Page 2 of Mustang Summer

Dale guffawed, and Mac laughed and shook his head.Brock stared behind them at the tractor calendars lining the walls.Sometimes it wasn’t worth figuring out what was so funny.

He switched his gaze to the register.Dale, who was usually more attuned to his discomfort, took the hint.

“We’ll throw it on your account, Brock.”Dale waved him off.“Hope the AC is working in your shop on a day like today.”

“It’s always on in the long garage.”Brock dropped his eyes to the floor and made his way out of the store.

Humid Minnesota heat enveloped him.Only the first of July, and June’s mellow days were long forgotten as the temperature was on target to hit the mid-nineties.

Brock crawled into his Ford F250 and dropped his cache on the passenger seat.At least his cab was cool.Shutting off a diesel for a quick errand was foolish.His truck ran constantly unless it would be parked for hours.He might not know people, but he knew how to handle anything with an engine.

On the Fourth of July, he’d be wishing he could sit in his truck all day as his family dragged him to the annual parade.Brock winced just thinking about it.Almost without fail, the day of the parade usually dawned without a cloud in the sky.His cousins always went an hour early to get a good spot, and because they usually had their own entry in the parade.Brock would help out, then perch on the sidewalk the entire morning as the blazing sun rose overhead.

He threw his ride in gear and rumbled off.

How badly he wanted to tell his cousins why he hated the parade.Why he disliked street dances and only tolerated the bar in hopes he could find a girl to have a lasting relationship with.

But two decades of his mom’s insistence on secrecy had left an impression.It’s a small town.They’ll judge you and never give you a chance.Your mind works different, baby.You don’t need to justify it.

His cousins, especially the four he ran the Walker farming and ranching business with, were the only people he felt moderately comfortable around.They knew his quirks and accepted them.He was just Brock.Telling them might change that, so he stayed quiet.

He hit the highway and in minutes was turning onto the gravel road that would take him to his house.An afternoon of oil changes and an evening of working on his latest Mustang project equaled heaven in his mind.

As he turned onto the long driveway that cut through the multiple rows of trees surrounding his property, a glint of silver a few hundred yards away caught his eye.

He frowned and made a mental note to check it out.Summer wasn’t an uncommon time to catch teenagers parking in the surrounding shelter belts for a hookup.The rows of trees between fields concealed cars well, but didn’t make them invisible.One time, he’d even caught one of the guys he’d gone to school with parked out there—and not with his wife.

Brock didn’t have to have a norm’s brain to know that shit ain’t right.

He ambled past the large Butler building that housed the mostly finished cars of his collection and pulled up to his old-fashioned red barn.The back half was still dedicated to chickens, but he’d closed it off so he didn’t have to smell the coop while he tinkered.They were currently clucking around in the large pen behind the barn.

He gathered the filters and jumped out.

The interior of the barn was the opposite of his truck.Sweltering, clinging heat engulfed him when he stepped inside.He set his items on the workbench and went to open the massive barn door.

He heard a soft scuffle of what sounded like steps on the packed dirt and spun in time to see a flash of color dart out the door.

Someone had been in his barn?Had they done something to his cars?

Brock bolted after the intruder, cursing himself that he’d quit locking up after the round of vandalisms that had plagued his cousin all spring.

But the perpetrator was in jail, so Brock had slacked off.

His boots dug into the driveway’s gravel.The person had disappeared into the trees by the time Brock cleared his truck.Pumping his arms and legs, he charged forward.The thick bushes of the first row tore up his arms and snagged his clothing, but he ripped past them.He dodged the narrow trunks of the green ash in the middle row and sprinted beyond the outer evergreens.

He almost slowed when his gaze landed on the figure tearing across the haying field between his home and the next shelter belt.

Because it was a nice figure.Rolling hips with toned legs that wouldn’t outdistance his height advantage.Her shoulders, bare in a white tank top, glowed in the sunlight.He kicked up his speed.He had to know what she looked like.

Josie ranlike a stray cat flushed out of that damn barn she’d lingered in too long.

But the dude’s car collection…Suh-weet.Almost worth getting busted.She couldn’t get into trouble for this, not with her brother’s problems.No one would believe she only wanted to look, but if she could make it to her car, it was only her word against his that she’d been on his property.

Her lungs burned, but the pounding footfalls behind her weren’t muffled enough by the weeds and he was gaining on her.Why did she take Auto-Tec in high school instead of going out for track?

Her complaining thigh muscles informed her she hadn’t been out running nearly enough since family drama had taken over her life.

Finally, her car became visible and she wanted to shout curse words her mother would’ve chided her for, bless her soul.Her normal ride was getting repaired, but her loaner sedan was so blah and sedate, it’d make a person develop narcolepsy just looking at it.

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