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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.”
CHAPTER 11
Spending Christmas in New Orleans was an exciting prospect for a tourist. There were decorations galore: lights strung along wrought-iron fences and live oak trees, decorated streetcars, steamboats, and carriages. There were bonfires on the levee, caroling in Jackson Square, and lavish feasts packing tables in every restaurant on every corner. The city throbbed with joy, celebration, and festivity.
But Jo, Brooks, Frankie, Earl, Cheyenne, Lee, and Nancy (a groom from Brooks’s stables) had traveled to New Orleans for a different reason. After being packed into trucks and transporting Another Round along the interstate for a total of eleven hours, they were eager to let Another Round stretch his legs and settle in at the Fair Grounds Race Course as well as unpack their bags and get a good night’s sleep. Nervous tension combined with a packed schedule of race preparation had left them with little time or inclination to sightsee. Instead, they spent every spare moment they had (and a few they didn’t have) seeing to all of Another Round’s needs, getting acquainted with the racetrack, and praying for a safe race.
Finally, the day after Christmas, one hour and twenty minutes from the start of the Gun Runner race, Jo and Nancy escorted Another Round across the racecourse grounds to the receiving barn. The winter sun hung low in the late-afternoon sky as they fell in line with the other horses, trainers, and jockeys, all preparing for the race.
“What do you think?” Nancy asked Jo, eyeing the sweat glistening along Another Round’s bare neck. “He looks like he’s starting to wash out.”
Jo glanced at Another Round and noted the stressed look in his eyes as he took in the other horses and the unfamiliar surroundings. “He’s nervous. That’s to be expected.”
But she had to admit that Another Round’s high level of nervous tension was cause for concern.
Over the past two months, she’d put Another Round through a safe but vigorous training routine to enhance his strength and stamina. The colt had performed well, growing stronger and more confident every day. Their hopes had been high during the drive down to New Orleans. Another Round’s times were great, his love of running had intensified during his training, and his personality remained upbeat and friendly through it all. There had been nothing to indicate that Another Round would react negatively heading into a formal race.
But in racing, nothing was certain and very little before or during the race could be controlled.
“It’s the other horses,” Nancy said, glancing around as they entered the receiving barn. “They’re putting him on edge.”
Inside the receiving barn, other colts walked around, some grinding their teeth and others kicking, most of them eyeing each other suspiciously.
Jo nodded. “Another Round’s a born competitor, and he knows he has competition. Let’s just hope he puts that nervous energy to good use.”
