Mustang Summer Read online

  Brock scowled at Deputy Max but rose. As soon as the gearhead’s hot gaze left her, she wanted it back.

  Ugh, the nerve she had. As if her bad taste in men hadn’t proved itself in the last few months, she was lusting after a Walker. The family had thrown her brother in jail and wouldn’t hesitate to do the same with her. She couldn’t fantasize about one of them.

  But, dude, his cars were sick.

  What’d a girl have to do to get into the shop he kept locked up solid? She’d wager he stored his completely refurbished Mustangs in the less dusty metal building. Her gaze swept his body, afraid she’d be willing to search him from head to toe looking for the key.

  Deputy Max waited for her to stand before he spoke. “What’s going on?”

  “I came home to find her running out of my barn.”

  “That where you work on your cars?” When Brock nodded, Max eyed her. “What were you doing in his barn?”

  “I wasn’t in there.” Josie worked to keep her voice steady, nerves suddenly vibrating with anxiety now that she was facing law enforcement. What if he didn’t believe her? Because she’d totally been in Brock’s barn. “I was driving through and wanted to stretch my legs. This is such picturesque country and I drove until I found a spot I could park and take a nature walk.”

  “She was in my barn.” Brock said it like there was no reason to lie.

  And, well, he was telling the truth…

  “I wasn’t. I cut through his lawn, thinking no one was home.” She gestured to the cornfield behind his property. “Easier than cutting through that stuff.”

  “No, it’s not.” Brock pointed to the trees they’d crashed through. “You wouldn’t have had to go through any trees, and there’s a nice gap between each row of corn. It’s not six feet high yet; you could see where you were going.”

  How annoyingly factual. She smiled sweetly and crossed her arms over her chest. A movement that usually drew a man’s attention to her boobs.

  He stayed focused on the cornfields.

  “It might be common sense to you, but I’m from the city.” These small-town guys bought the city girl line every time. At least she hoped they did. It was her first time using it. Minneapolis wasn’t far away from her hometown. St. Cloud a little closer.

  Deputy Max raised his brown hat off his head and wiped sweat off his brow before resettling it. “Ma’am, I need to see some ID.”

  “It’s in my car.” She knew better than to just walk off from the police. Too bad much of her family didn’t have the same common sense when it came to lawfulness.

  “G’on.” He motioned for her to lead the way. “I’ll go with you.”

  They stepped through the evergreens and it was much easier when not at a dead run.

  She reached into her embarrassingly plain car for her wallet. She located her license and handed it to Max with complete confidence. She didn’t share her brother’s last name.

  He inspected her. “Waite Park. That’s outside of St. Cloud, right?”

  She nodded. “As far as worst places to live in Minnesota, it only ranks at number ten.”

  Max chuckled. “You wait right here while I go run this.”

  Her tension drained away. He wasn’t acting like she might be a hardcore criminal. Why was she the only one getting questioned? Brock was pinning her to the ground when he’d arrived.

  “Aren’t you going to run his, too?” She kept her voice more innocent than obnoxious; she still had to walk out of here without them learning who she was. Besides, Max taking Brock’s word on what happened—even if it was factual—smacked too much like how her dad had hung on her ex’s every word. “He attacked me.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms.…” he glanced back at her license, “Alvarez. You are on private property. It’s posted.”

  She squinted to where he indicated a square, white sign. One she’d never stopped to read.

  “She said she touched my cars all over.”

  Josie rolled her eyes at Brock. “And I said I was joking. What’s your hang-up with the cars?” She wouldn’t think of hurting one of them.

  Max shot a pitying look toward Brock.

  She sighed. Brock Walker was off his rocker and the whole town knew it.

  But he was hot.

  And she was warming to the man of few words. He’d outright caught her trespassing, but he wasn’t in a rage, didn’t demand they trade favors, and he wasn’t using every opportunity to feel her up.

  Brock Walker was odd, but he was a gentleman.

  As they waited for Max to pick his way back to his car and run her information, Brock shoved his hands in his jeans. She picked at debris stuck to her shirt and checked her reflection in the window.

  Ack. Dust stuck to her cheeks and forehead. Her styled hair was now in a whirlwind around her face—what wasn’t plastered on her forehead.

  She pushed her hair back, then changed her mind and used it shade her face, which wasn’t the best idea. Black hair acted like a solar panel soaking up all the sun’s heat and passing it on to her.

  Time crawled by. Brock said nothing. Hardly moved.

  She took the opportunity to study him.

  Bad idea.

  He was even more gorgeous than she’d thought. His eyes shimmered like the surface of a lake in high summer. She knew, the sort of city girl that she was, because she’d crept around the Walker Five property enough and felt not one moment of guilt. The times she came to visit her brother, there’d been nothing to do beyond their hour to visitation. The Walkers had the most breathtaking body of water she’d ever seen not even a mile from where she stood now. She might not be a rural girl, but Minnesota had a boatload of lakes.

  She snorted at her bad pun.

  Brock glanced toward her and she gazed back innocently.

  Come on. She hadn’t taken anything. Drooling over a man’s cars shouldn’t be a crime. She cursed herself for getting caught this time. When her brother had first told her of Brock’s collection, she hadn’t been able to resist sneaking a peek.

  Still, she was the most law-abiding one of her family now that her mom was gone.

  The deputy was finally moseying his way back to them. For a man in his fifties, he seemed to maneuver the land well. It was probably in his blood, like the farm boy next to her.

  “Miss Alvarez.” Max approached, hardly out of breath. Josie would give it to him, he busted her stereotype of small town law enforcement waddling through town and puffing up their chests. “You’re free to go.” He looked sternly between the two of them. “But…if you’re fitting to go tromping through some fields, do mind the posted signs.”

  She smiled, hoping to look suitably innocent. “Will do. I can’t promise I won’t keep wanting to get an up-close view of our great state.

  “But she was in my barn,” Brock argued. “She was trespassing.”

  Deputy Max exhaled a suffering sigh. “Can you honestly tell me there’ll be any evidence?”

  “She was in my barn.”

  “Dude. I wasn’t.” Nothing she said would matter. He was like a dog with a bone, or in this case, a wrench.

  His gaze landed on her. And why did her heart jump each time and hope for more?

  “You were,” Brock said.

  “Were not.”

  “You were.”

  “Not.”

  “You were.”

  She cocked her head at him. He wasn’t going to give up.

  “All right.” Max broke in. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to do a walk-through of the barn. Miss Alvarez, would you be so kind as to accompany us?”

  She smiled sweetly, understanding that Deputy Max did two things there. He couldn’t keep her here, so he’d asked nicely. And since he’d asked so nicely, she’d look guilty as fuck if she politely declined. As much as she wanted this over and done with, hanging around the mysterious Brock Walker wasn’t the most terrible way she’d spent an afternoon.

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Two
r />   “I came in here and set the filters down on the workbench,” Brock mimicked the movements and tried to ignore the bemused expressions on Max’s and Josie’s faces. He swallowed hard.

  Josie.

  When he looked at her, it was like his retinas malfunctioned. It hurt so good.

  Black hair as glossy as the new paint job on the third generation Mustang he’d just restored for a guy in the next county. Golden eyes as bright and rich as the coat of his favorite cat, Mustang Sally. He’d bought a ’Stang to fix up and the kitten had come along for the ride. Brock had tried to give him back to the owner, but much like the ethereal beauty he’d run down, the owner had feigned ignorance.

  Josie kept messing with her hair and touching her face. She was lying. And she’d been in here for a reason.

  “Then I turned to open the garage door,” he continued, “because the cross wind helps make it bearable in here. I do the grunt work out here and move them into the shop for the fine detailing. Or I bring the parts into the shop where it’s more comfortable to work on them.”

  He was rambling, but it was easier for him to talk about what he knew. Every nerve in his hand was alive with the feel of her. Soft, supple, yet strong.

  His mom had told him that people with a brain like his could obsess over a few subjects. Thankfully for his dad, cars were one. Farming another.

  Josie Alvarez could easily be a third.

  But she’d been in his barn and was lying about it.

  He recalled a few months ago when he’d seen footprints around the building. They’d chalked it up to his cousin Dillon’s intruder. Perhaps not?

  What would Josie want with his place?

  He led them both around. The barn doors were still shut and heat crowded every crevice. No air moved and each particle of dust stuck to their skin.

  Nothing was out place and the packed dirt floor didn’t reveal any prints, especially not those from a petite Josie.

  She was following behind them, not bothering to hide her open interest in the broke-down rusted-out Mustang he’d just procured from an estate auction in the neighboring county.

  “You like Mustangs?” Max asked her.

  Her nonchalant shrug contradicted her avid gaze and Brock struggled to identify her expression when that happened. “They’re nice as any car, I guess.”

  Ah! She was lying. Her attention was riveted despite the faded Caspian blue paint job. Due to sitting in a pasture for a good decade, more rust covered the body than paint anyway. But from her expression, she could be peering into a jewelry store display case.

  “So, what’s her story?” She glided her fingertips over the body.

  Brock jerked back a step. He’d done the same thing when he’d first gotten within touching distance. Then he’d outbid everyone else until he won the beauty.

  “She has a V-8 engine with a hundred and six horsepower. Previous owner had a stroke and couldn’t drive or fix her up any more. He passed away and the wife moved to town. More than a little TLC is needed, but I’ve overhauled worse.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Really? Like what?” She covered her excitement and glanced at Max. “I can’t imagine being able to make something like this shine again.”

  Max snorted and turned away to head to the door.

  Brock immediately recalled the details he’d logged of the two other Mustangs he’d restored with his dad and the two he’d done by himself. Each car he brought home was in worse shape than the last, but his skills kept improving.

  He almost started describing his previous projects, but clamped his mouth shut as Josie sauntered to the exit. Max murmured his thanks to her as she left, along with another warning not to trespass.

  She threw a look over her shoulder at him. He flailed to identify the emotion etched across her features but she was gone before he could.

  It wasn’t the first time he cursed his disorder and it wouldn’t be the last. Unfortunately, it’d be the last time he saw Josie Alvarez.

  ***

  Brock sat on the curb and thumbed through his phone. Thunderclouds built on the horizon and he’d almost welcome the brief reprieve the weather would bring to the sweltering morning. The downside was that once the sun came back out, it’d be twice as muggy as it was now.

  “Are they going to cancel the parade?” His cousin Dillon’s girlfriend shaded her eyes and chewed her lip at the menacing clouds. Unlike him, Elle had packed a camp chair that she relaxed in.

  Since Dillon was helping Cash tend to the horses pulling the Walker Five parade float, Elle must be speaking to him.

  He didn’t look up from the screen. “Not if they can help it. They canceled five years ago and there was a huge uproar. It was like people would rather be struck by lightning than park their float for a year.”

  “Maybe it’s the buckets of candy they’re stuck with.” She chuckled, which clued him in that she was joking—he hoped.

  Laughter has many meanings.

  His therapist had gone over the many nuances of laughter and his mom had constantly quizzed him, but Elle was a straightforward person.

  “Buckets of extra candy isn’t always a bad thing,” he said.

  She smiled. “Depends on the candy.”

  He nodded because that was often a good enough response. He continued scrolling through the vehicle forum. Elle wasn’t overly chatty and he found himself more at ease around her than most people. Good thing since she was likely to become a part of their family—officially anyway.

  “Oh!” She leaned over and peered down the street. “I think they’re starting early instead.”

  Made sense. Brock had no ties to the parade either way. Except to be backup help with the horses. If they had a piece of farm equipment in the parade, then he broke his back cleaning it until he could see himself in the red finish, but with the damage earlier this year their personal vandal and arsonist had caused, they couldn’t spare the time or money for anything other than horses this year.

  Next year would be different. Now they were the proud owners of a massive, shiny red tractor with all the bells and whistles. A piece so advanced, Brock couldn’t go near it with anything other than a buffing rag. The tractor supply company sent out their own repair techs who could read down to the detail what was wrong thanks to the satellite technology on board.

  They would put that puppy in the parade next year and his cousins would have Brock drive so they could ride horses around it and toss candy. Brock preferred the arrangement. No one expected him to smile and wave.

  A word in the forum stopped him cold until he noticed everyone standing for the flag passing by. He rose and put his hand over his heart until the flag passed, then settled back and searched the online conversation.

  Brock couldn’t believe it. A collectible Mustang was for sale—for a reasonable price even. He read further. The owner was very picky about who could buy it. He tapped on the link.

  Detroit Lakes. That wasn’t so far away. If he left in the morning, he’d be back by dinner. He’d bring the trailer, just in case.

  He went back to the forum as the Moore high school’s marching band passed.

  Elle laughed and clapped her hands in delight as candy scattered at her feet.

  Brock glanced up. Cash and Dillon were passing. So, Elle’s man had gotten rooked into riding. Travis must not have made it in time.

  Dillon smiled and tipped his ball cap to Elle. His mouth quirked when he saw the phone in Brock’s hand. Dillon pelted him with a few suckers.

  Brock snatched them out of the air and went to back to the forum.

  “Good catch.” Elle wore a huge grin.

  At least someone was having fun.

  Brock’s heart sank down to his worn Ropers. The owner of the ’68 Shelby GT500 wanted a worthy buyer, someone who could express what the car meant to him.

  Brock was screwed.

  He swore and flipped his hat off to swipe at his knee.

  “Are you okay?” Elle watched him as if clowns on bicycles weren’
t rolling past her.

  That’s what he liked about her. Perhaps it was her mental health background, but when she spoke, he knew who she was talking to. She made eye contact and her words were direct. No subtle sarcasm, no hidden meaning, and she kept her attention on who she was conversing with.

  “Fine.” Just found a car he and his dad had always wanted to go fix up. There wasn’t much he bonded with his dad over, but put an engine between them and they could finally speak to each other.

  Other than Dad pointing out how hard he was as a child, they had nothing in common.

  He scanned the forum and clicked back to the car’s ad. He’d have to try.

  Chapter Three

  Josie strolled to her dad’s garage and sucked in a deep breath. A block away and she could feel the testosterone cloud surrounding her.

  The garage played neighbor to a house, but the house was deceptive. Each room could be turned into a detailing studio for the pieces that ran through her dad’s control.

  Pieces. She rolled her eyes to the clear, blue sky.

  Pieces of hot cars meant her dad didn’t run a chop shop—in his eyes only. Not if the car was chopped before it got to him. He just “helped a guy out” if they wanted their “new” car repainted…one piece at a time. The law may have a different interpretation.

  She entered the garage where the official works that he refurbished to sell for big money were restored.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  She glared at the tall man swaggering toward her, wiping his hands off on a rag. Gage knew how good-looking he was and he wielded it like a weapon.

  His mouth turned down and he took in her hair. “Why’d you cut your hair?”

  Cuz you liked it long. “It’s summer. It’s hot.”

  “Well, grow it back out.”

  “I’m diggin’ it.” Especially now. So worth it to see the distaste in his eyes. “And after it was cut, I ate an entire pint of the premo ice cream.”

  His eyes glowered and her old anger rose back up. All the times he chugged a beer while chiding her to back off the chips and salsa. Why had she stayed with him so long?