Sweet Carolina(51)

And he was right about their relationship too. No matter how much she wanted to be with him, to feel his arms around her, she couldn't ignore the warnings. It wasn't right for her to be held to a different set of standards than the men, but now wasn't the time to take on that particular gorilla. One thing at a time, she vowed. First, she needed to make Hawkins Racing a success. After that, she'd have the clout to tackle the issue of equality. And if there was still something between Dell and her then, she wasn't going to let it go.

Caro sent him on his way with a promise to compile a detailed list of the company's debts, as well as an estimate of what it would cost to be ready to race in two weeks. She hated to take Dell's money, but he was right, she wasn't prepared to abandon her dream. If there were even the slightest hope, she was going to grab at it with both fists.





Chapter Fourteen





“You seriously need to work on your social skills,” Warner said, taking the beer Dell offered and following him into the living room. “Do people actually come when you call them and say, 'Get over here,' and hang up?”

“You did, didn't you?” Dell waved his half-brother to his least favorite of the matching leather-covered recliners in the room. “What does that say about you?”

Warner took the indicated seat and settled in. “Point taken.” He worked the lever on the side, raising the footrest. “I'm here. What do you want?”

“I don't know, exactly. I just thought we should talk.”

“Feeling mortal, Dell? That was a nasty wreck.”

“It makes a man think.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of aluminum popping as they drank. Dell finished his beer, or in this case, liquid courage. Staring straight ahead at the glossy black surface of his flat-screen TV, he said, “He knew about you.”

Warner set his beer on the table between the two chairs. Dell didn't have to look to know Warner wasn't looking at him either.

“I don't have a middle name. Just the letter C. Richard C. Warner. You think that means anything?” Warner asked.

“I came first. Maybe your mother thought two kids named Caudell might be too obvious?” Dell said.

“Maybe,” Warner said. “When I was a kid, I worshipped Caudell Wayne. Hell, I even had posters of him hanging in my room.”

“And now?” Dell asked.

“I don't know. I hate how he died the way he did, and that I had anything to do with it, but I'd feel the same way no matter who it was.”

“He worshipped you,” Dell said. He felt Warner's gaze, but refused to look at the man. He continued, “He was always telling me what a good driver you were, and that I would never be as good as you. I hated you. But now it makes sense. He knew you were his son.”

The statement hung in the air between them as they both digested what it meant.

“When I was a kid, Caudell was my hero, and I was jealous as all get-out that you were his son.” Warner shook his head. “Man, I thought you had it all. We hung around the track a lot when I was a kid – Talladega. I grew up near there.” He paused for another sip from his beer. “You and I started racing dirt tracks about the same time, I guess. I used to watch you and try to figure out how you did it. You always made it look so easy, where Caudell looked like every race was a struggle.”

“You drive like him. And that's not a compliment,” Dell said.

“I know,” Warner said. “Believe me, I know.”

“You look like him too,” Dell said. “I never saw it before – probably because I wasn't looking for it, but the resemblance is there.”

“You don't look anything like him,” Warner said. “Except maybe the eyes. I only was around him a few times, but I'll never forget the way he could cut a person into little pieces with his eyes. You can do it too.” Warner twirled his empty beer can between his thumb and forefinger. “Scary.”

“No shit,” Dell said, standing. “Want another beer?”

“Sure.”

Dell returned with two cold ones. He handed one to Warner before resuming his seat.

“Sorry. I guess you probably know more about that look of his than anybody.”

Dell swallowed, letting the cold liquid chill the anger building inside. He took another drink and reminded himself he'd invited Warner for this very reason – to talk about Caudell.

“Yeah. I think I still have a few scars from being sliced and diced by the old man. He always said I looked like my mother. I got the impression it was a reminder he'd rather not have in his face every day of the world.”

“So, what happened to her?”

Dell shrugged. “I don't know. She left. I was little. End of story.”