Clutched (Wild Riders) (2 page)

“Oh, that's right. I knew you were coming in today,” she said, looking down at a clipboard in her hands. “I'm Marjorie Wilson,” she said. I recognized her name. She and her husband, Robert, were the owners of Mill Valley. “I knew your daddy,” she said.

“That makes one of us,” I mumbled under my breath as she checked my name off her list. “Which way should I go?” I asked quickly hoping she hadn't heard my comment. I'd been trying to work on my sarcasm since I'd taken the offer from Throttled. It was a big deal to get into business with them and I didn't want to screw it up. Even if that meant going against everything in my nature. Sarcastic comments included.

“Take the left lane all the way back,” she said, pointing across the sprawling property before us. “See that hedge row? There's RV hookups and everything else you need to get your rig settled in. A few other riders have arrived today too,” she added. “Just look for the other trailers.”

“Thank you,” I said, looking at my
rig
in the rearview mirror. The late nineties' model Chevy I was driving with my bike strapped in the back was pulling the used Mallard camper I'd saved for over two years to buy. It had a couple rust spots and needed new tires. It was far from what I'd call a
rig
, but it got the job done. A bed. A shower. A place to heat up a can of Spaghetti-O's. Everything I needed.

“Once you get settled in, come on up to the main house and get a meal,” she told me. “Every Sunday we have a dinner for all the riders who are staying with us. Y'all need a home cooked meal every once and a while,” she added with a grin.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said with a nod. “And, thank you again.” As she waved me on, I felt like I had pretty good handle on this whole being a civilized human being thing. I might have been just a girl from the wrong side of Nevada, but I could fake it until I made it. I could do
this
. I could work for Throttled Energy and get everything I'd ever dreamed of out of racing. I was going to give it the old college try at the very least.

* * *

“Y
ou need some help?” a voice called out as I connected the last cable from the RV station to my trailer. Mill Valley definitely didn't skimp on their amenities—electricity, water, sewer, even cable television was provided. It was more than I'd ever had in a place I'd lived. My mom and I had spent the majority of my life jumping from apartment to apartment in Reno. The biggest little boring ass city in the state of Nevada. I couldn't remember a time when at least one of the utilities wasn't shut off. “Get her all hooked up?”

“I think so,” I said, turning around and nearly smacking chest to chest with the man who was asking the questions. I sidestepped Mr. Too Close for Comfort and crossed my arms over my chest. “I got it.”

“Sorry 'bout that,” he said. His broad shoulders and height should have been intimidating, but I was mainly just annoyed that he'd been hovering over my shoulder. “Just wanted to help a pretty girl out.”

“Thanks, but I don't need any help,” I said as turned to check the trailer connections. I didn't need some guy coming over and telling me I was pretty. I was there to get my home on wheels hooked up and to not be late for the first home cooked meal I'd been offered in ages. I could tell by the way Too Close was lingering that he wanted to continue our conversation.

“I... um...” he mumbled.

“You... um... what?” I asked, staring him down. He looked familiar. Blueish eyes, blondish hair. Enough of a racer's body to say that he was here for the same reasons I was. The short sleeved Fox Racing t-shirt he was wearing was a smidgen too tight for my liking. I pictured him in race gear and suddenly it was clear. “Link Hoffman, right?”

“You know me?” he asked. Lincoln “Link” Hoffman was a 250cc class rider that had been working his way up the ranks for the past couple years, just like I had. Our paths hadn't crossed yet. He was from the East Coast. South Carolina I think. I knew his class, his speed, his record, everything I needed to know to beat him.

“Sure,” I said, pulling my dark hair into a ponytail at the base of my neck and securing it with the elastic band I always had around my wrist. “KTM Two-Fifty,” I said, referring to the make of his bike. “Made it to Nationals last year.”

“So you're a fan? Have we... met?” I could tell by the lull in his question and the way he was looking me up and down as he licked his bottom lip that he was assuming I was some track bunny he'd banged at one time or another. I wasn't opposed to a casual hook up, but I tried to stay away from my competition. It was far too messy to get in bed with another motocross rider. I preferred guys who had no ties to my career. Keeping things in my love life simple was best; meet a cute guy, have a drink, make small talk, hook up, and then never see him again. It might have been a flawed system, but it worked. My regular life was a clusterfuck enough without adding that to the mix.

“No. We haven't,” I said with a shake of my head. “I just make it a priority to know racers I might be competing against.”

He laughed. I didn't.

“Oh, you're serious?”

“Very.”

“Okay then,” he said with smirk. “I'm Link,” he said, extending his hand. “Good to meet you...”

“Chayse McCade,” I said, returning his smirk as I wiped my hands down the front of my jeans. “Only place we'll be meeting is on the track,” I added before shaking his hand.

“Chayse McCade.”  The way he let my name roll slowly off his lips was just as annoying as him assuming I needed his help with my trailer or that I was just some girl that he'd hooked up with in passing. He gripped my hand for a second too long as he looked into my eyes. “I'm two trailers down if you want to meet up before that.”

“Mm-hm,” I said, pulling my hand from his. “I'm sure you'd love that.”

“I wouldn't kick you out of bed, that's for sure.” He shrugged, making him seem pretty harmless so I just shook my head.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think it will be much more satisfying for me to throw dirt in your face on the track rather than waste the minute or so in your trailer.” With that I walked away from him and his wide-eyed, slack jawed response to my reply and into my trailer. The lightweight door fell shut behind me and I didn't even bother looking back. I wasn't there to make friends or find a bed buddy. I was there for one thing and one thing only. Racing. If Link Hoffman was too stupid to see that, I'd make sure he knew it when I was passing his ass on the track.

I walked over to the small kitchen sink and turned on the water to make sure I'd hooked it up correctly. Just as I was about to wash my hands, I heard a fist pound against my trailer door. Link seemed to be having a hard time taking no for an answer. I stomped over to the door as I let out a huff.

This guy...

“I'm not sleeping with you,” I said as I pushed the door open. “For fuck's sake take a—” I felt the bile rising in my throat the second I realized who was actually knocking at my door. It wasn't Link's goofy grin waiting for me on the other side of that door. It was much worse than that. It was my new boss, Nick Pilsner, standing on the other side.

“Well that's a hell of a greeting,” he said, trying to mass the awkwardness. Nothing like verbally assaulting the man who offered you the world on your first day. “Nice to see you too, Chayse.”

“Omigod.” I could feel the blood rushing to my face as I tried to smooth over my stupidity. “I'm so sorry,” I said. “Link Hoffman was down here a few minutes ago and I thought—”

“You thought I was him,” Nick chuckled, smoothing a hand through his thick inky hair. I wasn't sure where Nick was from, but he may as well of had
Big City
written across his forehead. When he'd first approached me about the sponsorship I wondered how a guy like him knew a thing about motocross, but he'd won me over when he mentioned Throttled Energy picking up my racing expenses for the next year. As long as he was willing to foot the bill, he didn't have to know his asshole from a spark plug. “Honest mistake.”

“I'm really sorry.”

“Maybe next time, try and clean up the language a little,” he suggested. “You're too pretty to speak that way.”

“Of course. I didn't... I shouldn't have...” I was an idiot. “I'm sorry.” I hadn't even been here an hour and I was already screwing it up. “Won't happen again.”

“I just wanted to check in on you and make sure you were getting settled,” Nick said, as I pushed the door open and invited him in. “Seems like you're meeting people.”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod.

“I just wanted to let you know how excited we are that you're here. Throttled is looking forward to helping you reach your full potential on and off the track.”

“I'm excited too,” I told him.

“We also want to make sure that your brand is headed in the right direction.”

My brand?

“I'm not quite sure what you mean,” I replied. I knew that Throttled would be sponsoring me and helping me get my racing game up to par, I had no idea what he meant beyond that. I was there to ride a dirt bike for them and sell a few energy drinks.

“If you're going to be representing us on the track we need you to represent us off that track as well. Which is why I'm pleased to hear that you aren't falling for the advances of riders like Link Hoffman. We can't have our future star getting mixed up in some back of the track scandal.”

“Yeah, no worries there,” I assured him. “I'm here for one reason.”

“Throttled has high hopes for you, Chayse. We'd like to see you carrying the brand to our younger generation of female riders. To see you be their role model. Their inspiration.”

“Inspiration?” This guy was seriously confused about why I was here. I didn't want to be anyone's role model. I wanted to win races and cash checks and make a name for myself. I wasn't trying to be the Taylor Swift of motocross. “I'm not so sure about all of that,” I admitted.

“Don't worry,” he said. “All you have to do is stay out of trouble and work hard. The rest will follow.”

I hesitated to answer too quickly, knowing that my usual gut-punch reactions were probably not what he was looking for. I was sure I had the “work hard” part of the equation down, it was the staying out of trouble part that might pose a problem. It seemed to follow me wherever I went.

“I'll try,” I said, flashing him a grin that I was sure would satisfy him for the moment. If my mother taught me anything it was that guys really are suckers for a pretty girl with nice smile and a decent rack. “What Throttled wants, Throttled gets, right?”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Which is why I've called a riding coach for you.”

“Riding coach? I...I'm not—”

“It's going to be great,” he assured me. Everything I'd ever done on a dirt bike had been by myself.  “All the great riders have help, Chayse. Trust me. You want to work with the best.”

I nodded. It was my first day here. Despite the fact that the idea of having someone tell me what to do made me want to cut and run, I couldn't screw it up before I'd even gotten a chance to really show them what I could do on a dirt bike.

“Hoyt Travers is coming in and I think he will know exactly what to do with you.”

“Travers? As in Reid Travers?”

“It's his brother.”

“Ahh...” I tried to picture him. I knew Reid Travers. I mean, I knew who he was. Motocross god. Hell, everyone who'd ever watched anything motocross related knew who he was. Guy on the top of the podium. His brother...not so much.

“He'll be here in the morning to meet you and get you started on a new training regime.”

“Okay then,” I said, trying to mask the confusion and hurt in my voice. I'd thought I'd been offered a sponsorship from Throttled because I'd proved myself. I thought I was good enough. I guess I owed it to Nick and myself to at least meet with this guy.

“Chayse,” Nick said, placing his hands on my shoulder and scooting in a bit closer to me. “This is a good thing. We've got a good game plan for your career. You just have to follow along and things are going to end up exactly how you—
how we
—want them to,” he smiled. “With you on the top of the leaderboard.”

I
t hadn't been that long since I'd been at Mill Valley, but the morning that I showed up to meet Chayse and Nick things looked completely different. Perhaps it was the new set of eyes I was looking at the place with—checking each and every jump, rut and straightaway and trying to figure out a course of action for my new rider. With my brother things just always seemed to flow between us and the last thing I was trying to do was impress anyone. Now I had to prove my worth.

I'd left my brother back in my hometown with his best friend, Brett to finish up the construction of the house we were building for my parents. I was nervous about the kind of trouble those two would get into without me there to supervise. Surely, they could manage to behave in my absence. I needed to let go of my inner control freak when it came to them. I had my own rider to worry about now.

I'd woken up that morning, showered, and got dressed after standing in front of my closet for a good fifteen minutes trying to figure out what a professional motocross coach was supposed to wear. My collection of Travers Racing tees didn't seem appropriate, but neither did the suit and tie I kept eying on the back of the rack. I wanted to look like I was taking this seriously—because I was—and not look like some jackass with no clue. I finally settled on a black Throttled Energy t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Before I headed out to the car, I grabbed my laptop bag. I'd started typing out some ideas for Chayse's training schedule, but I couldn't finalize it until I saw her ride and figured out exactly what kind of rider she was. The videos online didn't do her any favors. I wanted to see her with my own eyes.

My parents had dropped my truck off at the airport for me with the promise of joining them for dinner in a few days after I got settled in. My mom knew better than anyone that I was a creature of routine. It would take me a little time to get myself acclimated to my new career and used to being back in Austin.

“Good to see you,” Nick said when I met him at the main hall at Mill Valley. The building was mostly used as a common area for the riders—a cafeteria style kitchen, a large living area, a gym, and a few smaller rooms used as meeting rooms. I pulled out a chair and placed my bag on the conference style table in the center of the room.