Free A Risk Worth Taking by Heather Hildenbrand Page A

glance at my mom’s car up ahead to know what he was trying to do.
    I
threw a wry glance at Frank.
    “Don’t
look at me,” he said. “I’m not going for a romantic evening dirt bike ride with
my own son.”
    My
lips twitched. They wanted to smile at the mental picture Frank’s words made. I
wasn’t going to let them. Or give in so easily. “No helmet,” I said, pointing
to my head for effect.
    “Extra,”
Casey said, pointing behind him. I looked and sure enough, there was an extra
helmet strapped to the back of his seat.
    “I
thought these babies were out of commission,” I said, still prolonging the
compromise of my temper. I knew the second I got on and the wind began to whip
around me, my anger would evaporate into the dust behind me. There weren’t many
things as freeing as speed in the open air. And Casey was trustworthy enough
with a passenger on the back not to get too crazy. Usually. Mostly. Okay,
sometimes.
    “That
one there’s been good since last weekend. Finished this one up last night,” he
said. “Ford helped me.”
    “I
see.” I frowned, making sure not to look in Ford’s direction, even when Casey
acknowledged him. One more glance at those arms, flexing as he worked the
clutch and throttle, and I was a goner.
    “We’re
gonna tear up the creek trail. Make sure it’s clear for Friday.” Casey winked.
“You coming or what?”
    I
shifted my weight side to side, trying to think of another worthy argument. I
couldn’t say no. Not when it meant wind and speed and most importantly, an
escape. I wasn’t going back in that house until she was gone. And the
cornfields were out. Casey would only follow me down there. Or worse—send
Frank.
    Finally,
I blew out a breath and walked over to unstrap the half-shell helmet. “Yeah,
I’m coming,” I said.
    Casey’s
eyes crinkled with what must’ve been a grin inside his helmet. With his right
hand, he revved the throttle and the engine roared. I strapped the helmet
underneath my chin and put a hand on Casey’s shoulder, about to swing a leg
over the back.
    “Nah,”
Casey said, shaking his head. “This one isn’t stable enough for two. You should
ride with Ford.”
    My
eyes narrowed instantly. “What do you mean ‘not stable enough?’” I’d never
heard of a bike not being stable enough for two. Not when the seat was big
enough and passenger pegs were there. This one had both.
    Casey
shook his head again. “I’m serious. It’s been giving me trouble with extra
weight. You should ride with Ford, just in case. I don’t want to dump you.”
    I
chewed my lip. Casey knew his way around anything with an engine. Either he was
full of shit and wanted to see me ride with Ford—although why he cared so much,
I hadn’t figured out yet—or I’d learned even less than I thought I had in all
my time hanging in the garage. Either one was entirely plausible but since I
didn’t have proof, and I was already wearing the helmet …
    “Fine.
Whatever.” I turned on my heel and marched over to Ford. “Casey says I have to
ride with you.”
    He
blinked. I couldn’t see his expression behind the helmet and it unnerved me.
“Then I guess you have to. If Casey says.”
    I
put my hands on my hips. “How long have you been riding?”
    “A
few years.”
    “Be
specific.”
    “Okay,
um. Four years, give or take. My uncle used to motocross so he had a bunch of
tricked-out dirt bikes we messed around on.”
    I
didn’t allow myself a mental picture of Ford in tight motocross pants. I could
do that later. When I wasn’t required to carry on a conversation with him at
the same time. “And you’ve ridden with passengers?” I pressed.
    “Yes.”
    “Off-road?”
    “Is
there going to be a test later?”
    “Not
killing me is the test.” Before he could argue, I swung a leg over the side of
the seat, balling his shirt between my fists and sliding on. I settled myself,
staring at Casey and trying very hard not to think about the smooth hardness of
abs