Benny.” He didn’t even look at Ben when he threw out his last comment.
“Mal, you need to leave.” Ben stepped close, flanking Evie on her left side.
She suddenly felt Blythe take position on her right.
“And who’s this?” Malcolm frowned, towering over Blythe. He made an ugly face at the camera. “The press?”
“No.” Blythe didn’t volunteer anything, merely raised her camera and kept snapping pictures of Evie’s apoplectic father.
“Hey. You have no right.”
“We’re in a public place. I have every right since I have a contract with Ms. Marshall.” Blythe spoke curtly. “I document everything regarding her return to the NASCAR circuit, and that includes anything, or anyone , aiding or trying to prevent it.” The camera kept clicking.
Malcolm reached for the camera, only to find Ben gripping his wrist mere inches from Blythe. “I wouldn’t do that, Mal. You’ve said what you came to say. If Evie wants to contact your F1 chums, she will. If not, she won’t. We’re all her friends. You better leave.”
“Oh, I’ll leave, all right. I’ll leave, and I’ll talk to your grandfather. He had such hopes after your crash. Once they said you’d live, he was so sure you’d understand. Two generations of Formula One champions and you break his heart with this hillbilly NASCAR shit.” Spitting as he talked, Mal clenched his hands. “Let me know when you’ve straightened yourself out.” He turned around and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket before stalking away.
“That’s my dad for you.” Evie took a deep breath. “He’s all heart, really.” Laughing hollowly, she felt Blythe’s arms around her waist.
“There’s one hearty person in every family. Even more in mine.” Blythe held up her camera. “If we forget just how he looked when he was being his most acidic, I have some great shots of him. For a moment I thought I’d have to wipe the lens. He was frothing, wasn’t he?” Her calm irony made Evie relax, which was unexpected, but a relief.
“Well, he wasn’t saying anything new.” She grabbed Blythe’s hand, which was still cupping her side. “Same ole, same ole.”
Ben had calmed down as well. “Yup, I’ve heard it all before too. What do you say? Take that lovely red Viper of yours and give Blythe here another angle to shoot from. Got to help her get the best pics, huh?”
Evie could’ve wept as their loyalty washed over her. She put on her balaclava and, helmet under her arm, hurried toward the car. “You might get a good angle from the bleachers, Blythe.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Blythe grinned.
“Anytime. Abso-freaking-lutely anytime.” Evie pushed herself into the Viper, and this time when she let the engine roar and took it out on the track, driving was all pleasure.
Chapter Seven
Blythe picked up her cell phone and promptly put it back down, exasperated for doing the same thing three times within the last few minutes. Tugging at her curls, she looked out the window of the Holiday Inn where she was staying. Branford looked lovely, yet another crisp autumn day when all the maple trees were on fire. Part of her wanted to take her camera and just go on an impromptu photo safari in the neighborhood, but she still had some work to do on the computer. But before she could really focus on that, she needed to figure things out.
Picking up her cell phone once more, she dialed Pearl’s private number.
“Blythe. What’s up?” She sounded busy and distracted.
“Am I disturbing your editing?” Blythe closed her eyes tight. She’d hoped to gain some courage by talking to her friend.
“No. Not really. I need a break from this abysmal article. Honestly, when will people learn what the spell-checker is for?” Pearl huffed and then her tone changed. “So, tell me what’s going on, Blythe.”
Pearl’s familiar opening rant helped ground Blythe. “You know I’m getting that award, right?”
“Yes. If you mean the National
“Mal, you need to leave.” Ben stepped close, flanking Evie on her left side.
She suddenly felt Blythe take position on her right.
“And who’s this?” Malcolm frowned, towering over Blythe. He made an ugly face at the camera. “The press?”
“No.” Blythe didn’t volunteer anything, merely raised her camera and kept snapping pictures of Evie’s apoplectic father.
“Hey. You have no right.”
“We’re in a public place. I have every right since I have a contract with Ms. Marshall.” Blythe spoke curtly. “I document everything regarding her return to the NASCAR circuit, and that includes anything, or anyone , aiding or trying to prevent it.” The camera kept clicking.
Malcolm reached for the camera, only to find Ben gripping his wrist mere inches from Blythe. “I wouldn’t do that, Mal. You’ve said what you came to say. If Evie wants to contact your F1 chums, she will. If not, she won’t. We’re all her friends. You better leave.”
“Oh, I’ll leave, all right. I’ll leave, and I’ll talk to your grandfather. He had such hopes after your crash. Once they said you’d live, he was so sure you’d understand. Two generations of Formula One champions and you break his heart with this hillbilly NASCAR shit.” Spitting as he talked, Mal clenched his hands. “Let me know when you’ve straightened yourself out.” He turned around and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket before stalking away.
“That’s my dad for you.” Evie took a deep breath. “He’s all heart, really.” Laughing hollowly, she felt Blythe’s arms around her waist.
“There’s one hearty person in every family. Even more in mine.” Blythe held up her camera. “If we forget just how he looked when he was being his most acidic, I have some great shots of him. For a moment I thought I’d have to wipe the lens. He was frothing, wasn’t he?” Her calm irony made Evie relax, which was unexpected, but a relief.
“Well, he wasn’t saying anything new.” She grabbed Blythe’s hand, which was still cupping her side. “Same ole, same ole.”
Ben had calmed down as well. “Yup, I’ve heard it all before too. What do you say? Take that lovely red Viper of yours and give Blythe here another angle to shoot from. Got to help her get the best pics, huh?”
Evie could’ve wept as their loyalty washed over her. She put on her balaclava and, helmet under her arm, hurried toward the car. “You might get a good angle from the bleachers, Blythe.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Blythe grinned.
“Anytime. Abso-freaking-lutely anytime.” Evie pushed herself into the Viper, and this time when she let the engine roar and took it out on the track, driving was all pleasure.
Chapter Seven
Blythe picked up her cell phone and promptly put it back down, exasperated for doing the same thing three times within the last few minutes. Tugging at her curls, she looked out the window of the Holiday Inn where she was staying. Branford looked lovely, yet another crisp autumn day when all the maple trees were on fire. Part of her wanted to take her camera and just go on an impromptu photo safari in the neighborhood, but she still had some work to do on the computer. But before she could really focus on that, she needed to figure things out.
Picking up her cell phone once more, she dialed Pearl’s private number.
“Blythe. What’s up?” She sounded busy and distracted.
“Am I disturbing your editing?” Blythe closed her eyes tight. She’d hoped to gain some courage by talking to her friend.
“No. Not really. I need a break from this abysmal article. Honestly, when will people learn what the spell-checker is for?” Pearl huffed and then her tone changed. “So, tell me what’s going on, Blythe.”
Pearl’s familiar opening rant helped ground Blythe. “You know I’m getting that award, right?”
“Yes. If you mean the National
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