Mustang Summer (The Walker Five Book 2) Page 9

Fiddling with the grill, he stopped to look at her feet. She expected a smirk, or a snide remark about how a garden was full of dirt.

  “If you pick the peas. The fencing for the vines borders the garden so you won’t have to go into the soil and get dirty.”

  With a grin, she charged down the patio stairs and across the yard. She’d always loved running around barefoot, but that was another thing that had gone away as she’d gotten older.

  She filled the bowl and recalled a recipe for peas that her mother used to make. If Brock had the ingredients, all she needed was a little stove time.

  Turning to walk back to the house, she paused. No sounds of traffic. Birds chirping here and there. A handsome man tending the grill. And a lush expanse of lawn she could parade around like a garden fairy.

  It was picturesque…and a fantasy she hadn’t known she harbored.

  Here she wasn’t worried about what was going to happen to her dad. She didn’t blame Brock for her brother’s mistakes.

  Relaxation sank into her bones and the tension drained out of her the longer she stood in the middle of Brock Walker’s little paradise.

  Josie took her time wandering back inside. Without asking, she raided Brock’s kitchen to find what she needed, and it wasn’t hard. He didn’t clutter his cabinets with ingredients he didn’t need. His home was as orderly as his garage. She didn’t like a mess, but she wasn’t going to spend her life cleaning up after Jesse and Bill. Sometimes she didn’t even clean up after herself. When she was in a design frenzy, her cleaning tendencies dropped to below acceptable levels.

  Giving the peas a little flip, she added some seasonings and hoped Brock liked her addition to supper.

  She was in Brock’s house. Cooking.

  So intimate. But the way he manned the grill and wasn’t in here hitting on her, she wondered how he interpreted what was going on.

  She liked him.

  After a day spent by his side, she wanted him.

  Who knew? Quiet men were a huge turn on. How would she have known? The men in her life have been loud and arrogant, real alpha males.

  Not that Brock wasn’t alpha. He just didn’t have to prove it.

  He carried in the burgers and they sat to eat, side by side at the island. The dining room at their backs was ordered and untouched. He must never use it.

  “These burgers are excellent,” she said after a particularly juicy mouthful. “Are they…did you…are they from your ranch?”

  “Yeah, we never have to buy meat.” He grimaced. “Except pork. None of us want to raise pigs. But we buy a pig locally and split it.”

  “For real?”

  He stopped chewing and stared at his plate. He must not understand her question.

  “Do you guys literally do the splitting? Like, butcher it and all?”

  Understanding lightened his features. “No. We use the butcher in town who does our beef and chickens. His prices are reasonable and it saves the mess when we have other stuff to do. The couple we buy the pork from have it all taken care of and we just split the packages among the five of us.”

  “Are there just the five of you?”

  “Ten grandkids total. Dillon and I don’t have any siblings.”

  “So five additional cousins split among…” she used her fingers to tick off the names, “Cash, Aaron, and Travis. Did I get their names right?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t elaborate, but she sensed no hidden emotion. He just answered the question and she’d have to ask more for more info.

  “What’d you go to Fargo all the time for? Shopping?”

  His burger stalled on the way to his mouth and he set it back down. “No.” His forehead creased. “Yes. Mom shopped. But we had to go for appointments for me.”

  “What kind of appointments?” She was pushing their personal boundaries, but this man fascinated her.

  “Doctor stuff.” He went back to eating and didn’t answer her question. She waited a few more moments and when he didn’t say anything, she let it go.

  Did he just not like talking to her about it, or didn’t he talk to anyone about his “doctor stuff”?

  He finished eating and carried his plate to the sink and immediately washed it. She hurried to add hers to his pile.

  “You said your dad—Bill—wasn’t Jesse’s dad?” he asked.

  She leaned against the counter and delighted in the bunch of his muscles as he washed the dishes. That image right there could make a calendar. Her hot farm boys calendar would have to include men doing normal chores. February would be vacuuming.

  “My dad never adopted him, so he kept his last name. Jesse was a few years old when Mom married Bill, and he still remembered his dad and wouldn’t let Bill replace him.”

  The familiar sadness welled when she thought of her brother. His fate was sealed, but maybe if the Walkers knew where his misplaced anger had come from, they wouldn’t hold as much of a grudge.

  “His dad died in a boating accident.” She didn’t have to keep adding details, but it was nice to talk to someone about Jesse. Surprising that it was a Walker.

  He didn’t miss a beat rinsing the dishes and then locating a towel to dry them.

  “It was his mom that Jesse would’ve inherited the property through,” she said quietly and cursed herself. Why’d she go and bring that up? They’d had a good day.

  Again, when she’d expected an angry outburst, all he said was, “It happened a long time ago. Nothing any of us can do to change it.”

  “I know. I don’t know what made him think…” No, she knew! The garage.

  Gage had said that Bill wasn’t going to leave the garage to Jesse. And after losing his own dad, then hearing the stories of Nana and how she’d been jilted out of family land, her brother must’ve snapped.

  “The land was left to Gram.” Brock was scrubbing the counters.

  For once, his matter of fact tone irritated her. She marched toward him and snatched the dishcloth out of his hand. “The cousin of yours that was with that woman?”

  He looked from his empty hands to the towel in her grip. “Dillon and Elle?”

  “Yeah. What if they got married and something happened to Dillon and he left his share to Elle, who in turn remarried, and her and her new husband did what they wanted with the land? How would you and your family feel?”

  He went in search of another dishcloth to use on the damn counters.

  Her hands clenched her rag. “Brock, look at me.”

  His shoulders stiffened and he straightened slowly. When he faced her, he wore an unreadable expression. Angry? Enraged? Embarrassed she’d called out his idiosyncrasies?

  She resisted the urge to chew on her lip. His focus on her should be pleasing, but not this way.

  “What would you think?” she asked again.

  His blue gaze bored into hers. “I would think that Elle needed to take care of herself and that’s the only thing Dillon would want. However, what I think often differs from the rest of the family so it’d be better to ask them. Their answers will be normal.”

  Her brow crinkled at his statement and before she could say anything, he set the new cloth down and strode out of the kitchen and out of the house.

  She puffed her hair out of her eyes and took a step to go after him. No, not yet. She’d offended him somehow. The least she could do was clean up her mess. She wiped off all the counters and put away the dishes. Then went in search of Brock.

  ***

  Brock popped the hood of the 1966 two-door coupe he was restoring for a neighbor. The owner of all the property east of the Walker acreage had purchased the car off of the internet as a gift for his son’s wedding, but had arranged the work with Brock first.

  He’d offered money, but Brock had waved him off, asking only to take pictures of the finished product for the portfolio he kept.

  His cousins said he was the geekiest gearhead alive, but Brock preferred to take notes and keep pictures of his projects.

  The barn door squ
eaked open. He didn’t look up, but made a mental note to grease the hinges.

  Josie had found him. Her voice and the way she stole his dishrag indicated she’d been upset, but when she demanded he look at her, it brought too many memories raging back.

  His parents had often demanded the same thing of him, when they were in the safety of their own home, when his mom could finally acknowledge how Brock was different.

  His dad, never comfortable around him, would demand, Look at me, son. Dammit, look at me when I’m talking to you.

  All those years of therapy, and he still forgot to look at people who were talking to him. Why didn’t they understand that he could listen and work at the same time?

  At least there was no one around for Josie to argue with about him.

  Is he gonna sleep tonight, Nancy? He’d heard his dad growl many nights when they thought he’d gone to sleep.

  Why do you care? I’m the only one that gets up with him when he’s screaming.

  What are those fucking appointments doing for him anyway, besides wasting our money?

  They’re not a waste. Who do you think is going to help him in Moore?

  We can! All he needs is—

  For heaven’s sake, Greg, he needs a professional. Yelling at him to quit screaming isn’t going to stop it. Telling him he needs to just decide to act normal is like telling a fish to quit swimming.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Her soft voice startled him.

  Brock snapped his head up and nailed it on the roof, knocking his hat onto the engine.

  “Ow!” He shoved one hand into his hair to rub what would soon be a welt and retrieved his hat with the other.

  “Oh my god, are you okay?” Josie was next to him, pulling his head down to examine. “Shit, I think you’re bleeding.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re being helpful by letting me stay. I was out of line.”

  With his head in her hands, his only view was of her chest. Even through her shirt, it was enough to stoke the simmering lust he’d been trying to ignore.

  Though he might be awkward with women, his biology had always worked just fine. He’d been told he was good in bed, and the women had always tried for a relationship, but they’d needed more than he could give.

  Well, he could give it, too, if only he knew what he was supposed to give. Long ago, he’d accepted that it was too much to ask a girlfriend to just tell him what she wants.

  I shouldn’t have to say it!

  How many had said that?

  “Well,” she moved his head from side to side, “I think the bleeding is minimal, but you’ll have a nice goose egg for a day or two.”

  His hands landed on her waist. She still smelled like vanilla from spending much of the day in her car.

  Her grip loosened until he could raise his head.

  “Brock,” she murmured.

  He didn’t know who made the first move, but his lips touched hers and he hauled her against him.

  She didn’t release him, but cupped his face. Then her hands slid to his shoulders and her fingers bunched the material of his shirt until it lifted from his waistband. Breaking apart, she tugged it off and dropped it on the ground.

  She bit her lip and splayed her hands over his chest with a groan. “You are so hard.”

  “I eat right and work all day, either on the cars or on the farm.”

  “You haven’t been exposed to my mom’s desserts like I have.”

  “You have a nice body.”

  A slow smile spread across her and face as she shimmied out of her shirt.

  His breath whooshed out when her white lace-clad breasts were uncovered. Her dusky nipples were visible under the material; he wanted to cover them with his mouth—so he did.

  She rocked back like she was going to fall. He hugged her to him and twirled them until her backside was against the hood of the car. He skimmed his hand up her bare back, over her satiny skin, until he reached the clasp of her bra.

  He tongued her nipple and her head tipped back. Sliding the bra off, he returned to her nipple as soon as it was free.

  “Brock,” she hissed when he took the tip between his teeth.

  She drew her legs up until her feet rested on the fender of the car. His shaft pulsed behind his jeans and bent over as he was, it was uncomfortable as fuck. He hated leaving the softness of her skin, but he had to flick open the fly of his jeans. Using the opportunity, he switched to her other nipple.

  He could’ve spent hours buried in her cleavage, but she tipped his chin up and claimed his mouth. He trailed a path with his fingers to her shorts closure, her wiggles and sighs signs he was doing the right things.

  But she didn’t wait on him. She flipped her clasp and scooted out of them while maintaining their kiss.

  He swept his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of their dinner and Josie, the flavor he’d come to associate with only her, as if the last kiss had imprinted it onto his cells.

  She kicked her bottoms out of the way, and when he cupped her sex, he jerked back, not believing she’d taken her underwear off, too.

  “You’re naked.”

  Reclining, she did the most provocative thing he’d ever seen and dropped her knees open.

  “I am.” Her voice was thick, her lips still swollen from his kiss.

  He zeroed in on her core. “I want to kiss you all over.”

  “Do it.”

  Hooking her knees over his shoulders, he found her center. As soon as his tongue hit her clit, she moaned and dropped back, murmuring something he thought was, “It’s been too long.”

  It had been for him, too. Months, because he’d grown tired of the girls who lusted after him only to lack any tolerance.

  You’re such a guy.

  Yeah, he was, and he planned on showing Josie how much of a man he was.

  Her hips rolled up, and he feasted on her. She grew wetter, close to coming. Gently, he slid one finger into her tight channel. She pulsed around him as her whole body shuddered. In and out he thrust, until her hips undulated in tune with his rhythm.

  “You’re unbelievable,” she gasped.

  He’d heard that before, too, but not with the awed yearning in Josie’s voice. He ran his other hand along her torso. Having had sensory issues when he was a kid, her soft skin was a special delight. Soothing, warm, and pleasing to his senses, like the hot pads laid across his forehead as a child.

  She tensed and buried her hands in his hair. She convulsed around his finger as she climaxed. When she went limp, he pulled back.

  Josie spread across the hood of a Mustang was an erotic image he’d never forget. Some probably thought he’d been with a girl like this before, but they’d always been separate parts of his life.

  Resting his hands on either side of her, he let his gaze wander across her shimmering skin.

  She shoved at his chest with her fingertips and sat up as he straightened.

  “What’s the possibility you have a condom on you?” She dipped her head to kiss along his chest.

  His mind whirled for any condom information before he remembered his wallet. Cash had been adamant about carrying one at all times—and changing it out frequently when not used. Keep your swimmers caged, boys.

  Brock grabbed his wallet the same time she freed his manhood.

  He groaned and rocked into her hot palm, nearly forgetting what he’d been doing. He opened his wallet and snatched the shiny packet.

  “Score.” She grinned and looked up at him through hooded lids.

  Part of him didn’t believe this was happening. Sex before had always seemed like work. Not the act itself, but getting to this point. He had a mental checklist.

  Shower after a long day of work. Plan to meet at the bar. Kill time while making awkward conversation with an overly giggly woman. Sometimes they’d set up a date instead of hooking up right away. That’d decrease his chances of getting laid by over half. Sometimes it would just be a quick hookup and they�
��d go their separate ways. Not exactly fulfilling.

  But here he was. Watching a gorgeous woman he’d spent the day with roll a condom onto his rigid shaft. All this after he’d stormed out on her because she’d said something that triggered him.

  He caressed her face, needed to touch her. “You’re amazing.”

  She twined one arm around his neck and her other hand directed him into heaven. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  She exhaled against his lips as he pushed inside. Her butt cheeks squeaked along the hood as he grabbed her ass and pulled her into him.

  When he was seated fully inside, she swiveled her hips slightly until they fit each other perfectly.

  He captured her mouth and withdrew and thrust back in. With both arms secured around his neck, she allowed him to set the pace.

  Sex was something he could interpret. A woman was like an engine, though the last time he’d told a girl that, he’d gotten slapped.

  But there were good sounds and bad sounds. Josie communicated her pleasure. Loudly.

  And he fucking loved it.

  Her legs wrapped around him and tightened. He grasped her hips and moved her with his thrusts.

  She moaned and sucked on his lips. He grunted and increased the pace, their sounds mingling, their bodies slapping together.

  He was going to come hard. Giving his knees a slight bend, he nearly picked her up off the hood with the force.

  “Oh god, yes!” She broke away to tip her head back. “Yes.”

  He dipped his head to nibble at her neck, somehow managing to keep the force and angle of each pump.

  “I’ve never come twice before,” she gasped. A cry rang out as she tensed in his arms. The walls of her sex fisted him so hard he had to squeeze his eyes shut as his climax slammed home.

  She was still crying out as he held her. He gritted his teeth and jerked with his release, but he couldn’t move far because she was a vise around him.

  When they both went limp, he sagged against her and kept his head buried in her neck. The dull throb of where he’d banged his head was again noticeable, but not significant. Not when he held her.

  She rubbed his shoulders and turned to kiss his ear. A shudder ran through him. She chuckled softly.