Lone Oaks Crossing

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 10

Two days later, Lee was sober, clear-eyed, and miserable.

“I’ve run that track once already and it ain’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet.” Lee, standing in the backyard of the main house at Lone Oaks Crossing, bent, braced his hands on his knees, and coughed uncontrollably. His chest heaved as he struggled to draw in a breath. “This is inhumane!”

“Mercy me.” Frankie, standing beside Jo on the deck, made a face as she stared down at Lee. “You think he’s gonna vomit again?”

Wincing, Jo shook her head. “No. He barfed up everything but his lungs the night he got here.”

Which, she reflected with a deep sense of gratitude, Brooks had not stayed to witness.

Two days ago, after Brooks had driven up the driveway of Lone Oaks Crossing and parked in front of the main house, Jo had dragged Lee out of the back seat of Brooks’s truck as quickly as possible while trying not to focus on the deepening glare on its owner’s face.

She didn’t blame him for being angry. Lee was a mess. An absolute hungover, slovenly, sick mess that had, more than likely, left a permanent stain in the back floorboard of the truck. Though, she had to admit, the bout of nausea had seemed to do Lee a bit of good as he’d been able to walk into the house under his own steam.

Jo had remained outside a moment longer, standing by the driver’s side window as she’d smiled up at Brooks and apologized for Lee’s drunken state. To his credit, Brooks had refrained from bad-mouthing Lee again or repeating how much of a mistake he thought it was to bring the man into their racing venture. Instead, he’d nodded in silent acknowledgment of her apology, then glanced at her and said two things.

I’ll be back in two days. He’d better show improvement.

“Come on, Lee,” Jo shouted down at him from the deck. “Once more. That track’s only half a mile long and you still have three rounds of squats, burpees, and bear crawls left to do.”

And goodness knows, Brooks might form a better second impression of Lee if he were in actual motion rather than bent double, gasping for breath as though he were about to keel over at any moment.

“What time is Brooks coming?” Frankie asked, sipping coffee from the mug she held. Steam curled above the rim, mingling with the cool morning air.

Jo glanced over her shoulder and tilted her head, listening for any sounds of a truck engine. “I’m not sure. He just said he was coming back in two days to check on Lee’s progress.”

Laughter burst out on the opposite end of the deck.

Cheyenne, seated in a lawn chair beside Earl, who was seated in his wheelchair, laughed again as she stared down at Lee. “I bet you Brooks is gonna toss that dude out on his ear.”

Jo frowned. “That’s not a very kind sentiment, Cheyenne.”

Though, she reluctantly acknowledged, it was a distinct possibility.

“You know it’s true,” Cheyenne said. Her grin fell as she looked beyond Lee’s bent form and focused on Another Round, who grazed in the neighboring pasture. “Brooks loves Another Round and isn’t gonna let that dude anywhere near him. Only the best horseman should ride him.”

“Lee is the best,” Jo said. “He just needs some time to get back in shape.” She walked across the deck, stopped by Cheyenne’s side, and squeezed the teen’s shoulder, saying quietly, “And he can probably hear every word you’re saying, so please keep your voice down.”

Cheyenne looked up at her and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want him riding Another Round either. He’s not . . .” She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s just not good enough.”

“Give him time.” Jo glanced at Earl. “He’s the best, isn’t he, Earl?”

Earl, who’d been studying Lee, looked up at Jo and nodded. “Could be . . . if he works . . . more.” He faced Cheyenne, raised one hand and pointed at her. “Same as you. If you . . . keep g-grooming.”

Cheyenne’s disapproving scowl eased as she met Earl’s eyes. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I guess.”

Jo smiled. For the past two days, ever since Earl had first managed to roll his wheelchair out onto the newly built deck, her grandfather had risen early, eaten breakfast, and joined Frankie on the deck to watch Jo lead Cheyenne through the steps to groom Another Round. And when their routine had to be adjusted to make time for Jo to drag Lee out of bed and push him through his workouts in the backyard, Cheyenne had taken to joining Earl and Frankie on the deck to watch Another Round graze in the pasture.

Cheyenne had begun asking questions about Another Round and thoroughbreds overall—some of which Frankie didn’t have the answers to—and gradually, Earl had taken over, explaining with focused effort. At first, he’d struggled to speak for any period of time, but after two days’ worth of morning and afternoon visits on the deck with Cheyenne, his stamina had improved slightly and it had become obvious that their new racing venture had sparked Earl’s interest, giving him extra motivation to work hard at physical therapy, leave the house, and make his way out to the deck every day to watch Another Round and witness Lee’s progress.

It was amazing, really, how fast Earl and Cheyenne, two stubborn souls, had begun to bond during those daily conversations about horses. Earl enjoyed sharing his knowledge and expertise and Cheyenne reveled in his rapt attention.

“Lee is on our team now,” Jo reminded Cheyenne. “And as Another Round’s caretaker, you should be the first and foremost teammate to welcome Lee and help him improve. After all,” she said, looking down at Cheyenne, “your most important responsibility is to ensure Another Round is taken care of, and helping Lee be the best he can be means Another Round will have a better rider.”

Oh, boy, that was a stretch. But she needed Cheyenne’s help—everyone’s really, if they were going to pull off a win at the Derby. Or any racetrack, for that matter.

It’d be all too easy to find another jockey and start training right away. But Jo didn’t want a decent shot for Brooks or Another Round—she wanted the best shot for them both—and that meant pushing Lee to give it his all, to succeed in recapturing the phenomenal skills he’d displayed years ago on the track. It might be a long shot, but they were already making progress. Lee hadn’t consumed a drop of alcohol in forty-eight hours and had managed to drag his fatigued body around the course she’d marked out for him.

“Whatever,” Cheyenne said. “I guess I could help him out.”

Jo glanced at Frankie and sighed. Good grief, it took a lot to impress the kid and motivate her to action.

Cheyenne shoved to her feet and rubbed her hands together. “What do you want him to do?”

“He needs to run that half-mile track that I plotted out for him around the pasture again,” Jo said. “Then he needs to complete three rounds of ten sets of squats, burpees, and bear crawls before he can take a short break.”

Cheyenne nodded in what seemed to be nonchalant agreement, but the mischievous gleam in her eyes was disturbing as she began walking down the ramp toward the backyard. “No problem.”

“Cheyenne?” Jo called.

She kept walking. “Yeah?”

“Just . . . go easy on him,” Jo said. “All he really needs is a pep talk, you know?”

Cheyenne waved a careless hand over her head and kept walking, joining Lee, who had sat down on the grass, in the backyard.

“Mercy,” Frankie repeated, sitting in the chair Cheyenne had vacated and sipping her coffee. “This should be entertaining.”

Just then, the growl of an engine rumbled in the distance.

“Great,” Jo whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “Just great.”

Brooks was here. Just in time to witness Cheyenne dragging Lee through his workout.

“Oh, boy.” Frankie chuckled, pointing down at Cheyenne, who’d joined Lee in the backyard and had begun tugging at his arms, trying to pull him to his feet. “Look at ’em. They’re like two moody kids tussling out there.”

Jo groaned and rubbed her temples.

“Morning, everyone.”

Jo looked at the bottom of the wheelchair ramp at the sound of Brooks’s deep, soothing voice and forced a bright smile to her face. “Morning, Brooks.”

He strolled up the ramp toward her, Frankie, and Earl, then turned and focused on the two figures arguing in the backyard. Cheyenne had Lee by one wrist, pulling as he yanked back from his seated position, grinning up at her.

“This kid of yours is rude!” Lee shouted. “And weak! Ain’t you, kid?” He laughed, clearly enjoying Cheyenne’s stubborn struggle.

Despite the situation, the delighted sound was a welcome relief to Jo’s ears as it echoed across the grounds. She smiled. It seemed Lee still had some life left in him yet.

“You ain’t getting me on my feet no matter how hard you pull,” Lee shouted at Cheyenne.

“What’s going on down there?” Brooks asked.

Frankie laughed. “Two of your employees are fighting it out, that’s what.” She glanced at Earl. “Whatcha say, babe? I bet you two bucks Cheyenne will have Lee on his feet within the next ninety seconds.”

Earl chuckled and stuck out his hand, shaking Frankie’s hand on the bet. “Thirty seconds.”

Jo shook her head. “Okay, let’s not encourage them.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out, “Cheyenne! I asked you to give Lee a pep talk and gentle nudge, not drag him over the ground.”

“Get up!” Cheyenne shouted, heaving once more at Lee’s arms.

Sure enough, that last pull did it. Cheyenne managed to jerk Lee to his feet and shove him forward a few steps.

“Aha!” Earl, smiling ear to ear, stuck out his hand, palm up, and wriggled his fingers. “Pay . . . up.”

Frankie grumbled but smiled back, dug two dollar bills from the pocket of her jeans and shoved them in Earl’s open hand. “There. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Brooks frowned, watching as Lee jogged a couple steps, then deliberately stopped, waited for Cheyenne to shove him in the back, then laughed and jogged a couple more steps, starting the pattern over again.

“You call that getting in shape?” Brooks asked as he looked on in disapproval.

“I call it a start,” Jo said, walking over to his side and joining him at the edge of the deck. “He’s already completed one jog around the makeshift track I marked out, and once he finishes this second round, he’ll start his first set of workouts, then take a break and do it all over again.” She looked up at him, noting the tight clench of his jaw. “You have to admit it’s progress of some sort, Brooks. I mean”—she waved a hand toward Lee, who jogged around the side of the pasture with Cheyenne close behind—“he’s moving, isn’t he? Getting fresh air, strengthening his lungs, and he hasn’t had a sip of alcohol since you dropped him off here two days ago.”

Brooks dragged his attention away from the two figures jogging around the pasture and looked down at her, a small grin twitching his sensual mouth. “You call being chased in the backyard by a teenager progress?”

“Well . . .” Jo shrugged, smiling. “At least he’s not throwing up.” She closed one eye and peeked up at him. “Did you have your truck cleaned?”

Brooks’s grin fell. “Yes. But I would’ve been better off buying a new one. My memory of that truck has been tarnished by Lee forever.”

Jo laughed. “Cut him some slack, please?” She stopped laughing, her eyes following Lee as he fell into a rhythm and started jogging with purpose, leaving Cheyenne behind and undertaking a second lap around the track she’d laid out for him. “He’s had his misfortunes in life—like everyone else—and at least he’s showing a hint of drive now, as though he might actually follow through.”

Brooks continued staring at the younger man as he ran around the pasture, the tense set of his broad shoulders easing slightly. “Do you think he has it in him to pull this off?”

“I know he does,” she said. “He just needs a fair shot and plenty of support.” She hesitated, looking up at Brooks, weaving her arm around his muscular bicep and tugging his gaze back to hers. “Lee lost his uncle years ago and he’s been on his own for a long time. He had everything going for him back in the day when he’d started out in this sport, but life dealt him a tough hand and he’s had trouble recovering.” She studied Brooks’s face, encouraged by the empathy in his expression. “Here he’ll have the support he needs to make something of his life again and, hopefully, help us in the process. He was the best part of our team years ago and, with support and encouragement, he will be again.” She snuggled closer to his side, her belly fluttering at the feel of his muscular frame against hers. “Besides, you said you trusted me. And . . . adored me. And that you were at my beck and call. So, you can sit back, relax, and know that I have this under control.”

A slow smile rose to Brooks’s lips as he looked down at her, his eyes darkening to midnight pools. “Are you trying to bat those beautiful lashes of yours and manipulate me into giving in to your wishes without question?”

She grinned and tilted her mouth up closer to his, a heady sense of pleasure moving through her at the thought of feeling his warm mouth again. “Maybe . . .”

“You’ve succeeded,” he murmured, lowering his head and touching his lips to h—

“Hey.” Earl’s growly tone cut across the deck. “P-pay attention,” he said, jabbing one finger toward the two figures running around the pasture as he frowned up at Brooks. “Business . . . first.”

Brooks cleared his throat, his cheeks burning brightly as he straightened. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Late October had arrived at Lone Oaks Crossing, bringing with it a burst of color that splashed the trees surrounding the rolling green acres with patches of orange, red, brown, and yellow, lighting up the landscape with vibrant energy.

Jo, leaning against the white fence of the pasture in the backyard, smiled as she watched Another Round gallop past her, his glossy mane and tail rippling in the crisp autumn wind. The thoroughbred had taken to the change in temperature and season immediately, seemingly falling in love with the feel of the cold autumn air sweeping over his hide and the mix of autumn scents lingering on the air.

“He loves a good run first thing in the morning.” Brooks, standing beside her, his forearms propped on the top rail of the fence, tilted the screen of his cell phone toward her. “And it’s showing.” He tapped the screen with one blunt fingertip. “Check it out. He’s shaved even more off his time. Last I averaged, he’s clocking upward of thirty miles an hour. That gives him a good shot at winning the Derby.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a good shot. But it’s definitely a decent one.” Jo glanced at the digital stopwatch ticking away on the phone, then looked to the opposite side of the pasture where Another Round and Lee shot around the curve and over the hill in the distance, out of sight. “And you have to admit, Lee’s surprised us all.”

Brooks nodded, his brows rising. “He’s certainly surprised me. But you?”

Jo grinned. “Yes. Most definitely.”

Over the past month since Lee had arrived at Lone Oaks Crossing, he’d shown remarkable dedication despite getting off to a rocky start.

After Lee had detoxed and abstained from alcohol for a substantial amount of time, his strength had seemed to return slowly but steadily. Each day, he’d roused himself at dawn, sauntered down to the stables to spend a few minutes introducing himself to Another Round before Cheyenne began her grooming routine for the day, then walked across the grounds to the backyard, where he and Jo had put together a workout routine.

First, Lee would run the half-mile trail Jo had marked out for him across the grounds, the distance gradually increasing each week until Lee could run three miles with ease first thing in the morning. Next, he’d cool down on the deck and drink some water, then jump into circuit training in the backyard, running through various sets of repetitious lunges, squats, and bear crawls as well as burpees, which he hated with a passion.

Lee had always been a hard worker, but even Jo had experienced doubts during the first week when he’d struggled to jog the half-mile trail and dragged during the exercise circuits. He’d seemed pale, weak, and unsteady on his feet. Clearly, he’d been living hard over the past ten years and had neglected his health.

But after the initial two weeks, his complexion had brightened, his muscles had grown stronger, and his steps had become firm and confident. Enough so that after the third week, he’d dropped almost ten pounds and felt good about taking his first ride.

Slow and steady had been the approach. Jo, along with keen-eyed Cheyenne, had supervised every moment of the process, making adjustments as Lee and the thoroughbred worked, calling out directions, recording times, and carefully checking the weather and ground conditions every morning prior to commencing any of Another Round’s workouts for the day. Lee had been equally as careful and attentive, developing a fondness for Another Round that Jo had hoped for and nurturing a special bond of trust with the thoroughbred so that they felt at ease in each other’s company.

“I knew Lee was a great rider,” Jo said. “And I knew he’d find a way to connect with Another Round. But I hadn’t anticipated him bouncing back into shape as quickly as he has.” She glanced at Brooks, noting the approving look in his eyes as he watched Lee ride. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s impressed you as well.”

Brooks’s dark eyes met hers, warming with affection as they roved her face. “He has. I’d say trusting your judgment is the only way to go.”

Her cheeks heated at the teasing tone in his voice. “Remember that on the days I frustrate you.”

He smiled, transferring his cell phone to one hand and sliding his free one around her waist. “I’d say I’m frustrated now.”

Oh, gracious. She grinned. He was turning on the charm . . . the scoundrel. “In what way?”

“In the way that I haven’t had any time alone with you in the past month.” He dipped his head, his soft lips warm against her cool temple. “I’d kill to have you to myself for an hour. You in my arms, a glass of bourbon, and a nice view . . .”

“Oh, given those conditions . . .” She closed her eyes and leaned in, her grin growing. “I think we’d need much more than an hour.”

He moved closer, his strong chest pressing against her arm and his thick thigh brushing hers.

“But,” she said, leaning away and brushing her hand through his hair, “business needs to come first, right now.”

A low groan left his lips as he kissed the top of her head, then stepped back, allowing the crisp autumn wind to whip between them. “Forgive me. Your grandfather’s orders slipped my mind momentarily.”

Jo laughed, recalling Earl’s stern tone a month ago when they’d stood on the deck watching Lee undertake his first morning workout.

“He just wants us to have the best possible shot at winning,” she said.

Brooks sighed. “I know. And he’s right. Business should come first . . . for now.”

She propped a hand on her hip. “I’m judging from your tone that you think that’ll change at some point?”

“After the Derby.” He looked down at her, a confident gleam in his eyes. “Once we win at Churchill Downs, we’ll have all the time in the world together.”

Jo stilled as he returned his attention to the grounds, his dark eyes seeking Another Round and Lee as they ascended a hill and emerged back into view.

She didn’t doubt that Brooks was attracted to her. That he had more than a neighborly or friendly interest in her. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit—at least to herself—that she’d noticed a change in him with each passing day since Lee had shown such improvement and devotion to his new charge.

With each of Lee and Another Round’s new accomplishments, Brooks’s energy grew more excited, eager and, in a sense . . . ruthless. It was clear he was delighting in the prospect of beating Spencer at his own game, gaining the upper hand and stealing the glory.

“Will we?” Jo asked quietly.

Facing her, Brooks tilted his head, confused. “What?”

“After the Derby, I mean. You said, win or lose, the Derby would end this rivalry you have with Spencer.”

He held her gaze silently for a few moments then said, “I’d rather win, Jo. I know win or lose were my words at the time, but if you want me to be completely honest—”

“I do.”

He nodded. “Then, I’d rather win.”

She bit her lip. “You mean, it would take a win to end it.”

He looked away, his eyes avoiding hers. “Let’s just focus on winning first, hmm? That’s what’s important right now.”

The back door of the main house opened. Frankie walked out and held the door as Earl rolled his wheelchair out onto the deck.

Brooks smiled, glancing down at her and squeezing her arm before walking away. “Let’s go show Earl Another Round’s new stats, shall we?”

Jo stood there, her earlier excitement waning as she watched Brooks stride across the grass and onto the deck, every step taking him farther away from her. And that’s where her worries truly resided, she supposed. In the fear that Brooks’s attention would remain on his feud with Spencer rather than her. That after the Derby—win or lose—he’d focus on inflicting pain on Spencer rather than pursuing a relationship with her.

She dragged in a ragged breath as she strolled after him toward the deck. That was a bitter pill to swallow. The thought that Brooks might not feel as deeply for her as she already did for him. Because somewhere during the past month and a half since she’d met him, he’d secured a place in her heart with his kind disposition, caring generosity, and protective strength. He was unlike any man she’d ever known and she wanted to know him better. She wanted to be more than his friend. But she wasn’t sure how much more he wanted from her . . . or if his feelings for her were stronger than his animosity for Spencer and his determination to right the injustice he’d inflicted on Brooks’s family.

Jo tilted her head back as she walked, her eyes smarting as the cold wind hit them. She blinked her vision clear of the cold moisture, reminding herself to focus on the task at hand and take one step at a time. As Brooks had said, they’d have time after the Derby win to explore what existed between them.

And that, she thought, smiling, was what she really looked forward to.

“. . . think we should try for the Breeders’ Cup Juvenile,” Brooks was saying as she approached. “It’s scheduled for the first week in November at Keeneland and—”

“No.” Jo walked up the ramp and joined Brooks, Frankie, and Earl on the center of the deck where they were gathered around a small table laden with papers. “We’re not ready yet.”

Brooks spread his hands. “What do you mean?” He gestured toward Lee, who’d finished his workout with Another Round and was dismounting in the pasture to hand the reins to Cheyenne for Another Round’s cooldown. “You just saw how fast his time has gotten and how much progress he’s made over the past month. Any speed higher than thirty miles per hour makes for a good Derby contender.”

“A decent contender,” Jo corrected. “Look, I’m not negating the fact that Another Round and Lee have made enormous strides over the past few weeks. What I’m saying is that we should take small steps and stay upright rather than run right off the bat and fall flat on our faces. They need more time to prepare, and their first race needs to be one that has lower stakes.”

“How low do you want to go, Jo?” Brooks studied her face. “I mean, we need to win at least forty points to even have a shot at qualifying for the Derby, and if we don’t start racking them up now, we won’t have time to collect enough.”

“I know, but . . .” She looked down at the papers on the table, studying each before she found the page she was looking for and held it up. “Look. This one—the Gun Runner in New Orleans. It’s a lower stakes race and it’s not until Christmas. That’ll give us almost two more months to train and, more importantly, for Lee and Another Round to learn each other’s strengths and weaknesses. I think we should start there.”

Brooks took the paper from her and studied the details printed on it, then nodded. “Okay, let’s say we go to the Gun Runner as the first race. What next? Even if we place first, we’d still need upward of thirty points by April.”

“Next . . .” She rifled through more of the printouts, picked up two more pages, and handed them to Brooks. “The Rebel in Arkansas. That one’s at the end of February and has a great point payoff for first place. Concentrating on training between the Gun Runner and that race would give us two more months to take what we learn from our performance in the Gun Runner and rectify any mistakes we make as well as strategize better based on Another Round’s behavior on the track. We’d walk into the Rebel with a new, better game plan.”

Brooks held up one of the papers she’d given him. “And the Jeff Ruby? I assume that one’s our last saving grace?”

Jo nodded. “Not necessarily. There are a few more races in April with stakes as high as the Jeff Ruby, so even if we only place second in the Jeff Ruby, we’d still have a decent shot at getting into the Derby. Either way, placing third or higher in all three of those races would give us the shot you’re hoping for to qualify for the Derby.”

Brooks reviewed each of the three pages in his hand for a few minutes, then looked at Earl. “What do you think, Earl?”

Earl, seated in his wheelchair with a big smile on his face, pumped his fist in the air and said, “So long as you take me to every one of ’em . . . let’s go kick some butt!”

Frankie laughed. “That therapy’s paying off, huh, Earl? He’ll be running the show ’round here in no time.”

Brooks smiled at Jo. “That’s approval enough for me.”