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Jo smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” She cut her eyes at Brooks. “Though I don’t have any plans to train again. But Brooks is right that we’re pretty shorthanded right now, what with Earl just coming home and starting therapy. So, we’ll need help mucking out the stalls and caring for Brooks’s colt. Although”—she glanced over her shoulder as another teen sauntered in—“I don’t know if any of your charges would be suited for household chores, mucking stalls, or—”
“That’s exactly the type of work we look for in terms of fulfilling community service hours,” she said. “Steady, hard work that’s worthwhile and helps build community as well as a young person’s confidence. Brooks has been our biggest advocate. He hires at least one teen every year to help out in his stables.”
Jo glanced at Brooks. “You employ foster children?”
“He certainly does,” Agnes said proudly. She reached up and patted his cheeks. “He used to live here, so he knows how much our children need support and opportunities to learn new trades.”
“You used to live here?” Surprised, Jo stared up at him.
He nodded, his mouth tightening.
“Brooks was only with us for three years, but he’s kept in touch over the years.” Agnes smiled. “I shouldn’t say this, but he was always my favorite. He was so tough on the outside, but an absolute angel on the inside.”
Brooks cleared his throat as a red flush suffused his neck.
Agnes winced. “The girl I’ve picked out for you has a very similar disposition to Brooks at that age but, well . . . she’s not all that happy about going to a farm. But I’m hoping the prospect of working with a horse might help.”
“What’s her name?” Brooks asked. “How old is she?”
Agnes glanced over her shoulder, shrugging her shoulders as she said softly, “Cheyenne Grier. She’s fourteen and a tough nut to crack from what I’ve seen so far.”
Jo shook her head, her hands trembling in her pockets at the thought of undertaking a troubled teen like the ones she’d just left behind a week ago. “I’m sorry, Ms. Agnes. I could certainly use the help, but I don’t think our farm would be a good match for a challenging teen, especially given Earl’s condition.”
Agnes held up her hands, her eyes pleading up at Jo. “Please. She just needs a little . . . encouragement.” She bit her lip. “Discipline.”
Jo let out a heavy breath. No. No way would she take on the type of kid that had just prompted her to throw away her career. “Ms. Agnes, I can’t—”
“My only concern,” Agnes said, “is that she keep up with her schoolwork. Cheyenne’s been expelled from the local high school, you see. All of her assignments are online, and the schedule is more than feasible given the workload she carried when attending school in person. She’s bright—really bright. She’s just been let down a lot and is very angry.” She leaned in, her voice lowering to a whisper. “She’s so much like Brooks at that age. Hurt, angry, and ready to fight anyone and everyone.”
Brooks looked away, his neck flushing even more as he scanned the empty lobby. Jo studied him for a moment, then faced Agnes again.
“What’s the girl’s story?” Jo asked.
“She was abandoned as a baby,” Agnes said. “Doesn’t know her parents or any extended family. She’s bounced from foster home to foster home throughout her childhood—seems she just isn’t suited to a traditional foster home setting.” Agnes shook her head. “She was expelled from school for stealing—she broke in one night and swiped a laptop and damaged quite a bit of property—and she got into a fight with one of her roommates just yesterday. So . . . I’m not sure this environment is suited for her either. That’s why, when Brooks called me yesterday, asking if I had anyone needing to complete community hours, she came to mind first, you see?” She smiled tentatively. “I’m hoping that a change of scenery will do her good. Especially one with wide-open space. She needs a place to heal. A place to think and breathe. A place where she can see possibilities instead of pain.”
“A place to heal, huh?” Jo shoved her hands farther into her pockets and glanced at Brooks, asking under her breath, “Is that why you brought me here?”
“Wasn’t that what you told me the other day?” he asked. “That you wanted to help kids. That you wanted to help them heal and secure the future of their dreams.”
Yeah. Jo rubbed her temples. That’s exactly what she’d said. “May I meet her first?” she asked Agnes.
Agnes nodded eagerly. “Of course.” She spun on her heel and hustled off, saying over her shoulder, “She’s already packed. I’ll just go grab her and bring her out.”
“Oh, but I’m . . .” Jo’s shoulders slumped as she watched Agnes hurry away. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” She frowned at Brooks. “I wish you’d explained to me who you had in mind before we drove out here.”
“Why?” He raised one eyebrow. “Would you have agreed to come?”
“No.” She stared at the empty hallway Agnes had walked down. “Probably not.”
“Then there you go.” Brooks sighed. “I know you’ve just had a bad experience, but there are good kids here, Jo. They just need a fair shot.”
“Like you did, you mean?”
He didn’t respond.
Agnes reemerged at the end of a hallway and a tall, skinny girl with long brown hair hanging limply around her shoulders lagged behind her.
“Here she is,” Agnes said, a broad smile engulfing her face. Her eyes sparkled like fireworks on the Fourth of July, the eager hope etched into her expression a clear clue to Jo that she was definitely getting in over her head with this kid. “Jo and Brooks, this is Cheyenne Grier. Cheyenne,” Agnes prompted, tapping the girl’s shoulder, “would you please lift your head and greet Ms. Jo and Mr. Brooks?”
