Chapter 4
“ Y er late.”
Josie crawled out of her ride and wiped her sweaty palms down her shorts. Brock with his standard black Ford ball cap and tight fitting T-shirt was enough to make a girl quiver for hours—and he’d done nothing more than sit in his truck.
Her second encounter with him and again she’d felt more at ease around him than around anyone at home.
Like she didn’t have to put on a show or defend herself.
He took her as she was. How liberating. He didn’t even seem upset about her in his barn, other than that she’d lied about it.
He was almost more interested in her love for the cars.
Too bad her journey would bring her smack dab into his family drama and announce how off limits she was.
She flashed Mr. Blackwood her most winning smile. Charming stubborn men was second nature, a way of life. “I stopped to talk to an old friend at the corner. He must’ve just been here. Brock Walker?”
Mr. Blackwood grunted. “That boy had dollar signs in his eyes.”
Brock? Her farm boy had the clear blue sky in his guileless eyes.
She had to resist telling Mr. Blackwood that Brock was the least greedy man she’d ever met.
He drove a nice truck, an expensive one, but after seeing the Walker Five operation, even the city girl in her knew he needed it for work.
His barn was tidy and kept up, but not fancy.
His real shop was probably high-end, but like his other possessions, she was sure it was useful and well cared for.
Then there was his house. Well-maintained, but older than her and on the small side. She doubted it was worth much more than the car Mr. Blackwood was so picky about selling.
“I don’t know him that well,” she admitted more because she needed every advantage and couldn’t have Brock dragging her down in Mr. Blackwood’s opinion. What had Brock done to wedge himself under Mr. Blackwood’s skin?
The old man harrumphed and led her to the porch. She made sure to sit without being overtly sexy, not an easy thing with her curves.
“What do you know about the ’68 Shelby GT500?”
She raked a hand through her hair. “Well, it’s fifty years older than mine. As far as the engines go, they both demand r-e-s-p-e-c-t. Damn fine horses under the hood.”
He sipped his lemonade, his expression clearly unsure how to deal with her. “Why do you want the car?”
This question she was prepared for. The forums she’d studied bitched about Mr. Blackwood, but she thought it obvious the sale of the car was much like finding a new owner for a beloved dog one could no longer care for.
It meant something and he wanted it to mean something to the new owner.
“Fixing up cars is a passion I share with my dad. He’s always talked about this one.
It’s his birth year.” Well, if you added three years.
“My mom passed away last year and he’s just… kind of lost.”
To be honest, her dad had been lost for years, but her mother had kept him on the most legal path she could.
Mr. Blackwood reclined in his chair, spacing off into the distance. “I bought it as soon as it rolled off the line. My wife said it was the envy of the county, but I always thought it was my passenger who was.”
His faint smile tore at her heart. His love for his wife almost did her in, made her tell him to keep the car far away from her father. Otherwise, it’d be painted a different color and shipped off to the highest bidder.
The man was selling memories of his wife and she could appeal to those as sick as it made her. “I’m sure you were right.”
His gaze was faraway, nostalgic. “We were married sixty years. That car carried kids and grandbabies, but my wife passed and I’ve got to find a place for the Shelby before I go.”
Oh. God. She wanted to run back home, inform Bill it was no use, Mr. Blackwood didn’t think she was worthy.
But she’d done the books. The business was close to financial ruin.
The further under he got, the more he turned to the illegal chop shop business.
She’d heard rumors, those involved could be nasty individuals. She couldn’t lose Bill, too.
“Come on. Let’s go have a look.”
She stuffed down her intention to decline and followed him to his garage. Inside was the faded Mustang that represented so many of this man’s happy memories.
Her phone vibrated and she took it out of her pocket for a quick peek.
Got it yet?
A groan rose. Dragging in a calming breath, she told herself that it was a pile of metal. Bill was a real living person and he was in financial trouble. And he was her only family left. Out of jail, that was.
Mr. Blackwood chattered on about the car and she’d insert questions, not about the beauty or the work it needed, but about details that would spur memories and stories.
She was emotionally ragged and nauseous by the time she left two hours later. Mr. Blackwood had said he’d think on it and call her if he wanted to sell.
Her phone rang again before she hit blacktop and she had a mini heart attack. She couldn’t face completing her mission yet.
“Yeah.”
“What took you so long?” Bill growled.
“He liked to talk about his car.” And she liked hearing the stories.
The closest foray into masochism she’d ever do, but as much as they fueled her guilt, she loved hearing about Mr. Blackwood’s happy ever after.
Her mother hadn’t gotten hers, and even if she’d survived her heart attack, Josie doubted her life would’ve been as satisfying as that of Mr. Blackwood’s late wife. Not the way Bill had treated her.
“Did you get it?” Bill asked.
“Not yet. He’s gotta think on it.”
“Why? It’s a fucking car.”
She mentally sighed. If she had said “fucking,” he would’ve chided her about her language. “He’s attached to it, but I think he liked me.”
That pacified her father. “When you gonna be home?”
“Jesse’s court date is tomorrow at eleven. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I got a room for tomorrow night just in case.”
“What the fuck, Josie. You don’t need to waste more money on his dumbass choices.”
What the fuck, Bill, you raised him, too. Jesse might not be Bill’s by blood, but Jesse and all of his impulsive, poor choices came straight from Bill.
“It’s Moore. A room hardly costs a thing.” And the kindly desk clerk called her honey like a stereotypical small-town grandma.
Bill sucked in a breath. Voices came over the phone. She recognized Gage’s, but not the other one.
“I got to go, Josie. You take care. Call me as soon as you hear from the old man.”
She disconnected and tossed her phone onto the passenger seat. Call him if she heard about the damn car, but not after Jesse’s court hearing.
The older she got, the more disgusted she was with Bill.
She often marveled over how different they looked, with his thinning, dirty blond hair and stocky body.
Both Josie and her brother had taken after their mom.
And Josie had inherited a decent-sized dose of conscience from her mother, bless her soul.
Josie let the tears roll as the standard pangs of longing plagued her all the way to Moore. Her dad had always been her dad, but she’d had her mom as a refuge. The calm within the madness.
Don’t pay him no mind, Josephina. Grab your apron and help me out here.
A hot tear rolled down one cheek. Had she cooked at all since the funeral?
No, not even for Gage, who’d showed his true colors shortly after. Once she broke things off with Gage, the troubles with her brother had started as he’d grown angrier and more sullen.
She’d had no idea he’d do what he’d done. It wasn’t Jesse, not the laughing boy who’d donned a frilly apron to help out in the kitchen whenever their mother started one of her cooking sprees.
Billboards dotted the highway. A few more miles and she’d be in Moore. Her only plan was to abuse the cable in her motel room as she vegged out for the rest of the night.
She parked by the office of the tiny motel. She counted the rooms and there couldn’t be more than fifteen, but this place was the cheapest.
Her room was next to the office so she didn’t have to move her car. It’d be a little conspicuous, but with a swirl, her nervous stomach informed her she wasn’t here to hide. She’d be seeing Brock Walker tomorrow at eleven.
Brock caught a ride with Aaron and Travis. Dillon and Elle were going to pick up Cash. Most of the vandalism during the spring had been done to Dillon’s place, but it had affected all of them.
“How long do you think this’ll take?” Aaron’s profile was grim from where Brock sat in the backseat of the quad cab pickup.
Travis was in the passenger seat. “A couple days, maybe. I’ve never been to court, though, so I don’t know.”
“Dillon said it might only be a day,” Brock said. “It’s a pretty clear-cut case and the guy’s being really stubborn with his lawyer.”
“What a fucking mess.” Aaron reached to adjust his hat, but dropped his hand. “I can’t believe he has the balls to plead not-guilty.”
None of them were wearing their trademark ball caps. Court was as serious as church.
“Right,” Travis agreed. “I mean, if his family had a legitimate claim on the land…but Gram’s first husband died and rightly left it to her.”
“Then two generations later, one of ’em picks a beef with the grandkid?” Aaron shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“He probably stuck to his not-guilty plea, hoping for a better deal.”
“Glad they didn’t give it to him. Dillon’s lawyer has his shit together and is really sticking it to the asshole. Gotta love his speed, too.”
Travis chuckled. “Small town law.”
Brock nodded. They’d lost some serious dollars in equipment when Jesse Rodriguez burned down Dillon’s shop. Then he’d almost torched Dillon’s truck, and that was when he’d been busted.
“I should be working,” Aaron muttered.
“We all should.” Travis tapped his tablet. He was always working. Their personal Einstein of the farming business was never seen without a gadget in his hand and it wasn’t for the latest fad game. “How’s Uncle David?”