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Jo walked over to the pile of lumber and started searching for the right boards to complete the deck. “You’re welcome to go inside and take a short break if you’d like. But sometimes, when you’re this close to ending a phase of a project, it’s better to push through and just get it done. Then when you take your lunch break, you can sit back and admire your handiwork.”
“And once you’ve rested, you can tackle the next phase of the project,” Brooks said, chuckling.
Cheyenne stomped her foot. “Whatever! Let’s just get this deck over with.”
They jumped back to work, laying boards for the deck, drilling them in place, and finally, testing each plank out for sturdiness and secure footing.
“Looks great.” Brooks smiled at Cheyenne. “You did a fantastic job. You’re a fast learner.”
Cheyenne, who was walking across the other end of the deck, testing boards, ducked her head and shrugged. “I didn’t know I could build something like this,” she said. “I’ve never had anyone to show me before.” She glanced at Brooks, the guarded look in her gaze slipping just a little. “Who taught you how to do this kind of thing?”
Brooks, kneeling by the supporting posts of the deck, stood and joined Cheyenne on the deck, walking across its expanse and focusing on each step he took, testing his weight against the platform. “My father taught me. Quite a long time ago.”
“Where’s he now?” Cheyenne asked.
Brooks hesitated, his skin tingling where he could feel Jo’s scrutiny settle on him. She was walking the length of the deck as well, checking their handiwork. “He passed away years ago.”
Cheyenne stopped walking and stood still on the deck, staring out at the horses grazing in the pasture before them. “And your mom?”
Brooks stepped onto another section of the deck and bounced, testing its stability. “I lost her not long after I lost my father.” He grimaced. “Broken heart syndrome, they told me.”
Cheyenne frowned at him. “She died from a broken heart?”
“Stress,” he said dully. “An overwhelming amount of grief and pain that was too much for her heart to bear apparently. It became so weak it just gave out.” He shook his head. “That type of thing was new to me, too, at the time.”
“How old were you?” Cheyenne asked.
“Cheyenne,” Jo said softly. “I don’t think—”
“It’s okay.” Brooks faced Jo then, meeting her concerned gaze, the empathy in her eyes bringing heat to his cheeks. He faced Cheyenne instead. “I was around your age, Cheyenne. Fifteen at the time, actually.”
Cheyenne resumed staring at the horses. “You have any brothers or sisters?”
“No,” Brooks said. “It’s just me.”
“Then who took care of you?” Cheyenne asked.
“Ms. Agnes.” Brooks smiled as Cheyenne looked at him, her eyes surprised. “The same Ms. Agnes that was taking care of you.”
Her eyes widened. “You lived in Dream House?”
He nodded. “For three years, until I aged out and could make it on my own.”
Cheyenne gaped at him, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she surveyed him once more, reevaluating and reassessing the man she thought he was. “So, you’re alone, too? You got no family at all?”
“No,” he said softly. “But I have neighbors.” He looked at Jo, the affectionate gleam in her eyes as she returned his gaze filling him with pleasure. “Great neighbors, actually.” He returned his attention to Cheyenne. “And I’ve enjoyed spending time with you today, working on this deck and, hopefully, the wheelchair ramp after lunch if you decide to stick around and continue helping? Either way, you’ve been a huge help already.”
Cheyenne blushed—the kid actually blushed! His comment clearly pleased her.
Seemingly uncomfortable with the praise, she spun away again and walked farther across the deck to stare at the horses again. “Jo said your horse is a racehorse.”
Brooks glanced at Jo and smiled. “That’s right. His name is Another Round and he’s a fierce competitor. He’s friendly but won’t let anyone walk all over him.”
Much like Cheyenne, he mused. Ms. Agnes had been right. The kid’s anger, stubbornness, and distrust of others reminded him of himself at that age . . . much more than he cared to remember, in fact.
A slow smile lifted Cheyenne’s lips. “He’s gorgeous, you know.”
“That he is,” Brooks said.
