Victory Lane
She'd done something to her hair.
That was the first thing Dean Grosso noticed about his estranged wife as he stepped from the air-conditioned comfort of his borrowed motor home into the blazing Arizona sun. She'd cut her hair. The soft brown curls he'd always loved were gone, replaced by a sleek, sophisticated bob that swung just above her shoulders and curved against her throat. She didn't look like his Patsy-girl now. She looked like the independent and accomplished woman she was: not his wife of thirty years, not the mother of his children, not the girl he'd loved since before he was old enough to shave.
Now she was almost a stranger; a woman he'd barely spoken to, hadn't touched, hadn't woken up beside for going on five long—damned long—months.
"Hi, Patsy," he said. It would be cowardly to go back inside the motor home and pretend he hadn't seen her. The owners' and drivers' lot at every race track since they'd separated hadn't been big enough to keep them from running into each other time and again. But that didn't mean he'd gotten used to it.
"Hello, Dean," she said, her voice and manner as calm and cool as the rest of her. "Did you have a goo ... read full excerpt from: Victory Lane ebook
