Slide Job (Cameron Motorsports) Read Online Free Page A

frickin’ growth opportunity,” Morgan groused as she maneuvered the dually pickup and race car trailer off to the side of the highway.
    “What’s wrong?” Lynn asked, getting out her cell phone. “Shall I call Triple A?”
    “No, give me a minute.” Morgan flipped a switch under the dashboard, turned the key in the ignition and pumped the gas pedal. The engine groaned but wouldn’t start. “It sounds like it’s out of gas. I switched to the other fuel tank and it still won’t start.”
    Lynn stared at the fuel gauges, both showing half full, and frowned. “Those things have read half full for the last two years. How can you tell?”
    Morgan leaned her head back against the headrest with a sigh and looked out the cracked windshield at the gray ribbon of Interstate 70 stretched out before them. This was the last thing she needed. They were ten miles east of Quinter and ten miles west of WaKeeney. Not a building in sight, in any direction. It might as well have been one hundred miles.
    They had cut it close, leaving the racetrack in a hurry after she finished second in the main event. Being first-place loser meant she didn’t have to hang around. She’d told the crew guys to go on to dinner in the hauler, and she and Lynn would meet them there after delivering the chassis.
    Maybe it was crazy—okay, it was crazy—sneaking off without the camera crew. They drove her nuts, following and filming her every move. How would she get through weeks of this?
    The rules stated that none of the contestants were supposed to leave the track without escorts, film crew and permission. Too bad. Screw the rules. She needed the money the chassis delivery brought in, to make payroll and payments on the most outstanding of her father’s medical bills.
    All she’d wanted to do was deliver it, collect the money and then hurry to the restaurant before they were missed. Simple. Not.
    “Phil used the truck to pick up tires this morning. I thought he’d filled it up.” She knew she couldn’t blame Phil. He’d worked for her dad as part of their pit crew for five years. He had come to work for them just before Lily…
    No, don’t go there. Morgan ignored the clench of her stomach and the emotional roll of her heart that came with thoughts of Lily.
    This was her truck, her responsibility. She should have asked Phil, and she hadn’t. Damn.
    “You have gas for the race car in the trailer, right? Can we put that in?”
    “No, that’s methanol. It’s a petroleum product, but it won’t work in the truck.” She thought for a minute. “We do have gas for the generator, though. We can use that.” The whole truck shivered as a tractor-trailer roared by at full speed. “You stay here. I’ll go dump in the gas and be right back.”
    The summer heat engulfed her as she walked quickly around to the side door of the trailer, opposite the speeding traffic. She unlocked the trailer door, reached in for the five-gallon gas can and funnel, and heard the crunch of tires on gravel. She looked up in time to see a shiny silver Mercedes two-seater pull up behind the trailer.
    Late afternoon sun glinted off of the honey-blond hair rising from the open car door. His eyes were hidden behind dark aviator sunglasses.
    “Do you need some help, ma’am?” His voice, smooth like aged Tennessee whiskey, poured over her, hot and tingling when it reached her stomach.
    Surprised to hear a touch of the South on the plains of Kansas, she looked him up and down. She watched in heated fascination as his long legs, encased in thoroughly worn jeans, ambled towards her. Broad shoulders, wrapped up in a tailored white button-down Oxford shirt, slightly wrinkled and untucked, swayed in alternate rhythm with his hips. He moved slow and smooth, wearing the most expensive loafers she’d ever seen. It looked like there was a monogram on the cuff of his shirt, but she tried not to stare. No, never mind that. She stared.
    Whew, it was hot. Beads of sweat ran down her