But Burt still shook his head. “I’m just tired. Lana gave me three beautiful children, and not a one has any interest in running a racetrack. Can you believe that?”
“Billy races.”
“Yeah, races. Which means he’s too busy to run the track. And I’m too old and weary to wait for him to retire and, hopefully, decide this is what he wants to do in his retirement.”
“Lana’s still pretty young…”
Burt snorted. “That woman had zero interest in the sport when we met. Hell, I could go on and on about how hard it was to convince her to give an aging dirt bike racer a chance. She supports me, and Billy, but that’s the extent of it. She’s ready to move to Arizona too.”
Tommy clenched his fist, and Camila reached over and squeezed his shoulder. It was an impulsive reaction, but she didn’t miss Burt’s nod when she did it.
Or the way Tommy grabbed her hand and clung to it like it was a damn lifeline.
Burt leaned forward, holding his drink with both hands. “I know this is hard, Tommy. I know you have a lot of history here.”
He tapped his temple.
“I’ve been watching you take those turns, fly over those jumps, for more than two decades. You’re like a damned angel on a dirt bike.”
He shook his head. “So many memories have been made here, and I have every single one of them stored right in here.” He beat his fist against his chest.
“But we all move on, Tommy. We all grow, change, adjust. I’m ready for the next phase of my life. And that involves putting my pups on the seat of a golf cart and driving around a gated community in the desert and inviting my other retired friends over for a bourbon tasting party while we all wait for our grandkids to visit.”
Camila could feel the sadness wafting off of Tommy as if it were a living thing.
“But you’re selling to a development company. They’re gonna bulldoze the track and turn it into a stupid neighborhood.”
“With the amount of land I own, it’s going to be more than one neighborhood.”
“You’re destroying your legacy, Burt.”
“What the hell do you expect me to do, Tommy?” Burt spread his arms wide. “Don’t you think I’ve searched for a buyer who will keep the track, make sure it remains an important part of the motocross circuit?”
“Yeah but…”
Camila could tell that Tommy didn’t want this any more than Burt did, but he didn’t have an answer either. She gave his hand a squeeze.
“Why don’t we head over and take a look at the track?” she suggested in an attempt to break up this conversation. She placed her empty glass on the side table and stood. “That was amazing bourbon, sir. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
Burt, too, stood and waved away her compliment. The dogs leaped out of the chair and hovered near his feet. “You can share my bourbon anytime, sweetheart. You’ll just have to come to Arizona to do so next time.” He headed to the foyer and lifted a key ring from a hook attached to the wall. A bronze-colored carving of a man riding a dirt bike was attached to the dangling key.
“Gate’s probably open since maintenance is out there grading the track right now, but just in case.” He pressed it into Tommy’s hand. “Take your time. Show her where you became king.”
Tommy stared at the key chain. “I’ll bring it back when we’re done.”
Burt shook his head. “It’s yours. A keepsake.” He gave Camila another hug. “Take care of my boy, okay?”
She patted his back. “I will.”
Chapter Nine
That visit hadn’t gone the way Tommy had expected. He’d held out hope that Chuck’s gossip wouldn’t be true.
And although he’d known Burt would take to Camila—she was young and hot, after all—he hadn’t expected her to warm to the racetrack owner as completely as she had.
“You’re a bourbon fan, huh?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t like beer, and the bar I work at doesn’t carry decent wine. So I’ve figured out which liquors I like best. And bourbon is definitely one of them.”
“I’m weirdly both attracted to and frightened of you at the moment.”
She laughed but then frowned. “Are you okay?”
Burt lived in the far southwestern corner of the vast property that encompassed Rogers Raceway. Tommy had chosen to drive around to the main entrance to the track instead of cross-country, like Burt probably did every day of the week during racing season. He wanted Camila to have the full effect. Even if it would be her first and last time entering the track.
He didn’t respond to her question. At least, not verbally. He did, however, clutch the steering wheel more tightly as they rounded the bend and the Rogers Raceway sign came into view. He slowed to a stop and rolled down the window when the security guard climbed out of his lawn chair and ambled over.
“Tommy Bryant,” the portly man announced, leaning one elbow on the side of the vehicle like they were old friends. Which, he supposed, they were, more or less. He knew everyone who had worked at this track for the past twenty-five years.
“Winnin’ on Saturday wasn’t enough? You had to come back for more already?” The guard chuckled at his own comment. “And with a pretty lady in tow. You gonna show her how to ride?” He gave an exaggerated wink and guffawed.
Tommy glanced at Camila. She looked as if she were struggling with not rolling her eyes, probably simply out of politeness.
“Hey, Gus,” Tommy said. “Just wanted to show her around. Camila’s never
