Lone Oaks Crossing

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

“So, tell me about this Brooks Moore,” Jo said.

“What’s his deal?”

Seated outside in a chair by a fire pit on the grounds of Lone Oaks Crossing, Jo brought a bottle of bourbon to her lips, tilted it back, and swigged another shot of the strong alcohol. She winced as the amber liquid burned the wound on her bottom lip but relished the numbness it left behind.

Frankie had been right. Two hours of drinking bourbon, peering into a crackling fire, and sharing a casual conversation beneath a Kentucky night sky had been a much more welcome alternative than spending the night in a hospital room—especially when Earl, medicated, was sleeping peacefully for what the nurse promised would be the duration of the night.

Jo held the bottle out, closer to the bright flames, and struggled to focus her bleary gaze on the label: ORIGINAL SIN.

Her lip curled. Though cliché, the phrase suited Brooks Moore perfectly.

Hours earlier, she’d awakened in Earl’s hospital room, surprised to see a stranger standing there. Brooks had been standing by the window, his back to her, his big hands setting the vase of flowers he held onto the window ledge. The dim lighting in the hospital room, combined with the bright glow of security lights in the parking lot had cast his frame into shadow.

Brooks’s impressive height, the strong curve of his jaw, wide-set shoulders, and lean muscular length had been unexpected, imposing, and more appealing to Jo’s senses than she’d been comfortable admitting. But no amount of sheer physical attraction, soulful brown eyes, or sex appeal could distract her attention from his carefully guarded expression.

“I mean, I know the man makes spectacular bourbon, is over six feet of rock-solid muscle, and has more sex appeal than God should give any man,” Jo said, “but tell me the important stuff.”

Frankie, seated in a chair next to her, grinned and held out her empty shot glass. “In my world, baby girl, that is the important stuff. And my Lord, this liquor’s phenomenal.”

Jo smiled and poured her a shot, her aim a little off. “We should feel bad, you know.” She stared at the bottle again. “He brought this for Earl, not us. And here we are, downing it like it’s water.”

“After the day we’ve had, I think we’ve earned it. Besides, it won’t do Earl any good at the moment. The nurse gave him his meds hours ago, so he’ll be snoring away ’til morning.”

Jo nodded, though the action didn’t ease the guilt that still lingered in her heart. After Brooks had left the hospital room, she’d stayed by Earl’s bedside for another hour, holding his hand as he slept, regretting the years she’d spent apart from him and Lone Oaks Crossing. He hadn’t stirred or spoken again, and when the nurse arrived to administer his evening round of medicine, she waited a little longer, hoping he’d open his eyes, look at her, and smile the way he used to years ago when he’d been strong and healthy.

But he hadn’t.

As she’d stood there, watching Earl sleep, it had become very clear that things were different now. Earl’s immediate future—and possibly long-term future—would be very different from the one he’d hoped for or expected, and it was more important than ever that she be here for him—and Lone Oaks Crossing.

“Besides,” Frankie said, jerking her chin toward Jo’s lap, “it’s not like Brooks handed over a bottle of his prized liquor with no strings attached. Though I’m guessing you figured that out already.”

Jo propped the liquor bottle against her middle and turned the man’s business card over and over between each of her fingers until it dangled precariously between the ring and pinky fingers of her right hand. “Yep. I had an inkling.”

During Jo’s short tenure as a teacher, sly glances and hidden intentions had become easily recognizable to her. She’d known from the moment she laid eyes on Brooks that he wanted something from her . . . but that he was holding something back, something he knew she might not be receptive to. It had been clear to her that Brooks had been uncomfortable about showing up uninvited, unannounced, and possibly unwelcome.

“I do believe the man thinks I’m in need of rescuing.” Jo smirked and ran her tongue gently over the puffy swelling in her lower lip. “Not that I can blame him for that. I mean, I do look a tad beat-up.”

Frankie’s grin faded and her eyes, barely visible in the dim firelight, narrowed on Jo’s face. “You still haven’t told me how you got that busted lip.”

Jo tugged her bloodstained collar closer to her chin, leaned back in her chair, and stared up at the sky. Her blurry gaze roved over what seemed like millions of stars glowing in the velvet darkness spread out above them.

She’d forgotten how bright the stars were here. The balcony of her apartment in Stone Hill offered an unimpeded view of the night sky, but the light pollution caused by the streetlights and garish neon signage of the booming city limits drowned out the glow of the stars, and the revving of engines and honking of horns along the streets below shattered the peaceful stillness of every evening.

Here, on the grounds of Lone Oaks Crossing, there were no streetlights or car headlights to dilute the beauty of the moon and stars, and no sounds to disrupt the serenity of the night’s stillness, save for the soft whisper of the fall breeze, the comforting crackle of wood set ablaze, and the occasional hoot of a barred owl in the distance. There was room to breathe, to think, to heal.

Oh, man. How could she have forgotten how beautiful it was out here? And how had she managed to ignore how much she’d missed Lone Oaks over the years? How much she had missed Earl? And home?

“Jo?” Frankie’s concerned tone intruded upon her reverie. “What happened to you today?”

Jo closed her eyes, the thought of the day’s events dampening the soothing buzz in her veins. “I got hit.” She folded Brooks’s business card into her closed fist and rolled her head to the side, meeting Frankie’s gaze. “A student I’ve been working with attacked another student in my classroom. When I tried to break it up, she clocked me in the mouth.”

A humorless smile lifted Jo’s lips. She took another swig of bourbon, held the bottle up high against the sparkling sky, and struggled to clearly enunciate the words she shouted, “For thirty-seven K a year, you, too, can get assaulted by angry teens, vilified by parents, and demeaned by society.” A scornful laugh burst from her lips. “Oh, yeah.” Her tongue felt thick, making it hard to form the words. “And insulted by your administrator while you stand bleeding in his office.”

Frankie frowned. “What happened to the kid?”

“Nothing of significant consequence.” Jo downed another shot. “No such thing as discipline anymore. Just talking. And more talking. By people who don’t really know what they’re talking about.” She stared down at the bottle. Picked at the label with her fingertip. “I’m never asked for my input or considered in any of the decisions that are made. Our district leaders—most of whom haven’t set foot in a classroom in years—announce their politically influenced decrees from their peaceful office while we and our students continue to struggle to survive in the classroom . . . sometimes literally.”

A hollow opened in Jo’s gut, her hand trembling around the bottle of bourbon. “Do you know, after that kid socked me in the mouth . . . the first—and only—person to ask if I was okay, was a gas station attendant at Jimbo’s Pit? That’s how little I mattered at Stone Hill High School.” She looked at Frankie and tried to still the wobble in her lips. “I’ve thrown away ten years of my life on people who barely see me as human, Frankie.”

“Oh, no,” Frankie said softly. “I wouldn’t say that. You’ve helped many children. You got four years of college education, six years of experience teaching, and from what Earl has told me, you were one of the best teachers at that school. Why don’t you take a look at a school closer to home? One with leaders you trust? I bet if you apply to a school around here, they’d scoop you up so fast—”

“I quit.” Jo pressed the rim of the bottle to her lips, took another shot of bourbon, and closed her eyes as the liquid scorched a path down her throat, the bitter burn masking the ache in her chest. “For good.”

Frankie was silent for a moment, then asked, “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“It’s what I should’ve done years ago.”

They sat silently for a while, staring at the fire, listening to the logs pop among the flames and the breeze sift through the branches of nearby oak trees. Jo turned her head slowly and scanned the expansive grounds of Lone Oaks Crossing. It was difficult to see much detail beyond the flames of the fire, but the bright glow of the crescent moon overhead bathed the farm’s rolling hills in silvery light. The shadowy outlines of the oak trees lining the property were visible, the branches of which were beginning to shed their leaves, and fresh bales of hay were stacked along the center of a thirteen-acre hayfield that lay beyond the fire pit. The outlines of a multistall barn, two outbuildings, and a modest two-story house were also just visible in the distance.

Two decades ago, when Jo had been left here as a child, Lone Oaks Crossing had been bustling with guests, ranch hands, and horses. Trainers and horsemen eager for the next winning thoroughbred would line up almost every day at Lone Oaks Crossing’s entrance and ring Earl’s phone incessantly for a chance to buy the best foal bred on the farm. Reservations for training sessions had always been fully booked, every stall in the barn occupied by a thoroughbred, and every paddock populated with yearlings and trainers hard at work. In the past, the potential for Lone Oaks Crossing’s success had been unlimited.

Now, however, the silent grounds, abandoned paddocks, and empty stables were testament to a failing business and a dying dream. A monumental shame.

Jo returned her attention to the fire, the hot flames spitting orange sparks high into the air. “I should’ve stayed.”

Frankie sighed. “You grew up.” A sad smile appeared. “Had it been up to me and Earl, we would’ve kept you a little girl forever. But time passes and circumstances change. You wanted to find your own way in the world and to do that you had to leave.”

“But I should’ve come back sooner. Maybe then things wouldn’t have fallen apart here.” She licked a drop of bourbon from her lips and continued staring at the blazing fire. “How bad is it?”

Frankie was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “By my estimate, Earl has about another month or so until foreclosure.”

Jo closed her eyes and focused on the heat radiating from the fire pit, her face and neck scorching with drunken anger, shame, and regret as she pictured Brooks’s guarded features. “Brooks knows, doesn’t he? That’s why he swooped in today, He does believe we’re in need of rescuing. What’s he after—our land?”

“No. He’s got more than enough of that. But he ain’t just in the bourbon business. He’s got a top-notch thoroughbred on the other side of that tree line and, from what his former trainer, Rhett, told me on the phone this afternoon, he’s on the hunt for another one.”

Jo glanced at her and frowned. “Another thoroughbred?”

Frankie, her own gaze growing heavy and unfocused, shook her head. “Trainer. Rhett told Brooks about you. ’Bout your win at the Derby nine years ago.”

“It wasn’t recorded as my win,” Jo whispered. “It was set down as Earl’s . . . and Sweet Dash’s.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Frankie’s tone softened with affection as she spoke of the thoroughbred they’d once loved—and lost—nine years ago. “Sweet Dash was one of a kind. But everybody who circulates behind the scenes in the sport knows which trainer was really behind Sweet Dash’s win. And Brooks wants that trainer.”

“So, I can lead his colt to the same fate Sweet Dash met?” Jo stared down at the bourbon bottle, now almost empty, and scowled. “Don’t care how good his liquor is. I have no interest in training again.”

“I know. I told Rhett the same thing on the phone today.” Frankie’s fingernail tapped against her shot glass again. “But no one around here had any doubts that Earl was already in need of money and now . . . well, his debts are only gonna build from here on out. Brooks, I’m sure, is aware of that and looking to capitalize.”

Eyes heavy, Jo struggled to focus on the thoughts swirling in her foggy mind. “H-how much will it cost to keep foreclosure at bay?”

Frankie named a figure.

“Astronomical!” Jo sagged back against her chair and rolled her eyes at the heavens. “You’re not giving us a fair shot, are you, Big Guy?”

Frankie laughed. “Ah, but that’s not His job.” She lifted her shot glass in the direction of the glowing moon. “Ain’t that right, Big Guy? You just keep that eye of yours on us and give us a nudge now and then to help us through the pain, yeah?”

A wispy cloud, the only one marring the sky, drifted over the moon, dulling its shine. “I should never have left Earl,” Jo whispered.

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Frankie held out her shot glass and Jo obliged, pouring her another shot.

The bottle was empty now, and the liquor had loosened Jo’s tongue. “Thank you for being there for Earl today when I wasn’t,” she said. “You always loved him so.”

For as long as Jo could remember, Frankie had been at Earl’s side, and though Frankie and Earl’s relationship had never been clearly defined over the years, the two had been a permanent fixture in Jo’s life.

When Jo’s mother, Amy, had succumbed to the lure of drugs and drifting, she had taken off with her boyfriend—one of many at the time—and had left Jo, then seven years old, on the front stoop of Earl’s house at Lone Oaks Crossing. Jo couldn’t remember much from that time of her life, but she did remember Earl scooping her up in his arms, hugging her tight, and that Frankie had been there, too. Right by Earl’s side . . . and Jo’s, too.

Jo could remember clearly that Frankie had been the one to tuck her in bed that night, kiss her forehead, and reassure her that although Amy had left her behind, Jo’s mother still loved her. Earl, following Frankie’s lead, had done the same.

Throughout her childhood, Jo had been awakened by Earl in the morning, served a home-cooked meal for breakfast by Frankie, and then escorted by them both to the end of the driveway to be helped onto the school bus. The pattern had remained the same over the years until Jo reached middle school and then, her junior year of high school, after she’d worked as a groom in Earl’s stables for five years, she’d asked to be homeschooled in order to apprentice with Earl as a trainer. Though Frankie still maintained her own home five miles away from Lone Oaks Crossing, she’d still been there for Jo every day: cooking breakfast with Jo every morning, helping Earl lead her through her school lessons, and then assisting Jo with her duties as an assistant trainer.

Jo knew Frankie loved her as much as she would have loved a daughter of her own—had she been blessed with a family. And Frankie had always loved Earl.

“Earl knows I’m a patient woman,” Frankie said. “He’s never been interested in marriage—he’s always been upfront with me about that—and I’ve always given him the space he needs. Not my ideal relationship, but I’ll take it over not having him at all. I love that damned man too much to give him up. Just means my future looked different than I imagined it when I was a younger woman with pretty family portraits dancing in my mind.”

Jo nodded. Her mother, Amy, hadn’t been the only one to abandon Earl. Decades ago, when Amy had been around twelve years old, Gena, Earl’s childhood sweetheart and wife, had tired of eking out a living on the farm and had left Earl, too, leaving him to raise Amy alone.

Like mother, like daughter, Jo mused. No wonder Earl had developed a fierce disdain for commitment.

Frankie drummed her fingers against the shot glass in her hand, her nails tinkling against the glass. “Tell me, Jo. What’s your next move?” she asked. “You got a lot of years ahead of you, God willing. What’s your plan for ’em?”

Sighing, Jo leaned her head back against her chair and stared up at the sky again. The heavens stretched out before her, a vast sparkling canvas of possibilities. Her stomach dipped as a dizzy sensation spiraled through her, and the world swirled slowly around her, out of her control.

“My plan?” Jo rolled her head to the side and met Frankie’s inquisitive expression. “The Big Guy frowns on those things, doesn’t He? Has plans of his own?” She tipped her head back again and breathed deep, embracing the messy swirl of emotions and liquor-induced buzz moving through her, giving in to the weightless floating sensation that drew her eyes to the sky. “I’m quite tempted to wallow. To just lie down and let my misery smother me.”

She stared up at the stars and forced her gaze to focus on the small visible sliver of the moon protruding from behind the wispy cloud.

“But that’d mean wasting the air in my lungs,” Jo said. “The only valuable thing I still have besides my time. So, I’m staying. I’m going to find a way to revive our business, make Lone Oaks Crossing a welcoming place for Earl to heal . . . maybe even others who need a quiet, peaceful retreat to find themselves again. And I’m going to do it under my own steam—not someone else’s.”

Lord knew, her ideas and ambitions had been stifled for long enough under the heavy weight of regulations, politics, and restrictive scrutiny that had permeated Stone Hill High School.

“Earl will need help when he gets home.” Jo glanced around at the silent fields that sprawled around them in all directions. “More help than I can give, and still clean this place up at the same time. I’ll need extra resources—an extra set of hands, materials—to breathe new life into this place so I can support Earl. But I’d need money to pay for the extra set of hands to take care of the grunt work, and right now, between what I owe Stone Hill school district for breach of contract and breaking my apartment lease, I’m beyond broke.” She shook her head. “I’d need time to earn money boarding horses so I can pay a farmhand . . . but I’d need a hand to clean up the stables to get more boarders. So, you see, it’s a vicious cycle. A conundrum, if you will.” The word conundrum sounded funny on her slow tongue. She smiled. “A conundrum.”

Frankie sighed, staring into the flames, watching the embers scatter toward the heavens. “I could call in a favor or two. Maybe bring someone in to take a look at our finances, prepare a strategy, and tell us wh—”

“No.” Despite the alcohol-induced fog swirling in her mind, Jo answered immediately. “No one does anything for nothing nowadays and I don’t need a boss,” she said. “I need a loan. Unfortunately, that means going to where the money is, and I can tell you right now, there’s no bank in the state that’ll take a chance on me in my financial situation.” She looked down, unfolded her fist, and watched the firelight flicker over the pristine white business card in her palm. “I assume Brooks has money?”

Frankie hiccupped. “A butt ton.” She hiccupped again. “And a mighty fine butt, I might add.”

Jo grinned, the drunk, dreamy look on Frankie’s face even goofier than she’d expected. “His butt, I’m not interested in. His money . . . now that’s another matter. I’m assuming he’s got connections along with the money and, hopefully, some influence over owners needing to board. He might have the ability to send some new business our way.”

Frankie’s brows lifted. “And the training he wants? How you gonna talk him out of that?”

Jo shrugged. The combination of Brooks’s scintillating bourbon in her blood, Frankie’s comforting presence beside her, and the soothing Kentucky night sky made any obstacle seem surmountable. Or, at the very least, gave her the gumption to tackle it head-on.

“He called himself a neighbor,” she said softly. “So, I’ll give him a chance to be neighborly.”

* * *

“May I see your guest pass, ma’am?”

Jo, seated behind the wheel of Earl’s truck, nudged her sunglasses higher on her nose and studied the security guard who stood beside her truck. “I don’t have one.”

His eyes narrowed on her face then traveled over the beat-up truck she drove, his nose wrinkling. “A reservation and guest pass are required for entry, ma’am.”

Jo glanced at the gated entrance to Brooks’s impressive estate. The twenty-foot-wide wrought-iron gate, complete with custom Western Red Cedar inserts and a decorative emblem (OS, for Original Sin, she assumed), practically screamed money . . . and more than likely remained closed to anyone who didn’t have a hefty share of their own.

She grimaced, the thought of asking anyone for financial help turning her stomach even more than the lingering aftereffects of her bourbon-induced hangover. But after visiting Earl in the hospital earlier this morning and reviewing with his doctor the steps involved in Earl’s long road to recovery, she’d found herself in deeper debt than she’d estimated last night. Earl, she’d discovered, had no health insurance. He’d sacrificed it years ago to save the money he would’ve used for premiums to help keep the farm from going completely under. Earl was scheduled to be released from the hospital in three days and physical therapy needed to begin immediately. Without insurance, Earl’s medical costs would far exceed any amount she’d be able to secure on her own in such a limited time frame.

Twenty thousand and two boarders.Jo sucked in a steadying breath. Just get twenty thousand for Earl’s physical therapy, two new horses to board in the stable, and figure out the rest later.

“I’m here to see Brooks Moore, please,” she said.

The security guard raised one cynical eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but if you let him know I’m here, I’m sure he’ll see me.”

“Mr. Moore accepts guests only by prior appointment and Original Sin’s gates open only for customers who’ve made a reservation and purchased a guest pass.” He waved an impatient hand as he glanced behind her truck. A line of cars had formed behind her. “Please move on, ma’am. You can take a right and follow the paved drive back to the main road.”

Jo lifted one hip, reached into her pocket, pulled out Brooks’s business card and presented it to the security guard. “I spoke with Mr. Moore last night. Please give him a call and I’m sure he’ll see me.”

He shook his head and held up a hand. “Ma’am, I got people wait—”

“Call him.” She lowered her sunglasses and met his eyes over the rims, trying her best to appear earnest rather than desperate. “Please. It’ll take you less than a minute—a minute that can make or break me.”

He sighed, glanced once more at the line of vehicles forming behind her, then shook his head as he headed for the nearby security booth. “Your name?”

“Jo Beth Ellis.”

His steps paused, his expression flaring with recognition of the name as he glanced back at her before entering the security booth. He stood in front of the window of the booth, studying her as he tapped the Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear. He looked down at a set of security screens, his hands typing into a laptop as his mouth moved. Moments later, he tapped the Bluetooth earpiece again, walked out of the booth, and gestured invitingly with one arm toward the wide, decorative gate as it slowly slid open.

“Welcome to Original Sin, Ms. Ellis. Please follow the paved road past the stables and distillery to the next gate. When it opens, continue following the paved road until you reach the main house. Mr. Moore will be there to welcome you.”

Jo tossed the business card in the passenger seat, nudged her sunglasses back into position, and nodded. “Thank you.”

She transitioned the parked truck back into drive, guided it through the open gate, and began driving along the wide paved road that wound through the grounds of the estate. When she reached the top of the first hill, the whole world seemed to sparkle. The bright morning light of the Kentucky sun poured a golden hue over rolling pastures and dirt tracks, massive stables, white distillery buildings, brick walkways lined with limestone walls, and white fencing that seemed to stretch for miles and miles.

Jo craned her neck as she drove, gazing from left to right, surveying the smiling guests as they strolled along the brick paths and the impressive thoroughbreds that galloped along dirt tracks snaking over the lush grounds, their riders putting them through their daily training.

“Oh, sweet heaven,” she breathed.

This could’ve been Earl’s—every inch of it—had things turned out differently . . . namely, if Sweet Dash hadn’t stumbled on the dirt of the Pimlico Race Course and if Jo hadn’t walked away from the sport days later. Instead, acres away, just beyond the dense line of strong oak trees in the distance, Lone Oaks Crossing was gasping its last breath, almost in decay.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Jo drove on, keeping her gaze fixed dead ahead, slowing as she reached the second gate, then passing through it as it opened. She drove around the wide circular drive that surrounded a large fountain and parked in front of what the security guard had termed “the main house.”

“House?” She cut the engine and leaned across the passenger seat, her eyes widening as she stared at the massive structure looming above her. “Mansion, more like.”

The white, three-storied colonial-style home with its elegant double-door entrance, exterior stonework, stunning columns, and multiple balconies had to be at least thirteen thousand square feet if she estimated correctly from her vantage point. And then there was what she assumed was a guest house attached to the side of the huge structure—a beautifully constructed dwelling in its own right, almost as impressive as the main home.

Sunlight glinted off the glass panes of one of the ornate front doors as it swung open and Brooks emerged, striding confidently across the front porch and down the stone walkway toward the truck.

“Get it together.” Jo exited the truck, shut the door, and smoothed her hand over her loose hair. “Ask, don’t beg,” she reminded herself quietly. “And don’t look desperate.”

“Welcome to Original Sin, Jo.” Brooks, smiling, rounded the front of the truck and extended his hand. He looked even taller than when she’d met him yesterday, his muscular physique clad in an expensive business suit and boots. “I was hoping you’d call, but a visit is even better.”

She cleared her throat and shook his hand. “Sorry about not giving you notice, but I prefer to discuss business in person rather than on the phone. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“No. Not at all.” He glanced down at her hand in his, remaining quiet and still for a moment, then covered their clasped hands with his free one. “How is Earl? Have you been by to see him today?”

His hands were strong and sturdy, and the heat of his big palms warmed hers in the cool fall air, enticing her exhausted, still hungover body to lean in his direction.

She disentangled her hand from his and stepped back. “Yes. I just came from the hospital. That’s the reason I stopped by to see you. I know you have something you’d like to discuss with me, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you as well. I’ll be honest and fair, and I hope you’ll be the same.”

His eyes roved over her face, then narrowed on her sunglasses. “That’s the only way I operate.” He motioned in front of him, toward the entrance of his home. “After you.”

Jo hesitated, noting the glint of affront that briefly hardened his expression at her words. She glanced over her shoulder at the sprawling acres of lush luxury, looking up at the refined mansion, then staring up at the polished man before her. Hands trembling, she dragged them across the baggy jeans she wore, feeling more out of her element than ever before.

Maybe she should have called first. Scheduled this meeting at Lone Oaks Crossing or perhaps, more neutral territory? As it was, she was in his domain now . . . and at the whim of whatever neighborly goodwill he might or might not possess.

What would a man of his obscene wealth and social stature do with someone like her—a poor neighbor and insignificant trainer—if he managed to rope her into training for him?

She’d become a tool for whatever he had planned, that’s what. If she allowed it . . .

Twenty thousand and two boarders. Ask—don’t beg.

Jo eased past him and walked inside.