A white Lexus SUV bobbled over the ruts of the gravel path winding through the pits at Haven Hills Motocross Track. Just as the vehicle passed Jesse’s pit, the brake lights glowed brightly, then the white reverse lights flashed. Jesse set his wrench on his makeshift tool bench and stared at the tinted window as it slid down.

A bent arm poked out and rested on the doorframe. The driver leaned forward and he immediately recognized Mary Clare, her red hair pulled into a ponytail. “Hey, Jesse. Where should I park?” She pointed to a patch of green space in front of an RV. “Will I be okay there?”

“Sure.” He wiped his hands on a rag and guided her in, holding up his palm when she was within a foot of the RV. She turned off the ignition and pushed the door open.

Mary Clare was dressed in a white sleeveless shirt that buttoned down the front and yellow capris. Pink toes peeked out from sandals more appropriate for a brunch on Easter Sunday than a motocross track. Her bright smile and shiny blue eyes made him wonder if her lawyer had given her better news this morning.

She opened the back door of the SUV. Little white sneakers appeared at the bottom of the door. Henry jumped from the back seat and landed on the grass. He had on a button-down shirt and khaki shorts. Like mother, like son. Good thing the kid was only nine years old, otherwise some kid might rough him up—on principle—for wearing his Sunday best to a dirt bike track. Never mind it wasn’t Sunday.

“Where’s Zach, Mr. Thorpe?” Henry asked, the model of politeness.

“Your Uncle Bill took him to the practice track. Want me to take you down?” Jesse’s gaze shifted to Mary Clare who was shielding her eyes from the sun and staring toward the track. The high-pitched zing-zing-zing of an engine at full throttle cut through the warm summer day. Unaware she was being observed, she’d dimmed her smile, making him wonder if her enthusiastic greeting had been an act, perhaps for her son.

Jesse tilted his head toward the grassy area. “MC?” He smiled when she gave him a pointed glare. “Mary Clare,” he corrected himself, “you want to go find your brother and nephew?”

An instant smile tugged on her full lips, transforming her face. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“You sure you can walk over the gravel in those shoes?”

A hint of pink blossomed on her cheeks. “I didn’t bring other shoes.” She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

Henry ran ahead.

“Watch out for the bikes,” Mary Clare hollered, her head snapping around as a teenager zipped by on his pit bike.

“Henry’s fine. He’s paying attention to what’s going on around him.” Jesse kept pace with Mary Clare. “Have you ever been to a motocross race?”

“Henry!” Mary Clare jogged ahead. A cacophony of zing-zing-zing-rrrmmm cut off her warning.

Henry reached the chain-link fence surrounding the track, his excitement spilling over into a little shuffle-step in the hard-packed dirt.

“What in the…?” Mary Clare stopped when a shot rang out and the bikes flattened the starting gate and rumbled across the freshly groomed track. In a cluster, twenty bikes rounded a turn and narrowed to the holeshot. Amazingly, the bikes remained untangled and the lead rider made his move, putting some distance between him and the pack. A cloud of dust billowed up behind them and swept toward the crowd lining the fence.

Man, I love motocross.

Mary Clare turned toward Jesse and squinted against the cloud of dirt. Her warm hand clutched his forearm. “My nephew’s going to do this?”

“Eventually.” He patted her hand in reassurance. “Maybe when he’s twelve.” He pointed to a grassy area beyond the main track. “The younger kids practice over there.”

Mary Clare shook her head. “I can’t believe my brother— No wait, I do believe my brother’s capable of signing up Zach for this. I’d be a nervous wreck.”

“What does Henry enjoy doing?”

“He swam and played tennis at the country club.” Her voice trailed off.

“The country club, huh?”

“It’s not like that,” she said defensively. “Everyone in the neighborhood belonged to the country club. It’s not a big deal. It’s like a neighborhood pool.”

“Not exactly my world.” Zach tipped his head toward the bleachers. “We can see better up there. Come on, Henry.”

Henry scrambled up the wooden structure, stopping on the top bench. Mary Clare held up her hands as if she was about to reach out and grab her son. “Come down one row, please? You’re making me nervous.”

Jesse stepped over the first bench of the bleachers and offered his hand to Mary Clare. She hesitated a second, then took his hand. She planted a sandaled foot on the bottom plank and he pulled her up. Her forward momentum sent her hip bumping into his. She stiffened and smiled shyly, her coy response making him wonder if she was attracted to him. Nah.

Mary Clare turned her attention to Henry. “Can you see up there?”

Henry’s blue eyes widened and he nodded, never taking his gaze off the track. “This is awesome. I wish I could ride.” Henry was obviously enamored with motocross.

She leaned close to Jesse—her floral shampoo tickled his nose—and whispered, “He doesn’t know how to ride a bicycle yet. I guess I don’t have to worry about a motorcycle anytime soon.”

“Really?”

“His dad tried once, but I guess Henry wasn’t ready. And Chip’s job’s demanding.” Mary Clare’s defensiveness of her ex surprised Jesse. He supposed when people had a child together, defending the other parent came naturally, if not deservedly. Jesse’s father had never spoken poorly of his mother, and from Jesse’s standpoint she deserved a bad word or two, or twenty.

Come to think of it, his dad never spoke of his mother at all. Well, not until recently when events got jumbled in his mind

“I could teach him,” Jesse offered, his gaze drifting to the dirt bikes lining up on the practice track. No kid should go through life not knowing how to ride a bicycle. “Look.” He pointed to the starting gate. “Zach’s on the orange bike with the red helmet and gear.”

“Number ninety-seven,” Henry said. “I see him. See him, Mom? He’s on the far track.”

Mary Clare stared toward the track, playing with a dangling earring. The bikes roared to life. She clasped Jesse’s wrist, then seemed to catch herself and released it. A few revs of the engine and the younger kids took off with staggered starts on the grassy field. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mary Clare tracking their progress. She covered her mouth and winced when two riders collided in the corner. Two men ran onto the track and untangled the bikes. The boys jumped up, unscathed, hopped back on the bikes and took off a quarter lap behind the rest of the riders.

“Mom, Aunt Amanda is by the fence. Can I run over to her? I want to stand next to the practice track. To get a better view.”

About fifty feet away, Amanda leaned on the fence watching Zach. She had her hand on Billy’s head, keeping him in check as he hung on the fence rungs, entranced by the dirt bikes.

“Okay, but be careful,” Mary Clare said.

Henry climbed down the bleachers and sprinted over to his aunt.

“The kid’s a ball of energy,” Jesse said.

“He’s been that way ever since we got to Mills Crossing.” Her eyes tracked her son’s movements. He sensed she didn’t leave him out of her sight much. “I’ve never seen him like this. He’s usually reserved. Like his father.”

Jesse turned his attention back to the bikes. The lead bike approached the last jump. At this age, they didn’t jump. They just rode up and down the hills, their tires never leaving the earth. The flagman at the finish line waved a checkered flag. The little kids loved feeling like they were racing like the big kids.

“There’ll be a short intermission before they start up again.” Jesse stepped off the bleachers and held out his hand for Mary Clare. She slipped her hand into his and jumped. She landed hard and grumbled something he couldn’t make out.

“What’s wrong?” Jesse let his gaze drift down the length of her. She was holding her ankle. “Did you twist it?”

Mary Clare straightened, tugging the hem of her shirt to hide the bit of exposed flesh revealed when she bent over. She sighed heavily and gave him a not exactly look. She lifted her foot, her sandal dangling from her pink toes. “Great, huh? The strap broke.”

“Can you walk?”

She took a step and walk-limped a few feet. “I can’t walk in bare feet over the gravel.”

“Come here.” He grabbed her hand and guided her toward the bleachers. He helped her stand on the bottom bench.

“What are you doing?” Her pink lips twisted into an expression that lacked any measure of trust.

“Trust me.”

“Famous last words.”

* * *

“You can trust me.” Jesse pushed up the brim of his Fox baseball cap and planted his sneaker on the bottom bleacher. Unlike her, he had the good sense to wear jeans to the track. Nice-fitting jeans. She quickly shook aside the thought and met his gaze. The intensity in his eyes would have made a lesser woman back down. Deny her apprehension. And probably not for reasons he might think.

“Are you forgetting who you’re talking to? I’ve been the butt of one too many of your pranks.” She fixed her fists on her hips, wobbled a minute and reached out and grabbed his shoulder for balance.

“People change.” A smile warmed his brown eyes. “I promise. No tricks.”

She lowered her gaze, taking in his muscled arms. The fabric of his T-shirt stretched across his biceps and chest. Biting her lower lip, she lifted her eyes to his. Did he notice me checking him out?

He held out his hand, giving her a come on you can trust me stare.

“What do you have in mind?”

He patted her hand that was resting on his shoulder. “Keep this hand here. Put the other one on my other shoulder.” He turned his back toward her. “Come on, you’ve had a piggyback ride before, right?” he asked in disbelief.

Realization and a warm flush washed over her. “Not since I was Henry’s age.” She let go of his shoulders and crossed her arms. Her gaze tracked Henry walking back toward their car with his aunt. She turned her attention back to Jesse. “You are not going to carry me.”

The sun glinted in his eyes. “Do you have a better idea?”

She bent over and pulled off her broken shoe and turned it over in her hands.

“What’s the big deal?” The twinkle in his eyes suggested he was repressing a smile. For the first time, she noticed a faint scar above his upper lip. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride to the pit. Unless…” His eyes widened and he reached for her hips, but she pulled away, only to steady herself by grabbing hold of his shoulder. “I can carry you fireman-style. Here, I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”

She batted at his hands. “No way.” The thought of her butt inches from his face sent flop sweat pooling in her armpits. “Fine, turn around. We’ll do it your way.” She planted her hands on his broad shoulders. Then froze. How was she supposed to throw her leg over his hip? Then her other leg?

Jesse reached behind him. “Come on. Live dangerously. Swing the right leg over…” He grabbed her thigh and the rest of his instructions were muffled under the thump-thump-thumping of her pulse in her ears.

Careful to balance her one foot on the bench, she wrapped her right leg—the one he held in his solid grip—around his waist. Pulling up with her hands, she did a little hop and got her left leg around. A giggle sounded from her lips. “I must look ridiculous. You sure I’m not too heavy?”

Jesse turned his face, the stubble on his jaw rubbing against her forearm. “Are you kidding me?” Both arms latched around her thighs, he hiked her farther up on his back and started to walk. She bobbled and bumped as he navigated the rutted road. She ducked her head close to his to hide her face. He smelled of soap and aloe and a hint of dirt bike exhaust. Heat crept up her neck and she knew her face had to be beet red by now.

When her SUV came into view she tapped him on the shoulder. “Let me down.” She could walk the rest of the way on the grass.

He shook his head. “Just a little closer to the pit. I don’t want you to step on anything sharp.”

Under the awning of the toy hauler that served as both a trailer and an RV, Amanda was lighting the grill. She turned and her brows snapped together. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Mary Clare slid down Jesse’s back, realizing there was no graceful way to dismount. Embarrassment made her cheeks feel numb. She held out her shoe. “The strap on my sandal snapped.”

“Who wears sandals to a motocross track?” Amanda loved giving her digs. It kept the balance of their friendship on familiar footing. Without missing a beat, Amanda opened the oversized cooler and grabbed a package of hot dogs.

“I’ve noticed plenty of women with flip-flops here.” Mary Clare tossed her broken sandal and plopped down into a folding camping chair, plucking her blouse away from her heated skin.

“And I’m sure you noticed how dirty their feet were.” Amanda poked the hotdogs and tossed them on the grill.

“Thanks, Jesse,” Mary Clare said.

“No problem.” A devastating, handsome smile flashed across his face making her insides melt.

Mary Clare laughed. “Okay, lesson learned. I won’t wear anything but tennis shoes to the track next time.”

“We can come another time?” Henry looked up from where he and Zach were sitting on outdoor carpeting. Zach had all his protective equipment on, minus his helmet. Dirt caked his face, leaving an outline of his goggles on his suntanned face.

“You did great, Zach.” Mary Clare reached over and touched his head.

“Thanks. My dad says I have to practice my starts.”

Mary Clare cut a gaze to her brother who was sitting on the steps of the toy hauler with bottled water in his hand. What was it with men and their sons?

“You looked pretty awesome to me. All that other stuff will come in time.” Mary Clare touched her nephew’s cheek. “Does your daddy do all the laundry, too?” She plucked the shoulder of his mud-splattered jersey.

“Yeah right, little sister,” her brother muttered.

Mary Clare grabbed a bottle of water and studied Jesse as she took a drink. He had gone back to work at his bench, obviously unfazed by her piggyback ride. Why would he be? For all she knew, he was crazy about someone else. And she was just Bill’s silly sister who wore the wrong shoes to the track.

“I suppose we’ll come back to the track again,” Mary Clare said. Jesse’s screwdriver slipped off the head of the screw before finding its place again. “I’m sure we’ll do lots of things this summer.” She swiped at the sole of her foot, trying to convey a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“Do you think I can ride a dirt bike next time?” Henry asked with his normally reserved tendency.

“Honey, you need to learn how to ride a regular bike first.”

Henry’s chin fell to his chest and he flopped onto the chair next to hers. Red colored his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she said softly. She had meant to discourage him from riding a dirt bike. The crescendo of an engine roared up her spine, jangling her nerves. No way would she let Henry race. She’d die of a heart attack right then and there.

“On Monday why don’t we walk to the town pool and sign up for swim lessons.” Mary Clare leaned over the edge of her seat and tousled his hair. Henry was good at swimming. Swimming was safe.

“I already know how to swim,” he said, pouting. “I want to learn how to ride a bike.”

“I can teach you how to ride.” Jesse put the screwdriver down. “If it’s okay with your mom.”

Henry scrambled out of the camping chair. “That would be awesome. Can he, Mom?”

“I’m sure Mr. Thorpe is busy. Um…” She hesitated for a fraction. “I can show you how to ride a bike.” She really wasn’t up for teaching him, but it seemed safer than letting Jesse get involved in their lives.

“You can’t teach me. You can’t keep up with me,” he whined in a surly tone. “I’ll run into a tree if you take me.”

Orange Cheetos bits spewed from Zach’s red lips. “I ran into a tree once.” He stuck out flailing arms, as if reenacting the crash.

Henry’s eyes connected with his mom’s steely gaze. A cool bucket of reality doused his mini-tantrum and he quickly smoothed his expression. He must have realized he was pushing his luck with his attitude.

Amanda handed her son a napkin. “Wipe your mouth.”

Zach wiped his mouth and then asked in a more somber tone, “Maybe your dad can show you.”

Henry toed the edge of the outdoor carpeting. “My dad took me out once, but I don’t think it’s my thing. I’ll never learn how to ride a bike.” He glanced at Zach’s dirt bike, tears glistening in his eyes. “I don’t know why I thought I could ride a dirt bike.”

“I said I could teach you.” Mary Clare’s heart shattered as she got mad at Chip all over again. A kid needed his dad.

“Hey, who wants a hot dog? I have some nice light ones here.” Amanda held the plate up high and put on a cheery show. “They’re not burned.”

“Are you boys ready to eat?” Mary Clare asked, grateful for the distraction. She grabbed paper plates and condiments and drinks. The outdoor carpeting was good for her bare feet. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

Jesse approached the picnic table as she set down the items, the warmth from his body radiating against her side. She remembered the feel of his muscles flexing as he carried her piggyback.

“I can teach Henry how to ride.” His low voice rumbled over her. “I really don’t mind.”

Mary Clare bit her lower lip. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Because you don’t want him to learn so you don’t have to worry about him riding a dirt bike?”

“That’s part of it.”

One brow lowered. “What’s the other part?”

“I don’t want him to get attached to someone who’s not going to be in his life for more than the summer.”

“Are you worried about him…or you?” Jesse’s low, gravelly voice sent a wave of attraction, anxiety, apprehension crashing over her.

Mary Clare made a big show of rolling her eyes and went back to squeezing ketchup onto her hot dog, pretending she didn’t hear him. Pretending that he hadn’t read what was in her heart.