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A fleeting gleam of dry amusement moved through her eyes. “You may.” Her gaze turned somber again as she looked at Earl, still sleeping in the bed. “He’s doing well, from what I’ve been told, but we’ll know more tomorrow. It seems to have been a minor stroke.”
“That’s good to hear.” He walked across the room and held out his hand, unable to tear his attention away from her face, the warm, clear intensity in her gaze so unique it stirred a curious attraction deep within him. “I apologize for disturbing you.”
Carefully keeping his expression blank, he lowered his eyes to her mouth, tracing the bow of her bottom lip, then lingering on the wound marring it. A spark of anger lit in his gut at the sight, a strange surge of protectiveness sweeping over him. Where had she gotten that? And—he glanced at the bloodstain on her business blouse—in work clothes? Had she been mugged? Attacked by an abusive husband? Boyfriend?
“I’m Brooks Moore,” he said quietly. “I own the property to the east of Lone Oaks Crossing.”
She stood and gripped his hand. “Jo Ellis. I’m his granddaughter.” She returned his stare, a wry expression crossing her face. “You want to know where I got it. The busted lip, I mean.”
He blinked, unsettled by her blunt insight. In his business, people rarely shared their thoughts so openly, and even if they did, they cloaked them in a shroud of deceit or calculated persuasion. He’d mastered bluffing years ago, easily masking his emotions during all his transactions. Her quick assessment of his thoughts left him feeling vulnerable.
“The thought did cross my mind,” he said. “Though it’s none of my business.”
“You’re right.” She released his hand. “It’s not.”
Disappointment lowered his shoulders, and he missed her warm, gentle grip immediately, the air cold against his empty palm.
She has the touch . . . but left the sport and Lone Oaks some time ago . . .
Brooks, recalling Rhett’s comment, flexed his fingers against the odd sensation she’d left behind on his skin. The whole length of his body tingled, and he eyed her graceful hands as they rested by her side. She was an attractive woman, but he’d ignored the sexual advances of women for over two years now, choosing instead to focus his energy on building his business and learning the intricacies of dealmaking on the front and back sides of the track.
That’s all it was. Sexual attraction—lust—pure and simple. Something there was no room for in the successful business partnership he hoped to forge with her.
“Black-eyed Susans?” She stood by the window now, staring down at the bright blooms spilling over the tall vase he’d brought.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Yes.” He hid his smile. “Thought I’d bring something to cheer Earl up.”
She raised one eyebrow as she scrutinized his expression then gripped the glass vase with both hands, lifted it, and tilted her head. “Pretty heavy for a vase of flowers.” She set it back on the ledge, sifted her long fingers delicately through the blooms, then withdrew a bottle of bourbon from the vase.
He’d been right. Her long waves of hair matched the rich, amber shade of bourbon perfectly.
“Original Sin?” she asked, reading the label.
“My brand. Sweet, smooth, double-oaked, and ninety proof. Crafted in my distillery.” He cocked one eyebrow. “Like I said, I brought something to cheer him up.”
She gave him a pointed look—one he found more endearing than stern. “I think there’s a hospital policy against alcohol.”
He grinned. “No doubt.”
Lips curving, she lifted the bottle of bourbon. “Thank you for this, and your visit.” She glanced at Earl, the amusement fading from her expression. “I’ll tell Earl tomorrow that you stopped by. I’m sure you understand that he needs his rest tonight.”
“Yes, of course.” Brooks glanced once more at Earl, who still slept peacefully, then walked to the door. He paused on the threshold, hesitating, then looked back at Jo. “I wish I could mention this under better circumstances. . . but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you later this week, if you have the time. A business proposition, of sorts.”
She studied him, then crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “I can’t imagine how I might be of help to a distillery owner. And this is hardly the time for a pitch.”
“I know.” He gestured weakly toward the hospital bed. “As I said, I apologize for intruding, but the matter is time sensitive, and it has the potential to benefit you and Earl as much as it will me. Especially Earl,” he whispered. “I imagine Earl is going to need time to recover, and with him off his feet, Lone Oaks Crossing will take a hit in terms of incom—”
“Thank you for the visit, Mr. Moore.”
The hard finality in her tone sank his hopes.
“It’s Brooks, please.” He held her gaze. “I know you think I’m opportunistic—and I am to some extent—but I have my reasons. Personal ones tied to my family’s past. I promise you, what I have to offer you and Earl will carry you both through this hardship in many ways. Most especially, financially.” He pointed at the flower vase. “My business card’s inside the vase. Please feel free to call me anytime.”
At her silence, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him. The nurse—Jenny, if he recalled correctly—smiled at him expectantly as he walked past the nurse’s station, her bright expression dimming when he continued by silently.
Brooks frowned at the irony. Here he and Jenny were, both offering their services to a stranger, hoping to get a return on the investment. He’d already disappointed Jenny, and he had a sinking suspicion that Jo would disappoint him.
Dear God, he needed this win. And if the reputation Rhett touted were true, he also needed Jo.
