Mustang Summer (The Walker Five Book 2)

by Marie Johnston

  His voice came out gruff and the way she peered at him, she must suspect he was angry or infatuated. And she was probably right on both accounts.

  “It’s a nice hunk of metal.” Her tone lightened, but she didn’t offer a deeper explanation.

  He studied her car. He was more of a collector guy, but there was no doubt her ride was sweet. Sleek, hot, and fast…like the girl behind the wheel.

  “You like Mustangs,” he said.

  “Um, they’re nice cars.” Her tone was odd, but he couldn’t identify it.

  “That’s why you were in my barn.”

  “I thought it was your shop.”

  “It is.”

  She stared at him and like always, he couldn’t figure out what he’d said wrong.

  “How can it be your barn and your shop at the same time?” Who’d want to work in a barn?

  “It was a barn first, and part of it still is, but it functions mostly as a shop.”

  “What about the large shop you have all locked up?”

  That wasn’t a shop, it was his long garage. Something in her words stalled him. “How’d you know it was locked?”

  Her eyes briefly widened, then she turned a stunning smile back on him. “Because you would’ve been worried about it the day you tackled me in the field. How is Deputy Max, by the way?”

  “Dunno. Were you really in my barn to look at my Mustangs?”

  She leaned out. “I’m just a little girl, why would I have a thing for Mustangs?”

  “Being a girl doesn’t matter for whether you like cars or not.”

  “Tell that to my dad and my ex,” she muttered as she turned back to look out the windshield. She pushed in the clutch and wiggled the gearshift, but didn’t put it into gear. “I hate to cut our chit chat short, but I gotta go sweet talk this guy.”

  A dull ache settled in Brock’s chest. His dad rarely came back to Moore, but Brock had hoped he’d come back and help him work on the ’68.

  “Later, Brock Walker.” Her purr was smoother than the engine as she threw it in gear and took off.

  He was left with a mouthful of dust and the strangest sense of loss. Over the car or the girl?

  Chapter Four

  “Yer late.”

  Josie crawled out of her ride and wiped her sweaty palms down her shorts. Brock with his standard black Ford ball cap and tight fitting T-shirt was enough to make a girl quiver for hours—and he’d done nothing more than sit in his truck.

  Her second encounter with him and again she’d felt more at ease around him than around anyone at home. Like she didn’t have to put on a show or defend herself. He took her as she was. How liberating. He didn’t even seem upset about her in his barn, other than that she’d lied about it. He was almost more interested in her love for the cars.

  Too bad her journey would bring her smack dab into his family drama and announce how off limits she was.

  She flashed Mr. Blackwood her most winning smile. Charming stubborn men was second nature, a way of life. “I stopped to talk to an old friend at the corner. He must’ve just been here. Brock Walker?”

  Mr. Blackwood grunted. “That boy had dollar signs in his eyes.”

  Brock? Her farm boy had the clear blue sky in his guileless eyes. She had to resist telling Mr. Blackwood that Brock was the least greedy man she’d ever met. He drove a nice truck, an expensive one, but after seeing the Walker Five operation, even the city girl in her knew he needed it for work. His barn was tidy and kept up, but not fancy. His real shop was probably high-end, but like his other possessions, she was sure it was useful and well cared for.

  Then there was his house. Well-maintained, but older than her and on the small side. She doubted it was worth much more than the car Mr. Blackwood was so picky about selling.

  “I don’t know him that well,” she admitted more because she needed every advantage and couldn’t have Brock dragging her down in Mr. Blackwood’s opinion. What had Brock done to wedge himself under Mr. Blackwood’s skin?

  The old man harrumphed and led her to the porch. She made sure to sit without being overtly sexy, not an easy thing with her curves.

  “What do you know about the ’68 Shelby GT500?”

  She raked a hand through her hair. “Well, it’s fifty years older than mine. As far as the engines go, they both demand r-e-s-p-e-c-t. Damn fine horses under the hood.”

  He sipped his lemonade, his expression clearly unsure how to deal with her. “Why do you want the car?”

  This question she was prepared for. The forums she’d studied bitched about Mr. Blackwood, but she thought it obvious the sale of the car was much like finding a new owner for a beloved dog one could no longer care for. It meant something and he wanted it to mean something to the new owner. “Fixing up cars is a passion I share with my dad. He’s always talked about this one. It’s his birth year.” Well, if you added three years. “My mom passed away last year and he’s just…kind of lost.”

  To be honest, her dad had been lost for years, but her mother had kept him on the most legal path she could.

  Mr. Blackwood reclined in his chair, spacing off into the distance. “I bought it as soon as it rolled off the line. My wife said it was the envy of the county, but I always thought it was my passenger who was.”

  His faint smile tore at her heart. His love for his wife almost did her in, made her tell him to keep the car far away from her father. Otherwise, it’d be painted a different color and shipped off to the highest bidder.

  The man was selling memories of his wife and she could appeal to those as sick as it made her. “I’m sure you were right.”

  His gaze was faraway, nostalgic. “We were married sixty years. That car carried kids and grandbabies, but my wife passed and I’ve got to find a place for the Shelby before I go.”

  Oh. God. She wanted to run back home, inform Bill it was no use, Mr. Blackwood didn’t think she was worthy. But she’d done the books. The business was close to financial ruin. The further under he got, the more he turned to the illegal chop shop business. She’d heard rumors, those involved could be nasty individuals. She couldn’t lose Bill, too.

  “Come on. Let’s go have a look.”

  She stuffed down her intention to decline and followed him to his garage. Inside was the faded Mustang that represented so many of this man’s happy memories.

  Her phone vibrated and she took it out of her pocket for a quick peek.

  Got it yet?

  A groan rose. Dragging in a calming breath, she told herself that it was a pile of metal. Bill was a real living person and he was in financial trouble. And he was her only family left. Out of jail, that was.

  Mr. Blackwood chattered on about the car and she’d insert questions, not about the beauty or the work it needed, but about details that would spur memories and stories.

  She was emotionally ragged and nauseous by the time she left two hours later. Mr. Blackwood had said he’d think on it and call her if he wanted to sell.

  Her phone rang again before she hit blacktop and she had a mini heart attack. She couldn’t face completing her mission yet.

  “Yeah.”

  “What took you so long?” Bill growled.

  “He liked to talk about his car.” And she liked hearing the stories. The closest foray into masochism she’d ever do, but as much as they fueled her guilt, she loved hearing about Mr. Blackwood’s happy ever after. Her mother hadn’t gotten hers, and even if she’d survived her heart attack, Josie doubted her life would’ve been as satisfying as that of Mr. Blackwood’s late wife. Not the way Bill had treated her.

  “Did you get it?” Bill asked.

  “Not yet. He’s gotta think on it.”

  “Why? It’s a fucking car.”

  She mentally sighed. If she had said “fucking,” he would’ve chided her about her language. “He’s attached to it, but I think he liked me.”

  That pacified her father. “When you gonna be home?”

  “Jesse’s court date is tomorrow
at eleven. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I got a room for tomorrow night just in case.”

  “What the fuck, Josie. You don’t need to waste more money on his dumbass choices.”

  What the fuck, Bill, you raised him, too. Jesse might not be Bill’s by blood, but Jesse and all of his impulsive, poor choices came straight from Bill.

  “It’s Moore. A room hardly costs a thing.” And the kindly desk clerk called her honey like a stereotypical small-town grandma.

  Bill sucked in a breath. Voices came over the phone. She recognized Gage’s, but not the other one.

  “I got to go, Josie. You take care. Call me as soon as you hear from the old man.”

  She disconnected and tossed her phone onto the passenger seat. Call him if she heard about the damn car, but not after Jesse’s court hearing.

  The older she got, the more disgusted she was with Bill. She often marveled over how different they looked, with his thinning, dirty blond hair and stocky body. Both Josie and her brother had taken after their mom. And Josie had inherited a decent-sized dose of conscience from her mother, bless her soul.

  Josie let the tears roll as the standard pangs of longing plagued her all the way to Moore. Her dad had always been her dad, but she’d had her mom as a refuge. The calm within the madness.

  Don’t pay him no mind, Josephina. Grab your apron and help me out here.

  A hot tear rolled down one cheek. Had she cooked at all since the funeral?

  No, not even for Gage, who’d showed his true colors shortly after. Once she broke things off with Gage, the troubles with her brother had started as he’d grown angrier and more sullen.

  She’d had no idea he’d do what he’d done. It wasn’t Jesse, not the laughing boy who’d donned a frilly apron to help out in the kitchen whenever their mother started one of her cooking sprees.

  Billboards dotted the highway. A few more miles and she’d be in Moore. Her only plan was to abuse the cable in her motel room as she vegged out for the rest of the night.

  She parked by the office of the tiny motel. She counted the rooms and there couldn’t be more than fifteen, but this place was the cheapest.

  Her room was next to the office so she didn’t have to move her car. It’d be a little conspicuous, but with a swirl, her nervous stomach informed her she wasn’t here to hide. She’d be seeing Brock Walker tomorrow at eleven.

  ***

  Brock caught a ride with Aaron and Travis. Dillon and Elle were going to pick up Cash. Most of the vandalism during the spring had been done to Dillon’s place, but it had affected all of them.

  “How long do you think this’ll take?” Aaron’s profile was grim from where Brock sat in the backseat of the quad cab pickup.

  Travis was in the passenger seat. “A couple days, maybe. I’ve never been to court, though, so I don’t know.”

  “Dillon said it might only be a day,” Brock said. “It’s a pretty clear-cut case and the guy’s being really stubborn with his lawyer.”

  “What a fucking mess.” Aaron reached to adjust his hat, but dropped his hand. “I can’t believe he has the balls to plead not-guilty.”

  None of them were wearing their trademark ball caps. Court was as serious as church.

  “Right,” Travis agreed. “I mean, if his family had a legitimate claim on the land…but Gram’s first husband died and rightly left it to her.”

  “Then two generations later, one of ’em picks a beef with the grandkid?” Aaron shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “He probably stuck to his not-guilty plea, hoping for a better deal.”

  “Glad they didn’t give it to him. Dillon’s lawyer has his shit together and is really sticking it to the asshole. Gotta love his speed, too.”

  Travis chuckled. “Small town law.”

  Brock nodded. They’d lost some serious dollars in equipment when Jesse Rodriguez burned down Dillon’s shop. Then he’d almost torched Dillon’s truck, and that was when he’d been busted.

  “I should be working,” Aaron muttered.

  “We all should.” Travis tapped his tablet. He was always working. Their personal Einstein of the farming business was never seen without a gadget in his hand and it wasn’t for the latest fad game. “How’s Uncle David?”

  “Ornery,” Aaron replied. “When we all took over the operation and our parents moved out, I didn’t expect me to be the one with the empty nest filling back up—with my damn parents.”

  Travis paused in his work. “Think they’ll move back?”

  Aaron shrugged. “Who knows. Mom’s not used to Dad being around all the time and Dad’s not used to time on his hands.” He went quiet for a moment. “I told them to move back home.”

  “You’re never going to find someone to settle with when you still live with your parents.” Travis’s tone was dry.

  “No shit. But I’d rather have my parents not trying to kill each other.”

  Brock nodded, more to himself. They were all close to their parents. Their whole extended family was close. A divorce would send shock ripples through all of them.

  “What do you think, Brock?” Travis asked. “Would you let Uncle Greg and Aunt Nancy move back?”

  “They wouldn’t want to.” While it’d been hard for his mom to leave her broken baby alone in the world, Brock had still been well into his twenties, and she’d been wanting out of Moore since she was a teenager.

  Travis chuckled. “My parents are loving life in Phoenix. They’re giving it this summer to decide if they’ll be more than winter birds.”

  “They’re too young to be going south for the winter.” Aaron pulled into the courthouse parking lot. “But I guess, after Uncle Steve died all of our parents seem to be finding themselves.”

  Brock nodded. The early death of Dillon’s dad had spurred the brothers to sell the farm and ranch business and allowed Brock to have a job he didn’t dread every day.

  They all climbed out and stretched under the bright summer sun.

  Dillon waited in front of the large, square, stone building. He had an arm slung around Elle and was dressed just like them. Plain white button-up shirt, clean jeans with no holes, and the nice boots that were worn for weddings, funerals, and anything else church-related. Cash loitered on the other side of the entrance, staring off into the distance.

  “We ready?” Dillon called as they approached.

  “Now or never.” Aaron swaggered up the expansive stone steps. “How many more of these do we gotta go to?”

  “If they find him guilty, which he is,” Dillon growled, “then we’ll probably have another court date for sentencing.”

  “Long as this shit’s done before harvest.” Aaron held open the shiny glass door for them.

  “And he stays behind bars,” Dillon agreed.

  The temperature change into the air-conditioned building was a frigid drop. A few people in business wear strolled through the wide hallways, their heels clicking on the hard floor.

  Dillon gestured to a set of stairs. “We’re on the second level. I have to meet with my lawyer. Head on up. You’ll see where we’re supposed to go.”

  Brock jogged up the stairs with the others and found a place to sit. His family surrounded him as they took up most of one side of the courtroom.

  It was smaller than he’d expected. Only three rows of benches behind the desks the lawyers would sit at. The jury area was stuffed into a corner where jurists wouldn’t have to directly face either the plaintiff or defendant. A raised wooden platform must be where the judge sits.

  People were coming in and out of a small door across from the jury seats, readying the room for trial.

  Brock glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost time.

  “Whoa,” Aaron said under his breath.

  “Wonder who she is,” Travis murmured.

  “Dude,” Cash breathed. “I can find out.”

  Brock glanced to where his cousins were looking and his eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”

 
His cousins all stared at him while the petite car lover dressed like a businessman’s wet dream smiled demurely as she sat across the aisle from him.

  “I’m here to support my brother.” Josie crossed one leg over the other and her form-fitting maroon slacks hugged her hips, even sitting down. The V-neck, sleeveless top she wore was actually part of the outfit. Like a pantsuit. A sexy as hell pantsuit.

  Her brother? “Jesse Rodriguez? You don’t have the same last name as him.”

  Was she married? His world grew dimmer with the thought.

  She shot him a look he struggled with. Impatience? Embarrassment? Tolerance? “Our mother remarried after he was born. My dad didn’t adopt him.”

  Her statement made sense and he got hung up on the shock of finding her here. “Is that why you were snooping in my barn? Did your brother put you up to it?”

  Her lips set and she feathered her spiky hair away from her eyes. “One, we established I wasn’t in your barn. You can ask Deputy Max, remember? And two, no one has to put me up to anything.”

  He stared at her. She was fidgeting—with her hair, with her hands, readjusting her sitting position. She kept lying.

  Cash nudged him, but Brock’s gaze stayed glued to the sexy brunette.

  “Did you get the ’68 Shelby?”

  She glanced to the front, then put her finger across her lips.

  He scowled and Cash elbowed him again.

  Brock ripped his gaze away to glare at Cash. “What?”

  Cash rolled his eyes to the front where the lawyers were setting up.

  Brock clamped his mouth shut, but his brain kept going. Had she gotten the car? Paying attention to the proceedings was impossible. A million questions zinged through his head about Josie every minute of each hour the trial lasted.

  They were excused while the jury deliberated. Brock left his cousins to find her disappearing into the restroom.

  When he turned back, Aaron, Travis, and Cash stood several feet away, watching him.