Christmas At Mixon (Motocross Me #1.5) - Plot & Excerpts
Situated off a county road in the middle of nowhere in this small Texas town, my dad’s motocross track is usually dark, blending into the landscape at this time of night. Races are held on weekends, not on a Thursday, and seeing the night air sparkle as I drive up certainly looks like Christmas. So why don’t I feel like it’s Christmas? Probably because I’m working. One of the track’s staff members, Marty, flags me down the moment I drive into the parking lot. I roll down my window and he leans in, handing me a flashlight with a glowing red cone on the end. “I need you to direct traffic into the field over there,” he says, motioning toward the flat land we use as a parking lot. “Sure thing,” I say, throwing him a warm Christmas smile. In all my months of working at the track, I’ve signed in riders and put together trophies and counted cash. I’ve never directed people where to park. Guess I’ll figure out the technicalities once I’m doing it.
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