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the Mustang. It was a renowned fighter plane. In fact, the car was named after the plane.”
    “I didn’t know that, either. Wow, that’s so wild. About the racing, I mean. So it’s an international thing?”
    He nodded. “The first organized races started back in the twenties in Europe, different form, different planes, of course. Some races were ‘get from Point A to Point B the fastest’ kind of races and others were through a marked course.”
    “Is that what you do? The course?” When he nodded, she added, “What kind of course? I mean, obviously it’s in the air; how is it marked?”
    For someone who had spent the entire time lost in her own thoughts, her sudden interest and chattiness were surprising, but seemingly quite sincere. Perhaps they both could use a detour from their personal musings. And he never minded talking on this particular subject to anyone who was interested. Which wasn’t often, unless they were a fellow racer. Or one of his students. Most women of his acquaintance thought it was an interesting hobby, but glazed over if he actually started to get into specifics. He wondered how long it would take before Lauren did the same. “There are what amount to huge pylons that form gates that you actually fly between.”
    “So, rather low to the ground, then?”
    The curve of his smile deepened. “Low and fast.”
    “Sounds pretty intense.”
    “It is that. The division I fly in is called the unlimited class.”
    “Which means?”
    Now he grinned as he looked at her. “That we go really fast.”
    Her gaze caught his and hung there, as if he’d snagged it. But her smile was bright enough to light up her eyes. “A need-for-speed guy.”
    “Fair description.”
    “Adrenaline junkie?”
    “Plane junkie. Flying junkie. The adrenaline comes free of charge.”
    She laughed. “How long have you been doing it? How did you get started?”
    “My grandfather got me into it when I was little.”
    Her eyes widened. “How little is little?”
    “He raced and I watched. But I knew from very early on that I was going to get up in one myself.”
    “Do you both race then? That’s pretty cool, actually.”
    “We did. And it was. The best, actually. He died a little over twelve years ago.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
    “I am, too. We all were. Heart attack. He was healthy like an ox, so no one saw it coming. He ran a flight school—we ran it together at that point—and along with that, I inherited the Mustang. It took a long while before I could get her back up in the sky, but for the past five years, we’ve raced every September. So, I race her for us both. I think he’d be pretty happy with that.”
    Which was another reason Jake was stressed. He’d finally gotten Betty Sue to be a contender, which would have made Patrick McKenna fiercely proud and more than a little smug, as he’d been handed defeat after defeat with a plane he knew could be a champion but simply couldn’t afford to fix it up the way he needed to.
    But his grandchildren had come first in those days, about whom he was also fiercely proud. He’d taken good care of the two of them, all things considered, which was a lot, given his own wife had passed on only five years before his only son and daughter-in-law—Jake and Ruby Jean’s parent’s—were taken in a car accident on a snowy mountain pileup. He hadn’t the first clue what to do with a heartbroken seven-year-old girl and an angry fifteen-year-old boy. But, in the end, he’d done right by both of them. And it was because of him that, six years later, they’d known how to handle life when he was taken from them, too.
    So, Jake would be damned if he lost out now because he couldn’t convince his sponsors that Betty Sue could be ready come race time. This was his year. Their year. He was going to bring the title home.
    “I’m sure he’d be very proud. I think it’s great that you’re carrying on the tradition. And sorry I’ve kept you from working on it. I