. I drive a forklift at the cigarette plant.” I supposed he meant the Phillip Morris plant that’d sent a recruiter to my high school career day. I hadn’t bothered with the table, so had no comment. I didn’t know what a custom shop might be. Fearing the answer might be long and boring, I didn’t ask.

Trying to break the spell Colt seemed to have over me, I turned to Caine. “I’m sorry you had to give up your room. We can swap back, if you like. I won’t be there long enough for it to matter. Really.”

I felt the gesture when he lifted his shoulder, since his arm rested on my shoulders. “Nah.”

Colt laughed. “After totin’ all those bags stuffed with your clothes, seems like a good idea now. Ain’t that right, Caine?” Colt’s fingers dangled off the front of my knee. He gripped my jeans and gave them a tug. “Where do you think you’re goin’, little sister?”

“College,” I assured him. “As soon as I can get there.”

Caine snorted. “You had to ask? Or wasn’t that you, Colt, bitching under box load after box load of books?”

So, was it just me this brother didn’t talk to?

I seized the final, most obvious topic. “What do you think is wrong with Mom’s car?”

Caine muttered, “It’s a damn import, for starters.”

Colt grabbed his cell phone off the dash. After a moment, he announced, “They’ve had a lot of problems with the ignition system. Should do a recall, but, they haven’t yet.” He slung the phone back on the dash. “Not signing up to rewire an ignition. It’s under warranty. The dealership can fix it. Dad must’ve been lost in Macy’s big green eyes to not check out that shit before he plunked down hard-earned cash.”

If it’s defective....
“Maybe she can take it back and get something automatic.”

Colt crowed. “Aw, baby sister, what’s the matter? Can’t drive a stick?”

I shook my head.

“We’ll teach you. Every woman should know how to drive a manual transmission,” Colt assured me.

“Why? I don’t know a soul who has a manual transmission.”

“Well,”—he replaced his hand on my knee—“it gives a man hope when a woman can drive a stick.”

“Hope? Of what?”

Caine shook with silent laughter, making me dread the answer.

“Hope that she knows her way around a different kind of stick, if you get my drift,” Colt drawled. Heat from his palm seeped through my jeans. Sweat popped out between my breasts.

This was like being back in sixth grade, only my hormones were better developed.

Though the ride up the interstate seemed interminable, when Caine eventually took the exit for Highway 49, the four-lane road led past Lowe’s Motor Speedway, and ultimately, the University of North Carolina branch Mom wanted me to attend.

Perhaps ten minutes later, he turned onto a curving two-lane road, only to turn again onto a dirt lane. My heart fell. An unpaved road seemed to confirm my worst suspicions.

When Caine slowed and turned into a long, sloping drive, I couldn’t tell much about the house from the splash of headlights, but I formed a fast impression of a big one-story, ranch-style house.
Not a double-wide.
I went weak with relief. Thick round columns lined a narrow front porch, and the house seemed to be built of brick. Caine braked to a halt beside a set of stairs that led to a deck. A doorbell glowed, indicating a side door.

In the splash of his headlights before they were extinguished, I made out the squared rear end of a red sports car. The concrete drive curved out of sight. Peering under the deck, I spied clipped grass. The tops of three more cars were visible, underneath a wide carport attached to the rear of the house. One had some kind of canvas cover. Woods ringed the place on all sides, limiting my view. When Caine cut the motor and opened his door, an unfamiliar sound made me ask, “What’s that noise?”

“What noise? Don’t hear nothin’ but crickets.” Colt frowned.

Then, another set of headlights appeared. Tiny red lights and safety stickers glowed, outlining the trailer. To my relief, Colt opened his door and slid out. He bounded up the deck steps and into the house. Lights flicked on, but the windows were too high to see inside the house.

Caine strode across the front yard, so I followed him. The truck and trailer passed the house, but brake lights flared. Dale followed Caine’s hand signals, reversing the big rig across the grass. When Caine yelled, “Whoa!” Dale had maneuvered the rear end of the trailer into perfect alignment with the front door. Caine lowered the tailgate onto the front porch, clearing the steps. Colt opened the front door.

Unsure what to do, I waited for my mother to get out Dale’s truck. She peered around the far side of the trailer with a broad smile. “You’re going to love this house, Shelby.”

I blinked. She’d seen it?

Caine swept a hand toward the front door. “Go on in. You’d just be in the way.” Since neatly trimmed shrubs fronted the porch, he had to help me onto the metal ramp. Touching him didn’t give me the same weird jolt as touching Colt, but my shoes were wet from walking through the grass and I slipped on the diamond-tread metal. He caught me with one hand to the waist, just as the front porch light flared to life.

I didn’t have time to decide whether Caine’s eyes were truly black. As soon as I had my feet under me, he let go and turned away, reaching a hand to help Mom climb onto the ramp. “Be careful now, little mama. Shelby already slipped.”

I skidded down the sloping metal ramp, eying the long black shutters and the broken tile that covered the porch. Colt stood in the doorway, moving aside, but not stepping out. The way his eyes flashed, I suspected he was forcing me to decide whether to touch him again, or make a big deal out of not touching him. I brushed by with my nose in the air and tripped over the doorjamb. He just threw out one arm and hauled me to his side. I felt like a child, or a sack of potatoes. He shook with laughter, but at least it was the silent sort. “You ain’t as big as a minute, are you? Do you still shop in the kid’s section?”

Cheeks afire, I jerked free. “No, I wear a junior’s size.” Okay, a zero Petite, but that was still a junior’s size.

The foyer boasted a cheap light fixture, a slab of rock that formed a wall shelf, and beautiful parquet tile. Colt had rolled up the small rug, I supposed, since one leaned in the corner. I peered into a long room to the right. There wasn’t any furniture, but racing memorabilia hung on every wall.

“See, Shelby, our furniture will go right in here,” Mom gushed, coming up behind me. I said nothing.

“They moved the furniture that was in here into the den, and their den stuff downstairs.” I tuned out her nervous chatter, withholding judgment until I saw the room Caine had given up for me. She led me through a door off the far end of the living room. Her comment, “We’ll buy a dining room table, of course,” told me this part of the long space was designed as an eating area. The depressions in the carpet weren’t from any table, but the tan pile was spotless.

I couldn’t care less what she and Dale bought. I eyed another tacky light fixture and clenched my hands into fists.

The kitchen had all the conveniences, including a larger refrigerator than I’d ever seen in a private home. A bar with stools divided the kitchen from a breakfast nook. I presumed the door opened onto the deck where we’d parked, so I turned the other way. The family room was huge, and I wasn’t surprised by the curved screen, flat-panel television that had to be sixty inches or wider.

The black leather couch, loveseat, and recliner were either the most practical choices ever made by three single guys, or hideous, depending on one’s point of view. I was in the latter camp.

Mom led me down a hallway. I paused at the foyer entrance, unable to resist peeking at the line of broad shoulders and narrow hips as the guys stood on the porch and Dale explained where our things were to go.

“You’ll have to share this bath with the boys.” Mom felt for the light switch and I wondered if she realized she spoke as if they were six-year-olds.

I studied the long counter, twin sinks, and unremarkable tub and shower surround. The white tile had gold specks. A bottle of Hugo Boss sat between the sinks, alongside matching hair gel and deodorant. Add the expected tube of Crest, and there wasn’t a speck of room for makeup, or a hair dryer, or any of my stuff.

I spun away, confronting a closed door across the hall.

“And this is the room Caine gave up for you.” She gripped my shoulder. “Cross my heart and hope to die, we’ll redecorate, first thing.” She turned the knob and I held my breath. I couldn’t see a thing except the front porch light shining through a pair of long windows until Mom slid her hand over the wall and located the switch. The overhead fixture came on. I stared in horror.

Heavy boots tromped down the ramp out front, then steps sounded in the foyer, but I didn’t care who heard when I rounded on Mom. “You’d better love him within an inch of your damn life. I never want to hear one single bad thing that he’s done, do you hear me? If he makes you cry, you better grit your teeth and smile if it kills you.”

Behind me, Dale cleared his throat. “Everything okay, girls?”

“Just fine,” I said brightly. Rage burned in my breast. “And I need that credit card when you get a chance.”

“O
h, my God, look at the time! Shelby! Get up, honey. You’ve missed the bus.” A shriek and a giggle followed Mom’s call. I rolled onto my back with a grimace.
Newlyweds.

A week later, Mom’s car was still at the dealership. She refused to even try to drive the other cars here. Being the only senior on the bus seemed less humiliating than asking Colt or Caine for a ride to school. Dale left for work far too early to ask him. I supposed today, someone would drive me.

The shower ran full blast in the bathroom across the hall, so no point in jumping out of bed.
Nice, guys. Be sure to use up all the hot water. Again.
My stepbrothers hadn’t gotten the hang of making allowances for me. Neither would I, in their shoes, so I didn’t bother complaining. I’d spent most of the last week hiding in my room, daring my mother to drag me out and force me to be polite. Or daring Colt to come in and get me. I wasn’t sure which.

So far, neither had taken up my silent challenge.

Dale’s laughter rumbled through the wall. “Already late. Power must’ve blinked. Few more minutes ain’t gonna hurt. C’mere, gorgeous.”

“Dale! Now?” A sharp slap followed Mom’s breathless admonition.

“Hell, yeah. Right now.”

I studied the popcorn ceiling, wishing the walls were thicker. I was sure these had more insulation or whatever than anywhere we’d lived, it was just so quiet out here in the boondocks.
Five months. Just five months and I’ll be off to college. I can do anything for five months.