Lone Oaks Crossing

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

When Jo arrived at Lone Oaks Hospital, the sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows of trees across the half-empty parking lot. She barely noticed the hour as she hustled inside, anxious to see Earl after the long drive. She clutched the collar of her bloodstained blouse higher on her neck.

Inside, the long halls were quiet, save for rhythmic beeps and the low murmurs of doctors and nurses. Jo followed the signs on the wall to locate the room number the nurse had given her. The door had been left open a few inches and she pushed it wide, carefully not making any noise. She halted midstep at the sight of Earl, pale and still, sleeping in a bed.

“Oh, my sweet Jo.” An older woman, slumped in a chair beside the bed, shoved to her feet, crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around Jo. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Frankie.” Jo sank into her embrace and breathed her in, her lips trembling as the familiar scents of hay, horses, and lumber—home—enveloped her.

Frankie, now sixty-five years old, was Earl’s oldest friend and a retired veterinarian. She was also the woman who’d stepped in twenty years ago when Jo’s mother had abandoned her, leaving her in Earl’s care. Having never known her father, Jo had been left at Lone Oaks Crossing with Earl when she was seven years old, and Frankie had always been more like a mother to her than her biological mother had ever been.

If looks were anything to go by, Frankie hadn’t changed much over the past few years. Brown hair mussed, cheeks dirt-streaked, and jeans and T-shirt well-worn, Frankie was still as laid-back and real as ever. She’d never stood on ceremony and never bit her tongue—especially when it came to Earl.

Jo hugged her tighter. “H-how is he?”

“He’s okay. They’ve run some tests and the doctor will have more information for us tomorrow.” Her hand smoothed over Jo’s hair, her whisper tickling Jo’s ear. “He’s been asking for you.”

Jo turned her head, rested her opposite cheek on Frankie’s shoulder, and studied Earl’s features. “He’s able to talk?”

“Some,” she said softly. “He gestures to get across the rest.” Frankie’s chest vibrated slightly against Jo, an amused tone tinging her voice. “His mind’s working good, though. He managed to give a male nurse the finger when the guy had trouble sticking a needle in his vein for the IV.”

A grin sprang to Jo’s lips despite the lump in her throat. “Leave it to Earl. He never did like having to lean on others for help.” She slipped out of Frankie’s arms and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for staying here with him. I’m usually not able to answer my phone at work, and I didn’t realize the hospital was c—”

“Girl, what’d you get into?” Frowning, Frankie gently gripped Jo’s chin with two fingers and lifted her face, tilting her head one way then the other. “You’re bleeding.”

“I was.” Jo stepped back and tugged the jacket collar higher against her chin. “It’s stopped now and it’s not important.” She looked at Earl, her throat constricting. “Are we allowed to stay here with him tonight?”

“One of us can. But I don’t think either of us should.”

Jo glanced at Frankie in surprise.

“The nurse will be in around nine tonight to give him another round of meds,” Frankie said. “She told me he probably won’t crack open an eyelid after that until sometime tomorrow afternoon, and after the day we’ve had, I’m wore slap out,” Frankie said. “And you look like you need a better night’s sleep than a hard-backed chair and frequent vital check interruptions would provide.”

“I’d like to stay with him.”

“Then stay tomorrow night.” Frankie jerked her chin toward Earl’s motionless form. “He needs his rest, too, tonight. And he’s more likely to be alert tomorrow. That’ll give you a chance to go home, clean yourself up, and get a decent night’s rest.”

Jo nodded. “You’re still practical as always, I see.”

“Yep.” Frankie, her eyes heavy and tired, smiled. “Sit with him ’til your nerves settle, then come on back to the farm. Fall’s creeping in and it’s cool out. I’ll get a fire started in the pit, and we’ll sit around it a while, give you a chance to relax under those stars I’m sure you’ve been missing.”

“Thank you, Frankie.”

“Don’t stay too long,” she said over her shoulder as she walked out of the room. “Earl needs his rest.”

Jo stood still for a moment, visually scanning Earl, his wiry seventy-three-year-old physique draped with a sheet, an IV leading to the back of his thick-veined hand and a nasal cannula, providing oxygen, positioned in his nostrils. Deep creases bracketed his chapped down-turned lips and heavy crow’s feet fanned out from each of his closed eyelids.

The months since she’d last seen him had changed him; his body showed his age more than it ever had. Nine years ago, she’d known, even at eighteen, that Earl’s many years of hardship and long days of training horses on the farm were taking a toll on his health, which made her decision to abandon her short-lived career in training thoroughbreds all the more difficult.

She’d loved training—she truly had—but the dark side of racing, of gambling a horse’s life for money, had eventually been too painful for her to continue.

Pursuing a career in teaching had felt like the perfect next step. Training was teaching at its core, which was one of the reasons she’d loved it so much. She also knew firsthand how challenging life could be as a child without a sense of security, safety, and encouragement—an experience she wanted to diminish as much as possible for other children who might be suffering as she had in the months after her mother had abandoned her. Earl, Frankie, and the tranquility of Lone Oaks Crossing had transformed her life for the better over the years and she wanted to do the same for others. But in order to transition into teaching, she’d need a college degree—something that couldn’t be had in the little town of Lone Oaks—which meant packing up and moving away.

Earl had taken it hard. He’d homeschooled her at her request during the last two years of her high school career in order to mentor her in the sport they both loved, fully expecting her to partner with him and operate a joint training venture after she graduated high school. And when a thoroughbred she’d helped Earl train won the Derby a month prior to her high school graduation, Earl’s excitement over the new business he’d proposed had only intensified.

Her own excitement, however, had diminished after witnessing the horrors of racing first-hand. From that point on, she could not, in good conscience, continue participating in the sport. It had been painful breaking the news to Earl, and even more painful for Earl to accept. He’d argued against her new career path, pointing out her natural talent at training, stressing how rare her gift was and how much he needed her at Lone Oaks Crossing. Jo had expected her choice to leave home to be difficult for him given the way her mother—his daughter—had abandoned them both years prior with no word since. But to his credit, he’d eventually accepted her decision, wished her well, and supported her move.

Now, seeing him like this, she regretted leaving him—and Lone Oaks Crossing—more than ever.

Jo walked over to the bed and sat in the chair beside it. Reluctant to disturb him, but needing the physical reassurance of touch, she reached out, smoothed her fingers over the back of his hand, then curled her hand gently around his, cradling his palm.

His mouth parted and a faint groan escaped his lips.

She leaned closer and brought her face to his, her mouth near his ear. “I’m here, Earl,” she whispered. “I’ve come home.”

Another hoarse moan rose from his chest; then his wrinkled eyelids lifted, one after the other, and his eyes focused on her face. His chest lifted as his mouth opened wider, pulling in air.

“Don’t talk,” she said. “Just rest.”

“I . . .” He scowled, then blinked hard, his lips contorting as he struggled to speak. “W-will if . . .” He struggled for a moment, then exhaled heavily, his chest sinking.

Wet heat filled her eyes, but she forced herself to smile. “You will if you want to? That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?”

His bleary eyes returned to hers and one corner of his mouth hitched up.

“See?” She squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t need words. I know you well enough to know what you’re thinking.”

His gaze left hers and roved lower, focusing on her bottom lip. The scowl on his face melted away, deep creases of pained concern taking its place on his face. “Wh—wh . . .” He stopped trying to speak and lifted one shaky hand to point at her wound instead.

Still smiling, she touched her injured lip with the tip of her tongue and shrugged. “Just another day on the job in my profession.” Her breath caught. Well . . . her former profession. But now was neither the right time nor place to share that news. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Earl, his mouth twisting again, turned his hand over in hers, his gnarled fingers weakly squeezing her thumb. “Y-you . . .” He struggled, then mouthed the word soundlessly: matter.

Smile fading, Jo held his gaze, watching as his eyes grew heavier each second until they eventually closed, his soft, rhythmic breaths the only sound in the room. Then she lowered her head to the bed, her forehead touching Earl’s strong shoulder, and, for the first time that day, allowed the tears to fall.

* * *

Brooks stood outside room 408 in Lone Oaks Hospital, staring at the numbers tacked to the wooden door, and shifted the flower-filled vase he held from one hand to the other.

“May I help you, sir?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the woman—a nurse, judging from the scrubs she wore—and shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m just here to . . .” Intrude in a stranger’s life during a vulnerable moment for opportunistic gain like a heartless jerk? “. . . visit a friend.”

The nurse smiled in return, her eyes lit with a warm spark he’d seen many times over the course of his life. “You’re Brooks Moore, aren’t you? Owner of Original Sin? A friend and I toured your estate recently. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

He nodded, recognizing the cajoling tone. “Thank you.”

When he’d first opened Original Sin, many locals had been skeptical. Lone Oaks, a rural town about sixty miles outside of Lexington, sustained several tourist destinations for either bourbon or thoroughbred seekers, but none of the tourist hot spots combined the two. Most believed undertaking both would dilute the quality of one or the other. Original Sin, the first estate in Lone Oaks to offer tourists the two local attractions in one scenic location, had succeeded beyond everyone’s expectations—including his own—generating a level of status and wealth the local business community hadn’t foreseen. As a result, he was recognized—and propositioned—in multiple ways nowadays.

“I hope to visit your estate again soon. Maybe for a private one-on-one tour,” the nurse said, a teasing note entering her tone. “You sure I can’t help you with anything?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” She gestured over her shoulder. “You can find me at the nurse’s station.” Her smile widened as her gaze roved over him from head to toe. “Just ask for Jenny.”

He dipped his head, recognizing the invitation in her tone though he wasn’t in the mood. Women, he’d had. Money, he had. It was power he was after now. And, according to the inside knowledge Rhett had shared with him hours earlier, he needed Jo Beth Ellis to earn the respect and access he craved.

“Thank you,” he repeated tonelessly to the nurse as he turned away. He waited for her steps to fade before nudging the door in front of him open and entering the room.

Inside, an older man lay on the bed, sleeping. Earl. Brooks recognized the craggy features of his tan face. A pang moved through him as he studied Earl’s sinewy frame and frail hands, lying still on the bed. He didn’t know Earl well—at all, really—but he could clearly recall from their first meeting how the older man’s body held all the hallmarks of outdoor labor, grit, and determination. To see him like this now, ill and vulnerable, unsettled Brooks more than the sight of a stranger should.

Beside Earl, long waves of what Brooks could only think of as honey-colored hair the same shade as his finest double-barrel bourbon spilled across the mattress. A slim woman slept there, her arms folded on the bed, her head resting on her forearms, and those beautiful strands of hair obscuring her face.

Brooks hesitated, glancing down at his boots, then back at the door, weighing his options. He could wake her, he supposed, but only an insensitive jerk would do that. He winced, realizing he was already one for barging in here, unannounced and uninvited. Best to rectify that mistake before he made it worse.

Moving quietly, he walked slowly across the room and set the vase he carried on the window ledge. His business card was tucked into a thin plastic holder buried inside the blooms. Perhaps if he waited until tomorrow afternoon, called, and asked to speak with Jo Beth Ellis, the timing would be more appropriate and she’d be receptive to speaking with him. Then maybe he wouldn’t come across as a completely insensitive ass.

Satisfied with his decision, he cast one more glance at the bed then headed for the door, stepping silently across the linoleum floor.

“Are you a friend of Earl’s?”

At the soft voice, Brooks halted, mere inches from the door, then faced the bed again. The woman sat upright now, her pale hands pushing her long hair back from her face as she stared up at him. She had the darkest blue eyes he’d ever seen—so dark and rich, they took on a black hue when the light hit them just right. But her mouth was what held his attention, the dried blood on her lower lip and the bloodstain on her blouse at odds with her pretty features, business-style slacks, and sensible shoes.

“My grandfather,” she said in quiet tones. “Are you a friend of his?”

Brooks nodded, then focusing on her words, shook his head. “No.” He spoke softly, too, so as not to disturb Earl. “I’m his neighbor. May I ask how he is?”

A fleeting gleam of dry amusement moved through her eyes. “You may.” Her gaze turned somber again as she looked at Earl, still sleeping in the bed. “He’s doing well, from what I’ve been told, but we’ll know more tomorrow. It seems to have been a minor stroke.”

“That’s good to hear.” He walked across the room and held out his hand, unable to tear his attention away from her face, the warm, clear intensity in her gaze so unique it stirred a curious attraction deep within him. “I apologize for disturbing you.”

Carefully keeping his expression blank, he lowered his eyes to her mouth, tracing the bow of her bottom lip, then lingering on the wound marring it. A spark of anger lit in his gut at the sight, a strange surge of protectiveness sweeping over him. Where had she gotten that? And—he glanced at the bloodstain on her business blouse—in work clothes? Had she been mugged? Attacked by an abusive husband? Boyfriend?

“I’m Brooks Moore,” he said quietly. “I own the property to the east of Lone Oaks Crossing.”

She stood and gripped his hand. “Jo Ellis. I’m his granddaughter.” She returned his stare, a wry expression crossing her face. “You want to know where I got it. The busted lip, I mean.”

He blinked, unsettled by her blunt insight. In his business, people rarely shared their thoughts so openly, and even if they did, they cloaked them in a shroud of deceit or calculated persuasion. He’d mastered bluffing years ago, easily masking his emotions during all his transactions. Her quick assessment of his thoughts left him feeling vulnerable.

“The thought did cross my mind,” he said. “Though it’s none of my business.”

“You’re right.” She released his hand. “It’s not.”

Disappointment lowered his shoulders, and he missed her warm, gentle grip immediately, the air cold against his empty palm.

She has the touch . . . but left the sport and Lone Oaks some time ago . . .

Brooks, recalling Rhett’s comment, flexed his fingers against the odd sensation she’d left behind on his skin. The whole length of his body tingled, and he eyed her graceful hands as they rested by her side. She was an attractive woman, but he’d ignored the sexual advances of women for over two years now, choosing instead to focus his energy on building his business and learning the intricacies of dealmaking on the front and back sides of the track.

That’s all it was. Sexual attraction—lust—pure and simple. Something there was no room for in the successful business partnership he hoped to forge with her.

“Black-eyed Susans?” She stood by the window now, staring down at the bright blooms spilling over the tall vase he’d brought.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Yes.” He hid his smile. “Thought I’d bring something to cheer Earl up.”

She raised one eyebrow as she scrutinized his expression then gripped the glass vase with both hands, lifted it, and tilted her head. “Pretty heavy for a vase of flowers.” She set it back on the ledge, sifted her long fingers delicately through the blooms, then withdrew a bottle of bourbon from the vase.

He’d been right. Her long waves of hair matched the rich, amber shade of bourbon perfectly.

“Original Sin?” she asked, reading the label.

“My brand. Sweet, smooth, double-oaked, and ninety proof. Crafted in my distillery.” He cocked one eyebrow. “Like I said, I brought something to cheer him up.”

She gave him a pointed look—one he found more endearing than stern. “I think there’s a hospital policy against alcohol.”

He grinned. “No doubt.”

Lips curving, she lifted the bottle of bourbon. “Thank you for this, and your visit.” She glanced at Earl, the amusement fading from her expression. “I’ll tell Earl tomorrow that you stopped by. I’m sure you understand that he needs his rest tonight.”

“Yes, of course.” Brooks glanced once more at Earl, who still slept peacefully, then walked to the door. He paused on the threshold, hesitating, then looked back at Jo. “I wish I could mention this under better circumstances. . . but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you later this week, if you have the time. A business proposition, of sorts.”

She studied him, then crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “I can’t imagine how I might be of help to a distillery owner. And this is hardly the time for a pitch.”

“I know.” He gestured weakly toward the hospital bed. “As I said, I apologize for intruding, but the matter is time sensitive, and it has the potential to benefit you and Earl as much as it will me. Especially Earl,” he whispered. “I imagine Earl is going to need time to recover, and with him off his feet, Lone Oaks Crossing will take a hit in terms of incom—”

“Thank you for the visit, Mr. Moore.”

The hard finality in her tone sank his hopes.

“It’s Brooks, please.” He held her gaze. “I know you think I’m opportunistic—and I am to some extent—but I have my reasons. Personal ones tied to my family’s past. I promise you, what I have to offer you and Earl will carry you both through this hardship in many ways. Most especially, financially.” He pointed at the flower vase. “My business card’s inside the vase. Please feel free to call me anytime.”

At her silence, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him. The nurse—Jenny, if he recalled correctly—smiled at him expectantly as he walked past the nurse’s station, her bright expression dimming when he continued by silently.

Brooks frowned at the irony. Here he and Jenny were, both offering their services to a stranger, hoping to get a return on the investment. He’d already disappointed Jenny, and he had a sinking suspicion that Jo would disappoint him.

Dear God, he needed this win. And if the reputation Rhett touted were true, he also needed Jo.

Brooks slid his hand in his pocket, gripped his cell phone, and picked up his pace, praying with each step he took that she would call.