Mustang Summer

by Marie Johnston

“I know he’s different,” Josie blurted and Nancy’s cup froze before it reached her mouth. “I know he’s…”

  “Autistic?” Nancy’s arch tone was more wary than offended.

  “Right. We talked about it.”

  Nancy’s brows went up, her cup still hovering under her chin. “You did?”

  “I thought he was…you know. Then there’s some kids that live by me and one of them just got diagnosed, and…anyway, I looked it up and thought a lot of things made sense. He told me about all the therapy.”

  “Did he tell you to keep it between you two?”

  She nodded. “Do you really think it would matter?”

  “Once we find out, it’d be too late. It’s a small town, Josie. Brock can’t do business somewhere else, he’s stuck here.”

  “What about his family?”

  Nancy set her steaming cup down. “I left that up to him. I’m sure all of his cousins wouldn’t be surprised. The cousins he’s in business with are good guys, but they can be, well, guys.”

  Josie thought of Cash. Would he give Brock shit?

  She knew the answer immediately. No. The way Cash treated her was because he was so protective of Brock, who didn’t need it.

  “Right now,” Nancy continued, “they treat him like an equal, but I think he worries that’ll change if he gives them a diagnosis.”

  Ah. He’d be labeled something other than one of the Walker Five.

  “I need more coffee.” Nancy rubbed her temples and sat. “Anyway, I was pretty militant about making things look normal, kept his therapy secret.” She chuckled, but there was no humor. “That created more than enough tension by itself. I don’t know. Maybe I should’ve been honest about all those trips to Fargo.”

  “It wasn’t their business.”

  Nancy barked a laugh. “Right? In this family, you might find that prying into your personal life is a requirement.” She lifted a shoulder. “I’d rather them blame me for yearning for the city life than treat Brock with kid gloves, or worse, avoid him.”

  “Whatever you did seemed to work.” Except for his intense dislike of storms, but that hadn’t turn out so badly in Josie’s mind.

  “Thank you. I think so, too. I hope…I hope things work out between you two. Why don’t you go out and have some fun. You don’t need to entertain me.”

  Josie grinned and raced outside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brock dug through his closet until he found a spare set of overalls so Josie wouldn’t get her clothes dirty.

  He entered the barn and waited until Josie and his dad came up for air from under the hood. They were bent over the engine and his dad was unloading all of his Mustang knowledge and what set the ’68 apart from other models.

  Josie brandished her knowledge of the brand and they talked excitedly back and forth. Heaviness settled into Brock’s chest, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. He couldn’t identify the emotion, just knew that he liked sharing his passion with these two people in his life.

  They worked all afternoon, combed through the engine and inspected the body. He scribbled notes. Mr. Blackwell said it didn’t run any more, even though he’d taken good care of it. But the last couple of decades, he couldn’t devote much time to it.

  This was a project for fun, so Brock and his dad decided to pull the engine and give every part some TLC.

  “You can do that here?” Josie asked.

  “There’s an engine borer in the long garage.” Brock’s first major purchase after college. He’d paid off the expensive piece of equipment with the first restoration he’d finished after graduation.

  Josie whistled. “Nice. You can really do it all here.”

  His dad interjected. “Other than Brock’s side business, he services the farms’ vehicles, and tractors if necessary. Five guys, that’s at least five vehicles, but the other cousins swing their vehicles by, too. Saves a ton when they’d have to pay mechanic outside of the business.”

  “That’s so awesome. I wish my dad’s setup was as well thought out as this.”

  “It’s not?” Greg took off his hat and scratched his head.

  “No, he bought an old house when it was rezoned for commercial, but never had the money to do anything with it. He’s added onto the original car stalls and uses the inside of the house for…stuff. But with limited space, it also limits the amount of work he can accept.”

  “I’d like to see it sometime,” Brock said.

  Josie stiffened and spun back to the engine. “Yeah, sure. But like I said, it’s not near as nice as yours.”

  “Brock told me you helped him get the Shelby.” His dad started picking up tools. They didn’t use much, but had dug a few out just in case.

  “I could tell what Mr. Blackwell was really looking for in the next car’s owner. My dad would’ve enjoyed it, but he would’ve sold it eventually.”

  “That’s too bad,” his dad said, “but a car like this should be with someone who can really appreciate her. I’m glad Brock had your help.”

  “It was the least I could do.”

  They took a break inside for lunch. From the savory smells coming from the kitchen, his mom had planned ahead and pulled a roast out to throw in the crockpot. She knew she could come here and do that. If one of Brock’s cousins marched into his house and started supper, he’d likely get upset. But they’d all learned how particular he was about his stuff long ago. Brock would loan out his pickup and they knew to remove any garbage and turn the radio station back to where he had it.

  The volume, too. Aaron and Cash liked blasting his music. Brock could sometimes catch himself before he demanded the station to be changed and just remind them the next time he loaned it.

  Hell, Brock, want me to purify the air, too? was Cash’s typical retort.

  Having to trade vehicles always tightly coiled the knot of stress he often formed when he had to do something new. Because he knew he wasn’t going to get back his property in the condition he left it. New situations were ordinarily a stressor. Unlike today. He woke up to Josie. Met his parents at the door. Tinkered with his dad and a sexy woman all morning. He had some work to get done on their farm equipment. Their haying tractor blew a gasket.

  As Brock settled into sandwiches assembled by his mom and listened to Josie and his dad chatting about Mustangs versus Chargers, he felt more relaxed than he had in years.

  ***

  Josie passed on working with Brock on the tractor. The few clients who’d hired her to design logos wanted them by next week. This day was almost perfect. She spent the night with Brock, got her hands dirty on an engine in the morning, and was now immersing herself in her new favorite passion in the afternoon. Before, her side business filled the void left by not being able to work in the garage, but then her enjoyment of it grew. She could see herself doing it for a living if she had to—better than running numbers all day. But to think—it was possible to work on both her passions and have a man in her life who didn’t fight it.

  She sat at the bar on her laptop while Nancy and Greg went to town to visit friends. Nancy was so different from her mom, but she was a mom regardless and still reminded Josie of all the things she missed. When her mom and Bill hadn’t been fighting, they’d run errands around town together. This house might no longer be Nancy’s, but she puttered around it like she owned the place, yet was always aware of Brock’s particulars. Dishes—always put away. Barstools—always pushed in. Magazines, while not neatly stacked, always in the same order.

  “He’s not OCD, it just makes him more comfortable.” Nancy had explained. “If things are where he expects them, then he doesn’t have to anticipate trouble. It’s the anticipation that gets him.”

  An engine sounded outside, a vehicle coming down the driveway. Must be Brock’s parents. She kept working.

  Someone came through the front door. “Hey, Brock?”

  Josie whipped around at the strange voice. Oh god, another cousin. Her mind scanned through the names. She knew Dillon an
d Cash and had seen the other two. This one staring at her with his brow half cocked must be…

  “Hey, Josie. Where’s Brock at?” Travis climbed the stairs instead of waiting by the door, like his curiosity propelled him. “I’m Travis, by the way.”

  He wasn’t teaming with hostility like Cash. She relaxed.

  “He’s working in the garage.”

  “House garage or long garage? Gotta be specific around here.”

  She smiled at the wryness of his question. “Long garage.”

  His casual personality would’ve put her at ease if his light tone hadn’t. He was just as tall as the rest of them, a couple inches over six feet, but he wasn’t as rugged. Oh, Travis still had broad shoulders and a body filled out by manual labor, but he carried himself with less swagger than the rest. And he wore clothes that were dressier. His jeans weren’t faded or worn and his polo shirt was dressy, but it seemed like it was missing something.

  “Oh hey, is that Photoshop?” His gaze lit on her computer. “That’s amazing. Are you designing something? What do you use, Illustrator?”

  A pocket protector. Travis’s shirt was missing a pocket protector. Because the geek nation quality his voice took on was like a beacon to computer nerds everywhere.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I had to cave and get a subscription to Creative Cloud. I need a better computer, but I make do.”

  He planted himself on the chair next to her and laid his pristine hat on the table. His hair was trimmed short enough that he didn’t suffer hat head.

  Travis gawked at her work. “That’s cool. What do you design? I thought Brock said you were an accountant.”

  “I work as one, but no, I’m not an official accountant.” She wanted to shudder. Stuck in an office more than she had to be now? No, thanks. “I just play around with this stuff. Extra income and all that.”

  If she could’ve chosen what she studied in school, then maybe she would’ve found her way to this. She had so many ideas for auto decals.

  “What else do you have?” His hands twitched toward the computer. If she didn’t show him, she feared he might snatch it and run off to sift through her files.

  “Here’s the three logos I’m working on.” She clicked out of her current program and into another folder. “This one is a dairy farmer, actually. He wanted to update his image and since I also live in Minnesota, he hired me.”

  “Cool. An old creamery jug. Nice. Is that his dairy farm?”

  “Yep. He took a ton of pics of his operation and sent them and I played around. He really liked the idea of incorporating it into the jug’s design.”

  “It’s sharp. What else?”

  She clicked through and pulled up the tattoo artist’s brand. “This guy did his own art, he just needed me to digitize it.”

  “Smart idea to have another set of eyes see it anyway,” Travis murmured. “What else?”

  Travis either had no attention span, or that brain of his worked faster than the average bear’s. She suspected the latter. It fit his image. Geeky hot farm boy.

  But gear head farm boy was her type.

  She burned through her inventory and he sat back with a speculative expression.

  “I’m designing a game.”

  Now he had her interest. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He stood and paced, talking with his hands. “It’s a farming game. I know, I know, not the cool theme in games. Anyway, I can handle the gaming graphics, but I’ve been stuck on the logo for it.”

  Excitement surged. Her attention was captured. “What age group?”

  “I designed it with various levels. From elementary to adult.”

  So no half-dressed farm girls. She wiped that idea out.

  “And I’d like a W in it, for Walker. What’s your email? I can send you some ideas.”

  She rattled it off and he nodded. Either he was ghosting her, or he was smart enough to remember every detail of this conversation. Again, she suspected the latter.

  “What do you charge?” he asked.

  “Oh,” she hurriedly shut down her computer, “I can’t charge you.”

  “Yes, you can. If it makes you feel better, then buy the game when I release it.”

  She grinned. “Deal. As for pricing, since I’m new and playing around, I only charge twenty an hour and a logo like yours will take two or three hours. Let’s say three max.”

  “Great. I’ll pay you forty an hour and take your time.”

  He smiled when her eyes went wide. Dude had a secret weapon: a dimple. With it, he transformed from geeky hot farmer to devastatingly handsome farmer.

  It endeared her more to him than anything. Cash was the panty-dropper, and he disliked her. Dillon was the responsible one with the all-American jock look. Brock was the strong, silent cousin. Travis was the brains behind the operation. She just had to chat with Aaron to find out what he was like and she’d almost feel like part of the group.

  Part of the group… What would her brother think?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Josie drove into town, dust flying up behind her, on her way to visit Jesse. Brock was quiet in the passenger seat, thumbing through his phone where he kept notes for refurbishing his cars. The weather was dreary like her emotions. Overcast and gray, the clouds didn’t seem to know when they wanted to unleash their massive amounts of moisture.

  How long would she lose her brother for? She’d lost him months ago, but being in jail in Moore made it easier to connect with him than perhaps anywhere else.

  She approached the highway into town and glanced to her right where a row of trees blocked the fields from the wind. She looked back to the road, then back to the trees. Was that a vehicle or just a piece of farm equipment?

  Squinting, she tried to make out some definition. It wasn’t a tractor, or a sprayer like she’d seen Dillon hooking up. A pickup. The green color made her think of the old beater like the one Gage drove when he wasn’t using his classic Chevelle.

  She passed it and discreetly used her rearview mirrors to get a better look. No luck.

  An ominous feeling ate a pit in her stomach. Coming back from Detroit Lakes with the Shelby, she’d seen another pickup that’d made her think of Gage’s truck.

  Coincidence? Or was her gut churning because she feared seeing Jesse marched away from her again? Her chest tightened. What if Gage had creeped on the Shelby and discovered that she’d had a role in Brock buying the car?

  Nausea rippled through her. Bill’s side business had never involved him actually stealing a car. Just taking money to work on a known stolen car. But a hundred thousand was a lot of money to people like them.

  What if Bill and Gage were scoping out the Shelby? What if Brock ran to town one afternoon and came back to find an empty spot where the Shelby had been? What if the locked rooms in the old house that served as Bill’s business served to paint the once-black Shelby Mr. Blackwell had cruised through town in with the love of his life to an unidentifiable electric blue? It might take some of the value off, but Bill could still turn a significant profit on it, especially in the special sales circles he ran in. No auto trader ads for her dad.

  A chill swept through her veins. If she stayed with Brock, eventually, he’d come to her home and meet her family. He wasn’t stupid. Would she have to hide Bill’s illegal activity forever and worry that Brock would call the cops if he found out?

  Brock would most definitely call Deputy Max if Gage or Bill messed with the Shelby.

  Her hands clenched on the wheel. She’d help Brock dial the phone.

  Josie parked outside of the courthouse and rubbed her stomach. Do not throw up. She was so sick of that giant mason stone building. All thoughts of Gage and Bill drained as Jesse’s penalty loomed.

  She got out and headed toward the courthouse while keeping her gaze on the concrete sidewalk. Brock’s hand landed on the small of her back. He probably didn’t mean the gesture for comfort, but that’s what she took from it. Last night, while they lay in bed after l
ovemaking, she’d asked if he would sit with her. His cousins might take offense, but he hadn’t seemed bothered by the possibility.

  They entered the building. The air conditioning was so strong, her skin immediately broke out in goose-bumps. She crowded next to Brock and the heat of his powerful body. He’d dressed up in the one white button-up shirt she’d seen him in before and his black Ford hat was on its hook at his house.

  His cousins waited outside the courtroom. Brock greeted them but steered her inside to sit on the side her brother would be sitting. She detested staring at the back of Jesse’s head during these times. How much support could she offer beyond a hopeful look at his hair?

  Dillon and Elle led the pack of Walkers that followed. Josie couldn’t face them, but she studied them out of the corner of her eye. They nodded toward Brock but didn’t say anything.

  Aaron, Travis, and Cash filed in. Josie wanted to bolt. Instead, she scooted closer to Brock.

  Cash gripped either side of the benches and leaned in to breathe, “Are you sure about this, Brock?”

  Josie met the man’s intense blue eyes. Cash’s expression was one of genuine concern mixed with irritation.

  Would Brock know how to answer? Josie spoke before he could. “I asked him to sit next to me. It doesn’t change his support for his family.”

  Cash cocked an arrogant brow at her and turned his attention back to Brock. A clear message that his cousin was his main concern. She half admired his protectiveness, but she still wanted to tell him to back off.

  “I’m sure about Josie.” Brock answered.

  Travis touched Cash on the arm and gestured to where the rest were sitting. Cash’s gaze danced back and forth between the two of them. He shook his head and went to sit.

  As personal as Josie wanted to take Cash’s reaction, she knew he truly cared about Brock. But after Gage, Josie couldn’t abide another alpha male. Brock’s quiet strength and confidence attracted her like no other quality—unless she counted his body, which was exceptional.

  Despite her affection for him, she was driving home the next morning. She’d meet with Jesse and let the Walkers have their celebration. She wasn’t going to dwell on the situation. They could handle the outcome their way, but she didn’t have to witness the jubilance.