Mustang Summer

by Marie Johnston

  She had to concentrate on something else. No good came from that line of thinking.

  ***

  Why was she here?

  She approached Brock’s place, but instead of pulling into the copse of trees she’d hidden in before, she pulled into his yard.

  As always, his property took her breath away.

  The house was older but well-kept, and the various green shades of the trees and grass were perfectly highlighted by the cloudless blue sky. The beige garage was tucked back into the ring of trees protecting the acreage from the elements while the magnificent red barn commanded attention.

  It was also gorgeous. She wondered how old the barn was and how often they painted it to keep it so red. When she’d been out here before Jesse got busted, she’d wanted to frolic with the chickens. Watching them dart all over the pen on their fat little legs made her smile. She wondered if they laid eggs and the whole chicken bit.

  Did the Walkers butcher them?

  Could she eat a meal knowing she’d played with it a few weeks prior?

  She’d never had so much as a fish. Pets weren’t allowed and since she still lived at home, she had to follow the rules.

  A cat raced into the barn. The doors were spread wide open. She parked by Brock’s large pickup and got out.

  When she glanced back to the barn, Brock was lounging against the doorframe.

  A grungy white rag hung out of the belt loop of his jeans. His standard Ford hat was back on. No wonder she’d had such a hard time concentrating with him in proximity the day before. Without the protection of his ball cap, she got the full effect of his piercing blue eyes and could hardly keep her mind off of running her hands through his mane.

  He either had only one black T-shirt he wore all the time, or eighty of them. No complaints from her because the way it molded over his muscles was better than a muscle-head calendar.

  The smell of wildflowers carried on the gentle breeze. For once, the weather wasn’t going to skyrocket into the nineties and the day would be more bearable than the previous couple of weeks.

  “Come to look at my collection?”

  Not just the cars. “I had a little time before I left town.”

  “Did you hear back from Mr. Blackwood yet?”

  “Did you spend all night awake wondering?”

  “Yes.”

  She actually believed him. “Are you so sure he rejected your offer?”

  “Did you get to see it?”

  She nodded.

  He scrubbed his hands off on the rag. “He didn’t like my answers. Seemed to assume I was going to fix it up and sell it to the highest bidder.”

  Exactly what Bill planned. Only he was going to play the bidders to squeeze out every dollar possible.

  “Aren’t you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  When he didn’t offer any more, she walked past him into the barn. “You have more cars in the big shop?”

  “The long garage, yeah.”

  Why was he finicky on what it was called? He started across the yard to the rectangular building. She had to trot to catch up, glad she was back in shorts and slip-ons. Dressing up might be okay once in a while, but not when it was to go to court.

  A graveled stretch ran from the barn to the shop. Must be hell in winter to move snow. Her dad manned their mediocre snowblower while she shoveled and it sucked to do a small driveway and sidewalk.

  He keyed in a number on the entry door.

  “Why not lock the barn?”

  “We did before we caught Jesse.”

  A pang of grief hit her heart.

  “But,” he continued as if he’d said nothing out of the ordinary, “there’s no reason to get electronic security for the barn and it’s a pain in the ass to lock it, so I’ve been leaving it.”

  He opened the door for her and as she passed, he stared at the ground.

  When he was talking directly to her, he would make eye contact, but if he was casually chatting, she didn’t get his full attention.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t oblivious to what was going on around him. It just didn’t seem like eye contact was as critical to him.

  The few windows lining the building let in enough sunshine that she clearly saw three cars and two tractors parked in the place.

  One of the tractors had a bucket, which answered her snow removal question. The other appeared to be a John Deere riding lawn mower. It was much fancier than the dilapidated push mower she used, but necessary for a spread like his.

  “What’s your role in the Walker Five? Don’t you guys farm?”

  “Yes. I’m the mechanic, too.”

  She should’ve guessed it wouldn’t just be a hobby for him.

  “But I help out in the fields and with the cattle when I’m needed. I grew up farming like the others, but we’ve separated our roles based on individual strengths and location.”

  Imagining his strong body swinging up into a tractor and heading out to the field topped her hot guy fantasy list. Along with him swinging up on a horse. “Location? Don’t you all live here?”

  Brock pointed in the general direction of the main road. “Dillon is closest to the highway, with Cash right across from him with the cattle.” He switched to point the opposite direction. “Aaron and Travis are on either side of the dead end. Most of our farmable land is close to them, so they house the biggest equipment, like the combines.”

  She wandered among the vehicles. The shop’s setup left her drooling. Her dad’s heart would seize in pure envy if he saw this place. The cars were each parked in a stall and there was a stall that sat empty with a full service oil changing station.

  Brock explained each detail as he shadowed her though the place. She had to smile. How many others would be bored shitless by the second vehicle’s specs being rundown with complete precision. But she thrived on it, knew exactly what he was talking about.

  He ran a hand over the fender of a black Boss with lime green detailing. “This is waiting for a guy from Missouri to drive up and get her.”

  She held up her hand for him to stop, and he promptly fell quiet. “So you do sell your collection.”

  “I can’t afford to refurbish Mustangs and keep them all. I’d be out of room.”

  But not money because the Walkers were obviously profitable in farming. “Then Mr. Blackwood was right to suspect you of wanting his Shelby only so you could profit.”

  “No. If he thinks that, he’s wrong.”

  Peeking into the Boss, she let her gaze dance over the immaculate interior. “Why do you want it again?”

  “My dad always talked about working on a ’68 Shelby GT500. It was the year he was born.”

  Ah, now she understood. The dad and cars thing, that was why she used the lie on Mr. Blackwood. “You two would work on it together. Bonding time.”

  The flurry of emotions that streaked through his features caught her by surprise. It was like he didn’t know how to answer. “I thought maybe he’d come help out some weekends.”

  “Doesn’t he come visit otherwise?” She should talk. Look at Bill’s stellar visiting record with Jesse. Nada.

  “No.”

  She drifted around the car, but surreptitiously studied him. How far could she push it? And why’d she find Brock so fascinating? She should be halfway to Waite Park by now. “Are you two close?”

  “He doesn’t get me.”

  She released a delicate snort. “Join the club.”

  He abandoned the car and approached the workbench to put away some tools lying out. As he opened drawers to a standing toolbox, he asked, “Really?”

  “Yup. He’s a little old fashioned. It was one thing to let me help him and follow him to tool shops and car garages, but then I hit my teens, and nope. Not gonna take the little lady anywhere.” She chuckled. “At least I learned to cook since I was stuck with my mom.”

  Her smile died. If only she’d known then that those moments were ones she’d cherish the most. Without Bill�
�s bigoted attitude, she would’ve lost out on all those experiences.

  “What do you cook?”

  The question struck her as odd. They’d talked only about cars and whether she was in his barn or not until this point. And her brother. His question moved into the more personal realm, but his tone wasn’t flirty. Just simple. She said she cooked and he wanted to know what.

  “Everything. She was an all-American woman with Italian and Hispanic roots. Her manicotti was worth committing homicide for. My brother’s dad was from Mexico, so she learned to cook a lot from his family.” Jesse’s dad had sounded like a good guy. If he’d still been alive, no way would Jesse have gotten into the trouble he had. “She taught me how to make real tortillas. The real thing. I can’t even with the store bought ones.”

  “I don’t eat those.”

  He was still shifting through his tools, his back to her. She tried to discern his tone. It wasn’t derogatory like how Gage would often say things to her. Especially about her opinions.

  Brock didn’t really have a tone. Just stated a fact. He didn’t eat tortillas.

  “What do you eat?” This was not the day she imagined. She was hanging with a Walker on a Friday afternoon talking about food.

  Not just any Walker, either, but the gearhead. And he was listing the food he ate.

  “Chicken. Peanut butter and jelly. Pancakes, eggs, and sausage. Mac and cheese. If I go to town, I stick with a burger and fries.”

  “From a farmer, you don’t eat much that grows from the soil,” she said wryly.

  “Oh, I eat from the garden all the time. We’ll grab a few ears of corn when they’re ripe,” he continued without missing a beat. “When we grow sunflowers, we always roast a couple of heads to make homemade sunflower seeds. Travis and Aaron tend large gardens and give me what I don’t grow. I raise the chickens for eggs and meat.”

  “What about the winter?”

  “Then we buy vegetables at the store. We can’t grow everything.”

  She chuckled. He was so literal.

  A brief tightening of his shoulders was the only sign she might’ve done something that bothered him, but it passed quickly. He didn’t ask any more questions.

  “What’d I say?” She walked to stand next to him. “I feel like I did something wrong.”

  “You didn’t.”

  In front of him was a line-up of vehicle fluids. Anything a vehicle could need. Oil, antifreeze, window washer fluid—all organized neat and tidy, by fluid type.

  “Well, if I did, I’m sorry.” So close to him, she was struck by the urge to touch him, to reach out and put her hand on top of his. Whatever would keep her in his warm shadow.

  “It’s not you, it’s me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He pointed to his head. “I don’t always get people.”

  “There’s nothing about me to get.”

  He studied her, then looked away. Why was it when she had his full attention it was like someone turned on a sunlamp? And she wanted to bask in the glow for hours.

  “Why do you say that?” Genuine curiosity was in his voice.

  She sidled closer to him. “I’m pretty straightforward.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “What?”

  He pivoted his whole body until they were face to face. “You lied about being in the barn.”

  “I thought it was your shop.”

  “It is.”

  She broke into a laugh and snaked her arms around his neck. Not usually the one to make the first move, she realized it was because it hadn’t been as important to her as now whether a guy kissed her or not.

  His gaze fell to her lips, then rose back to her eyes.

  She pulled his head toward her and he came willingly. Their lips touched.

  He was warm and masculine. Increasing pressure, she pressed against him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  Oh, man. This guy was something else. His hard body called to every feminine cell in her. Hell with the third date rule, which she’d always stretched to a month of dating; she’d jump into the closest backseat with Brock.

  His hands splayed over her ass and she groaned. He encompassed her as she curled into him. Their tongues met and the kiss deepened. If he felt this divine in clothing, how would he feel with no shirt?

  Was it too soon? Did she care? In his arms, she wasn’t worried about her dad’s failing business, or her brother’s legal troubles, or her own uncertain future. In Brock’s embrace, she found comfort, and his delectable body wasn’t the only reason. It was how he made her feel.

  Like Josie. Not Jesse’s little sister. Not Bill’s little girl.

  She fisted her hands in his shirt material and started pulling.

  The sound of an engine broke into the quiet of the shop. She moaned in frustration and Brock pulled back, his attention focused on the door.

  Unlike him, she needed time to recover from the power of their quick make-out session. But he still held her. Until he broke away to go to the door after what sounded like a massive engine parked outside. The way he walked, like he was slightly stiff and had a few too many, was exactly what she’d look like if she tried to move. Dazed and wanting to go back to what they’d been doing. Is that how he felt, what he wanted?

  Still, she needed a few seconds to gather herself. Her lips tingled and her body sang where he had been touching her.

  The engine still idled and whatever it was, was even larger than a pickup. She trailed Brock out into the sun and squinted and shaded her eyes. The summer heat seeped in to replace Brock’s touch. It wasn’t the same, but helped preserve the moment.

  A large red tractor jumped to life and the driver—her heart sank. Dillon Walker. He waved at Brock as he maneuvered the beast around to hook up to a wide rack of…she had no clue. The rack was formed in a U, but must lay out flat once they were in the field.

  Round cylinders made up the back end of the red beast with wheels taller than she was. Sprayers. Of course. They must contain pesticide or fertilizer, or whatever farmers treated their crops with.

  When Dillon spotted her, the whole operation stopped. She steeled herself for a showdown. His gaze went from her Mustang to Brock. Her mechanic was heading to the sprayers to help hook them up.

  Even enclosed in the cab of the tractor that had to be eight feet off the ground, it was obvious as Dillon’s jaw clenched and he shook his head.

  Well, that was a cold splash of water.

  What was she doing crushing on Brock Walker? Her brother had committed a serious crime against his family. What did she think would happen? That his family would welcome her in and encourage them to start dating? Brock dropped her like she was hot as soon as Dillon arrived. Not even a thanks babe.

  The tractor was between her and her car, so she made a wide swath around it.

  She was about to open the door when she heard her name. She spun around and jumped.

  Brock was behind her, his hand on the car frame. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve gotta go, Brock.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  Her heart leapt. He hadn’t discarded her. Yet, he’d acted like they hadn’t been interrupted doing anything as soon as Dillon arrived.

  “Would it do any good for us to see each other? Your cousins hate me.”

  “Why would they hate you?”

  “I’m Jesse’s sister. And I was in your barn so I could ogle your collection.” There. She admitted it. The dog got his bone. How would he react?

  He frowned. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

  “You mean when you tackled me and called the cops?”

  He nodded, like yes, exactly that.

  Apparently, sarcasm was lost on this guy. “I thought I would get in trouble. I mean, look who’s my brother.”

  “But you like Mustangs.”

  Huh. She’d confessed and he was good with it and had moved on? That easily? She was liking how he operated more and more. “I
do, and I don’t get to work on them like I’d like to.”

  “Next time you’re in town, come over.”

  Pure joy could’ve rivaled the sun. His offer sounded better than any date she’d been on.

  She glanced over her shoulder where Dillon waited in the tractor and watched them, his look disapproving.

  “Tell your family that Jesse is my half-brother, so I have no claim on the land.”

  “You wouldn’t have a claim anyway.”

  Again, stated like a fact. God, he was blunt.

  “Whatever. Good-bye, Brock.”

  As she pulled way, there was no farmer in her review mirror. He’d turned back to help Dillon. By the time she’d turned onto the gravel road, Dillon had climbed out of the tractor, no doubt to gather every detail.

  She blew out a breath. What an emotional few days.

  Her phone rang. Mr. Blackwell.

  She answered and he broke right in. “I’ve made my decision, Miss Alvarez. You can buy the Shelby, but I ain’t dealing. It’s the price I set, or nothing.”

  She briefly closed her eyes, tempted to pull over so she could keep them closed and rub her temples.

  “It’s a deal. Thank you, Mr. Blackwell. I’ll call as soon as I can make it down to pick it up.”

  After she hung up, her guilt bloomed. Her dad was going to flip that car so fast, the paint would barely dry before the check was in Bill’s hands. Sentiment was not an issue for him.

  The stories Mr. Blackwell had shared plagued her all the way home. She should just tell Bill that she never got a call, Mr. Blackwell must not have been impressed. But the older man had had his time with the car, his wife was gone, while her dad was here and in financial trouble.

  Chapter Six

  After Josie got home, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the Shelby yet. To stall, she told her dad she hadn’t heard from Mr. Blackwell and went to her room. Her neighbor called and asked her to watch her older kids again for a few hours in the morning while she took little Mason to the doctor. She always told Penny not to pay her, but the woman never listened. That money would go to Josie’s travel fund.