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“Mr. Moore accepts guests only by prior appointment and Original Sin’s gates open only for customers who’ve made a reservation and purchased a guest pass.” He waved an impatient hand as he glanced behind her truck. A line of cars had formed behind her. “Please move on, ma’am. You can take a right and follow the paved drive back to the main road.”
Jo lifted one hip, reached into her pocket, pulled out Brooks’s business card and presented it to the security guard. “I spoke with Mr. Moore last night. Please give him a call and I’m sure he’ll see me.”
He shook his head and held up a hand. “Ma’am, I got people wait—”
“Call him.” She lowered her sunglasses and met his eyes over the rims, trying her best to appear earnest rather than desperate. “Please. It’ll take you less than a minute—a minute that can make or break me.”
He sighed, glanced once more at the line of vehicles forming behind her, then shook his head as he headed for the nearby security booth. “Your name?”
“Jo Beth Ellis.”
His steps paused, his expression flaring with recognition of the name as he glanced back at her before entering the security booth. He stood in front of the window of the booth, studying her as he tapped the Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear. He looked down at a set of security screens, his hands typing into a laptop as his mouth moved. Moments later, he tapped the Bluetooth earpiece again, walked out of the booth, and gestured invitingly with one arm toward the wide, decorative gate as it slowly slid open.
“Welcome to Original Sin, Ms. Ellis. Please follow the paved road past the stables and distillery to the next gate. When it opens, continue following the paved road until you reach the main house. Mr. Moore will be there to welcome you.”
Jo tossed the business card in the passenger seat, nudged her sunglasses back into position, and nodded. “Thank you.”
She transitioned the parked truck back into drive, guided it through the open gate, and began driving along the wide paved road that wound through the grounds of the estate. When she reached the top of the first hill, the whole world seemed to sparkle. The bright morning light of the Kentucky sun poured a golden hue over rolling pastures and dirt tracks, massive stables, white distillery buildings, brick walkways lined with limestone walls, and white fencing that seemed to stretch for miles and miles.
Jo craned her neck as she drove, gazing from left to right, surveying the smiling guests as they strolled along the brick paths and the impressive thoroughbreds that galloped along dirt tracks snaking over the lush grounds, their riders putting them through their daily training.
“Oh, sweet heaven,” she breathed.
This could’ve been Earl’s—every inch of it—had things turned out differently . . . namely, if Sweet Dash hadn’t stumbled on the dirt of the Pimlico Race Course and if Jo hadn’t walked away from the sport days later. Instead, acres away, just beyond the dense line of strong oak trees in the distance, Lone Oaks Crossing was gasping its last breath, almost in decay.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Jo drove on, keeping her gaze fixed dead ahead, slowing as she reached the second gate, then passing through it as it opened. She drove around the wide circular drive that surrounded a large fountain and parked in front of what the security guard had termed “the main house.”
“House?” She cut the engine and leaned across the passenger seat, her eyes widening as she stared at the massive structure looming above her. “Mansion, more like.”
The white, three-storied colonial-style home with its elegant double-door entrance, exterior stonework, stunning columns, and multiple balconies had to be at least thirteen thousand square feet if she estimated correctly from her vantage point. And then there was what she assumed was a guest house attached to the side of the huge structure—a beautifully constructed dwelling in its own right, almost as impressive as the main home.
Sunlight glinted off the glass panes of one of the ornate front doors as it swung open and Brooks emerged, striding confidently across the front porch and down the stone walkway toward the truck.
“Get it together.” Jo exited the truck, shut the door, and smoothed her hand over her loose hair. “Ask, don’t beg,” she reminded herself quietly. “And don’t look desperate.”
“Welcome to Original Sin, Jo.” Brooks, smiling, rounded the front of the truck and extended his hand. He looked even taller than when she’d met him yesterday, his muscular physique clad in an expensive business suit and boots. “I was hoping you’d call, but a visit is even better.”
She cleared her throat and shook his hand. “Sorry about not giving you notice, but I prefer to discuss business in person rather than on the phone. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“No. Not at all.” He glanced down at her hand in his, remaining quiet and still for a moment, then covered their clasped hands with his free one. “How is Earl? Have you been by to see him today?”
His hands were strong and sturdy, and the heat of his big palms warmed hers in the cool fall air, enticing her exhausted, still hungover body to lean in his direction.
She disentangled her hand from his and stepped back. “Yes. I just came from the hospital. That’s the reason I stopped by to see you. I know you have something you’d like to discuss with me, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you as well. I’ll be honest and fair, and I hope you’ll be the same.”
His eyes roved over her face, then narrowed on her sunglasses. “That’s the only way I operate.” He motioned in front of him, toward the entrance of his home. “After you.”
Jo hesitated, noting the glint of affront that briefly hardened his expression at her words. She glanced over her shoulder at the sprawling acres of lush luxury, looking up at the refined mansion, then staring up at the polished man before her. Hands trembling, she dragged them across the baggy jeans she wore, feeling more out of her element than ever before.
Maybe she should have called first. Scheduled this meeting at Lone Oaks Crossing or perhaps, more neutral territory? As it was, she was in his domain now . . . and at the whim of whatever neighborly goodwill he might or might not possess.
What would a man of his obscene wealth and social stature do with someone like her—a poor neighbor and insignificant trainer—if he managed to rope her into training for him?
She’d become a tool for whatever he had planned, that’s what. If she allowed it . . .
Twenty thousand and two boarders. Ask—don’t beg.
Jo eased past him and walked inside.
