Chapter 13
B rock dug through his closet until he found a spare set of overalls so Josie wouldn’t get her clothes dirty.
Josie brandished her knowledge of the brand and they talked excitedly back and forth. Heaviness settled into Brock’s chest, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. He couldn’t identify the emotion, just knew that he liked sharing his passion with these two people in his life.
They worked all afternoon, combed through the engine and inspected the body. He scribbled notes. Mr. Blackwell said it didn’t run any more, even though he’d taken good care of it. But the last couple of decades, he couldn’t devote much time to it.
This was a project for fun, so Brock and his dad decided to pull the engine and give every part some TLC.
“You can do that here?” Josie asked.
“There’s an engine borer in the long garage.” Brock’s first major purchase after college. He’d paid off the expensive piece of equipment with the first restoration he’d finished after graduation.
Josie whistled. “Nice. You can really do it all here.”
His dad interjected. “Other than Brock’s side business, he services the farms’ vehicles, and tractors if necessary. Five guys, that’s at least five vehicles, but the other cousins swing their vehicles by, too. Saves a ton when they’d have to pay mechanic outside of the business.”
“That’s so awesome. I wish my dad’s setup was as well thought out as this.”
“It’s not?” Greg took off his hat and scratched his head.
“No, he bought an old house when it was rezoned for commercial, but never had the money to do anything with it. He’s added onto the original car stalls and uses the inside of the house for…stuff. But with limited space, it also limits the amount of work he can accept.”
“I’d like to see it sometime,” Brock said.
Josie stiffened and spun back to the engine. “Yeah, sure. But like I said, it’s not near as nice as yours.”
“Brock told me you helped him get the Shelby.” His dad started picking up tools. They didn’t use much, but had dug a few out just in case.
“I could tell what Mr. Blackwell was really looking for in the next car’s owner. My dad would’ve enjoyed it, but he would’ve sold it eventually.”
“That’s too bad,” his dad said, “but a car like this should be with someone who can really appreciate her. I’m glad Brock had your help.”
“It was the least I could do.”
They took a break inside for lunch. From the savory smells coming from the kitchen, his mom had planned ahead and pulled a roast out to throw in the crockpot.
She knew she could come here and do that.
If one of Brock’s cousins marched into his house and started supper, he’d likely get upset.
But they’d all learned how particular he was about his stuff long ago.
Brock would loan out his pickup and they knew to remove any garbage and turn the radio station back to where he had it.
The volume, too. Aaron and Cash liked blasting his music. Brock could sometimes catch himself before he demanded the station to be changed and just remind them the next time he loaned it.
Hell, Brock, want me to purify the air, too? was Cash’s typical retort.
Having to trade vehicles always tightly coiled the knot of stress he often formed when he had to do something new.
Because he knew he wasn’t going to get back his property in the condition he left it.
New situations were ordinarily a stressor.
Unlike today. He woke up to Josie. Met his parents at the door.
Tinkered with his dad and a sexy woman all morning.
He had some work to get done on their farm equipment. Their haying tractor blew a gasket.
As Brock settled into sandwiches assembled by his mom and listened to Josie and his dad chatting about Mustangs versus Chargers, he felt more relaxed than he had in years.
Josie passed on working with Brock on the tractor.
The few clients who’d hired her to design logos wanted them by next week.
This day was almost perfect. She spent the night with Brock, got her hands dirty on an engine in the morning, and was now immersing herself in her new favorite passion in the afternoon.
Before, her side business filled the void left by not being able to work in the garage, but then her enjoyment of it grew.
She could see herself doing it for a living if she had to—better than running numbers all day.
But to think—it was possible to work on both her passions and have a man in her life who didn’t fight it.
She sat at the bar on her laptop while Nancy and Greg went to town to visit friends.
Nancy was so different from her mom, but she was a mom regardless and still reminded Josie of all the things she missed.
When her mom and Bill hadn’t been fighting, they’d run errands around town together.
This house might no longer be Nancy’s, but she puttered around it like she owned the place, yet was always aware of Brock’s particulars.
Dishes—always put away. Barstools—always pushed in.
Magazines, while not neatly stacked, always in the same order.
“He’s not OCD, it just makes him more comfortable.” Nancy had explained. “If things are where he expects them, then he doesn’t have to anticipate trouble. It’s the anticipation that gets him.”
An engine sounded outside, a vehicle coming down the driveway. Must be Brock’s parents. She kept working.
Someone came through the front door. “Hey, Brock?”
Josie whipped around at the strange voice. Oh god, another cousin. Her mind scanned through the names. She knew Dillon and Cash and had seen the other two. This one staring at her with his brow half cocked must be…
“Hey, Josie. Where’s Brock at?” Travis climbed the stairs instead of waiting by the door, like his curiosity propelled him. “I’m Travis, by the way.”
He wasn’t teaming with hostility like Cash. She relaxed.
“He’s working in the garage.”
“House garage or long garage? Gotta be specific around here.”
She smiled at the wryness of his question. “Long garage.”
His casual personality would’ve put her at ease if his light tone hadn’t.
He was just as tall as the rest of them, a couple inches over six feet, but he wasn’t as rugged.
Oh, Travis still had broad shoulders and a body filled out by manual labor, but he carried himself with less swagger than the rest. And he wore clothes that were dressier.
His jeans weren’t faded or worn and his polo shirt was dressy, but it seemed like it was missing something.
“Oh hey, is that Photoshop?” His gaze lit on her computer. “That’s amazing. Are you designing something? What do you use, Illustrator?”
A pocket protector. Travis’s shirt was missing a pocket protector. Because the geek nation quality his voice took on was like a beacon to computer nerds everywhere.
“Yes,” she answered. “I had to cave and get a subscription to Creative Cloud. I need a better computer, but I make do.”
He planted himself on the chair next to her and laid his pristine hat on the table. His hair was trimmed short enough that he didn’t suffer hat head.
Travis gawked at her work. “That’s cool. What do you design? I thought Brock said you were an accountant.”
“I work as one, but no, I’m not an official accountant.” She wanted to shudder. Stuck in an office more than she had to be now? No, thanks. “I just play around with this stuff. Extra income and all that.”
If she could’ve chosen what she studied in school, then maybe she would’ve found her way to this. She had so many ideas for auto decals.
“What else do you have?” His hands twitched toward the computer. If she didn’t show him, she feared he might snatch it and run off to sift through her files.
“Here’s the three logos I’m working on.” She clicked out of her current program and into another folder. “This one is a dairy farmer, actually. He wanted to update his image and since I also live in Minnesota, he hired me.”
“Cool. An old creamery jug. Nice. Is that his dairy farm?”
“Yep. He took a ton of pics of his operation and sent them and I played around. He really liked the idea of incorporating it into the jug’s design.”
“It’s sharp. What else?”
She clicked through and pulled up the tattoo artist’s brand. “This guy did his own art, he just needed me to digitize it.”
“Smart idea to have another set of eyes see it anyway,” Travis murmured. “What else?”
Travis either had no attention span, or that brain of his worked faster than the average bear’s. She suspected the latter. It fit his image. Geeky hot farm boy.
But gear head farm boy was her type.
She burned through her inventory and he sat back with a speculative expression.
“I’m designing a game.”
Now he had her interest. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He stood and paced, talking with his hands. “It’s a farming game. I know, I know, not the cool theme in games. Anyway, I can handle the gaming graphics, but I’ve been stuck on the logo for it.”
Excitement surged. Her attention was captured. “What age group?”
“I designed it with various levels. From elementary to adult.”
So no half-dressed farm girls. She wiped that idea out.
“And I’d like a W in it, for Walker. What’s your email? I can send you some ideas.”
She rattled it off and he nodded. Either he was ghosting her, or he was smart enough to remember every detail of this conversation. Again, she suspected the latter.
“What do you charge?” he asked.
“Oh,” she hurriedly shut down her computer, “I can’t charge you.”
“Yes, you can. If it makes you feel better, then buy the game when I release it.”
She grinned. “Deal. As for pricing, since I’m new and playing around, I only charge twenty an hour and a logo like yours will take two or three hours. Let’s say three max.”
“Great. I’ll pay you forty an hour and take your time.”
He smiled when her eyes went wide. Dude had a secret weapon: a dimple. With it, he transformed from geeky hot farmer to devastatingly handsome farmer.
It endeared her more to him than anything.
Cash was the panty-dropper, and he disliked her.
Dillon was the responsible one with the all-American jock look.
Brock was the strong, silent cousin. Travis was the brains behind the operation.
She just had to chat with Aaron to find out what he was like and she’d almost feel like part of the group.
Part of the group… What would her brother think?