“Yes, I could go anywhere. I could build the school and motocross track here and run it from somewhere else. Let me ask you a question. Is it the racing school or me you have a problem with?”
Becca blanched and he slunk down in his chair. What had gotten into him, jumping to a dumb conclusion like that? He knew. He wanted this project to succeed with the same competitive hunger that had made him a champion racer. And the stakes here were greater than any race’s.
“I’m sorry if that’s how I sounded.”
The contrition in her voice tore at him worse than her misinterpreted question.
“I’ll start over. My neighbors and I have some valid concerns about a motocross track near our homes, some of the same concerns we had when Bert Miller was considering selling his property to a syndicate bidding on a state gambling license.”
Becca was equating his racing school for needy kids to a gambling casino? The banked flame in his belly reignited.
“Other people in the community may have issues, too. I thought it would help me if I knew why you wanted to build it here.”
“Understandable. I...”
The ring of her cell phone interrupted him.
She pulled the phone from her pocket and glanced at it. “I have to take it. It could be about the kids.”
Jared finished his coffee while Becca listened to the person at the other end of the call.
“That was Debbie. My daughter’s running a temperature. I have to go.”
“I hope Ari’s okay.”
Becca stood and scooped up her purse. “It’s probably just a summer cold.”
He pushed his chair back. “Let me know if you want to get together to talk about your concerns before the public forum. I can show you the plans and tell you more about them.”
“Okay. I’ll call you at Connor’s. You do understand that it’s not personal.”
“Of course.” He walked her out and they parted at her car. The problem was that it was personal for him—both his reasons for wanting to build the school and track in Paradox Lake and the urge he’d had earlier to pull Becca into his arms and comfort her when she’d blanched at his sharp question.
Jared flung the Times of Ti on the couch. So that’s why Becca hadn’t called. She’d had no intention of hearing more about the motocross school from him before launching her campaign against it. The news article didn’t mention names, but it said a group of Conifer Road residents had organized against the project. That had to include her. Only three families lived on Conifer Road. Jared didn’t know the other two. He’d hoped that after he and Becca had talked, she’d be his in with the other families to calm any objections they might have.
“Hey, big bro, what’s with the face?” Connor crossed the living room, picked up the weekly newspaper and skimmed the lead article. “I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Come on. You grew up here. You had to expect some opposition. Some people don’t want any changes, even those for the better.”
Jared grabbed the paper from him. “But no one has given me a chance to tell them it’s for the better, to explain how it’ll benefit the community. I figured I’d get that at the public hearing next week. The project could be dead by then.” He jabbed a finger at the front page. “Look at the headline, ‘Conifer Road Residents Rise Up Against Motocross Track.’”
Connor shrugged. “Okay, the headline is a little sensationalized. From what I saw, all the article says is that the residents have questions to raise at the public hearing.”
Jared ignored his brother’s placating. “And the photo of the No Racetrack bumper sticker with the X through a silhouette of a bike racer is a nice touch. She must have rushed right out the day after the Zoning Board meeting and had them printed.”
“By she, I take it you mean Becca. Can you blame her or her neighbors? You’re planning to build something big in their neighborhood.”
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