Lone Oaks Crossing

CHAPTER 7

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?”

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.

“Jo said he needs regular workouts.”

“That he will, especially now that the Derby is approaching.”

Cheyenne spun back to face him again. “The Derby? At Churchill Downs?”

Brooks laughed. “That’d be the one, kid.”

Cheyenne beamed, her eyes skittering over to Jo. “Can I ride him? Will you show me how? Brooks said I’m a fast learner. I could learn so f—”

“Whoa, there,” Jo said, holding up a hand. “If you want to get anywhere near that thoroughbred, you need to learn the basics first.”

Cheyenne smirked. “What basics? Throw on a saddle and hop on?”

“The basics that involve Another Round’s daily care,” Jo said patiently. “As in checking for potential health issues, bathing and brushing him, learning his likes and dislikes, his personality and—”

“His personality?” Cheyenne tilted her head. “You talk like he’s a person.”

Jo’s brows rose. “Not at all. Horses are better than people in my opinion. They have their own standards and expectations, which don’t change depending on who’s around them, and they’re always honest about how they feel.”

Cheyenne turned her head and gazed at Another Round, a new, curious light in her eyes.

“The position of groom is a great place to start,” Brooks said, glancing at Jo. “From what I’ve been told, Jo’s not only a fantastic trainer but she was the best groom on the backside, too.”

“The backside?” Cheyenne asked.

“Behind the racetrack and out of the limelight,” Brooks said. “Where the hardest work is done by people whose top priority is to protect and care for horses. A groom dons many hats when caring for a horse—parent, vet, protector—and a good one is the first to know if a horse is not feeling well, has an injury, or is having a bad day.”

“I can do that,” Cheyenne said. “I can take care of him. Will you show me how, Jo?”

Jo returned Cheyenne’s eager stare, her eyes studying the teen’s expression, an almost excited light appearing in her own eyes.

Brooks grinned. Perhaps Jo hadn’t put teaching behind her as completely as she’d thought. “What do you say, Jo? You willing to give her a shot? I’m game to help. Another Round needs a groom and while Cheyenne’s learning the ins and outs, I can have that exercise track of yours cleaned up and leveled for workouts. Then maybe, if Cheyenne performs her duties well, she might graduate to exercise jockey at some point.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jo said, laughing. But she seemed to consider the idea, the tip of her tongue touching one corner of her mouth endearingly as she thought it over. “Cheyenne’s a smart girl,” she said gently, eyeing the teen. “I think she could handle the duties of a groom if she’s willing to be patient and follow directions.”

Cheyenne practically jumped up and down with excitement. “Fantastic! When can I start?”

Jo raised her hand again. “Easy,” she said. “I’m not promising anything. I’m just saying we can give it a try. How does tomorrow morning sound? The sooner we get a routine in place for Another Round, the better.”

Cheyenne contained her excitement—just a tad. “That’ll work,” she said. “First thing?”

“Not exactly the very first thing,” Jo said, smiling. “But after we muck the stalls, yes.”

Cheyenne rolled her eyes at the mention of mucking stalls but seemed satisfied with that response. Her gaze sought out Another Round again, an eager but somber expression appearing.

“It’s time y’all had a break.” The back door of the main house opened and Frankie bustled out onto the newly built deck, carrying a large tray stacked with bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches, several bags of potato chips, and three large bottles of spring water. “Oh, my.” She glanced around at their handiwork, admiring what they had done. “This is better than I imagined it would be. Earl is going to love it.”

“How’s he doing?” Jo asked, striding across the deck to relieve Frankie of the tray.

“He’s doing very well.” A laugh burst from Frankie’s lips. “Though he’s giving his physical therapist a fit. He’s having Earl start with small exercises and take things slow, and Earl’s champing at the bit to jump out of that wheelchair and hit the ground running.”

“It’s good the therapist is making him take things slow,” Brooks said. “The more time he takes to build his muscles up, the sooner he’ll be able to walk out here on his own without the wheelchair.”

Frankie nodded. “I better get back. I don’t like leaving Earl alone with that physical therapist for too long. He’s a great therapist and we don’t want to scare the guy away right off the bat.” She spun on her heel and headed for the door, calling out over her shoulder, “Y’all eat up. There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry afterward.”

“Break time?” Cheyenne asked, eyeing the sandwiches on the tray Jo held.

“Break time,” Brooks confirmed.

They dug into the BLT sandwiches with gusto, relishing every mouthful as they sat on the edge of the deck and dangled their legs off the side. Cheyenne sat between Brooks and Jo, and the three of them gazed at the horses as they milled about in the pasture.

“How much more do we have to do?” Cheyenne asked between bites of her sandwich.

Brooks shielded his eyes and glanced up. The sun had dipped lower toward the horizon but there was plenty of daylight left. Enough so that they might be able to finish the ramp by dark.

“Oh, we’ve gotten the worst part of it out of the way,” he said. “If we get started as soon as we finish eating, we should be able to knock out the rest by dark.” He glanced over at Jo, who drank deeply from a bottle of water. “This time tomorrow, Earl will be sitting out here, watching the horses, and feeling the sun on his face.”

Jo set the bottle of water on the deck, leaned back on her hands, and smiled, meeting his eyes. “Thank you so much for this, Brooks.”

Brooks held her gaze and smiled back. His hand, resting on the deck behind him only a couple feet from hers, itched to reach out and glide along her soft cheek. But he refrained, choosing instead to admire her smile and savor the warmth in her voice.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered.

They sat there for almost an hour, admiring the view, soaking up the warm sun and the cool fall breeze, and watching the horses amble about the pasture.

Then Cheyenne, still gazing at the horses, whispered, “I kinda like this.”

Brooks glanced at her somber expression. “You like what?”

Cheyenne looked down at the empty sandwich wrapper and bottle in her hand, then sneaked a shy glance at him and Jo. “The horses, food, drink, and work. Being here with y’all.” She peered ahead, her gaze fixed on the dancing leaves of the oak trees that bordered his property in the distance. “I like not being alone.”

“Yeah.” Brooks studied her, then Jo, seated by his side. Watched the way they studied the peaceful view before them in the comforting stillness. “So do I.”

* * *

It was amazing how one thoroughbred could change everything.

Jo stood in the pasture behind the main house at Lone Oaks Crossing and smiled at the chestnut colt standing in front of her. “Whatcha think, baby boy? You feel up to meeting someone new today?”

Another Round dipped his head and nudged her shoulder. His nose worked overtime, sifting through the unfamiliar scents floating on the fall air of his new home.

“You all right over there, Cheyenne?” Jo asked, eyeing the teen as she slowly walked across the grass to join them.

“Yeah.” Cheyenne’s eyes remained fixed on Another Round. “Will he . . . um, bite?”

Jo shrugged. “I can’t tell you with one hundred percent certainty what he will or won’t do. Horses have a mind of their own. Likes and dislikes. Preferences. If one of us were to do something he didn’t like, he might very well nip. But if you’re respectful of his space and comfort level, you won’t have anything to worry about.”

Cheyenne listened intently to her words, but the eager excitement she’d displayed yesterday afternoon about becoming Another Round’s groom had faded overnight—or at least, once she had come face-to-face with the thoroughbred.

Jo didn’t blame her. Horses could be intimidating to a lot of people, especially if they hadn’t had prior experience with them. But despite her obvious worries, Cheyenne had seemed more than willing to embark on the new adventure of learning to groom the thoroughbred.

After they’d finished building the wheelchair ramp yesterday evening, Brooks had said his goodbyes and returned home, leaving Jo and Cheyenne to join Frankie and Earl for dinner, then retire for the night. Jo had been anxious to show the new deck and wheelchair ramp to Earl, but his eyes had grown heavy at the kitchen table during dinner, and it had become obvious that he would not stay awake for much longer. Instead, Jo and Frankie had helped Earl to bed early while Cheyenne had washed the dishes. Jo had thanked Cheyenne once more for her help that day and reminded her to set an alarm, be up, dressed, and down at the stables by the time the first light began to trickle over the horizon the next morning.

Cheyenne had done exactly as instructed. Earlier, she’d been waiting by Another Round’s stall when Jo had arrived, and they’d led the other horses out to a pasture, while Another Round enjoyed a separate pasture of his own; then they’d mucked the stalls. Now, here they stood, under full morning sunlight, a stack of grooming tools nearby and Another Round waiting patiently for attention.

“So, what do I do first?” Cheyenne asked, eyeing Another Round.

“He’s going to need extra attention compared to the other horses,” Jo said. “To be a great groom and for a racehorse, you need to do certain things in a certain order every day,” she stressed. “But first, you need to let him get to know and trust you.”

Jo moved closer to Another Round’s side, stroked his neck gently, and whispered in a low voice to him. After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder at Cheyenne. “Do you hear the way I’m speaking to him? Slowly, calmly, and with reassurance?”

Cheyenne nodded.

“This is how you should always approach him,” Jo said. “You need to be consistent with your demeanor, touch, voice, and interactions. Once you get to know him better, you can relax a little, share more of yourself, and he’ll share more with you. But for now, you need to play it by the book.” She held out one hand toward Cheyenne. “Come closer.”

Cheyenne walked over slowly, placed her hand in Jo’s, and allowed her to lift and settle her palm against Another Round’s neck.

“There,” Jo said softly. “Talk to him. Touch him gently and allow him some time to get to know your voice and touch.”

Jo stepped back but remained close enough to be on hand if needed. But, after a few minutes of Cheyenne speaking softly to Another Round, it was evident that the thoroughbred had taken to the girl almost as quickly as she had taken to him. His strong muscles relaxed, and his head nudged her palm, seeking her touch.

“Looks like he enjoys your attention.” Jo smiled. “Horses pick up on things, you know? They can sense your mood and emotions. Seems like he’s at ease with you. Maybe he senses the two of you have quite a bit in common.”

Cheyenne glanced up, a shy smile appearing. “You think so?”

Jo nodded. “It looks that way. Though for the next few days, at least, I’d like you to continue following my lead, learning the routine, and getting to know Another Round better before you take over, okay?”

Cheyenne nodded eagerly. “So, what’s the routine?”

Jo walked over to the stack of grooming tools, grabbed a brush, and returned to join Cheyenne and Another Round. “Do you remember what we did in the stables before we brought Another Round out to the pasture?”

“We checked his feet,” Cheyenne said.

“We did,” Jo affirmed. “We checked his hooves to make sure they were clean and healthy. Seemingly little things like a crack or ridge on the outer wall can tip you off to a potential injury or significant change in health. Checking his shoes—racing plates—every day is essential. I also checked his legs for injury or any signs of infection. It may sound redundant to do it every day, but if you want to be the best groom—”

“I do,” Cheyenne piped in excitedly.

Jo grinned. “Then you must be very thorough every day on every level. As a groom, you are Another Round’s caretaker. The person who will know him the best and look out for him.”

“Like a guardian angel?” Cheyenne asked, gazing up at Another Round.

Jo studied the eagerness in Cheyenne’s eyes. The desperate longing in the girl’s voice reminded her of Cheyenne’s misfortunes in life. Cheyenne was tough on the outside, but it was very possible that beneath that gritty exterior, a frightened, lonely little girl still desperately sought affection. Affection that was much easier to trust and accept when it came from a horse.

I like not being alone.

Jo blinked back the sting of tears as she recalled Cheyenne’s words the afternoon before. For some reason, her comment had struck a chord in Jo and Brooks, too, judging by the tone in his voice when he’d responded.

So do I.

All three of them, in fact, had remained seated on the newly constructed deck after Cheyenne had shared the sentiment, staring out at the horses in the pasture and the line of oak trees in the distance, remaining silent but somehow connected on a deeper level.

Jo had to admit, it had been nice having someone by her side yesterday afternoon—two someones, really—who were working alongside her, with her rather than against her. And the fact that Brooks had initiated the venture with his act of goodwill had made the moment even sweeter.

What was it he’d said in the stables the other day?

We’d make a good team.

Yep. After completing the deck and wheelchair ramp with him yesterday, she had to admit they did make a good team and probably would do so in other arenas. Maybe even racing? Or something more?

“There’s something about horses,” Jo said quietly, meeting Cheyenne’s eyes. “Something about being with them, outside under the sun, the grass beneath your feet and blue sky overhead. It’s nothing like being stuffed inside the concrete walls of a school or foster home.” She studied Cheyenne’s expression. “You can be yourself here and the relationship you develop with Another Round can bring a deeper level of meaning to your life, if you’re willing to open up and allow it.”

A solemn look entered Cheyenne’s expression as she stroked Another Round’s neck gently. “I like what you said yesterday. About horses being better than people.” She looked at Jo, her own eyes glistening beneath the morning sunlight. “You said they are always honest. That they don’t play games with you like people do, right?”

Jo nodded. “Right.”

Cheyenne returned her attention to Another Round and whispered something into the thoroughbred’s ear.

“First up,” Jo said, “we clean his mane and tail.” She walked toward the back of Another Round. “It’s dangerous to stand behind a horse who’s not familiar with you, so I’ll take care of his tail today and once you’ve formed a bond of trust with him, you’ll take over this task, too. For now, come stand to the side and watch how I do it.”

Jo took her time, carefully brushing the horse’s tail, dislodging bits of shavings from the stall, dirt, and specks of dust. Once that was finished, she led Cheyenne toward Another Round’s head, stroked his neck, and spoke gently to him for a few moments, then flipped his mane over and began brushing through it.

“It helps to flip his mane over first,” Jo said as she worked. “Doing that helps get the dirt from underneath so you can clean it more effectively. When you finish brushing in this direction, you flip it back to its natural side and brush through it some more. Just move carefully and gently.”

Once they finished that step, Jo led Cheyenne through wetting the brush and combing down the mane and tail until they shined. Next, Jo retrieved a spongelike brush with no bristles and began brushing down Another Round’s head and body.

“Use this tool to brush the rest of him. It feels like a cat’s tongue to him and is more comfortable.” Jo brushed gently underneath Another Round’s belly. “It’s important to brush every part of his body, especially the parts you don’t normally see. Some grooms skip that step, but if you want to be the best and if you want to have a racehorse in great health, you’ll do this thoroughly every day.”

Cheyenne watched raptly as Jo worked her way through the process.

After Jo finished brushing Another Round’s face and body, she set the scrubber down, picked up a clean towel from the stack of supplies, and held it out to Cheyenne. “Here. This is the next-to-last step. Take the towel and wipe him down everywhere I brushed. That removes whatever dust might remain on his coat to leave him shiny and eye-catching.”

Smiling, Cheyenne began gently smoothing the towel over Another Round’s back. “I think he’s already eye-catching. What’s the last step after this?”

“Oh, that’d be the quarter marks,” a deep voice drawled behind them.

A tall man, decked out in a tailored business suit and expensive boots strolled across the backyard to the pasture, leaned on the white fence, and lifted his chin at Cheyenne. “You put quarter marks on to emphasize his muscles and give him some glamor.” He gestured toward Another Round. “I take it that’s Brooks Moore’s thoroughbred?” He looked at Jo, a charming, but somewhat sly grin lifting his lips. “That would make you Jo Beth Ellis, I presume?”

Frowning, Jo surveyed the man. He appeared to be several years older than Brooks but had an equally impressive physique, blond hair, and green eyes. It was the latter that bothered Jo. His gaze, though direct, lacked warmth and sincerity even though he exhibited a pleasant fa?ade.

“You presume quite a bit,” Jo said, “considering you took it upon yourself to wander onto a stranger’s property uninvited and ask questions about their horse.”

Laughing, the man leaned his elbows on the fencing. “My apologies. I forgot we haven’t been formally introduced.” He held out his tan hand, his nails clean and immaculately manicured. “I’m Spencer Harris. I live up the road a few miles. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

Cheyenne had stopped wiping Another Round with the towel. She stared at Spencer, a look of dismay on her face. “Why would she have heard of you?”

He grinned wider. “Because I breed the best thoroughbreds in the nation, sweetheart. Ones that would outshine even”—he pointed at Another Round—“this one, here.”

Cheyenne scowled. “So what? That’s supposed to make you tough shi—?”

“Cheyenne,” Jo said. “Please finish wiping down Another Round. It’ll make Earl happy to see his coat shining under the sun in the pasture when he’s able to come out and sit on the deck this afternoon.” She walked over to the fence, ducked between the rails, and joined Spencer on the other side. “Wait here,” she said to Cheyenne, “while I have a word with our guest.”

She glanced at Spencer, noting the slight dimming of his smile as she led him away from the pasture and across the backyard before facing him again.

He followed her lead, stopping when she did, and casually slid his hands into the pants pockets of his suit. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Oh, he had. That much she could tell right off the bat. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about him was too slick. Too sly.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Harris?” she asked.

“Spencer, please.” His grin returned. “I doubt you’re quite as formal with Brooks.”

Jo narrowed her eyes. “You’re on my property, Mr. Harris, and you’re taking up my time. Either you get to the heart of why you’re here or you stroll those shiny boots back across my yard and go back to where you came from.”

He smiled wider. The crisp fall wind picked up, sweeping across the ground and shoving his blond hair over his brow. He pushed it back with one hand, his gaze roving over her from head to toe. “I didn’t expect you to be so direct, Jo.”

“It’s Ms. Ellis,” she said. “And get to it before I toss you out.”

He held her gaze and his smile lost its forced charm, becoming only an emotionless baring of teeth. “I thought I’d let you know you have competition up the road, Ms. Ellis.”

Jo tilted her head. “What competition might that be?”

“The finest thoroughbred ever to hit the track.” He gestured toward Another Round, still being wiped down in the pasture. “Better than that one, even. You’re getting in over your head with Brooks.” His gaze moved over her again, slowly, insultingly. “I just thought I’d let you know. Be a good neighbor and all.”

Jo stiffened. “It’s nice of you to offer your neighborly advice, Mr. Harris, but I assure you I’m not in need of it.”

He lifted his chin, his tongue sweeping across his lower lip. “You’re not training that thoroughbred then?”

Jo raised one brow. “That’s none of your business, Mr. Harris.”

He returned her stare for a few moments, then glanced around, his eyes scanning the grounds. “This is a nice place,” he said softly. “But I understand you’re having a bit of trouble lately.” He looked at her again, a mocking expression of sympathy crossing his face. “My best wishes to your grandfather, Earl. I understand he’s had some health problems of late.”

Jo remained silent.

When she didn’t respond, he withdrew his hands from his pockets and placed them on his lean hips, shifting from one shiny boot to the other. “Look,” he said, his tone softer. . . more cajoling. “I know you think Brooks can help you, but he can’t.” He leaned closer, his broad chest encroaching a bit too much for Jo’s comfort, but she resisted the urge to step back. “I know he sank a lot of money into this place, and I know he brought that thoroughbred around here for you to train. I know he’s telling you he can solve your problems if you team up with him, but what he’s not telling you is that his intentions aren’t honorable.”

Jo laughed. “You’re telling me yours are?”

“He wants your help to get back at me,” he said softly. “That’s what Brooks wants—to get revenge—that’s all. Join my team instead, Ms. Ellis, and you’ll work with the most prized thoroughbreds in the business. I’ll pay off your debt—including what you owe for breach of contract and your broken lease in Stone Hill. I’ll make sure Lone Oaks Crossing stays in your family and I’ll leave you with a nice tidy sum of cash in hand to take care of your grandfather’s medical needs.”

Inwardly, Jo cringed. This man—this stranger—knew way too much about her life. “I don’t know you, Mr. Harris, but I can tell you this isn’t a neighborly way to approach someone. Whatever you’re offering, I’m not interested.”

He eased away from her, a stony expression appearing. “You’re a talented woman, Jo. You’d be a treasure to any stable owner . . . any man, even.” The slick tone of his voice sent a shudder through her. “You want to train again? See another winner across the finish line at Churchill Downs? Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked.

He grinned again, a sinister twist of his mouth. “If a horse you’ve trained steps on that track,” he said, “you’re either on Brooks’s team or mine. That’s your only option. Brooks may have money now but he’s no better than he was years ago. No better than that weak, gambling addict of a father of his who took his own life when he couldn’t face his losses.”

Jo bit her lip, an overwhelming mix of anger, disgust, and pain swelling within her.

“He’s alone,” he added softly. “Brooks is a nobody who’s got no one. That’s why he’s trying to sucker you into training that horse of his. You partner up with him and you’ll get nothing but bad luck. I’d hate to see someone of your talent—and charms—lose what little you have left.”

“Leave.” She pointed at the driveway. “Now.”

Spencer stood there a moment more, surveying the grounds, then glanced once more over his shoulder at Another Round. “The kid’s right. That horse is eye-catching,” he drawled, strolling past Jo toward the driveway. “Eye-catching as can be.”

Jo stood there, frozen in place, watching as he sauntered off, then disappeared around the front of the house, his scornful words resounding in her head with each painful beat of her heart.

Brooks is a nobody who’s got no one.