Mustang Summer

by Marie Johnston

  If he’d had any other expression on his face when he left, she might’ve been more offended. But how he’d acted during the storm and mentioning their crops, he must have a lot on his mind.

  Really, it should bother her. But his behavior didn’t. She didn’t take it personally and it was refreshing to be given space. He understood she didn’t need her hand held through life. She’d never been a needy girlfriend and had resented being treated like one.

  By the time she reached the upstairs, the water switched off. As she was looking for a room to set her stuff in, or wait for her turn, he came out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips. His black hair was slicked back, leaving his eyes clear to register his surprise at her hanging out in the doorway to the bedroom.

  “I…” She licked her lips because in the light of day, Brock with no clothes was positively delectable. “I was wondering where I could put my backpack, but if the bathroom’s open…”

  Had he expected her to take off? To wait downstairs? She’d ask, but that seemed more awkward.

  He gestured to the bathroom. “I’m done. Just need to grab a bite before I go out and see what damage was done to the buildings. The guys are meeting me to inspect the fields.” He paused, looking past her into the bedroom but not focused on anything. His brow crinkled as he seemed to come to a decision. “Are you hungry?”

  “Do you want me to stay for breakfast?” she asked cautiously. Why was he acting…odder than usual?

  “Yes.” His quick answer lifted the weight off her chest.

  “Are you sure?” she prompted with a smile.

  He scowled. “Yes.”

  Her smile faded. “Is everything okay?”

  “No. Before I meet my cousins I have to check the chickens, and go look at the siding, make sure none of the windows are cracked, then there’s the trees—”

  “You’re worried.”

  His mouth snapped shut and he nodded. “Yeah, I’m worried.”

  He said it like he was relieved she had identified what he was feeling, as if he couldn’t do it himself. What had she read when she’d Googled Mason’s diagnosis? Something with emotions… She’d have to look again; she couldn’t ask. How do you come out and say, Hey, has anyone diagnosed you with anything?

  “Okay. I’ll shower while you get breakfast ready. Do you mind if I go around with you to look at everything?” She glanced at the clock on his living room wall. “At least until I can go visit Jesse before I leave town.”

  His cousins probably didn’t want her along when they checked their fields, although she was curious about what the aftermath looked like.

  “That’s fine.” He shifted out of the way so she could use the bathroom. As she passed, she meant to give him a demure smile because last night was the most amazing night ever, but his gaze wasn’t on her. Like it hadn’t been most of the morning. Was his reaction all nerves, or something else?

  She went through her routine in the strange bathroom, but surrounded by his stuff, it felt right. His bathroom was only slightly larger than the one in her old house, but it was comfortable. Earth tones with soft lights cast a peaceful atmosphere—for a bathroom, but there was track lighting she could use above the mirror if she wanted.

  He seemed to have a thing for neutral colors and soft materials. His towels were as plush as the carpeting, definitely more expensive than the ones she’d bought on clearance.

  Colors. Sounds. Wasn’t that common for someone on the autism spectrum? But engines didn’t bother him. Was it because they were predictable? Or because they didn’t herald possible income loss and property damage like a storm? Maybe both. Looking her in the eyes seemed to be an issue. It wasn’t like he avoided it, he just…didn’t always look at her. She was curious to see how he acted in a crowd, or when making small talk. He tended to be on the literal side and didn’t read the subtleties of speech too well. When she got home, she was going to have a heyday on “Dr. Google” trying to figure out Brock Walker.

  If she just asked him, would he tell her?

  What if she asked him and he had no idea what she was talking about? Insulting.

  Feeling much better after cleaning up and donning new clothes, she twisted her hair into double ponytails. It was too short to pull back into one. She hefted her pack and walked out.

  “What smells so good?” She wandered into the kitchen.

  Brock, back in another black T-shirt and blue jeans, was at the stove, pushing food around. “Eggs and sausage.”

  “Is that like a farm-standard breakfast?” She dropped her pack and settled on a barstool. Her stomach rumbled. She grabbed a banana from the middle of the island.

  “I have it every morning.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  Munching on her banana, she adjusted in her seat, attacked by a sudden case of self-consciousness. Sleeping over with Brock hadn’t entered her mind when she’d packed, so she wore an old blue college T-shirt and black basketball shorts. And her only shoes were the sandals down by the door.

  Glamorous.

  Brock switched the stove off and separated the food onto two plates that already had tomato slices on them.

  “Homegrown?” she asked.

  “The eggs and tomatoes, yes.”

  She smiled at him when he pushed the plate in front of her, but he wasn’t looking. Oh, okay. She dug into her eggs, but she curled in on herself. What was it with this bout of insecurity? Maybe Brock was fine about what happened last night and it was her.

  They ate in silence. He was a fast eater and was up and washing dishes before half her food was gone.

  She finished chewing her mouthful and pushed another forkful around. “You’re welcome to sit with me until I’m done.”

  “I have to get outside and check out the damage.”

  Her shoulders slumped a little more. “Oh. Okay.”

  Had she expected him to change after a few rounds of spectacular sex? What if he couldn’t change?

  Setting her fork down, she summoned any knowledge she gained from an hour of web searching. Determined to get to the bottom of his behavior, she asked, “Do you like me?”

  That earned her another surprised look as his brows popped up. “Yeah, of course I do.” His tone bordered on incredulous.

  “So last night wasn’t just because of the storm?”

  “Why would the storm have anything to do with it? I like you, Josie.”

  He didn’t drop eye contact and she was afraid to blink and break it.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. She waited and after a few heartbeats, he finally spoke. “When you want something, you need to tell me. I’m not good at taking hints. If you want to know something, you need to ask. I’m not good at guessing.” He shoved his hand through his hair and dropped his gaze to the counter. “I’m not good at saying what I should when I should. Or not saying what I shouldn’t.”

  The muscle in his jaw flexed. Did it bother him that he might be upsetting her? Unable to come and ask about her suspicions, she took another route.

  “Do girls usually get mad at you and think you’re an insensitive jerk?”

  The muscle flexed again. “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t and they were stupid.” She got up and went around the island. The subject was dropped—for now. She had a better understanding of him. “Thank you for letting me know what I need to do and I’ll try not to act like a nag.”

  His voice dropped low. “You’re not a nag. I like you, Josie. I…liked last night.”

  Just like that, her core began to tingle and she rose to her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Want to do it again?”

  Chapter Nine

  Brock zipped himself up and swallowed at the sight of Josie’s round bottom bending over to pick up her shorts. Red marks from the imprint of the counter as he’d plunged into her were still stark on her skin.

  He’d never had so much sex in such a small window of time, wouldn’t have known he was capable of g
etting off so much, but all that had been missing was the ravishing car lover.

  If she produced any more condoms from that backpack of hers…

  He’d told her what he needed and she’d been okay with it. They were stupid. He’d come close to spontaneously combusting when she’d said that. Because that’s what the few girls he’d tried to have a relationship with had told him, that he was stupid. But Josie didn’t say it about him.

  His lips curved slightly as Josie shimmied into her bottoms.

  She was something.

  He waited while she gobbled down his cooking and washed her dishes. She hadn’t complained about his routines. He wasn’t obsessive compulsive, he could change it up, but…he’d rather not. If she asked, he would, though.

  The dishes were put away and she spun around. “Ready.”

  Outside, the morning was fresh. The day would be a warm one, but without the moisture in the air like yesterday.

  “Wow, look at all those leaves.” Josie stopped next to him and curved her hand into his elbow.

  “The wind can do as much damage as hail.” Judging from his yard, their crops would be ugly.

  Branches of all sizes scattered his property, blown off the trees and over the inner row of bushes. The top third of at least one evergreen rested by the garden. A topmost shutter hung off the barn to leave a gaping black hole. Maybe some hail had gotten inside. Damn. He should’ve covered the cars with a tarp, but he hadn’t been thinking. After his tryst with Josie, he’d noticed the weather and thought locking up the barn would be enough.

  From his vantage point, a glaring amount of dents peppered the shop. Large rents in the trim around the door and windows glinted in the sun.

  “Fuck,” he ripped off his hat and slapped in on his thigh. A move he’d picked up from his dad, who’d picked it up from Gramps. It helped release his frustration.

  “Doesn’t look as bad as I thought it’d be.” Josie shoved her hands in her baggy shorts’ pockets and wandered around.

  “The garage roof will need to be replaced. Probably the barn. And the house. Dammit. We just had a giant insurance claim and had to buy new equipment because of your brother. Our main source of income might be crushed by hail in the field.”

  Josie spun to face him, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, Brock. I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” he grumbled and stomped off to start inspecting the buildings.

  Josie hung behind, but followed him.

  The chickens were first. He dug out their water bins and filled them up. Some minor fencing issues were all he found, but nothing urgent. The chickens were contained and fed; he moved on.

  Josie stayed at the fence watching the chickens while he peeked inside the barn. More leaves and small branches littered the inside, but if any hail had gotten blown in, he couldn’t see any damage. Some water spots on the ground hadn’t evaporated yet, but he wasn’t worried about rain on the cars.

  Josie appeared from behind the barn as he came out. He waited for her before leading her to the garage. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. They circled the large, rectangular building. Brock ran his hand along the steel siding and it bumped and jumped over the dents. The west side that faced into the wind was the worst.

  His stress level climbed another notch.

  Going inside, he opened one of the large overhead doors. Locating the ladder hanging on the wall, he heaved it up and hauled it outside. Careful of the gutters, he leaned it against the roof and scaled it to the top.

  The black shingles were already heating up. He paced the length of the building on one side of the peak. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard scraping sounds behind him.

  Josie hopped up and looked around. His mouth quirked. If any of his cousins followed him like she had all morning, he’d have bitten their head off by now and figured out a reason to go do…something. Something by himself.

  “Tread carefully,” he warned. “Those sandals are probably slippery as hell, but you shouldn’t go barefoot. The roof might be too hot on your feet.”

  “Wish I packed my other shoes, but…” She peered around. “What are you looking for?”

  “Missing shingles. We’ll probably find chunks in the grass. Bald shingles. I doubt there’ll be any holes. From the sounds of it last night, I doubt the hail was bigger than golf-ball size.”

  He finished his inspection and helped Josie off the roof before relocating his ladder to the house.

  “I’ll sit this one out and see how the garden held up.” Josie drifted toward the beat-up plot of land he’d had some nice produce growing in.

  From the roof, the damage visible in the garden probably foreshadowed their crops.

  It was turning into a financially shitty year. Par for the course, but still sucked.

  The shingles under his feet were torn and missing pieces. At the bottom of the gutters, small piles of asphalt debris that’d been pounded off the coating of the shingles soaked into the grass.

  What a mess. The next round of mowing would clean up the yard, and he could live with a beat to hell garage, but the roofs would need replacing.

  He heard the engine before Cash’s truck pulled in. Brock glanced down to where Josie stood frozen in the middle of tamped down peas.

  Brock had seen enough, the insurance agent could do the rest. He scrambled down the ladder in time to hear Cash’s angry question.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Cash’s truck door slammed. He hadn’t even parked by any of the buildings but hopped out as soon he’d seen Josie.

  Brock jumped off the ladder the rest of the way as Josie answered, “None of your business.”

  “Brock, what’s this about?” Cash’s arms were spread as he approached them.

  Josie stayed in the garden. She held the bottom hem of her shirt to form a bowl. The rounded forms of tomatoes rested in her makeshift pouch.

  Brock ignored the question and brushed his hands off on his pants. If Cash couldn’t figure out what Josie was doing here, he wasn’t going to spell it out. “Are we inspecting crops already?”

  His cousin was glaring at Josie. “Yeah. What’s going on, Brock? Did she stay the night? Are you two…”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck, man. What are you thinking?”

  “I can hear you!” Josie was stomping in their direction.

  “Good,” Cash hollered back. “Then you can tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “Josie is none of your business.”

  Cash whipped his gaze back to him.

  Brock nodded. “And treat Josie with respect. The Walkers always act like gentlemen.”

  He might have quoted his mother, and maybe it wasn’t exactly the right time, but he didn’t like his family being rude to Josie.

  Cash stared at him and Josie stopped several feet away.

  “So that’s how it is?” He shook his head and made a disgusted noise. “I hope you’re using protection. I wouldn’t put it past the family to try to get their claws into the land anyway they can.”

  Josie’s indignant gasp sparked Brock’s anger. He lunged until he was up in his cousin’s face. Cash’s only reaction was his mouth dropping open. Brock rarely got aggressive and he hated arguing with his cousins.

  “She’s no relation to Gram’s first husband and I told you to quit insulting her.”

  Cash snapped his mouth shut, but didn’t back down. “You’re willing to risk it. Look around you, Brock. Look at what an hour of bad weather did. And we’re barely going to recover without drowning in debt because of her brother.”

  “She’s not her brother,” Brock gritted out.

  “Look,” Josie shouldered between them. One hand still held produce in her shirt while she used her shoulder to push Brock away and her other hand was in Cash’s face to keep him from advancing. “I’m gonna go visit that brother you despise so much because I love him dearly, criminal record or not. You two deal with your issues.”

  She turned her back to Cash and
jiggled her stash. “These’ll be on your counter. I’ll call you later.”

  He met her halfway for a kiss, which she deepened by pulling him as close to her as possible without busting tomatoes.

  They broke apart and she marched off.

  Cash was staring at Brock and shaking his head. “It’s not going to turn out well, dude.”

  “How do you know?”

  “No good relationship starts out with a woman who broke into your property.”

  Brock’s only thought was, The door had been unlocked.

  ***

  “Not you, too.” Josie’s head was planted in her hands with her elbows resting on the table in the visitor’s room at the jail.

  “A fucking Walker, Josie,” Jesse hissed to keep his voice down. “What are you thinking?”

  “He’s a good guy.”

  “Yeah, they’re all saints.” Bitterness dripped from his words. He rolled his neck and dropped his head back to stare at the stark ceiling. This room was too familiar, the routine one she knew too well. The people working at the jail even asked how she was doing and they’d chatted about the storm.

  Bringing his head forward, Jesse sighed. “Does he treat you right?”

  “So far. He even faced off with his cousin Cash about me.” A shot of pride zinged through her. Calm, literal Brock had been willing to throw down for her honor—and hadn’t been offended when she’d butted between them.

  “Already more than Gage would do for you,” he said drily.

  “You never liked Gage. Why didn’t you warn me?” She choked back a laugh.

  “I only did a hundred times. ‘That guy’s wacked, Jo. Gage is a giant pussy, Jo. I don’t think Gage can keep his dick in his pants, Jo.’”

  “You were right about it all.” She reclined back in her hard, metal chair with padding that hadn’t seen any fluff since the seventies. “Wait until I tell you the latest.”

  Jesse’s eyes grew wide as she informed him of Bill’s illegal borrowing and Gage’s smugness.