Chapter 7 #2
Brock nodded as he gathered his cooler. “He went off for college, but never finished. Said it was a waste of money when he knew what he was going to do for the rest of his life. My mom decided to stay and marry him.”
“She’s from Moore?”
“Born and raised, but never really liked it here. I think she liked all the trips to Fargo for my…”
Josie waited for him to finish but he got out instead. She grabbed her backpack and scrambled out after him.
He strode toward the house like it was a foregone conclusion that she’d follow. And well, he was right, but it was so…aloof.
He stopped at the entrance and held the door for her. What an oddity. Manners had been instilled in him, but he could come off as rude.
She stepped through and thanked him.
“You’re welcome. I’ll show you the room after I drop my stuff in the kitchen.” He disappeared up the stairs of the split level and she toed off her sandals and decided not to wait for him.
The house was cozy, its cool environment a welcome change from the muggy air outside.
It was dim, too. The top level had an open floor plan with a sizable kitchen. Lord, her mother would’ve loved the counter space. But the blinds were drawn and when she stepped around the bannister, she saw that the living room curtains were closed as well.
She set her backpack down. “Can I help with anything?”
Brock scratched the back of his neck and looked around. “I was thinking about grilling some burgers. It’s too hot to use the oven.”
“You have air conditioning, don’t you?”
“I do, but it saves several dollars a month if I close the curtains before the sun gets strong and try not to use the oven or leave the TV on too long.”
“The TV?” She eyed the enviable big screen anchored above the mantel.
“Have you ever felt the heat it puts off after it’s been on a couple of hours?”
No, she hadn’t, but he must’ve put a lot of thought into it. Like he seemed to with everything he did.
She settled on one of the barstools that lined his island. Her stomach grumbled as he withdrew a pack of what looked like homemade patties from the freezer. “Burgers sound great. I’m starving.”
“There’s fruit in the fridge and I can run out and pick some peas or beans after I start the grill.”
She envied being able to have a garden. Her house had such a tiny yard and she had to grow everything in pots, which limited her options. “I’ll do it. Just point the way.”
An empty bowl slid in front of her. “It’s right outside the sliding door.”
He opened the door and stepped onto the patio. The wave of heat proved that his methods to keep his house cool worked.
“Can I go barefoot?”
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.