Happy Thanksgiving! Here’s a free short story - some holiday reading - from Abby Gaines. If you enjoy it, email the link for this story to a friend. And check out Abby’s Christmas novella, The Natural - click on the link in the right-hand column to read an excerpt.

The Brat
By Abby Gaines

Jared Keel had three hours, twenty-two minutes and—he flicked a glance at his brushed-steel watch—forty seconds to get his brain into race-winning mode.
Today’s race here in Miami could be his, and with it the glory of a NASCAR NEXTEL Cup Series championship win…if only his mind would stop bouncing around like a race car that had hit the wall.
Focus, he told himself.
“Coffee?” Mike Smith, Jared’s crew chief, held out a red mug emblazoned with a black No. 402, the number of Jared’s race car.
Jared shook his head, closed his eyes. Concentration, not caffeine.
“You’re trying too hard,” Mike said abruptly.
Jared opened his eyes so he could glare at the other man.
His crew chief glanced over his shoulder. “This race is important, but it’s not life or death. You might be less on edge if you get it in perspective.”
“The race is everything.” Jared couldn’t think of another damned thing that mattered as much.
Mike grimaced, then shot another look over his shoulder.
“What’s the problem?” Jared demanded. “Is it the car?” Half a dozen of the team members were pushing the race car toward the inspection bay where NASCAR officials would check that it complied with numerous rules.
“Car’s fine.” Mike paused. “Jared, she’s back.”
No need to ask who she was.
The Brat.
Megan Rushton, daughter of Jared’s boss Harry Rushton. And holder of a twenty-four-carat crush on Jared. At least, she had been the last time he saw her.
“I don’t need this today,” he growled. Seven years ago, at this track, this race, when she’d been all of sixteen years old, Megan had lain down in the opening of the garage area that held Jared’s No. 402 race car. And had declared that if he wasn’t ever going to love her back, he might as well run her over right now.
Which Jared would cheerfully have done—at twenty-one, he’d had zero tolerance for The Brat’s antics. But her besotted parents had chosen to coax her to her feet. They’d comforted her, and Megan’s mom had glared at Jared as if this was his fault. Harry hadn’t been quite so blind; he wanted to win the race almost as much as Jared. He’d shaken his head in apology, but he’d left with his wife and daughter.
By then, Jared’s focus was decimated. He finished the race a season-worst thirty-fourth, missed out on the Raybestos Rookie of the Year title.
The sudden widening of Mike’s eyes alerted Jared half a second before a voice spoke right behind him.
“Hey, guys.” She sounded more mature, but her voice had the same unmistakable lilt.
Jared schooled his face into impassivity before he turned around.
And was glad he had.
Because Megan Rushton wasn’t sixteen any more. Nope, she had curves, and she had long, curly-but-sophisticated blond hair, and she had a great smile—wide and warm.
“Hi, Megan.” Mike chipped in a greeting. His tone said, Wow.
“Mike—” she shook his hand “—how’re Carrie and the kids?”
It didn’t take much to have Mike waxing lyrical about his family. It was at least a minute before Megan turned to Jared—a minute in which he had plenty of time to notice how she’d changed. The grown-up Megan was calm, casual, confident. Then she shone that smile on him, and dammit if he didn’t want to smile right back.
Instead, he said warily, “I heard you were in town.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t head for the hills?”
Jared surprised himself by chuckling. “Maybe after the race.”
“I understand you have a chance of winning the series championship,” she said.
He grunted. The odds were slim, there were half a dozen drivers in a stronger position than he was.
She put a hand on his arm. “You can do it, Jared.”
Horrified, he stared down at her hand. She still had that crush! Then it dawned on him that her voice held no more than friendly reassurance. And that if anyone was feeling…electrified, it was him.
She’s The Brat, he reminded himself as he pulled away. “You back for long?”
“For Thanksgiving. I’m looking forward to spending some time with Dad. Things were pretty messy after he and Mom split, but lately I’ve figured out that I have a lot to be thankful for.” She tilted her head to one side. “You must feel the same, with your season going so well.”
“Ask me after the race.”
“There must be something you’re thankful for,” she persisted. “Even if it’s only that I haven’t thrown myself under your car today.”
Mike laughed—Jared had forgotten he was still there. Then the older man cracked a joke that had Megan laughing along with him. Yeah, well, Jared was sure this was a lot of fun, but it wasn’t helping him find his headspace. He cleared his throat, glanced at his watch. “If you guys have finished with your little chitchat…”
Mike sobered up, but Megan just looked amused. “You still think everything’s about you,” she said. “About your race.”
Since Jared had just said exactly that to Mike, he couldn’t disagree. Mike ran the back of his hand over his chin as if he was wiping away a grin. When Jared scowled, he wandered off to check on the car inspection.
Megan said, “I owe you an apology.”
Yeah, her comment had been way out of line.
“I was a total pain to you a few years back,” she said. “Not just that last race, but every week, and I’m sorry.”
She looked as if she meant it. But for all Jared knew, this was a lead-up to asking him for a date.
“Apology accepted.” He stepped backward. “You weren’t the first teenage girl to act crazy around a NASCAR driver.”
“But,” she spread her hands, palms up, “it wasn’t as if I even liked you.”
He snickered. “You didn’t like me, you adored me.”
She shook her head.
Clearly, she had a major case of denial.
“You wrote me love notes,” he said. “You used to stare at me for so long, people thought you were in a trance.”
“I was faking it.”
Jared snorted. “Whatever.”
“Jared,” she said patiently, “you might remember that my parents disagreed about absolutely everything…except one thing. They both hated seeing me upset.”
He remembered how the warring Rushtons would unite in their concern for The Brat. “So?”
“Whenever they fought, all I had to do was remind them how heartbroken I was by my hopeless crush on you, and, hey presto, end of fight.”
“You lay down in front of my car,” he said, disbelieving.
“Mom had threatened to leave,” she said simply. “I know that stunt was wrong, but I was desperate.” She shook her head. “It didn’t work, of course. My folks calmed down briefly in an effort to comfort me, but then Mom left and took me with her to Canada. She was so bitter, it’s only been the past year or so that I’ve been able to contact Dad without feeling as if I’m betraying her.”
It sounded believable. And Jared even felt sorry for her, standing there, gray eyes shadowed by unhappy memories.
“Anyway,” she said awkwardly. “I’m sorry. You’re a great driver, and I hate that I ruined your chances that year.”
Harry Rushton approached, looking worried. “Megan, sweetie, you okay?”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry, Dad, I’m not about to harass your driver.”
Harry let out a relieved breath. “Jared, you gonna come over for Thanksgiving next week?”
Jared often spent the holiday with Harry, now that his own parents had retired to Hawaii.
“Megan’s doing turkey with all the trimmings, including her secret recipe cranberry sauce,” Harry said.
Jared glanced at Megan. Her lips reminded him of cranberries, full and red—and her words had an intriguing sharpness.
He shouldn’t be thinking about Megan Rushton’s lips when he was about to race. “I’m not sure I can make it.”
Harry looked disappointed—but Megan didn’t.
“Good luck out there today.” Harry shook Jared’s hand, then turned to his daughter. “Give Jared a kiss for luck, sweetie”
Megan’s face flamed, and suddenly all that grown-up poise was gone. “Dad, I’m the last person Jared would want—”
“Actually,” Jared said, “I’d appreciate it.”
The look she gave him was positively tortured. Served her right for that crack she’d made about his focus on his racing. Jared grinned, leaned toward her. At Harry’s nudge, she closed her eyes and puckered up with as much enthusiasm as if she was about to kiss a frog.
Jared touched his lips to hers. Mm, she tasted like cranberries too—sweet and soft. So sweet, he forgot to stop kissing her.
At last, she pulled away, with an embarrassed laugh. But he could see in her eyes that she’d enjoyed it every bit as much as he had.
Jared realized suddenly that his mind was clear, ready to race.
“Thanks,” he said slowly. Megan smiled, but didn’t reply.
Harry, not normally known for his sensitivity, turned and strode away as if he had somewhere to get to.
Megan stayed, and Jared figured she was held in place by the same unfamiliar tension that had him in its thrall. She ran a finger across her lips, and Jared wanted to kiss her again. Then he thought of something. “If you weren’t interested in me back then, why did you choose me for your little game? Why not Steve?” The other Rushton Racing driver had been more patient than Jared, and better looking.
Megan blinked, then bit her lip, troubled. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
He folded his arms. “Maybe you did have a crush on me after all.”
“No way.” Her eyes narrowed. “Steve was too nice for me to bug him.”
“And I wasn’t?”
She shook her head—and suddenly she had that alluring confidence back. “As a matter of fact, I had a private nickname for you.”
“Hottie?” he suggested. Women’s magazines frequently used that word about him. “Gorgeous?”
Her smile was faintly pitying. “You were such a pain the way you thought the whole world revolved around you and your racing. I called you The Brat.”
Jared gaped.
Then he threw back his head and laughed.
“You’re not offended?” Megan started laughing too.
He met her gaze, now bright with amusement, the shadows gone. “Tell your dad I’m coming for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Oh.” She didn’t look unhappy at the news.
Beyond her, Jared saw Mike beckoning—it was time for the drivers’ pre-race briefing. Unable to resist, he touched a finger to Megan’s lips, where she had. When she smiled, it felt as if she was kissing him.
“Catch you later.” He turned and headed through the throng of fans to the area cordoned off for the meeting. People pressed around him, drivers called out greetings, chairs scraped on the concrete floor,
He looked back and saw Megan watching him, and his heart thudded the way it did when he got behind the wheel of a race car.
And suddenly, Jared knew that, come Thanksgiving, he would have plenty to be thankful for.

Copyright Abby Gaines 2007

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