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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.”
CHAPTER 5
Brooks had experienced loss before. It was nothing new to him. The same loss was written on Jo’s face.
He glanced at her as they entered the stable at Lone Oaks Crossing. The tears she had shed minutes earlier inside Earl’s bedroom had dried on her face during the walk from the house to the stable, but the rosy flush of pain in her cheeks and the heavy anguish deep in her eyes remained.
“Thank you for helping Earl,” she whispered.
He lowered his head, barely catching her soft words, her sorrowful tone coaxing forth a deep-seated pain he’d buried long ago.
“You were very . . . tender with him.” Her cheeks flushed. “I guess I didn’t quite expect that.”
“I’m glad I could help,” he said. “I know how painful it is to see someone you love hurting and be unable to heal them.”
She glanced up at him, her long lashes still damp with tears as she surveyed his expression. “You’ve lost someone to an illness?”
He nodded. “More than once. I’ve experienced a great deal of loss in my life, actually. More than most people assume.”
At an early age, he’d lost his father to gambling and greed. Shortly after, he’d lost his mother to grief and despair. He’d lost his family’s money, his family’s land, and his family home. But worst of all, he’d lost his childhood. The happy memories he treasured—time spent with a loving mother and father who had once enjoyed spending time with him in a childhood home where he roamed freely, fearlessly, and with hope for the future—had all been tarnished in later years by understanding of his father’s weakness and greedy habits, which had been easily preyed upon by others.
After his mother’s passing, he’d been declared a ward of the state and placed in Dream House, a foster home in Lone Oaks. The plain, two-story brick building situated in the center of the small town had seemed like a prison to Brooks after spending his first fifteen years on the wide-open, serene acres of Rose Farm. A farm much like Lone Oaks Crossing.
Though he’d only spent three years in the facility, from age fifteen to age eighteen, he’d gotten his fill of the place early on, and by the time he’d aged out and left Dream House, he’d had no desire to ever return.
Not that his experience there had been all bad. On the contrary, he’d been well cared for, provided a warm bed along with an acceptable amount of privacy and solitude when he desired it, and had met a handful of boys his age who’d suffered through circumstances that made his own misfortunes pale in comparison. He’d laughed in that building on several occasions. Had fun even. But on the nights he’d locked himself in the small bathroom of his dormitory and released his grief in private, he’d shed more tears than any teenage boy ever should.
The only person he’d missed from Dream House had been Agnes St. Clair, a woman who’d been his mother’s age during their first meeting. He’d taken an instant liking to her sweet smiles and warm, comforting hugs. She’d been the only adult who’d always been there for him anytime he wanted to talk and had compassionately admonished him when necessary during the times he’d acted out. She could never fully understand his pain—no one could—but she’d empathized with him as best she could. Losing a father to suicide and a mother one year later to a heart attack was an experience no boy his age should ever have to endure.
Ironically, the loss he’d known had been all the more painful because he’d been fortunate enough to experience a happier period of time in his childhood. A time full of warm, loving moments that had held such bright hope for the future.
He still carried that loss within him every day. It had set down roots in his heart and branched out, infiltrating every cell of his being, driving him to replace it with something new. Something better. A vision of the life that should have been his.
“I’m sorry to hear you’ve had troubles,” she said as they reached the stable entrance.
