“Damnit!” Daisy snarled, banging her hand on the steering wheel of her car. She didn’t know why she was taking her frustrations out on her car. It wasn’t its fault she kept stalling it.

 

Without Dix in the car with her, she couldn’t seem to do anything right, stalling the car when she tried to start or forgetting to push the clutch in when she stopped, or putting the car in fourth when she meant to put in second. If it could be done wrong, she felt like she had.

 

Part of her frustration, she had to admit, was she’d slept like the dead last night and hadn’t woken up until well after Dix was gone. She missed feeling his touch this morning and was grumpy because of it. She’d found a small platter of fruit from the local Safeway in the kitchen that she had for breakfast then showered and dressed. When she emerged from the trailer about nine, he was already hard at work loading a semi with blocks of crushed cars, giving her a jaunty wave from the loader when he noticed her watching.

 

With nothing else to do, and the men busy, she was trying to learn to drive her car. She finally managed to get it into the far corner of the yard where she’d be out of the way. She’d gotten pretty good getting the car moving without stalling, but it was always a lunging, lurching, start with a lot of revs on the engine, but when she tried to smooth it out, that’s when she’d stall it.

 

She started the car again and took several deep, panting breaths. “You got this,” she said to no one. “Smoother on the clutch. That’s all you have to do, be smoother on the clutch.”

 

She started easing out on the clutch and the moment she felt it bite, the engine bogging down, she held her left foot steady as she fed in the gas, then slowly let the clutch all the way out. The Beetle pulled away smoothly, if slowly, and she grinned in triumph. It still wasn’t quite right, but at least she hadn’t stalled it and, equally as bad, hadn’t tried to snap her head off. She trundled down the line of cars in second gear then stopped, and tried again.

 

***

 

She stepped out of James’s house and strode out into the yard. She could hear the loader growling and snorting somewhere in the yard and she followed the sound until she found it. Dix had changed the machine over to a bucket and was scooping up what she assumed to be shredded tires and dumping it into a dump truck. She approached carefully, making sure she stayed well away from the machine, then waved her arms over her head to get his attention.

 

He paused when he noticed her and she made eating motions to let him know lunch was ready. He smiled and waved, then went back to his task. She walked back in the direction of the house, wondering where she’d find James.

 

As she approached the house, she could see him talking to a man as he dropped off a pair of cars. Both were obviously badly damaged in a wreck, but remembering what Dix had said, she could see there were some useable parts on them.

 

“Lunch is ready, James,” she said as she stepped up beside him.

 

“Be right there,” he said with a nod.

 

As she stepped onto the porch she saw the dump truck growling its way out of the yard, the loader rumbling long behind it. She went inside and began filling glasses with ice and pop. There were beers in the fridge, but it seemed like a bad idea to drink beer then operate heavy machinery, so pop it was.

 

She heard the loader fall silent, then a moment later Dix appeared, pulling her into a hug and giving her a quick kiss. “I see you finally woke up,” he teased, still holding her in his embrace.

 

“What time did you get up this morning?”

 

“About five-thirty. I knew the steel truck would be here early and I had to get you breakfast.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“I did. I ate the last two Poptarts this morning.”

 

She giggled. “Poptarts, the breakfast of champions.”

 

He grinned and shrugged. “I need to go wash up.”

 

“Are we going to wait for James?” she asked when he appeared from the bath.

 

“Normally we just eat when we can find a minute, but we can if you want.”

 

She was torn on what to do. “No, I don’t want to disrupt the rout—”

 

“I’m starving!” James said as he entered the house. “Let me wash my hands and I’ll be right there.”

 

“I guess we can wait,” Dix said with a grin.

 

“Daisy, thank you for doing this,” James said as he stepped into the kitchen. “You don’t have to wait on us.”

 

“I think it’s the least I can do considering all the help you’ve given me. It’s not much, just sandwiches.”

 

“Which is what we normally eat for lunch,” James said as he opened his sandwich and placed the pickle slices on Dix’s plate. “Gives me indigestion,” he added as explanation.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t know.”

 

He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.” He turned his attention to Dix. “After lunch I have to run a delivery. Can you start pulling parts on those cars? I had the driver unload one in the bay.”

 

Dix nodded as she chewed. “Sure, no problem. I’ll get Daisy to help,” he said after he swallowed, grinning at her.

 

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

 

“You can hold stuff can’t you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Then plenty.”

 

She grinned. “Then I’ll be glad to help.”

 

“I saw you out tootling around in your car this morning. It looks like you have improved a lot,” James said.

 

She nodded, pleased someone noticed. “Getting there. So long as I do the shifting right, it’s much easier to drive because I don’t have worry about trying to keep it running. And it goes a lot better, too.”

 

“Funny how that works,” Dix said. “That motor makes the full fifty horsepower. The one we took out of your car would be lucky to make thirty. Plus, there’s a reason most VWs were sold with a manual. That Autostick thing you had was terrible. Nobody buys a car with one of those unless they’re planning on converting it to a manual, like we did with yours. Basically, you now know how the car drove when it was new.”

 

She giggled. “A lot better than it did last week, that’s for sure. Thank you both again.”

 

James reached over and gave her hand a pat but said nothing.

 

***

 

“Hold this,” Dix said, moving to the other side as Daisy held the bumper. “Got it?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” she said, bracing to catch the weight, but when it came free, she was surprised it weighed next to nothing.

 

“Thanks. This is a lot easier with two so I don’t have to deal with the bumper flopping all around.”

 

He lowered the car then began on the doors. There wasn’t a lot of useful in the car. The passenger front seat, the rear seat, the two passenger side doors and the driver’s side rear, trunk lid and rear bumper. That was it. The rest was going into the crusher.

 

When he sat the first door to the side, she was going to move it out of the way, but could barely lift it, so she left it. She was impressed. He handled the door like it weighed no more than the bumper, so he was immensely strong, and yet his touch could be incredibly gentle.

 

“Tell me about the race your club runs,” she said as he attacked the second door.

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything, I guess. Do you race?”

 

“You remember what Cale said, how we run the race four times a year?” When she nodded, he continued. “Each race is divided into four classes. Under six hundred, six hundred to seven fifty, over seven fifty and unlimited.”

 

“Those are the size of the engines, right?”

 

“Right. With the exception of the unlimited class, the bikes have to be licensed and ridden to and from the event. That helps prevent people from running a ringer in one of the other races.”

 

“So if you can’t ride it on the road, you can’t race it?”

 

“Except in the unlimited class, yes. So if you have this superbike, but it’s tuned so tight that it isn’t streetable, the ride to and from the track with the slow speeds and traffic are going to cause problems with the bike. Same for riding it back. If it can only survive one lap of the track, and you can’t ride it back to Dunes, then you forfeit your win. If you want to race a pure race bike, put it in the unlimited class where you can compete against other pure race bikes.”

 

“Do you race?”

 

He smiled as he removed the next door and sat it aside. “Yeah.”

 

“But not on your Harley?”

 

He laughed. “No. I race in the unlimited class.”

 

“Really?” she said, drawing the word out.

 

“Yeah. A few years ago I bought a three-year-old MotoGP bike. I’ve modifying it ever since.”

 

“MotoGP?”

 

“You heard of Formula One car racing?”

 

She shook her head.

 

He shook his head and grinned as he lifted off the last door. “Basically, it’s Formula One racing for motorcycles. It’s where the best technology goes and they’re the lightest, fastest, bikes on the planet. There will be several bikes in the race this year in the over seven fifty class that might be quicker in a straight line, but none of them will be able to keep up with an unlimited machine. The Green Hell isn’t about straight line speed; it’s about cornering.”

 

“And, yet, you ride a Harley.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, Harleys aren’t exactly known for tearing up race tracks are they?”

 

“No, but compared to my Moto, everything feels slow, and as I told you before, my hog is classier and more practical than those rice rockets the other guys ride.”

 

Dix was such an interesting mix of contractions and surprises. He cruised around on a Harley, and yet, he also rode one of the fastest bikes in the world. He was hugely strong, and at the same time so very tender and gentle. He worked in a recycling yard, but James said he was gifted engine builder. He could pound her through the bed, but in the next instant, be making tender love to her.

 

“The Green Hell. That’s where you race?”

 

“Yeah,” he said as he wrote on the salvaged pieces with a heavy white crayon, noting what they came off of. “It’s a seventeen mile loop we marked out, way out in the Siuslaw. We close off the entrances, set up timing markers to record the rider’s times, and send riders out at two minute intervals. Fastest time back to the start wins.”

 

“So the riders don’t race against each other?”

 

“No. This way, riders don’t get stupid and crash trying to pass. It’s you against the clock.”

 

She waited as he dragged the car out of the bay with the fork truck, then shoved the other one in.

 

“And the Cutthroats get ten percent of the take?” she asked as he resumed work on the new car.

 

“That’s right. Ten thousand to enter. The club takes ten percent. Of the ninety percent that’s left, the winner gets seventy-five percent, the second place twenty, and third five.”

 

“You have to pay to enter?”

 

“Of course. When it comes to racing, brothers get no special consideration. We pay, and win or lose just like everyone else.”

 

“Do you win?”

 

Dix grinned. “Not every time, but most of the time. It’s my home track so I have the advantage, especially in the rain.”

 

She was surprised to hear that. “You race in the rain?”

 

He chuckled. “If we didn’t we would have to cancel more races than we run. Can’t make money that way.”

 

Daisy nodded. It was a bright sunny day today, but she’d never seen so much rain in her life. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

 

He nodded. “Very. But so is racing in the dry. If you run off the road you’re into the trees instantly. It’s how Kevin died. Dumping the bike probably won’t hurt you if you’re wearing armor, but hitting a tree at one fifty? No armor can protect you from that.”

 

“Anyone die?”

 

“One.”

 

“Kevin?” she asked and he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

 

He shrugged. “It could have happened to any of us. It shouldn’t have happened to Kevin, though. The Firechrome are going to have to answer for that.”

 

The coldness in his voice chilled her. Despite his kindness, she could tell he wasn’t someone you wanted to piss off. “Can I see it? The track?”

 

“Why?”

 

She shrugged. “Just curious. I want to see what the Firechrome are so hot and heavy for.”

 

He shrugged then grinned. “Sure. I’d offer to take you around on the Moto, but there’s only one seat.”

 

She waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, that’s okay. Your Harley is fine.”