Lone Oaks Crossing

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 8

Brooks leaned back in his office chair and scanned the papers spread out across his desk. Each page he’d printed detailed the specifics of one of the races leading up to the Kentucky Derby. It had been almost two weeks since Rhett had quit, and although Another Round had been exercised by other riders in his stable, the thoroughbred had not been worked out, to Brooks’s knowledge, since he’d delivered him to Jo at Lone Oaks Crossing.

For Another Round to have a fighting chance on the track, Brooks had to put together a training program fast and schedule the races Another Round would run in as soon as possible. The schedule would be tight, considering the time needed to prepare Another Round for competition and ensure he had enough opportunities to earn the winning points required to qualify for the Derby.

Sighing, Brooks propped his elbows on his desk and pored over the papers again, sifting through the details of each race, eyeing the locations and dates.

The Breeders’ Cup Juvenile in November would more than likely be the first race that Another Round would be ready for if the thoroughbred began regular workouts immediately. Then, possibly the Gun Runner Stakes in New Orleans in December. There were a few other races in February that he could consider as well as the Rebel Stakes in Arkansas in late February.

But first, he had to find a new trainer.

Brooks shoved the papers away and sagged back into his chair, dragging his hand over his face. The problem was that he didn’t want another trainer. He wanted Jo.

If he could only let Jo go, the idea of having her as a partner, and simply choose another trainer—anyone at this point—he’d have a better shot at racing Another Round. By continuing in limbo like this, waiting for Jo to change her mind, he was endangering any opportunity he might have to enter Another Round into any race, much less train him to be competitive enough to win enough races to qualify for the Derby in May.

Brooks closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Everything would be so simple if he could just move on and choose another trainer.

His cell phone, resting on the edge of his desk, vibrated. He answered the call.

“Mr. Moore,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “You asked me to notify you if Ms. Ellis returned.”

It was his security guard.

“Yes, Vince,” Brooks said. “When did she arrive?”

“Just now, sir. I let her in immediately as you requested. She’s on her way to the main house now.”

Heartbeat racing, Brooks stood and headed for the door of his office. “Thank you, Vince.”

Slipping his phone in his pocket, he walked down the hallway, crossed the foyer, and went outside. Moments later, a truck he recognized as belonging to Earl drove up and parked. The driver’s side door opened, and Jo exited the truck, rounded the front of it, and stood several feet away, looking up at him.

He smiled, just the sight of her setting his tense muscles at ease. “This is a pleasant surprise. How’s Earl today? Has he had a chance to test out the deck?”

It was a cool September afternoon, and she’d dressed for the occasion. The faded jeans she wore clung to her curves, and her long wavy hair spilled over the collar of her denim jacket, shining in the afternoon sun. His hands flexed at his sides, yearning to sift through the shiny strands and feel their soft texture between his fingertips.

“Who is Spencer Harris?” she asked. “And why does he have it out for you?”

Brooks froze at the sound of the other man’s name, his hands curling into fists by his sides. “It’s the other way around actually,” he said quietly. “Why are you asking me about Spencer Harris?”

She stared up at him, her big blue eyes searching his expression as always, seeking answers he wasn’t quite ready to give. “I just bumped into him,” she said. “Or rather, he bumped into me. He left Lone Oaks Crossing a little while ago.”

Brooks frowned. “Why was he at L—?”

“He stopped by to introduce himself,” she continued. “To let me know who he is and, I suspect, to see exactly who I am. He knew about you wanting me to train Another Round.”

Brooks bit his lip and looked away, his eyes scanning the green acres of his estate, staring blindly at the groups of guests strolling from stables to distillery.

“He knew about Lone Oaks Crossing being in financial trouble,” she said. “He knew about me owing money for breaking my teaching contract and my apartment lease. And . . . he knows Earl is having health trouble and accumulating a pile of medical bills.”

Brooks’s attention snapped back to her, the flash of fear in her eyes matching the fleeting tremble in her voice as she spoke Earl’s name. His fists tightened. “Did he threaten you? What did he say to you?”

“Enough to let me know there’s bad blood between the two of you and that if I don’t want to lose Lone Oaks Crossing, I should either join his team or stay away from the racetrack and from you.”

Brooks clenched his jaw so tightly he thought his teeth would shatter, but he forced himself to remain silent, rather than risk losing his temper in front of Jo.

She took a hesitant step toward him, then stopped, her blue eyes seeking his. “Brooks? What did he do to you?”

Brooks held her gaze and slowly unfurled his fists. “I told you I had a family once and that I lost my father and mother years ago. What I didn’t tell you was that my father was a gambling addict. That he lost everything—our home, his money, and self-respect. Most people knew he had a gambling addiction, but they also knew he had a family. My father wasn’t careful with his money. He lost everything to Spencer Harris and his father. They took advantage of his addiction and when he lost it all—including our farm—they put us out on the street. My father was so ashamed, he took his own life, and my mother passed not long after. Losing him was too much for her to bear.”

Jo remained silent as he spoke, tears coating her lower lashes.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Jo,” he rasped. “Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t,” she whispered. “I just want you to know you’re not alone.”

Her soft words drove through him, threatening to weaken his resolve. To dissolve his steely intent to do what was right—to claim the vengeance his father should have had.

“Spencer Harris took everything from my family,” he forced out through stiff lips. “I only aim to take back what’s mine.”

Jo’s brow creased and she glanced around her, eyeing his estate. “What more could you possibly need?”

“My family’s honor. My father’s name. My self-respect. Every damn thing you can’t buy and that can almost never be recovered once lost.”

She blinked up at him then slowly walked over, stopping mere inches from him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin and smell the sweet fragrance of her hair.

“Spencer Harris has none of those things,” she whispered. “And there’s more honor in you than any man I’ve ever known. You’re not the man I thought you were when we first met. You’re better . . . the best kind of man. And you’re worth more than a million Spencer Harrises of this world.”

Her hands lifted, her warm palms cupping his jaw, her fingers sliding into the hair at his nape. She lifted to her toes and parted his lips with hers, her kiss soft, slow, and tender, conjuring up a swirl of emotions within him that he’d never felt before. Emotions so strong that he had to wrap his arms around her, pull her close, and hold on, just to stay steady, just to keep his feet solid and on the ground.

When she pulled away, cool air rushed in and the intoxicating taste of her on his lips and tongue faded with each passing second, provoking a surge of fear that he’d never felt before. The urge to cover her mouth with his again, to pull her close, hold her tight, and never let go was strong, but he forced himself to remain still, save for keeping his hands snug at her waist, where the feel of her warm flesh beneath his palms was a small comfort.

“Is revenge the only reason you’re doing this?” she whispered, her hands smoothing over his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Is it the only reason you want to race Another Round?”

He leaned into the slight pressure of her palms and lowered his head, touching his forehead to hers. “At first, but now . . .”

“Now?” She smoothed her hands up his chest and cradled his jaw, tipping up his face, and bringing his eyes to hers. “Will this feud with Spencer end with the Derby? Win or lose, will it end there?”

He wished it would. He wished he could give her a definitive answer, tell her that a win at the Derby would restore his sense of pride and self-respect. That a win over Spencer would banish the anger, pain, and resentment he still carried, but he couldn’t.

“I don’t know, Jo.”

She stared up at him for a few moments longer, then closed her eyes and stepped back, her hands slowly—reluctantly, it seemed—trailing away from him. “In Spencer Harris’s eyes, we’re already in this together. Any loss you suffer, Earl and Lone Oaks Crossing will suffer as well if Spencer Harris has his way. You’ve helped me, so now it’s time for me to help you.”

She turned away and walked back to the truck.

“Jo—”

“You’re not alone, Brooks. You’ve got yourself a trainer.” She faced him again, brushing her hair back from her cheeks, her fingertips lingering briefly on her lips as she looked up at him, studying his mouth. “We’re a team now. So, we had better start planning. I’ll break the news to Earl and Frankie. We’ll need their help—and Cheyenne’s—and the sooner we get started, the better.”

“You’re not obligated to do this, Jo.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m your neighbor . . . and friend. And friends don’t turn their backs on each other. Swing by the farm in the morning—same time as usual—and we’ll get started.”

Brooks stood there, overcome with so many conflicting emotions he couldn’t define them. He watched as Jo climbed back into the cab of Earl’s truck, cranked the engine, and drove away, waiting until the truck disappeared over a hill in the distance. Then he pulled out a cell phone, dialed the number he’d memorized years ago, and waited for the other person to answer.

“Brooks,” a male voice drawled on the other end of the line. “I figured I’d hear from you, just not quite so soon.”

There was gleeful menace in Spencer Harris’s tone. It had always grated on Brooks’s nerves.

“I understand you’ve been to Lone Oaks Crossing,” Brooks said quietly, his eyes fixing on the line of oak trees that separated his property from Earl’s.

“I may have stopped by,” Spencer said. “To introduce myself and pay a neighborly visit.”

“What’s between us,” Brooks said, “remains between us. You’re reaching too far this time.”

“Who says I’m reaching? When you’re in the game, Brooks, you’re in the game.”

“As of now, I consider Lone Oaks Crossing an extension of my property. You’re to keep your distance.”

Spencer’s low chuckle crossed the line. There was a hint of menace in his tone this time. “You’ve always been territorial, Brooks. First, Rose Farm. Now, Lone Oaks Crossing. Do you consider Jo your property, too?”

Brooks clenched his teeth. “As I said, what’s between us, stays between us. Keep your distance—especially from Jo.”

“Oh, but now that you consider Lone Oaks Crossing your property,” Spencer drawled, “that makes the land and whoever inhabits it yours, which means they’re fair game.” Silence fell across the line for a moment, then Spencer continued. “All you have to do—all you’ve ever had to do—was give me a call, like you’ve done today, and let go of that grudge you’ve been holding against me for decades. Neither I, nor my father, is the monster you try to make us out to be.”

Brooks continued staring at the oak trees, watching the leaves on their branches flutter in the cool breeze, some falling to the ground. “You’re not monsters, Spencer. You’re opportunists. You take whatever you want, without concern for others.” He tilted his head, listening to the breeze. “I’m just setting things right. Taking my turn at the table, so to speak. Growing my wealth and business as you sought to grow your own over the years. Only, I’ve chosen to do it the fair way.” His muscles tightened. The image of Jo’s tender expression as she stared up at him minutes earlier exposed a vulnerability within him he hadn’t known he possessed. “Until now. Stay away from Jo, her family, and Lone Oaks Crossing, or I may see fit to change my strategy.”

Brooks disconnected the call and shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. He stood there for a while, scanning his extensive estate, thriving business, and the guests milling about his property. Then his attention returned to the line of trees separating his property from Earl’s. A sense of fear he hadn’t experienced since his time spent in Dream House, when he’d grieved his parents and wondered about his future, resurfaced. Until now, his losses had been his own. His risks only affected his business, his home, and his land. But things had changed.

Jo, an innocent party—a woman he found himself falling for—had just been placed right in the middle of his conflict with Spencer.

* * *

Jo drove up the driveway of Lone Oaks Crossing and parked the truck, cut the engine, and slumped over the steering will, resting her forehead against her hands.

What had she done? What had she just gotten herself into?

Lifting her head, she looked at the main house, then glanced at the stable and rolling hills of her family farm. She had no choice but to defend her home and her family. Spencer Harris might not have come right out and said he would steal Lone Oaks Crossing from under Earl, but the threat—however unspoken—remained all the same.

It had only taken moments for Jo to sense Harris’s real nature and ill intentions. During her time training horses years ago, she’d learned to sense the true nature of each horse she encountered. And as a teacher, she’d learned to spot ill intent in the students she worked with as well as assess their needs and limitations.

Spencer Harris was a different breed of man from those she’d encountered in her lifetime. He was, she admitted ruefully, the exact opposite of Brooks.

Her hand rose absently, her fingertips trailing across her lips, which still tingled from the feel of Brooks’s mouth against her own. Even now, after leaving his presence, driving the short distance between their homes, and achieving distance from his magnetic appeal, she could still feel his presence, sense the pressure of his palms and strong fingers cradling her waist as he’d deepened their kiss.

Brooks had been tender and gentle in all of her interactions with him.

Spencer, however, was ruthless and aggressive. The disgusting man’s words had conveyed more meaning than he’d probably suspected. The man had it in for Brooks, made no secret of it, and appeared more than willing—almost eager—to bring down anyone who got in his way of inflicting damage. Jo turned her head, her eyes seeking the familiar line of oaks at the edge of Lone Oaks Crossing. The trees weren’t the only dividing line between herself and Brooks. A massive amount of wealth, possessions, and power lay at her neighbor’s disposal. But Brooks didn’t wield those things in the same way that Spencer did. Brooks used his resources for good purposes, graciously loaning her money to stave off foreclosure of Earl’s farm, going above and beyond to bring her new boarders, and providing a helping hand to children in need like Cheyenne, who had, in the short time since she’d arrived at Lone Oaks Crossing, sensed the peaceful serenity and security the farm provided.

I kinda like . . . not being alone.

Jo closed her eyes at the memory of Cheyenne’s words, picturing Brooks as a young teenager, around Cheyenne’s age, alone at Dream House, grieving the loss of his parents and family home alone, unsure of what the next day might hold for him and who would be there to help him through it. Wet heat burned her eyes and she blinked hard, staving off a fresh surge of tears.

Brooks, from what little he’d shared with her about his conflict with Spencer and the damage the other man had inflicted upon Brooks’s family, had every reason to be angry, vengeful, and to despise Spencer.

But that wasn’t Brooks’s true nature from what she’d seen.

Brooks was a far better man than Spencer could ever dream of becoming. And she knew, for a fact, that Brooks was a kind man. More than that. Brooks was the best of men.

Jo pressed her hand to her chest, where a strong surge of emotion throbbed. She, of all people, knew how much could transpire in the two minutes or less that comprised the Derby. Lives were made or broken on the racetrack in the flash of a millisecond. But she’d never anticipated her heart opening so quickly to a man she barely knew . . . but whom her heart insisted she’d known forever.

Jo wiped her eyes and exited the truck, trying not to focus on the layers of obstacles today’s events had introduced. Instead, she strode purposefully toward the back of the main house and focused on what needed to be done now.

To beat Spencer on the track—and hopefully in whatever other way Brooks sought to achieve—they needed to form a team, formulate a plan, and put both to action as soon as possible. And she needed to get Another Round into the best shape of his life, prepare him for the competition that lay ahead, and foster his passion for running to enable him to cross the finish line first.

It had been years since she’d trained. She just hoped she still had it in her.

“There she is.” Frankie, seated on the newly built deck attached to the back of the main house, smiled and waved as Jo walked up the ramp toward her. “We’ve been wondering where you were.” She looked at Earl, who sat in his wheelchair beside her, a small smile on his face and his head tilted toward the sun. “Earl had a hefty breakfast and felt pretty good today, so we decided to give this deck of y’all’s a try. I think he’s taken a liking to it.”

Earl looked up at Jo and raised his hand toward her. “Beautiful.”

The tears she’d fought earlier returned, and Jo blinked hard as she pulled a lawn chair over and sat in it beside Earl. “I’m glad you like it,” she said, covering his hand with hers on the wheelchair’s armrest. “It was Brooks’s idea. He wanted you to be able to feel the sun on your face and have a nice view of the horses.”

Earl, his eyes brightening, nodded and lifted his hand again, pointing at Cheyenne, who stood in the pasture in front of them, leaning against the rail, watching Another Round graze. “Beautiful,” he repeated.

“That kid’s giving me whiplash with her moods,” Frankie mused, a small grin flickering across her mouth. “She’s like a completely different kid now that you’ve introduced her to Another Round. Earl has had a hard time taking his eyes off that thoroughbred ever since Cheyenne finished up his grooming session an hour ago.”

Jo studied Cheyenne, noting her relaxed stance and the peaceful expression on her face as her eyes followed Another Round, admiring his every movement . . . and possibly her handiwork.

“Cheyenne is proud of herself,” Jo said, smiling. “As well she should be. She was very attentive this morning. She listened closely and followed my directions well. I think she could be an excellent groom and stable hand if she decides to be. She seems to love thoroughbreds.”

Frankie laughed. “Too bad her online classes don’t deal with them. Matter of fact, if they had horses at that school she was attending, she probably wouldn’t be in the predicament she’s in now. And she certainly wouldn’t have had time to get herself into the trouble that obligated her to serve community service hours.”

Jo shook her head. “No. Cheyenne probably would have taken a completely different path had something sparked her interest the way Another Round has. Some kids aren’t meant for four walls and stifling, standardized restrictions. Sometimes open space, fresh air, and autonomy are more effective than any academic lesson in a classroom.”

“Seems that way,” Frankie said. “It’s a good sign for your new plans, isn’t it? I mean, if Cheyenne can find healing here, anyone can, right?”

Jo bit her lip, glancing at Frankie and then Earl. “Speaking of plans, that’s what I wanted to talk to you both about. I just came from Brooks’s place.”

“Oh, yeah?” Frankie asked. “I thought that might be where you’d gotten off to. Does he have any other surprises for us?” She grinned. “Hopefully, not another foster child yet. I think our hands will be full with Cheyenne for a while.”

Jo shook her head. “Actually, I had a surprise for him. I’ve agreed to train Another Round.”

Earl, who’d watched her silently, returned his attention to Another Round, then glanced up at her, his eyes widening with surprise and what she suspected was excitement. “T-train?”

“You’ve agreed?” Frankie slid to the edge of her chair, a mixture of surprise and confusion in her expression. “But . . . you were adamant that it wasn’t something you wanted to do.” A hard glint flashed in her eyes. “Is Brooks holding something over your head? I know he’s been very helpful to us, but it’s not worth accepting his help if it means—”

“No,” Jo said. “Brooks had very little to do with it. Did Cheyenne mention to you that we had a visitor this morning?”

Frankie nodded, her lips twisting. “She said some rich-looking dude stopped in and was asking about Another Round. Someone looking to buy him?”

Jo looked down, her hands fidgeting in her lap, wondering exactly how much to share in front of Earl. “Our visitor was Spencer Harris. And he wasn’t interested in Another Round so much as he was interested in my association with Brooks.”

A look of dismay crossed Frankie’s features, and Earl, staring at her silently, frowned, too.

“The bottom line is this,” Jo said. “Spencer has caused a lot of trouble for Brooks over the years and there’s bad blood between them. The man seems determined to make life difficult for Brooks and, I assume, the intention is mutual for Brooks.” She looked at Earl, her tone hesitant. “I could walk away from that—from a disagreement between two men, I mean. But Spencer mentioned Lone Oaks Crossing’s financial troubles this morning. And from the impression I got of him, he would have no qualms about taking this farm away from us if it meant hurting Brooks.”

Earl’s hands clenched the arms of his wheelchair and a muscle in his jaw ticked.

“He threatened in a veiled way to make things difficult for us if I didn’t walk away from Brooks and his thoroughbred.” She looked at Earl then, her eyes appealing to his. “I know the last thing we need is risk right now, but Brooks has done a lot for us. And,” she whispered, looking down, “he’s a good man that I’ve grown to admire. I think it’s time we returned the favor.”

Earl’s expression changed. He leaned closer, a fierce light in his eyes and a proud smile stretching across his face. “Get Lee. You . . . train him.”

Jo reached out and cupped Earl’s cheek in her palm, her voice firm and encouraging. “No,” she said softly. “I’ll find Lee, and then we’ll train him. Together, like the winning team we used to be.”