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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 façade.
“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.”
