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The girl raised her head slowly, the movement jostling the limp strands of her hair back over her shoulders to reveal her face. Her features were plain but the sturdiness of her jaw and the deep dimple in her chin seemed to echo the stubborn glint in her expression. The black eye she sported did the same.
Cheyenne’s gaze sought Jo’s, holding her stare, judging, and weighing her as much as—if not more than—Jo had assessed her, the girl’s eyes lingering on the still slightly swollen wound in Jo’s bottom lip. “So . . . you’re the chick that wants me to shovel shit.”
Agnes gasped. “Cheyenne! Your manners are atrocious.” She wrung her hands, glancing up at Jo in dismay. “Cheyenne really is a sweet girl, Jo. And she’ll work very hard, I promise. She just needs discipline and guidance and . . . and”—she glanced at Cheyenne, the eager hope in her expression dimming—“she just needs to be given a chance.”
Cheyenne sneered and rolled her eyes.
“Excuse us for just a minute, please.” Jo stepped back, grabbed Brooks’s elbow, and dragged him with her, turning their backs to Agnes and Cheyenne, seeking space from the potential trouble and pressures the teen presented.
“Look,” Jo whispered to Brooks, “I know you’re trying to help, but this is a disaster waiting to happen. Did you see the black eye? There’s no way that kid’ll do anything I tell her.”
“Not true,” Brooks whispered back. “From what I’ve been told, you were a great teacher, and I’ll be on hand to help out. Besides, this arrangement will give you the opportunity to not only gain an extra pair of hands, but also to give your idea of a healing retreat a trial run. You did say you wanted to revive Lone Oaks Crossing into a place where horses—and people—could heal.”
Jo smirked. “Yeah, but populating my granddad’s farm with foul-mouthed teenagers isn’t what I had in mind when I walked out on my teaching job.”
Brooks grinned, the action lending him a boyish air—a far too appealing invitation for any red-blooded woman to ignore. “I admit,” he whispered, “the kid might be a challenge. But she has the potential to provide security for both of us. Security in the sense that you will have more time to spend with Earl, and security for me, knowing that you have enough help to take care of Another Round properly.”
Jo studied his face, searching for any hint of insincerity or ulterior motive, but the man definitely had a poker face.
“Look,” he said. “I know you’re probably having some painful flashbacks to the job you just left, but this is different. You and Cheyenne have both been hurt by a system that didn’t support either of you.” He held her gaze, an earnest intensity in his eyes. “Help her out and let her help you. What do you have to lose?”
Oh, sweet Lord. Just about every single thing she had left—including her sanity.
Jo closed her eyes, regretting her decision almost before she made it. “Where will she stay? At your place or Lone Oaks Crossing?”
“At Lone Oaks Crossing,” Brooks said. “That way, she’ll be ready and available anytime you need an extra hand.” He examined her resigned expression, then nodded. “Welcome to your new class of one. You won’t regret it.”
Reluctantly, Jo faced Agnes and Cheyenne again. The teen was looking at Brooks’s boots, a curious—almost excited gleam—entering her eyes as she studied them; it morphed into a frown as she looked down at her own worn tennis shoes.
“You like boots?” Jo asked. That, at least, was one perk she could provide the girl that might entice her to cooperate.
Cheyenne’s eyes snapped back to Jo’s, her lips pursing as she shrugged. “Maybe. But you should know before you put a shovel in my hand that I can’t be bought with a shiny pair of boots.”
Jo tilted her head, her attention lingering on the fresh black eye marring Cheyenne’s face, her own hand lifting to touch the wound on her lip. The kid might not be excited about working on a farm, but a farmhand needed gut and gumption to work with horses. And, judging from her outspoken comments, the kid was honest, at least.
Jo sighed. “I suppose she’ll do.”
CHAPTER 6
Two days later, Jo realized her new class of one (as Brooks had put it) was unmotivated, disrespectful, and irresponsible. Not that she’d expected anything different after the introduction Agnes had given her to the troubled teen.
Cheyenne Grier was indeed a challenging kid in need of discipline and guidance.
After Brooks had driven Jo and Cheyenne from Dream House to Lone Oaks Crossing forty-eight hours ago, Jo had tried her best to bond with the girl on at least a superficial level. She’d given Cheyenne a tour of Lone Oaks Crossing, leading her to the sprawling fields, walking with her through the stables and the house, and showing her the guest room where she’d be staying.
Cheyenne had been unimpressed with her new living quarters. She’d stood in the center of the guest room and spun slowly around, frowning deeper as she’d eyed the sparse furnishings. There was one single bed, one nightstand (which had seen better days), a lamp, a small dresser, and a glider that had been used by Jo’s grandmother decades ago, its cushion flat and faded.
“Really?” Cheyenne had flung her bag on the bed, propped her hands on her hips, and eyed Jo with disdain. “This is where you expect me to stay?”
Jo hadn’t been surprised by Cheyenne’s response—the teen hadn’t been very amenable to anything Jo had introduced her to that day. But wanting to give the girl the benefit of the doubt and taking her recent hardships into consideration, Jo had continued showing Cheyenne around the house and pointed out the small bathroom down the hall which Cheyenne would use as her own.
After giving Cheyenne the tour of Lone Oaks Crossing, Jo had left her in Frankie’s care long enough to run to the grocery store, where she picked up extra food and a few fresh toiletries for the teen. Jo had given herself a pep talk regarding her new teenage farmhand along the way, reminding herself that every child was different and had their own unique personality and needs. Just because Cheyenne reminded her of Natasha didn’t mean Cheyenne would give her the same trouble Natasha had—including the busted lip. Cheyenne might very well turn out to be the great help to her that Brooks had suggested.
And surprisingly, the empathy and compassion that she’d thought had completely left her over a week ago when she’d walked out on her teaching job had pricked her conscience. Though her patience and goodwill had been exhausted by the hopelessness of Stone Hill High School, she wasn’t completely inured to Cheyenne’s needs. She still cared.
The sense of relief that accompanied the realization overwhelmed Jo. She might have abandoned her teaching career, but the innate drive to teach, support, and protect hadn’t abandoned her. Maybe, just maybe, employing Cheyenne would afford her the opportunity to improve a child’s life even though she no longer taught in a classroom.
Jo had left the store, her spirits high, and returned to Lone Oaks Crossing with the hope that she might connect with Cheyenne. That Cheyenne might allow her to help turn her life around and, in turn, Cheyenne might help ease hers and Frankie’s workloads. Only, when she’d returned to the farm and parked Earl’s truck in front of the house, she’d found Frankie sitting on the porch, a newly opened bottle of Brooks’s bourbon in her hand and an expression of disgust on her face.
