Chapter 6 #2
That was a lot of money. Bill would need the Shelby. He’d need to refurbish the shit out of it to come close to breaking even. She spun some numbers based on the inventory they already had.
Did she even want to see what parts were getting a new paint job, in several discreet pieces, deeper in the house?
Even with what Bill made off his illegal hobby, a hundred thousand to people like them was the equivalent of paying back a cool million.
At least they had the Shelby, thanks to Mr. Blackwell.
She swallowed a lump of regret. His stories broke her heart.
How could she face him when she went back there to pick it up?
If she went through with it, would Bill send her on another con? Would it get easier until guilt failed to plague her? Then she’d either hate the person she became or end up in jail.
Unless…
Bill didn’t know Mr. Blackwell had called. What if there was someone more deserving Mr. Blackwell could sell to?
Brock’s reason for wanting the Shelby was exactly what Mr. Blackwell had been looking for—a bonding experience between family, and Brock had mentioned his dad.
Brock’s cars meant something to him, and from the land of the Walker Five to the vehicles they drove, they didn’t need the money.
All of it was proof that they had the good head for business that her dad was missing.
What if Brock talked with Mr. Blackwell again?
What if she helped Brock talk with Mr. Blackwell again?
What about Bill and his massive loan?
Tough love, isn’t that what they called it? If she did this for Bill, he’d just tank the business again and put history on repeat.
Before she could think about how the ramifications would affect her, she got up, shut the door to the office, and made a call.
Brock sat on the tailgate of his pickup while waiting for Josie.
She’d called with a hell of an offer.
I can help you get the Shelby.
He’d asked how, but she’d cut him off and asked if he was free Sunday.
Sundays were sort of a free day. Free to do anything in the shop on his own vehicles. Sometimes he and the guys were out in the field, especially during planting and harvest, but it was still July.
She texted him that she’d pick him up at eleven.
He calculated how early she’d have to wake up to get to his place by eleven. Not terribly early, but it’d be a full day of driving for her.
A red Mustang turned into his yard and his heart rate kicked up. He slid off the tailgate.
Cash had bugged him about going to the bar last night, but Brock’s thoughts were stuck on her kiss. All he wanted to do was relive the minute she’d been in his arms.
So that’s what he’d done and Cash had been pissed, had demanded to know if it was because of her, but Brock hadn’t answered. And since his cousins were used to him not answering, Cash had hung up.
Brock didn’t wait for her to get out, but grabbed his cooler and went to the passenger side.
When he crawled in, he was hit with his favorite smell—car freshener vanilla. A yellow tree-shaped air freshener hung off the gearshift, where he usually put his.
“Morning.” She gazed at him from behind her saucer-sized sunglasses.
She fit her ride, in red shorts and a white tank top. Her curvy legs and soft skin on display.
It’s not polite to stare . Staring hadn’t been Brock’s issue, but it might be today.
“Morning,” he replied as he dug into his cooler.
She cruised through his property and they were back on the road.
“Whatcha got?”
He pulled out some napkins. “Sandwiches. But I cut them small so you can eat easily while driving. Leave them in the baggie, though, and it’ll minimize crumbs.
Grapes and baby carrots—those are homegrown.
Easy to eat while driving, too. And don’t make a mess.
And four water bottles, two with lemonade and two with water. ”
She glanced at him, her brows lifted, then switched her attention to the items he held. Gazing back out to the road, she said, “I’m starving. Thank you.”
He found places for their drinks. “I mean, if you don’t eat in your vehicle, we can stop somewhere. There’s no good stopping places between here and Detroit Lakes, though.”
“No, I eat in here.” She pointed to the backseat where a fast food bag sat crumpled on the floor. “I haven’t stopped yet to throw it out. I don’t want to be late.”
“Exactly. Mr. Blackwell is serious about that.”
“Thank you. For the food…it was really thoughtful.”
Someone says thank you, respond with “you’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome.” His mom had always packed for their many trips to Fargo. She’d wanted to hide the reason for their trips and keep costs down so she had packed anything and everything they’d need. Even gassed up in Fargo instead of Moore. Afraid people would be too nosey.
She shook her head. “No, seriously. Like…I didn’t know people even did that.”
“Saves money. I made this for less than five dollars but a fast food meal for both of us would cost at least fifteen.”
Her lips quirked. “Saving money. A man after my own heart.”
His brows crinkled at the Southern lilt she’d put on her words.
When she seemed to notice he was confused, she elaborated, “My family—my dad—isn’t the best with money. He’d buy himself a meal and then bring some back for the whole garage, which is great once in a while. Hell, once a month, but he does it damn near every day.”
She shook her head and it was obvious to him, for once, how frustrated she was.
“My mom did it to save money, and to keep people out of our business. She hated living in a small town.”
“Where does she live now?”
“Fargo. Says the anonymity is divine.”
“I can see that. Waite Park isn’t too big, but it’s not isolated like Moore. Where does your dad live?”
“With my mom.” He handed her a baggie of grapes and they ate in silence.
Once they finished, she started talking again. “Here’s the thing. I can’t really tell Mr. Blackwell why I can’t take the car.”
Brock nodded. She hadn’t told him yet, either.
“But, I can put in a good word for you, help you tell him why you want the car.”
He clamped his jaw down and glowered at the road. “Are you going to lie again?”
She made a disgusted sound. “Wow. Just wow.”
They rode in tense silence for several miles before she broke it.
“You’re right. I did lie and that’s why you need my help.
The car represents Mr. Blackwell’s most treasured memories, so it’s like he’s giving away a part of him and his wife.
He doesn’t want it commercialized, or to have the car sitting in some obscure museum where it never gets driven.
He wants another young person to care for it and make the same kind of memories that are keeping Mr. Blackwell going after the death of his wife. ”
The only thing Brock really comprehended from her diatribe was that he did need her help. Other than telling Blackwell he wanted to work on the car with his dad, which he’d already done, he didn’t know what else to do.
“Why did you lie to him?” Brock had finally gotten her to admit she’d been admiring his collection. With her brother’s legal troubles, she’d been afraid of getting into the same hot water. Of course, he could understand.
“Because we needed the car. My dad is shit at running his garage and it’s minutes away from the doors closing.
Then I got there and…Blackwell was such an old hardass, but he loved his wife and he loves that car.
I, uh,” her voice hitched, “lost my mom not too long ago and…I wish she would’ve had that. I couldn’t go through with it.”
“What’d your dad say?” He hoped she kept talking about her dad. He hoped she kept talking about herself because he wasn’t one to ask a ton of questions. People would share what they wanted if they wanted to.
To get to know people, Brock, you need take an interest in them.
He did. But they never seemed to know it.
“My dad doesn’t know. I’ll tell him I got turned down—after this meeting. So tell me about you and your dad and cars.”
“He liked Mustangs and we’d fix them up.”
She gave him a sidelong look that he caught out of the corner of his eye.
Eye contact.
This time, it wasn’t hard. Looking at Josie was another hobby he could throw himself into.
“Why Mustangs?” she asked. “Why work on cars instead of only farming?”
Brock didn’t have to think about any of the answers. “He called them a cross between art and automotive. Said they had the sleek lines of a lady and the power of her anger.”
Josie laughed and he smiled.
“The Shelby is the same year he was born, ’68, and he always talked about overhauling one.
Dad farmed, he just wasn’t as into it like his brothers.
He’s a mechanic now at a Ford garage and mentioned that he prefers the regular hours and not having to worry about the next hail storm ruining the crops. ”
“And you?”
“I like farming. And I like being a mechanic. I get to do both.”
“Bill won’t let me get close to a car anymore, even though he taught me everything he knew.”
“Who’s Bill?”
“My dad.”
Odd. People would expect him to be the one to refer to his parents by their first names.
“So,” she continued, “is this a gift for your dad then?”
“No, it’d be mine, but he could come down and help me work on it.”
“Doesn’t he come down otherwise? Fargo’s only an hour away from Moore.”
Brock shrugged and stared out the window. “We don’t have much else in common.”
“I see.”
She turned off onto the gravel road that’d take them to Mr. Blackwell’s. Brock checked the time and they were running early.
“But are you two close?” she asked.
“Close enough.”
“Is he resentful of Moore? Why doesn’t he come visit? Are he and your mom separated?”
“No, they’re still married.”
“Then why do you have to lure him back home?”
He switched his focus to stare out the passenger window to the sugar beet crops that stretched to the horizon. “Moore isn’t his home anymore.”
“But you’re his son.”
“And he doesn’t know how to deal with me,” Brock snapped, then clamped his mouth shut.
“I see.”
“You keep saying that. What do you see?” His words sounded more heated than he meant them to. He hated reaching that point when he felt like he was going to explode from a foreign sensation roiling inside of him.
They reached the same turn they’d met at the other day and she stopped the car. She turned in her seat, he could almost feel her gaze on his face.
“Brock.” Her voice was gentle.
Eye contact.
God, he didn’t want to. Talking about his dad’s awkwardness around him wasn’t on his to-do list for the day.
But his mom had worked his whole life trying to get him to blend with regular society, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore Josie now.
He adopted the same position as her.
“I get it,” she began, “you’re a dude and don’t like talking about feelings, but this is how we’re going to get you that car. No judgment from me, okay?”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Once he said it, the pressure inside of him eased slightly. He didn’t want this beautiful woman lying to him. Anyone lying to him upset him, but when Josie did it, he grew more frustrated than normal.
She sighed. “I can’t blame you, can I? I haven’t exactly been the pillar of myself around you. Would it work if I swear to be truthful to you from here on?”
He nodded his head once.
She didn’t turn away and he glanced at the clock. Being late today was not an option.
“We have plenty of time.” She must’ve noticed him watching the time. After a heartbeat, she said softly, “You’re not like other guys, are you?”
His jaw clenched until the muscle popped.
He flinched when her hand landed on his where it rested on his thigh.
“That’s not a bad thing, Brock. I wouldn’t want to help you if you were.”
A warm glow ignited in his chest. He wished they didn’t have anything on their agenda today so he didn’t have to share her with anyone.
“Me being…different…hasn’t always been a good thing.” Oh, hell. Why’d he go and say that? The sense that he’d just betrayed everything his mother had worked for almost overwhelmed him.
“Everyone has their own type of special.”
“My mom used to say things like that.”
“Moms have a way of knowing what to say. I won’t lie to you, and you be yourself with me. Deal?”
He’d always been himself with her, but he agreed anyway.
She kicked the car in gear and pushed the speed so they could arrive early instead of on time.
Mr. Blackwell’s land stretched before them. The Shelby was still hidden from sight, as if Brock still had to complete unknown tests in order to see it.
Josie had seen it, though.
If she wasn’t going to lie to him, how’d she plan to get the old man to agree to selling Brock the car?