Page 1 of Mustang Summer

Chapter1

Brock hefted the oil filters under his arm and shifted his feet.The auto parts store was always a place that challenged every lesson his mother had taught him.Since his days in high school were long over, it topped his worst experience list.

Eye contact, Brockie.The people, not the floor.

He forced his gaze to the laughing older man behind the counter.

“Get it?”Dale asked.“Because you Walker boys own all different brands of vehicles.”

Smile.He’s telling you a joke.

Brock pasted a smile on his face.Pickups.He could talk pickups.“Ford’s quality can’t be beat.”

Dale waved him off.“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.How’s your grandma doing?”

“Fine.”

Dale waited.

Elaborate.It’s a leading question, Brockie.

How was he supposed to elaborate this time?Gram was fine.

“She’s doing okay after the vandalism on your cousin’s property and the shop burning down?”Dale prompted.

Brock nodded.

Dale chuckled and shook his head.“You’d make a great secret agent.Tight-lipped and expressionless.I bet you kill it in poker.”

“I don’t play.”

Another man strode out from behind an aisle stocked with windshield wipers.“Well, if it isn’t the Walker Five’s best set of hands.”

Brock cringed.What did that even mean?

Greet someone new.His mom might’ve moved out of town, but Brock took her standard here’s-how-you-deal-with-people phrases everywhere.

He nodded toward Mac.Mac’s real name was something like Donnie, but he was big and loud, like a Mack truck.Brock missed many nuances, but that comparison he got.

Mac rested his girth on the countertop, the buttons of his striped shirt straining.“How do the crops look?”

“Fine.”

Dale reached over his side of the counter and swatted Mac.“There he goes again.Hey, Brock, if one of them Mustangs of yours fell on your toe, would you say you were fine?”

“It’d crush a lot more than my toe,” Brock replied.

Mac and Dale roared.Brock backed up a step.Loud engine noises didn’t bother him, but rowdy guffaws set his teeth on edge.At least at places like the bar, he knew they usually weren’t aimed at him.And he didn’t have to try and figure out why they were laughing.

Mac adjusted his Proud Motors trucker’s hat.“I drove past your west quarter the other day.The corn’s looking good.Knee-high by the fourth of July—looked like your fields are right on track.”

“It’s been a good year.”Brock’s grip on his load loosened.He was back in comfortable territory.The only thing he liked talking about nearly as much as his cars was farming.“If we can stay hail free and the markets stay up, we’re looking at a good year.But the weather has the final say.”

His dad had always said the same.Weather was king in farming.

Mac nodded.“That’s right.Don’t count your chickens before them suckers hatch.”

“I never count my chickens until it’s time to butcher.”

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