Lone Oaks Crossing

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

Brooks stood in his home office, watching Jo move from one wide window to the next, gazing out at the grounds of Original Sin, the dark sunglasses she wore hiding the expression in her eyes.

“What do you think?” he asked softly.

She stilled, her back to him as she answered. “Exquisite. That’s the word that comes to mind. This place is big enough to comfortably house several families rather than one. Do you have a big family, Mr. Moore?”

“No. It’s just me, although I should include my employees as I view them as family. And it’s Brooks, please.”

“Brooks.” She faced him then, removing her sunglasses, her eyes meeting his. “I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. It wasn’t my intention.”

He tilted his head and took her in. The buffalo plaid shirt and faded jeans she wore had almost swallowed her, the cuffs of the shirt rolled up twice but still hanging to her knuckles, and the hem of her jeans sagging over the tongue and eyelet of the worn tennis shoes she sported. But she stood tall and confident, her long hair down, spilling over her shoulders and back in shiny, disheveled waves as though freshly washed and dried naturally.

Everything about her seemed natural . . . fresh and frank. And the sincerity in her blue eyes only enhanced the air of candidness that surrounded her.

“I wasn’t offended,” he said, holding her gaze. “Just disappointed that you may have been given the wrong impression of me.”

“How so?”

He smiled. “Well, you don’t seem exactly excited to be here, for one. I assume you have reservations about me and what I intend to offer you and your grandfather?”

Her eyes roved over him again slowly. “I said I’d be honest and fair, so I’ll be honest now. I know what you want from me, and I’m not interested. But I’m in a bind and I’ve come to ask something of you. Only, you don’t look like the type of man who would offer something for nothing.”

His jaw tightened but he forced his smile to remain frozen in place. “What type of man do I look like?”

She studied him once more, then turned away and began strolling around his office. “The kind that likes to be in charge.” Her hand lifted as she walked past his wide mahogany desk, her graceful fingertips gliding along its smooth edge. “The kind of man who weighs and measures everything in terms of value and investment.” One finger lifted, tapped a page in the small business planner resting on the edge of the desk. “You’re a busy man. I’m surprised you had time to meet with me.” She’d rounded the desk now, leaned back against it, crossed one ankle over the other and her arms over her chest as she eyed him. “But then again, you wouldn’t have given me your business card if you weren’t willing to make the time. You think, given the chance, you’ll be able to change my mind and persuade me to take up training again. To join your team and hand you a Derby win. And you plan on using my grandfather’s misfortunes as leverage.”

Her tone had changed. The pleasant openness he’d admired moments earlier had slowly shifted into a cool, judgmental quality. An uncomfortable ache spread through his chest at the sound of it.

He returned her stare, remaining silent.

“How did I do?” she asked. “Was that about right?”

Smile still pinned in place, he slid his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Most of it.”

She lifted one dark brow. “Which part did I get wrong?”

He allowed his smile to dissolve as he moved his gaze over her delicate hands, the smooth expanse of her upper chest and graceful curve of her neck, the few inches of bare, creamy skin her oversized shirt revealed. “The part that I always like to be in charge. There are times when letting someone else take the lead provides immeasurable benefits.”

That did it. The cold, calculating tone she’d adopted, the one that belied her natural disposition, melted away in tandem with the warm flush that blossomed along the curve of her cheekbones.

“If you want to have even the remotest chance of doing business with me,” she said softly, “you’ll keep it respectful. I’m no longer willing to sacrifice my dignity for a paycheck.”

His smile returned—this time, sincere. The cynical fa?ade she’d adopted was now gone. “I know what you must think of me. What you assumed driving onto my property, walking into my house”—he jerked his chin toward the window—“staring out at the view. I don’t play games, Jo. And I’d never seek to take advantage of Earl’s misfortune in a way that would harm him, his business, or those he loves. But I do want you on my team. More than that. I need you on my team.”

She uncrossed her arms, pushed away from the desk, and straightened. “Why? What is it you think you know about me?”

“You love your grandfather,” he said. “You returned to him when he needed you, and clearly you’re sticking around to find ways to help him. You used to be a damn good trainer. The best, from what I hear. And in a way, you never truly left training behind. From what I’m told, you left Lone Oaks to teach in a high school and, as I’m sure we both know, training is teaching at its core.”

Her mouth curved. “You got most of it right.”

His smile widened. “Which part did I get wrong?”

“I no longer teach.”

He stilled, his attention zeroing in on the wounded swell of her lower lip. “As of?”

“Yesterday,” she said.

Ah, that was it. The busted lip, bloodstained blouse, and exhausted expression she’d sported in the hospital room last night. It all made sense now. He wasn’t surprised that she had chosen to go the way of so many other teachers before her.

These days, it was impossible to watch the news without hearing about or seeing a clip of violence that had occurred in a classroom. School shootings, student fights, and shouting matches between adults at board of education meetings had become the norm. And at the heart of all the violence, students and teachers were the ones who paid the price.

He frowned, that odd—and unexpected—swell of protectiveness and sympathy welling within him again. “Who was it?”

Her brow creased. “What do you mean?”

“The person who did that to you?” He gestured toward her mouth. “Who was it?”

She looked away. Stared out the window. “One of my students.” A wry grin crossed her lips. “She decided to pursue justice on her own terms and, apparently, I got in the way.”

Brooks froze then turned his head and followed her gaze to the rolling hills in the distance. “I’m sorry to hear that.” His mind drifted to the memory of his father hunched over the TV in the family living room, biting his lip, his teeth drawing blood and fists clenching as his feverish eyes followed the frenzied gallop of horses on the screen. And later . . . Spencer Harris and his father, Victor, knocking on their front door to collect the debt and essentially evict his family from the only home they’d known. “Innocent parties should never be harmed by the conflict of others.” He faced her again and peered into her eyes. “Is that why you chose teaching? To set the world right again?”

Her attention drifted over his right shoulder as she mulled over his suggestion. “That’s a far too lofty goal for anyone. I was like any other teacher. I just wanted to make a difference. Teach children. Support them in any way I could to help them achieve their dreams and secure a brighter future.

“That’s a noble goal,” he said softly.

One he wished more people would choose to take on. But, having spent the last three of his teenage years in a foster home, he knew better than most how challenging it could be to take on such a goal, and how easy it was for well-intended people to fall short on their promises. Which was why, once he’d established his business and began breeding thoroughbreds, he began offering a local foster teen a position as groom or stable hand every year. If the kid took to the horses and performed his or her tasks competently, he followed that up with an offer of internship to pursue the equine career of their choice.

Opportunities, he’d discovered over the years, were sometimes hard to come by for youth who were alone in the world and without sufficient financial support. He, himself, had climbed the ladder of success by being offered a helping hand along the way, and he still sought to pay that help forward in whatever way he could.

“Look,” she said, “I’m not very good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Asking for help. Trusting someone. I’m used to being the one providing help. Doing things on my own and not leaning on anyone.” She shrugged. “It’s the way Earl raised me, I suppose. I’m not in need of rescuing, but I’m in a dire enough position to admit that I do need help, and I’m hoping you, as Earl’s neighbor, will be willing to assist.”

He nodded. “Please go on.”

She looked down again and began picking at her nails. “Earl will be released from the hospital at the end of the week. He’s doing well but he’s going to need months of physical therapy and almost full-time care on a temporary basis.” She met his eyes again. “He has no health insurance, and the bills are already piling up. I’m relocating to Lone Oaks Crossing to take care of him, and I have a plan to rehabilitate our farm and restore it to a working one. I’d like to make the place over into a healing retreat of sorts—for people and horses. I just need funds to get started—to get myself and the farm back on our feet so to speak.”

“You’re asking me for a loan,” he said.

To her credit, she didn’t deny it or hedge the issue.

“I need twenty thousand dollars,” she said. “And at least two new boarders for our stable. The money would be enough to pay for Earl’s physical therapy, and two new horses boarding at Lone Oaks Crossing would bring in enough steady income to keep foreclosure at bay. I’m hoping you’ll consider loaning me the funds as an investment and possibly sending two boarders my way using your connections. I’ll pay you back, I swear. Every cent, plus whatever interest you deem suitable.”

Brooks studied the stubborn set of her jaw. “Why not go to a bank? Take out a loan? Why come to me instead?”

She spread her hands, a resigned expression on her face. “Because I just threw away a career I spent a decade building. My teaching certificate is probably being digitally incinerated as we speak. I owe a hefty fine to the board of education for breaking my contract midyear and I’ll have to pay a tidy sum to my former landlord for breaking my lease to move back to Lone Oaks Crossing. I was already broke but now, I have less than nothing. There’s no bank around that would be willing to take a chance on my financial situation.”

“And you think I will?”

“Last night you called yourself Earl’s neighbor and said you wanted to help,” she said. “I’m hoping you’ll decide to do a neighborly good deed.”

A neighborly good deed is right, he mused. No one in their right financial mind would sink as much money or energy into such a failing farm, except . . . his plans for a Derby win were founded in risk, so what was one more? Especially if it tipped the scales in his favor and offered him a second opportunity to entice her into training Another Round. In his experience, just the smallest taste of money and success was enough to woo even the most cynical of minds into tossing caution to the wind in exchange for a shot at a bigger pay day.

“Growing up, were you close to your parents, Brooks?”

He stilled, surprised at the surge of grief tightening his throat. “My mother, yes. My father . . . it depended upon the type of day he was having.”

She seemed to hesitate. “Are they still with you? Still living, I mean?”

He shook his head.

Her expression fell. “There’s no way for me to prove to you that I mean to work very hard to earn and repay the help you might give me, other than to say, I intend to see this through for my grandfather’s sake. I never knew my father, and when my mom abandoned me, Earl raised me. He’s the only blood relation I have left . . . and I’ll do everything in my power to support him. I don’t know if you understand what taking care of him means to me, but I hope you believe me in that regard.”

He did believe that. But how could he prove to her—a woman who seemed to want nothing to do with him, aside from his money—that his intentions were just as honorable?

“Yes,” he said.

“You believe me?”

“Yes, I’ll give you the money.”

She visibly sagged with relief.

“And the boarders,” he added. “On one condition.”

Her slender figure stiffened, a wary look entering her eyes.

“You agree to keep an open mind about me,” he said. “And my business proposition that you train my thoroughbred for the Derby.”

Shaking her head, she moved to speak.

“You’re not obligated to accept my job offer, Jo. I’m just asking you to think it over. To consider my offer with no expectation on my part that you’ll agree. To simply accept my help and consider my business offer of training as you would that of a well-meaning neighbor . . . or friend. One who will be at your beck and call so long as you need me.”

Laughter burst from her lips, the act lighting up her pretty features with a pleasing glow. “You? At my beck and call?”

He grinned. “Exactly that.”

The humorous light in her expression turned skeptical. “Have you ever been at someone’s beck and call before?”

“No.” He moved closer and reached out, his attention drifting to her motionless hand at her side, the flesh of his palm almost tingling with the anticipation of pressing against hers again, of feeling that pleasant thrill of attraction from her touch. “But I look forward to the experience of helping you in any way you see fit.”

“You’re asking me to keep an open mind.” She eyed his outstretched hand. “That’s all?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “In the hope that it will lead you to decide to train again.”

“Will you throw in another bottle of your bourbon for Frankie along with the loan?”

His grin widened. “Of course.”

Her hand lifted, paused briefly in midair, then slid against his and squeezed. “Deal.”

* * *

At the end of the week, on Friday afternoon, Jo stood in the parking lot of Lone Oaks Hospital, sorely tempted to issue her first call for help to Brooks . . . but determined to resist doing so.

“Look, Granddad.” She blew an errant strand of hair out of her face and (heaven forgive her) relished the angry scowl on Earl’s face as he sat in his wheelchair beside her. He hated being called Granddad—he’d actually forbidden the term decades ago when her mother had abandoned her on his stoop—demanding she refer to him as Earl, instead. “I know in spite of having had a stroke and despite the advice the doctor and nurse just gave us during discharge, you still insist upon proving them all wrong. But I’m telling you, there’s no way you’re going to make it into the cab of your truck without help.”

“Amen.” Frankie, standing on the other side of Earl’s wheelchair, nodded her head in agreement.

“L . . . lee me . . . lo,” Earl grumbled from his slumped position in the wheelchair.

“No, I won’t leave you alone,” Jo said. “Because doing so means leaving you sitting here in that wheelchair in this parking lot for the foreseeable future. You refused to let the nurse or orderlies help you, so here we are. All you have left is me and Frankie.”

She glanced at Earl’s truck, parked beside them, in dismay. Oh, Lord. She should’ve foreseen this problem. Should’ve known Earl would balk at her and Frankie—two (gasp!) women—lifting him into the cab of his own truck. But she hadn’t. And here they were.

“I knew you’d give us a little trouble,” Jo said, looking down at Earl, “but I had no idea you’d put up this much of a fight.”

He’d attempted to stand four times on his own already and had barely lifted himself two inches off the seat of the wheelchair before slumping back into it with a pained grunt and thud.

Sighing, she knelt in front of his wheelchair and covered his balled fist gently with her hand. “I know you don’t want help. I know that if I let you, you’d spend the entire day and night trying to drag yourself out of this wheelchair and into that truck on your own, but your body just can’t do it right now.” She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek in her palm. “Your muscles are tired. They’ve been through a trauma, and they’re wore slap out. Not forever. Just for right now. One day soon, after a few months of therapy, you’ll be kicking our butts around Lone Oaks Crossing, but for now, I need you to let us help you, okay? You got to let us put you in that truck.”

His scowl eased as he stared down at her.

“Please?” Frankie lowered her face next to his, squeezed his shoulder, and smiled, her tone tender. “I put clean sheets and new pillows on your bed, set up the gas grill yesterday afternoon, and picked up some fresh salmon this morning before we came to get you. Everything’s ready and waitin’ for you to lie down on your own bed, enjoy a good long nap, then eat a fresh, home-cooked meal. But we got to get you home first.” She kissed his forehead and whispered, “Please, Earl? We’ve missed you so. And we want you home.”

His wrinkled chin wobbled. Big tears pooled on his lower lashes as he nodded.

“Thank you,” Jo said softly, standing. “Frankie and I are going to get you to your feet, then help you lift your left leg into the cab. Then we’ll give you a big push to get you the rest of the way in.” She eased one arm around Earl’s back and one under his left leg, poised to lift, then looked at Frankie. “On the count of three. One, two, three!”

It took more than three counts, four tries, and five disappointing fumbles, but eventually, they managed it, hefting Earl safely into the passenger seat of the cab, strapping on his seat belt and sighing with relief.

“Good night above,” Frankie whispered as they loaded the wheelchair into the truck bed. “How in the world are we gonna manage to get him in the house? We can use the wheelchair to get him across the lawn but there ain’t no way we’ll be able to carry him up all those steps to get him inside.”

Jo secured the wheelchair with a truck bed bungee cord to keep it from sliding around during the drive over the potholes in bumpy dirt roads and pushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead. She lifted her face to the cool fall breeze, a chill spreading along her overheated skin, then looked at Frankie, whose cheeks were as flaming red as her own felt from their recent exertion.

“We’ll just have to figure that out when we get there, I guess.”

Thirty minutes later, Jo took a right and turned Earl’s truck onto the long dirt driveway of Lone Oaks Crossing. He hadn’t said a word during the entire trip home. Instead, he’d sat silently in the passenger seat and stared at the rural scenery as it passed, his tired eyes growing heavier with each mile.

“We’re here, Earl,” she said, glancing to her right.

A slow smile lifted her lips. He was asleep, his tanned, wrinkled cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, his mouth peacefully slack and hands resting motionless in his lap.

“He’s tuckered.” Frankie, seated in the back seat of the cab, leaned over the console and gently brushed a strand of gray hair behind his ear. “Oh, how he hates this, Jo. Being weak and vulnerable. But Lord knows, I’m glad he’s home where we can take care of him—whether he likes it or not.”

“Me, too,” Jo said softly as she drove slowly up the driveway.

Despite the afternoon’s troubles, it was a beautiful day. The midafternoon sun shined bright over the quiet acreage of Lone Oaks Crossing. Jo eased her foot off the gas pedal a little more, taking a moment to soak it all in, to relish her happiness at having Earl home again, safe and cared for in the home he adored by people he loved.

It seemed like such a small thing to do—to help nurse him back to health—but the prospect of being able to return just a small percentage of the love, security, and support that Earl had provided throughout her childhood flooded her heart with hope and a yearning to set things right again. To see Lone Oaks Crossing thrive as it once had, its green pastures full of grazing horses, healthy and strong, and Earl, confident and in control again, overseeing the daily operations of the renewed working farm.

Jo drove on, past the pastures, around the winding dirt drive, and up to the modest home Earl had lived in all his life. The one she remembered fondly from childhood. She slowed the truck, however, at the site of a large truck and trailer parked near the stables.

“Looks like we have a guest,” Frankie said, easing even farther over the console, peering around Jo toward the truck and trailer. “You expecting someone?”

“No.” Jo’s gaze strayed from the truck and trailer and moved toward the house, where a familiar man stood at the foot of the porch steps. He looked out of place, his muscular form clad in a dress shirt and what appeared to be custom-tailored jeans, pristine and at odds with the aging two-story house behind him. “From the looks of it, I’d say our new benefactor has decided to pay us a visit.”

“With a trailer?” Frankie perked up. “You think he found two new boarders for us already?”

Jo slowed the truck, bringing it to a stop in front of the house, several feet away from Brooks, her eyes meeting his through the windshield. “I wouldn’t doubt it. From the looks of his estate when I visited the other day, he’s pretty much got the entire world at his fingertips.”

Which, she thought uncomfortably, was probably true when someone had as much wealth at their disposal as Brooks had. Days before, after he’d handed her a twenty-thousand-dollar check in his home office and she’d returned to Earl’s truck and driven away, she’d still found herself looking in the rearview mirror, gaping in awe at the imposing sight of his mansion and pristine grounds.

“Huh.” Frankie glanced at Brooks, too. “Good thing he’s on our side then.”

And heaven help them if he ever decided not to be, Jo thought.

She cut the engine. “Would you mind waiting here for a minute? I’d like to see what he wants before we try to get Earl inside.”

Frankie patted her shoulder. “Go ahead. Earl’s snoozing pretty good right now. It won’t hurt to give him a few more minutes.”

Jo glanced fondly at Earl, then exited the truck, shutting the door softly so as not to disturb him.

Brooks strode across the front lawn toward her, his long legs easily eating up the distance between them. “You have a full truck, I see.”

Jo removed the sunglasses she’d donned for the drive home. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She motioned over her shoulder toward the truck and trailer parked by the stable. “But that trailer’s a welcome sight. Were you able to find two new boarders for us?”

Brooks nodded. “Yep. And I think you’ll be pleased.” He leaned to the side and peered over her shoulder into the cab of Earl’s truck. “I’m glad to see you made it home safely with Earl.”

Jo’s confusion must have shown on her face.

“You mentioned he was being released from the hospital at the end of the week when you visited me at Original Sin the other day,” Brooks said. “I called the hospital to check on him and was told he was being discharged today. I figured you might need some help getting him inside and comfortable, so I thought I’d pop over and give you a hand while I was delivering your new boarders.”

His chivalrous impulse sent a pleasurable flutter through her middle. She grinned. “It’s very nice of you, but that kinda sounds like a man who’s trying to be in charge.” She grinned wider. “I don’t remember giving you a call . . . or a beck.”

He smiled back, his flirtatious eyes and the boyish dimple in his left cheek enough to charm any woman. “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t say I was trying to take charge.”

“Then what would you say?”

“I’d say I’m being neighborly.” He leaned in, his soft breath tickling the shell of her ear as he whispered, “I’m doing what a neighbor would do in hopes of becoming more than just a neighbor. Possibly a friend?”

His aftershave was spicy but held a hint of sweetness. It lingered on the air between them, tantalizing her senses.

Jo shook her head, attempting to dispel his intoxicating appeal, and stepped back. “I appreciate you finding and delivering us new boarders,” she said. “But I think Frankie and I can manage getting Earl settled on our own.”

She walked away and rounded the front of the truck, saying over her shoulder, “If you don’t mind hanging around while I get Earl settled, I’ll walk with you to the stables to check out the boarders.”

His deep voice sounded at her back as she opened the passenger door. “I don’t mind. Take your time.”

The door creaked as it opened, rousing Earl, who blinked groggily and struggled to focus on Jo’s face.

“We’re home,” Jo said softly.

Earl blinked several times and stared up at her, seeming to have trouble getting his bearings.

A door on the other side of the truck opened and shut and, moments later, Frankie walked around the back of the truck and joined Jo, looking down at Earl. “Ready to go in, hon? We’re gonna get your wheelchair set up and push you across the lawn. Then Jo and I will help you up the steps so you can go inside, have a good nap, and get some decent rest in your own bed for a change.”

Alert now but still visibly exhausted, Earl pushed himself up straighter in the seat with trembling arms and nodded.

Jo glanced at the lawn separating them from the front porch steps. The high tufts of dormant grass and shallow holes where opossums had dug overnight seemed much more difficult to navigate in a wheelchair than she’d imagined.

“I don’t think the wheelchair is going to be an option, Frankie.” Jo looked at Earl. “How do you feel about leaning on me and Frankie and going for a little walk? Do you think you have one more push in your legs today? Enough to help me and Frankie walk you inside?”

Earl narrowed his eyes, a spark of anger flaring. “ ’Course . . . I can.”

Jo smiled. “I figured you’d say that.” She nudged the passenger door to open it wider. “All right, Frankie. Same drill as in the hospital parking lot—only this time farther—okay?”

They commenced the same steps they’d undertaken in the Lone Oaks Hospital parking lot, Jo supporting one side of Earl and Frankie the other. He was heavier this time around, his limbs weak from his earlier exertions, and it was a struggle just to slide him to the edge of the truck’s seat and set both of his feet on the ground.

Jo’s lungs burned and her breathing became labored, but she tried to quiet her exhalations and forced a smile. “You okay, Earl? We can do this. It just may take a little longer than before.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he sagged more heavily against her and closed his eyes.

“Earl?” Stomach sinking, Jo kissed his forehead. “What if we rest for a moment, then try again?”

Still, he remained silent, his eyes closed. He looked frailer than ever.

“Jo.”

Breath catching on a muffled sob, Jo glanced over her shoulder.

Brooks had moved closer, his dark eyes fixed on Earl in concern, his deep voice rumbling softly beside her. “I’d like to help, if I may?”

“He’s plumb tuckered.” Frankie’s eyes were glinting in the sunlight with tears as she studied Earl’s weak form. “I think it’s best to let Brooks help, Jo.”

Jo eyed Brooks’s muscular stature and strong hands, her heart pounding at the thought of releasing Earl. Of entrusting his well-being to someone else.

Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she stepped back and made room for Brooks. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But take care, please. He’s very weak.”

Brooks eased past her and touched Earl’s shoulder. “Earl? It’s Brooks. Your neighbor. I’m going to get you inside, if that’s okay with you?”

Eyes still closed, Earl didn’t respond. His chest rose and lowered on heavy breaths.

At Earl’s silence, Brooks slid one arm around Earl’s back and the other beneath his knees, then gently lifted him up into his arms.

Earl was ill and frail now, but his frame was still equipped with a fair amount of muscle and his weight must have put a hefty strain on the younger man’s arms. But if it did, Brooks didn’t let it show. He simply cradled the older man securely against his chest and smiled reassuringly at Jo as he carried Earl past her and across the front lawn.

Heart pounding harder and hands moving nervously, Jo followed close behind, easing in step behind Brooks as he carried Earl up the stairs. She slipped around them and opened the front door, holding it wide as Brooks carried Earl through it and inside the house. Jo guided Brooks through the living room, down the hallway, and into the first bedroom on the left, pointing at Earl’s double bed, which sat on the other side of the bedroom.

Nodding, Brooks carried Earl across the room, then laid him gently on the bed, taking care to reposition a pillow more comfortably under Earl’s head. His strong hands lingered, easing Earl’s legs out into a relaxed position, then touched the toes of Earl’s boots lightly with his fingertips.

“Would you like me to take these off for him?” Brooks asked softly.

“No.” Frankie’s voice, faint and pained, emerged from the doorway. She walked across the room and joined Brooks by the bed, stilling his hand with hers. “I . . .” She wiped her wet cheeks and set her shoulders. “I’d like to take over from here, please.”

Brooks straightened and patted her shoulder. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it.”

As Brooks eased away from the bed, Frankie moved to the end of the mattress and tugged Earl’s boots off one by one, a fresh tear rolling down her face.

“Would this be a good time for me to introduce you to your new boarders?”

Startled, Jo dragged her attention away from Frankie’s gentle motions and looked up. Brooks stared down at her, concern in his eyes.

Mouth dry, she licked her lips to speak but her throat was so tight, the words wouldn’t come.

“Jo?” Brooks, his voice soft and expression gentle, lifted his hand and smoothed his blunt thumb gently across her wet cheek. “He’s okay now. He’s settled and Frankie’s making sure he’s comfortable. Why don’t we go take a look at your new boarders and give her some time alone with him? It’ll do you good to get outside and breathe some fresh air.”

Jo watched as he removed his hand, the tip of his thumb moist, and she touched her hot cheek, realizing for the first time that she had shed tears of her own. Perhaps it was the strong, capable way he supported Earl . . . or maybe it was the tenderness in his touch and tone. Either way, she longed to lean against him, press her wet cheek to his warm chest, and wrap her arms around him, seeking his strong support.

“Yes,” she whispered, meeting his eyes, the kindness in them easing her pain. “I think that’d be best.”