Mustang Summer

by Marie Johnston

  Since the kids always wore her out more than overhauling an engine, she went to bed.

  The next morning dawned gray and dreary. A perfect day to watch kids, then work on the books and see if she could come up with a business plan to get them through the rest of the year.

  She raced through her morning routine. By the time she got downstairs, Bill was leaving.

  “Hey, Bill. Mind if I come by later this afternoon? I’m watching Penny’s kids again.”

  “That little guy sick again, huh? Not surprised. He’s a little different.”

  “Bill!”

  “What? He is. Three years old and doesn’t talk, doesn’t even wave at you. Yeah, take the morning off.” He shrugged and slipped out the door.

  Josie dug through her movies. The kids liked watching her old fairytale shows from when she was a kid.

  The doorbell rang and Josie rushed to answer. As soon as the door opened, Tayton and Payton pushed in.

  “Kids!” Penny’s exasperated shout followed.

  Josie shrugged to ease Penny’s mind. “No worries. I already have movies ready to hit play.”

  Penny gave her a worn-out smile. Mason’s screams could be heard from the car. “Are you sure this is okay? I might be gone three hours, but at least we should have some answers.”

  “Oh? He’s not…” How should she finish that? Sick? Well? Really, why doesn’t he talk?

  Patty released another gusty breath. “I think we finally found a doctor who can help us."

  Josie settled with, “I hope everything’s okay.”

  The smile was back in place, but with a little more optimism. “It will be. Once we learn how his brain works. Thanks, again, Josie.”

  Oh…so, not sick. Mason not talking was really an issue. Josie wished her the best and shut the door. While the kids watched TV, she whipped up a batch of muffins and noted all the grocery items she’d need to purchase. She added going through her coupon apps and grocery store ads to her to-do list for the day.

  As she ate, she stared out the window. The place was so quiet since her mom had passed, it was nice to hear the scuttle of kids, even if they were bickering half the time. Bill spent almost no time at home anymore. He came to sleep—if he slept at home at all.

  She shuddered. She and Jesse had been joking about who her stepmother would become. Any woman who settled for Bill deserved Josie’s pity, not resentment. Loving her dad didn’t make her blind to his faults and he had many in the significant-other arena. Her mom had worked to make him happy, but Josie remembered all too well her mother’s tears when Bill came home in the middle of the night.

  Poor Mom. She would’ve watched Penny’s kids morning, noon, and night.

  Josie’s lips twitched in a sad smile. Once we learn how his brain works.

  With that thought, a car pulled up out front. She opened the door before Penny reached it.

  “How were they?” Penny asked.

  “Watched movies and argued with each other.”

  Penny chuckled.

  “How’d it go?” Josie couldn’t help but ask.

  Penny didn’t look downtrodden; maybe she’d gotten good news. “We finally got someone to say ‘autism.’ Now that we know, we can do more pointed therapy. We’ve been getting such a run-around, which is weird, given how often it’s in the media these days.”

  “I’m really sorry. That must be hard.”

  “Especially when I already suspected what was going on. Oh well, everyone has their own brand of special.”

  Josie nodded as kids raced past her out the door. “I see they’re glad to leave.”

  Penny rolled her eyes. “I told them I was picking up kids’ meals from their favorite restaurant.” She dug a twenty out of her wallet.

  “Seriously, Penny, you don’t need to pay me. I planted them in front of the TV and just made sure they were breathing every few minutes.”

  “It makes me feel better to pay you. This is hopefully the last emergency call. I can coordinate his therapy with the others’ activities.”

  Josie accepted the money. As long as it eased her neighbor’s worries about feeling like a leech, she tried not to let guilt seep in. She waved good-bye to Penny and the kids and closed the door.

  Poor Mason. People like Bill were going to label him as “not right” his whole life just because he didn’t act like a “typical guy.”

  Different wasn’t always bad. Her farm boy came to mind. Compared to Gage and Bill, Brock was definitely atypical. Unlike Mason, he conversed, but talking with him was just…different. But Mason was a kid and Brock was her age.

  Still, autistic kids grew up. And adults didn’t walk around with labels sewn on their clothing that said, “Hi, I’m autistic.”

  Could Brock be like Mason? No, her experience with men had just created a small box. Brock didn’t act that much outside it.

  She straightened and stretched. Oh, shit—the time. No more thinking about Brock today!

  The garage was only a mile away, so she saved the gas and walked to work. Muggy air surrounded her. Oh yeah, it was going to rain today. Maybe she should’ve driven, but getting rained on seemed to fit how her month had been going.

  She arrived at her dad’s garage and went straight for her office. Gage’s truck was outside and she had no interest in interacting with him. It’d just put Brock back to the forefront of her thoughts.

  Like how he kissed better. How his muscles felt like they weren’t manufactured in a gym. How his blue eyes made her stomach flip and her knees weak. He wasn’t like any guy she’d met, and her reaction toward him was unlike any other. Her hopes lifted that maybe she could find what her mother hadn’t.

  There was a folder with some papers and a scrawled note sitting on her desk. The heat of the day washed out as cold settled into her bones.

  Her eyes went wide as she saw the dollar amount and her dad’s message that’d he made a deal and gotten the money up front.

  A loan. And not from the bank.

  Good God, didn’t her dad know what that meant?

  She was young, but she knew what a loan shark was. How stupid could he be? The business was in trouble, but now it was in capital T trouble. She sifted through the documents.

  A hundred thousand dollars. Nausea swept through her.

  One hundred. Thousand.

  How in the world were they going to pay that back?

  Of course. The Shelby. He spent the money before he even got the car.

  She sunk her head into her hands. “Bill. Bill. Bill.”

  “No, it’s me.”

  She popped up. Gage leaned against the doorframe. It was his signature move. Must think it made him irresistible.

  She could resist. Brock did the move so much better.

  “What do you want?” She threw all her emotion into her question.

  He held up his hands. “Just checking on you. I know you walked and it’s raining out. Need a ride home?”

  No. The rain matched her mood.

  “I just got here. Where’s Bill?”

  “In a meeting.” Gage’s flat stare increased her suspicion.

  “What meeting?” Another fucking loan?

  “Garage stuff. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  She spread her arm over the desk. “In case you missed it, this garage is my business, too.”

  Gage’s smirk ignited hot anger in her chest.

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “You do the books. Your dad makes the decisions. Let him do his job.”

  She wanted to growl. Bill excelled at anything with wheels and a motor, not the intricacies of running a business. And he wouldn’t listen to her.

  She went back to tallying receipts. “Whatever Gage. It’s not your business, either.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  Her head popped up. “What?”

  He shrugged. “Bill’s not getting any younger. Jesse’s in jail. Who’s left?”

  She spread her hands out. Like, duh.

  Gage st
rode to the chair and plopped down in it, reclining back in a way that was supposed to make him look irresistibly tough. It used to be her favorite look on him. Now all she could envision was a hot mechanic in a dirty Ford hat.

  She adopted the same position while spinning her pencil in one hand. “You don’t think I can run it.”

  “You don’t know cars.”

  She tipped her head back and laughed. Bill knew cars and look at the numbers in front of her.

  Focusing back on her ex, she grew serious. “What has Bill arranged?”

  Gage smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Nothing yet, but all I have to do is wait.” His grin widened.

  He was hiding something, and of course, he wasn’t going to tell her.

  “I’d better get back to work.” She shot him a pointed look. “And you should, too.”

  Like he had all day, Gage stood and adjusted himself—at eye level.

  “Camilla like that move?”

  The grin was wiped off his face. “It didn’t mean anything.”

  “That makes me feel so much better. Thank you for clearing that up. How about that other girl who stopped by here the other day. Mean nothing?”

  “Tia? Nah, she’s just after a good time. I keep shooing her away.”

  Sure he did.

  He leaned across the desk and reached for a lock of her hair, but she tilted away until he gave up. “I’m waiting for you. You know we were meant to be together.”

  “Keep waiting.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t miss us.”

  “Okay, I won’t tell you.” Not too long ago, this would’ve been just a show. Such a relief to realize that she no longer missed what she and Gage had. Because now she could see all it was going to be was a replay of her mom and Bill.

  “You’re mine, Josie. Work your little things out, get it together, and come back to me.”

  She fanned herself and made sure her words dripped with sarcasm. “Such sweet words.”

  He pointed to her before he walked out. “Us.”

  Puffing a breath of frustration, she went back to her ledger.

  That was a lot of money. Bill would need the Shelby. He’d need to refurbish the shit out of it to come close to breaking even. She spun some numbers based on the inventory they already had.

  Did she even want to see what parts were getting a new paint job, in several discreet pieces, deeper in the house?

  Even with what Bill made off his illegal hobby, a hundred thousand to people like them was the equivalent of paying back a cool million.

  At least they had the Shelby, thanks to Mr. Blackwell.

  She swallowed a lump of regret. His stories broke her heart.

  How could she face him when she went back there to pick it up?

  If she went through with it, would Bill send her on another con? Would it get easier until guilt failed to plague her? Then she’d either hate the person she became or end up in jail.

  Unless…

  Bill didn’t know Mr. Blackwell had called. What if there was someone more deserving Mr. Blackwell could sell to?

  Brock’s reason for wanting the Shelby was exactly what Mr. Blackwell had been looking for—a bonding experience between family, and Brock had mentioned his dad. Brock’s cars meant something to him, and from the land of the Walker Five to the vehicles they drove, they didn’t need the money. All of it was proof that they had the good head for business that her dad was missing.

  What if Brock talked with Mr. Blackwell again?

  What if she helped Brock talk with Mr. Blackwell again?

  What about Bill and his massive loan?

  Tough love, isn’t that what they called it? If she did this for Bill, he’d just tank the business again and put history on repeat.

  Before she could think about how the ramifications would affect her, she got up, shut the door to the office, and made a call.

  ***

  Brock sat on the tailgate of his pickup while waiting for Josie.

  She’d called with a hell of an offer.

  I can help you get the Shelby.

  He’d asked how, but she’d cut him off and asked if he was free Sunday.

  Sundays were sort of a free day. Free to do anything in the shop on his own vehicles. Sometimes he and the guys were out in the field, especially during planting and harvest, but it was still July.

  She texted him that she’d pick him up at eleven.

  He calculated how early she’d have to wake up to get to his place by eleven. Not terribly early, but it’d be a full day of driving for her.

  A red Mustang turned into his yard and his heart rate kicked up. He slid off the tailgate.

  Cash had bugged him about going to the bar last night, but Brock’s thoughts were stuck on her kiss. All he wanted to do was relive the minute she’d been in his arms.

  So that’s what he’d done and Cash had been pissed, had demanded to know if it was because of her, but Brock hadn’t answered. And since his cousins were used to him not answering, Cash had hung up.

  Brock didn’t wait for her to get out, but grabbed his cooler and went to the passenger side.

  When he crawled in, he was hit with his favorite smell—car freshener vanilla. A yellow tree-shaped air freshener hung off the gearshift, where he usually put his.

  “Morning.” She gazed at him from behind her saucer-sized sunglasses.

  She fit her ride, in red shorts and a white tank top. Her curvy legs and soft skin on display.

  It’s not polite to stare. Staring hadn’t been Brock’s issue, but it might be today.

  “Morning,” he replied as he dug into his cooler.

  She cruised through his property and they were back on the road.

  “Whatcha got?”

  He pulled out some napkins. “Sandwiches. But I cut them small so you can eat easily while driving. Leave them in the baggie, though, and it’ll minimize crumbs. Grapes and baby carrots—those are homegrown. Easy to eat while driving, too. And don’t make a mess. And four water bottles, two with lemonade and two with water.”

  She glanced at him, her brows lifted, then switched her attention to the items he held. Gazing back out to the road, she said, “I’m starving. Thank you.”

  He found places for their drinks. “I mean, if you don’t eat in your vehicle, we can stop somewhere. There’s no good stopping places between here and Detroit Lakes, though.”

  “No, I eat in here.” She pointed to the backseat where a fast food bag sat crumpled on the floor. “I haven’t stopped yet to throw it out. I don’t want to be late.”

  “Exactly. Mr. Blackwell is serious about that.”

  “Thank you. For the food…it was really thoughtful.”

  Someone says thank you, respond with “you’re welcome.”

  “You’re welcome.” His mom had always packed for their many trips to Fargo. She’d wanted to hide the reason for their trips and keep costs down so she had packed anything and everything they’d need. Even gassed up in Fargo instead of Moore. Afraid people would be too nosey.

  She shook her head. “No, seriously. Like…I didn’t know people even did that.”

  “Saves money. I made this for less than five dollars but a fast food meal for both of us would cost at least fifteen.”

  Her lips quirked. “Saving money. A man after my own heart.”

  His brows crinkled at the Southern lilt she’d put on her words.

  When she seemed to notice he was confused, she elaborated, “My family—my dad—isn’t the best with money. He’d buy himself a meal and then bring some back for the whole garage, which is great once in a while. Hell, once a month, but he does it damn near every day.”

  She shook her head and it was obvious to him, for once, how frustrated she was.

  “My mom did it to save money, and to keep people out of our business. She hated living in a small town.”

  “Where does she live now?”

  “Fargo. Says the anonymity is divine.”

  “I can see that. W
aite Park isn’t too big, but it’s not isolated like Moore. Where does your dad live?”

  “With my mom.” He handed her a baggie of grapes and they ate in silence.

  Once they finished, she started talking again. “Here’s the thing. I can’t really tell Mr. Blackwell why I can’t take the car.”

  Brock nodded. She hadn’t told him yet, either.

  “But, I can put in a good word for you, help you tell him why you want the car.”

  He clamped his jaw down and glowered at the road. “Are you going to lie again?”

  She made a disgusted sound. “Wow. Just wow.”

  They rode in tense silence for several miles before she broke it.

  “You’re right. I did lie and that’s why you need my help. The car represents Mr. Blackwell’s most treasured memories, so it’s like he’s giving away a part of him and his wife. He doesn’t want it commercialized, or to have the car sitting in some obscure museum where it never gets driven. He wants another young person to care for it and make the same kind of memories that are keeping Mr. Blackwell going after the death of his wife.”

  The only thing Brock really comprehended from her diatribe was that he did need her help. Other than telling Blackwell he wanted to work on the car with his dad, which he’d already done, he didn’t know what else to do.

  “Why did you lie to him?” Brock had finally gotten her to admit she’d been admiring his collection. With her brother’s legal troubles, she’d been afraid of getting into the same hot water. Of course, he could understand.

  “Because we needed the car. My dad is shit at running his garage and it’s minutes away from the doors closing. Then I got there and…Blackwell was such an old hardass, but he loved his wife and he loves that car. I, uh,” her voice hitched, “lost my mom not too long ago and…I wish she would’ve had that. I couldn’t go through with it.”

  “What’d your dad say?” He hoped she kept talking about her dad. He hoped she kept talking about herself because he wasn’t one to ask a ton of questions. People would share what they wanted if they wanted to.

  To get to know people, Brock, you need take an interest in them.

  He did. But they never seemed to know it.

  “My dad doesn’t know. I’ll tell him I got turned down—after this meeting. So tell me about you and your dad and cars.”