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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.”
