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She flashed a smile at Brooks, one far too bright to be sincere. “I think things went really well in there. Lee managed to take an aspirin, eat a few bites of a hot dog, drink half a bottle of a sports drink, and wash his face, so he should feel more hydrated and awake now.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you feel better now with something in your stomach to soak up all that alcohol, Lee?” Receiving no response, she prompted, “Are the sports drink and aspirin helping to ease your headache?”
A muffled groan emerged from the back of the extended cab.
Brooks glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see Lee double over, lower his head toward the floor mat, and issue the most stomach-churning sounds and smells he’d ever had the misfortune of witnessing.
“God help me,” Brooks whispered, struggling not to gag or think of his recently cleaned floorboards. “Please tell me those are more dry heaves.”
Jo, a dismayed look on her face, swiveled in her seat, glanced at the back floorboard, then swiftly faced forward again, clutching her mouth and nose with both hands. “No,” she said softly, her throat moving on a hard swallow. “They’re definitely not dry.”
Brooks cranked the engine, rolled down the windows, and pumped the gas pedal, violently revving the engine for good measure. “Jo . . . I adore you. But the second I stop in front of your grandfather’s house, I want his ass out of my truck.”
CHAPTER 10
Two days later, Lee was sober, clear-eyed, and miserable.
“I’ve run that track once already and it ain’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet.” Lee, standing in the backyard of the main house at Lone Oaks Crossing, bent, braced his hands on his knees, and coughed uncontrollably. His chest heaved as he struggled to draw in a breath. “This is inhumane!”
“Mercy me.” Frankie, standing beside Jo on the deck, made a face as she stared down at Lee. “You think he’s gonna vomit again?”
Wincing, Jo shook her head. “No. He barfed up everything but his lungs the night he got here.”
Which, she reflected with a deep sense of gratitude, Brooks had not stayed to witness.
Two days ago, after Brooks had driven up the driveway of Lone Oaks Crossing and parked in front of the main house, Jo had dragged Lee out of the back seat of Brooks’s truck as quickly as possible while trying not to focus on the deepening glare on its owner’s face.
She didn’t blame him for being angry. Lee was a mess. An absolute hungover, slovenly, sick mess that had, more than likely, left a permanent stain in the back floorboard of the truck. Though, she had to admit, the bout of nausea had seemed to do Lee a bit of good as he’d been able to walk into the house under his own steam.
Jo had remained outside a moment longer, standing by the driver’s side window as she’d smiled up at Brooks and apologized for Lee’s drunken state. To his credit, Brooks had refrained from bad-mouthing Lee again or repeating how much of a mistake he thought it was to bring the man into their racing venture. Instead, he’d nodded in silent acknowledgment of her apology, then glanced at her and said two things.
I’ll be back in two days. He’d better show improvement.
“Come on, Lee,” Jo shouted down at him from the deck. “Once more. That track’s only half a mile long and you still have three rounds of squats, burpees, and bear crawls left to do.”
And goodness knows, Brooks might form a better second impression of Lee if he were in actual motion rather than bent double, gasping for breath as though he were about to keel over at any moment.
“What time is Brooks coming?” Frankie asked, sipping coffee from the mug she held. Steam curled above the rim, mingling with the cool morning air.
Jo glanced over her shoulder and tilted her head, listening for any sounds of a truck engine. “I’m not sure. He just said he was coming back in two days to check on Lee’s progress.”
Laughter burst out on the opposite end of the deck.
Cheyenne, seated in a lawn chair beside Earl, who was seated in his wheelchair, laughed again as she stared down at Lee. “I bet you Brooks is gonna toss that dude out on his ear.”
Jo frowned. “That’s not a very kind sentiment, Cheyenne.”
Though, she reluctantly acknowledged, it was a distinct possibility.
“You know it’s true,” Cheyenne said. Her grin fell as she looked beyond Lee’s bent form and focused on Another Round, who grazed in the neighboring pasture. “Brooks loves Another Round and isn’t gonna let that dude anywhere near him. Only the best horseman should ride him.”
“Lee is the best,” Jo said. “He just needs some time to get back in shape.” She walked across the deck, stopped by Cheyenne’s side, and squeezed the teen’s shoulder, saying quietly, “And he can probably hear every word you’re saying, so please keep your voice down.”
Cheyenne looked up at her and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want him riding Another Round either. He’s not . . .” She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s just not good enough.”
“Give him time.” Jo glanced at Earl. “He’s the best, isn’t he, Earl?”
Earl, who’d been studying Lee, looked up at Jo and nodded. “Could be . . . if he works . . . more.” He faced Cheyenne, raised one hand and pointed at her. “Same as you. If you . . . keep g-grooming.”
Cheyenne’s disapproving scowl eased as she met Earl’s eyes. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I guess.”
