Page 3 of Mustang Summer

But it was still faster than the guy behind her.He could call the cops, maybe track her license plate if he could identify it, but they’d have to find her.And still, all they had were stories.His claiming she was in his barn and hers that he’d chased her while she was out for a walk.

Aw, hell.One more set of trees between her and her wheels.What was it with the farmers of Moore, Minnesota, and their rows of trees?She had to be bleeding from eight hundred scratches after the last set.Creeping through them when she’d had the stupid idea of ogling Brock Walker’s spread had been bad enough.Balls to the wall flight had been painful.

She crunched her face up and prepped herself for another round when the equivalent of a Mustang Boss plowed into her from behind.

They both went flying and he lost his hold.She scrambled up to take off again, but he caught her legs and she toppled over him.He twisted her under him and pinned her.

She found herself staring into a pair of piercing blue eyes.Her breath would’ve frozen if her chest wasn’t heaving so badly.

His gaze was glued to her hair for a moment before traveling over her features with open interest, down to the outline of her breasts through her shirt.Then he focused back on her hair.

Did he have a problem with her hair?She’d chopped it to let go of the emotional baggage it had represented and his open perusal plucked at her insecurity.After the impromptu track meet, the spikey style was stuck to her forehead and neck.

“Did you touch my ’Stangs?”he growled.

She gulped.Not from fear, unfortunately.His voice rumbled like the smooth engine of a Shelby GT, all low vibration and masculinity.

Somehow his baseball cap had stayed on, but she briefly fantasized about running her hands through his shaggy black hair to see if it was as smooth as new paint on a fresh sand job.One of her favorite textures.Thanks to her dad’s legally dubious hobby, she got to have the experience often.

“My ’Stangs.”His expression was urgent, and while she understood his obsession, it’s not like she could’ve snuck out with one tucked into a pocket.

“I touched them all over,” she shot back.

His brow furrowed.“Why?”

Seriously?“I was being sarcastic, jackass.Now let me go.”

A flash of frustration was quickly covered with anger.“Why were you in there?”

“In where?”

Another scowl.“My barn.”

Sweat dripped into her hair.“I wasn’t in your barn.I was out enjoying the nice day and out of nowhere, you tackled me.”

“You were in my shop.”

“I thought you said it was a barn.”

“It is.”

Okay… Was he playing some obtuse game with her?“Let me go.”

“No.”

He wrapped a massive hand around her wrists as he reached into his back pocket.She tugged against him, but she of all people knew how strong gearheads could be.Only this guy’s muscles weren’t just for show.But she wasn’t scared.Thanks to her brother, she knew of the Walkers—and their reputation was disgustingly good.

She hadn’t heard much about Brock Walker.From his set-up in the barn he had yet to prove she was in, he was as serious about cars as she was.They weren’t an image thing, or a key to bragging rights; they were pieces of history that needed to be appreciated and preserved.

“Yeah, Max?”he spoke into the phone.“I need you to come out here.I caught someone in my shop.”

He paused and she strained to hear the other end of the conversation but failed.

“Dunno… Yeah… Yeah… Trees just north of my house… ’Kay.”

Man of many words.

He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and craned his neck to stare down the road.Like the police she was sure he’d called would suddenly appear.Her stomach fluttered.The cops were getting involved and Brock held all the cards in the small town.She was an outsider.But—he had to prove she was in his barn.Her story might be a little outrageous, but the countryside was beautiful enough to inspire an impromptu walk.

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