Running Wide Open by Lisa Nowak Read Free Book Online Page B

“You were damn lucky tonight.”
    “And how’s that?”
    “If I hadn’t blown that tire in the heat, you’d still be seven points behind me.”
    “Six,” said Race.
    The guy seemed momentarily stumped by the correction. “Well, you’re lucky you got the chance to make ’em up.”
    “Lay off, Addamsen,” said Denny.
    “Yeah,” Jim added. “I didn’t see you having any tire problems in the main. What’s your excuse there?”
    A couple of guys hooted. Addamsen muttered something under his breath. The driver ahead of him finished at the pay-off window, and Addamsen took the guy’s place, making out like he was too busy signing the sheet to concern himself with the rest of us.
    “Next week we’ll see,” he said, brandishing his cup at Race again as he turned to walk off. “You just wait till next week.”
    “Hell, if you’re gonna get serious, maybe I oughta hook up those other four plug wires,” Race said.
    Denny chuckled and slapped Race on the back with a hand that could have leveled an elephant. “You tell him, buddy. You drove a damned good race.” He stepped up to the window and signed the sheet, then picked up his envelope. “’Course that means there ain’t as much money in here as I might like.”
    Race grinned as he squeezed past to collect his own payoff.
    “So are we gonna see you at the Little R tonight?” Denny asked.
    “Yup.”
    “Good. You can buy my dinner.”
    Laughter erupted around us.
    “Hell, Denny,” Race said, giving the guy a rueful look, “it’s not like I just won Darlington.”
    More laughter.
    Denny winked at us. “I’ll be lookin’ for ya, Race.”
    Something told me he wouldn’t be the only one. Addamsen watched us over his shoulder as he descended the bleachers. The thunder in his expression made me really glad that I didn’t race in the Limited Sportsman class.

Chapter 4
    Even though it was after eleven when we left the speedway, Race dragged me to a cafe called the Little R. Kasey followed in the Charger.
    Trucks with car trailers filled the parking lot, overflowing into the business across the street. Inside, the place was packed full of guys in firesuits and women and kids wearing T-shirts that advertised their favorite driver.
    Race motioned to a booth that backed up to the one occupied by Jim and his family. I waited to see where Kasey would sit then slid in beside her, earning a raised eyebrow from my uncle as he settled in across from us.
    A scrawny, dark-haired kid, maybe eight years old, scaled the back of the booth and wedged himself between Race and the wall.
    “Robbie Davis!” scolded the woman sitting across from Jim. “You sit your butt right down, and don’t ever let me catch you doing that again!”
    Giggling, the rug rat slithered southward until his chin was resting on the tabletop.
    Jim reached over the back of the seat to ruffle his hair. “Where’d that traitor son of mine go?”
    Robbie snickered.
    “Well, Morgan, it looks like you’ve got yourself a kid.”
    “Yeah,” Race agreed. “That’s seems to be happening to me a lot these days.”
    Robbie beamed at my uncle. “Got any quarters?” he asked.
    Race stood to check his pockets, plopped two coins on the table, then ducked out of the way when Robbie snatched them up and bolted for a candy dispenser by the door. As Race resettled himself, the waitress came by distributing menus. I opened mine with interest. The speedway burger I’d eaten earlier was feeling pretty lonely all by itself in the depths of my stomach.
    “Order whatever you want, kid,” Race told me. “But don’t expect to make a habit of it. I don’t win all the time.”
    “And it’s a good thing,” said Jim. “If you did, you’d probably wake up one morning to find my son camped out on your doorstep.”
    Robbie returned with a handful of fruit-shaped candy and shot his dad a sassy grin as he waited for Race to let him back into the booth.
    “So how much is it worth to win a main event?” I