Thunderstruck by Roxanne St. Claire

start World War Three in her shop?
    Whit gave her a look that said he thought the same thing. “Did you hear about the engine dyno?” he asked, pointedly changing the subject. “It’s actin’ up again.”
    “We need a new one,” Pete added.
    Oh, great. Where would they get the money for that? “Why don’t we go take a look at it right now, Whit?” Shelby asked. “Before my nine o’clock meeting.” With a newspaper reporter. Could her day get any better?
    She watched the men all leave the room, then glanced down at Janie, who still sat on the leather sofa sipping her coffee with a sparkle in her eyes. “Dyno’s busted? Hmm. My mama always said God’ll get you for lying.”
    “Or the Raleigh News will.” Shelby deadpanned. “And, I swear, Janie, I didn’t lie. Nothing’s set in concrete. Nothing’s done. Nothing’s changed.”
    Janie rolled her eyes, then stood to put a friendly arm around Shelby. “I’m your best buddy around here. You owe me the truth. Are you telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”
    “All except for the part where I kissed him last night.”
    Janie’s mouth was still wide open when Shelby hurried out of the room.
     
     
     
    F ROM THE STOOL WHERE he perched in the work bay, Mick watched Shelby cross the shop with the crew chief, Ray Whitaker. She had her long auburn hair pulled into a high ponytail and wore an ancient number fifty-three hat pulled low over her eyes.
    His gaze naturally slid over her body, taking in the way her blue T-shirt clung to feminine curves, the fit of her threadbare jeans and, of course, the adorable brown work boots she wore. But his attention was pulled back to her lovely face.
    Ernie made the rules, and as difficult as it might be, Mick wouldn’t break them. There was too much at stake to give in to temptation. Although…He lingered a minute too long on those jeans again. That was one serious temptation.
    Was it the brim of her father’s hat that caused the dark shadows under her eyes—or had he stolen her sleep? He had no problem assuring Ernie that he could be a perfect gentleman with Shelby. He could. Except for one little kiss. They’d had to get that out of the way, that’s all. Otherwise they’d both be thinking about it constantly.
    They still might think about it constantly anyway.
    “Man, you can’t believe what just went down in the break room.” Billy Byrd, a six-foot-five-inch mechanical wizard held a coffee cup out to Mick and grinned a loopy smile that had obviously earned him the nickname Big Byrd.
    Mick took the coffee and muttered thanks. Billy was a massive soccer fan but not the least bit intimidated by Mick’s fame. And, best of all, he was a fountain of information about the business, the company and the cars.
    After Billy told Mick the story, he understood why Shelby had been walking as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Speculation as to why he was there, why he’d been given an office and the chance to attend crew meetings and ask questions was bound to lead to the truth.
    “So,” Billy asked as he dug through a tool chest and set to work on the body of the car—the skin, Mick learned—that they’d just attached to the chassis. “Is it true?”
    “I’m thinking about it.”
    Billy chose a set of calipers and scooted under the nose, looking up through the empty engine hole at Mick. “That’d be a big change around here.”
    “I don’t plan on changing anything except to help bring in more sponsors and money.”
    Billy worked on a part for a moment, then lifted his body up enough to see to where Shelby stood deep in conversation with Ray Whitaker.
    “She don’t like change,” he said.
    “I’ve heard that.”
    “No, I mean she really can’t stand it.” Billy pointed to the front of the car with his calipers. “Took five of us to convince her that the new Monte Carlo grille helped downforce. If it were up to Shelby, we’d still be racin’ Mercury