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“I want to go all the way, Jo.”
“Why?” Her arms moved restlessly at her sides. “If you had a deep love for the sport, I could understand. But I don’t think you do. I don’t think you take to it like others have. I don’t think you even actually enjoy participating in these races.” She moved closer, her expression one of appeal. “You told me you liked being at the racecourse because I was there. But what if I wasn’t? What if it were just you and Another Round? Would you still want to be there? And if so, for what reason? Just to get back at Spencer Harris? Beat every thoroughbred he puts on the track? What would that get you? How would that take away any of the pain you still carry from losing your family and your home?”
“I’m not going back, Jo.” He firmed his tone. “I’m seeing this through. There’s no reason to turn back now.”
“No reason?” she asked softly. “Even if I weren’t here? I agreed to train Another Round to help you and to earn enough money to keep Lone Oaks Crossing safe from Spencer. We’ve both done what we came to do, and I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to spend my time on the road, traveling from one place to another, competition after competition. I want to take Earl home so he can rest and continue healing, and I want Cheyenne to get back to a normal routine.”
“Jo . . .”
She eased past him, walking back toward the hotel.
“Jo.” He stood there, his heart kicking his ribs and his hands hanging heavily by his sides as she stopped and turned to face him once more. “Please stay and continue training Another Round. Two more races. That’s all I’m asking.”
Her mouth twisted. “And more races after those?”
“Please,” he said. “Just think it over before you make a decision.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, remaining silent for a moment. “All right. I’ll sleep on it and give you an answer in the morning.”
CHAPTER 14
Morning arrived sooner than Jo expected . . . and much earlier than she wanted.
Last night, after she’d left Brooks on the hotel grounds and returned to her hotel room, she’d stood just inside the threshold and closed her eyes, trying to process the enormity of what he was asking of her.
Cheyenne was snuggled under the covers in her double bed, sleeping deeply and snoring lightly.
The sight of her had brought a smile to Jo’s lips despite the dilemma she faced. Cheyenne, her long hair mussed about the pillow and expression relaxed in deep, peaceful sleep, had become almost unrecognizable from the girl she’d been. There was no trace of the anger and pain she’d exhibited when she’d first arrived at Lone Oaks Crossing.
She’d grown so much over the past six months. Clearly, the predictable routine of caring for horses outdoors in the fresh air and sunshine had helped Cheyenne shake off some of the cynicism and disgust that had festered inside her when Jo had first met her at Dream House.
Dream House. The name alone inspired so many hopes but had delivered so very few for Cheyenne—or Brooks—during the time they’d spent there.
Now, Jo, sitting on the edge of her double bed in the hotel room, stared at the thin curtain covering the window, watching the morning sunlight begin to peek through the white material, her thoughts turning again to Brooks’s painful losses.
Her eyes burned. She knew he’d suffered. Knew his pain, anger, and resentment ran deep. But she also knew that Spencer Harris (though he’d certainly contributed to Brooks’s misfortunes and pain) wasn’t the sole cause.
Brooks had been dealt a bad hand in life. He’d experienced pain and loss like so many other people Jo had met—even worked with—over the years . . . including herself. And if he continued down the path he was taking—if he continued searching for closure by inflicting pain or exacting revenge on someone else rather than dealing with the anger that tormented him on the inside, he’d never find peace or be satisfied with anything or anyone. Including her.
Blinking back tears, she slowly stood and, moving quietly so as not to disturb Cheyenne, went into the bathroom, shut the door, and washed her face. She patted her face dry with a hand towel and looked in the mirror, frowning at the dark shadows under her eyes and her strained expression.
She wanted to give Brooks the answer he hoped for. She certainly didn’t want to walk away from him. But . . . she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t continue to blindly support him in a quest for vengeance and power that she knew would never bring resolution to his pain. But maybe, just maybe, she could persuade him to see her side of things. Help him understand why she was making the decision she was and, hopefully, persuade him to join her.
After showering, Jo dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, left a note for Cheyenne letting her know she’d be back soon, then exited the room quietly. She walked to the other end of the hall, glancing at the closed doors of Frankie and Earl’s room as she passed. Once she reached Brooks’s door, she raised her fist, hesitated briefly, then knocked.
Moments later, the door opened and Brooks, his dark hair disheveled and his expression looking as stressed as she felt, stepped back and swept his arm toward the interior of his suite as though he’d been awaiting her arrival.
“I just had a fresh carafe of coffee delivered,” he said, striding across the suite to the sitting room area. He, like her, was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, and his hair was damp and disheveled as though he’d just emerged from a shower, but his strong hand shook slightly as he picked up a white ceramic carafe and poured coffee into a mug. “You take sugar and cream, right?”
Her lips curved. “You’ve noticed?”
He paused in the act of pouring cream, glanced back at her, and smiled. “Yeah.” He resumed adding cream, then sugar and stirred, murmuring softly, “I’ve noticed everything about you.”
She stood still, her breath coming more rapidly as he walked toward her, holding out the mug. Aromatic steam rose from the rim and mingled with the masculine scent of his aftershave, the heady combination enticing her senses. “Thank you.”
His fingers lingered on hers as she accepted the mug. Then he moved away, returning to the small table in the sitting area, pouring a cup of coffee for himself and gesturing toward one of the two chairs at the table. “Please, have a seat.”
She did so, settling into one of the soft chairs and watching as he did the same.
