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“Yep.” Jo shielded her eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun as they stepped out onto the front porch. “Another Round, in particular. He’s a racehorse and needs regular workouts to keep his . . .”
A familiar truck rumbled up the driveway and drowned out her words. Hauling a flatbed trailer loaded down with various sizes of lumber and toolboxes, it slowed as it reached the main house and drew to a stop.
The door opened and Brooks hopped out of the cab and strode over to the porch, grinning wide. “Afternoon, ladies.”
Jo smiled back, trying not to allow her gaze to linger on his flirtatious grin. His broad chest and lean hips were encased in a casual long-sleeved shirt and faded jeans as though he were prepared for manual outdoor labor. “This is a surprise. Especially, seeing as how I haven’t called or beckoned.”
He grinned wider as he climbed the porch steps. “Well, I figured I’d beat you to it.” He looked at Cheyenne. “Hello, Cheyenne. How’s it going so far?”
She looked away, crossed her arms over her chest, and shrugged.
Brooks glanced at Jo and raised on eyebrow. “No profanity-laden outburst? I suppose I’ll take that as a good sign.”
Jo gestured toward the trailer that was hitched to the back of Brooks’s truck. “What’s up with the lumber?”
He motioned toward the front steps he’d just ascended. “I got to thinking, it’ll probably be a while before Earl will be able to walk up and down these steps without trouble, so I figured I’d help him out by building a ramp and a small deck. That way he can use his wheelchair to get outside on his own if he’d like and have a place to sit in the sun.”
His words stirred a tender sensation in Jo’s chest. “That’s . . . very kind of you.” She staved off that inconvenient sensation by kneading the center of her chest as she glanced around the porch. “I don’t know that this is the best place for the deck, though. Maybe at the back of the house instead? Where the paddocks are? There’s a set of steps leading off the back door of the house and there’d be a much better view of the horses from that vantage point.” An ache spread through her as she glanced at the open window of the kitchen. “Earl always enjoyed having a cup of coffee out there in the afternoons while watching the horses graze.”
Brooks nodded. “Then that’s where we’ll build it.”
Cheyenne shot him a glare. “We?”
“Yep.” Brooks’s grin widened. “We’ll unload everything now and get started early tomorrow morning. And by ‘we,’ ” he said, looking at Cheyenne, “I mean you.”
Cheyenne flung her head back, closed her eyes, and groaned with disgust.
CHAPTER 7
Brooks had never had so much fun performing manual labor. He supposed it could be a result of not having engaged in such physical activity in years, or it could be the invigorating feel of warm sun and cool air mixing on his sweat-slicked skin that made the work such a joy. But he suspected the true reason was the fact that building the deck allowed him to spend more time with Jo.
After delivering the lumber and tools yesterday afternoon, he’d returned to Lone Oaks Crossing early this morning and found Jo and Cheyenne waiting for him on the porch of the main house. Cheyenne, Jo had informed him, had already dressed, eaten breakfast, mucked the stalls, and had taken a breather to prepare for the day’s physically taxing project. Cheyenne, a bitter but resigned look on her face, didn’t seem as enthusiastic as Jo suggested, but that was okay with Brooks.
Today he was doing something good for Earl, Lone Oaks Crossing, and Jo. The investment of time, backbreaking labor, and waves of sweat rolling over his skin was well worth the smiles Jo flashed in his direction.
“Okay,” Jo said, “the frame is in place and looks sturdy.” Standing beside the wood frame they’d spent the past couple hours measuring, leveling, and securing, she looked over at him. “Do you think we can lay the boards now?”
Brooks smiled, admiring the rosy flush on her tan cheeks and the excited gleam in her beautiful blue eyes. “You’re anxious to get this decking down, aren’t you?”
Jo dropped the hammer she held onto the ground and dragged her forearm across her sweaty brow. “I’m anxious for Earl to be able to join us out here and enjoy the sun.” She tilted her head back and eyed the sky, her gaze scanning the expanse of blue above them as the crisp fall breeze ruffled the hair she’d pulled back in a ponytail. “It’s a beautiful day,” she added. “It’s a shame for him not to be out here watching the horses and enjoying the weather right now, before the real cold begins to set in.”
Brooks glanced over his shoulder toward the paddocks in the distance. It was a beautiful day, all right, and the horses—including Another Round—were enjoying their tranquil surroundings by strolling lazily across the fields and grazing at their leisure.
When he’d first arrived, Jo and Cheyenne had already led the horses out to the pastures, allowing them to roam freely during the warm afternoon hours and soak up the sun. They were all brushed, their carefully cleaned and groomed hides gleaming under the bright sun, each gust of cool fall air rustling their lush tails and manes. The bluegrass along the rolling hills of the farm lent an emerald hue to land that stretched out for acres and extended beyond the oak trees that lined his neighboring property.
Lone Oaks Crossing was naturally beautiful. There was no doubt about it. And no amount of man-made manipulation like his distillery, state-of-the-art stables, or aesthetically pleasing gift store could enhance its natural beauty.
Lone Oaks Crossing—despite financial difficulties and years of weathering—was, as Earl had once described Brooks’s estate, a dream.
“By this time tomorrow,” Brooks said, “Earl will be sitting where you’re standing, enjoying the sun and admiring his land.” He glanced over to his left, where a stack of lumber sat waiting. “We’ll go ahead and tackle the decking, and when we finish, we’ll test it out then take a break.”
“A break?” Cheyenne, squatting several feet away with a drill in hand, shot to her feet, her eyes wide with relief. “It’s time for a break?”
Brooks laughed. “Soon, Cheyenne.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s barely one in the afternoon. We can knock out the decking before we break for lunch.”
But he had to give the kid credit. She’d worked her tail off. Sure, she’d complained, but she’d followed all his and Jo’s directions to the letter and had worked as hard as either of them.
Cheyenne groaned, dragged a hand through her sweaty hair, then fanned her T-shirt away from her middle. “I’m sweating like a pig. Can we at least go inside for a little while?”
