Overheated

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My husband and I were high school sweethearts-gymnasium dances and drive-in movies. At the tender age of fifteen he introduced me to the exciting world of auto racing. He was an automotive technician, also an avid fan of internal combustion, acceleration and NASCAR.

We grew up in Vancouver, British Columbia, mere miles from the Westwood road-racing circuit and half an hour from the Mission Raceway drag strip. He also raced autocross at an abandoned airstrip, off road in a custom-built jeep and tried ice racing on the frozen lakes of the province’s interior.

So when I was asked to be part of Harlequin’s officially licensed NASCAR romance series, I couldn’t wait to get started. I’d watched hundreds of NASCAR races. I knew the sights, the sounds, the smells of racing. I’d been in the pits and garages, watched the green flag drop and the checkered flag wave. Thanks to my husband, this was a world I knew I could put on the page.

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