On the Edge by Pamela Britton

didn’t really do that, did you?”

    Becca’s breath caught. Adam, his hair still mussed from his helmet, stood behind his daughter, his blue firesuit tied around his waist, a white fire retardant, long-sleeved shirt clinging to his wide shoulders. Jeesh. What’d he do? Jump out of the truck and run?

    “Good job driving,” Cece said, saying the words that Becca couldn’t quite pass through her tight throat.

    “Thanks,” he said.

    Becca felt his stare, knew she had to say something, too. “Are you ready for the next round?” she found herself asking, taking a deep breath before she met his gaze.

    “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. He looked pale. And she was pretty certain his hand shook as he lifted it to scratch the back of his neck.

    Oh, dear.

    Please don’t choke, she silently prayed, only to chastise herself immediately for even thinking that. It was none of her business if he choked or not.

    Except somehow it was.

    They heard more footsteps descending the ladder.

    “Potty break,” James, Sanders’ Truck series crew chief, said.

    “Adam, did you meet James on the bus?” she asked.

    “No, actually, I didn’t,” he said, holding out his hand. “But I heard your voice on the radio. Thanks for helping John with some of those calls.”

    “No problem,” James said. “Nice driving.”

    “Thanks.”

    Becca looked between the two. There was an instant easing of both their shoulders as they shook hands, Adam’s smile a bit forced, but genuine nonetheless. That was good. A crew chief was nothing without a good wheelman, and while James didn’t work for her, it was nice to see that Adam seemed to appreciate everyone’s help. There was nothing worse than a cocky driver who thought his talent was all that mattered.

    “John told me I was the last one out,” Adam said.

    “You were. We’ll start the group tests in just a minute.”

    “Who am I going out with?”

    “Sam Kennison, Tate Evans and Jordan Fowler,” Becca said with a reassuring smile.

    “Sam, huh?” Adam said, a wry smile lifting his masculine lips.

    “Yeah.” Becca turned toward the garage. She hadn’t really wanted to do that. With the bad blood between Adam and Sam’s dad, this would make his seat time all the more stressful. But both Cece and Blain had thought it a good idea to pair the best with the best, pointing out that it was Carl Kennison who had the problem with Adam and not Sam.

    “Hey,” Cece said. “It could be worse. You could be going out with the dad.”

    “Who’s Sam Kennison?” Lindsey wanted to know. “And why would it bad if you drove with his dad?”

    Becca looked between father and daughter. Lindsey remembered her mom leaving her dad but, obviously, she didn’t remember the circumstances surrounding the breakup.

    “He’s nobody, honey,” Adam said.

    “Doesn’t sound like nobody,” Lindsey muttered.

    Her dad ignored her. “I’m going to get something to drink. Lindsey, you need to find someplace out of the way where you can watch.”

    “How about on top of the hauler?” Cece asked, waving toward the race car transporter they’d just climbed down from.

    “On top?” Lindsey said. “Cool.”

    “C’mon, I’ll show you how to get up there.”

    “I thought you needed to use the bathroom,” Becca said.

    “I will. In a minute,” Cece said, waving Lindsey her way.

    “Speaking of the restroom,” James said, turning away.

    That left Adam and Becca alone.

    “I, um…I hope you’re not nervous about this afternoon,” Becca said into the silence that followed everyone’s departure, well, silence but for the sudden clang of a dropped wrench.

    “I’m not,” Adam said.

    Becca clasped her clipboard in front of her, that awkwardness she’d felt last night suddenly returning. “Good luck,” she said softly.

    “Thanks,” he said.

    “I mean that,” she added, clutching the clipboard tighter. “Whatever happens, thank you for agreeing to