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“I hope he does,” Rhett said. “I truly do. I just can’t take that chance with you. I hope you can understand.”
The finality in his tone hollowed Brooks’s gut, a sensation at odds with the surge of admiration that coursed through him. He shoved the resignation letter in his pocket and spun away, bracing his hands on the porch rail and eyeing his stables in the distance.
“You’re a good man,” he forced between stiff lips, “and I won’t fault you for doing what you think is best for your family. Stop by the main office on your way out. I’ll instruct my secretary to have your final check ready at the front desk. It’ll include a hefty bonus—enough for you to start that retirement and spend your time with your wife and grandkids now, if you see fit.”
“Thank you, Brooks. You’ve always been a generous man.” Rhett’s footsteps, heavy and slow, receded, then paused several feet away. “I also know you well enough to know that you’re not giving up without a fight. Spencer’s gonna do everything he can to impede your progress. And even if I’d stayed, I don’t know that my help would’ve been enough. You need a great trainer—one far better than me.”
Brooks watched as one of his employees led a small group of tourists along one of the trails leading from the stables to the stillhouses. The sun, which had shone strong throughout the day, was beginning to slide lower in the sky, and the tourists, the fifth tour group today, would’ve already been given a personal introduction to a few of his thoroughbreds and were now on their way to tour his distilleries and sample his best whiskey.
The unique blend of horses and bourbon on one estate had enabled Brooks’s business to thrive. The only element that could substantially enhance Original Sin’s value would be the prestige of having a Derby winner born, raised, and trained on the estate. Another Round, Brooks’s soon-to-be three-year-old thoroughbred, fit the bill. But now, with the Derby only nine months away and qualifying races already underway, Brooks had no trainer to see him through to the finish line.
“You need a trainer whose horse has won before,” Rhett said.
A rueful laugh burst from Brooks’s lips. “I’ve already been down that route. No one at that level will give me the time of day on account of my name—or rather, lack thereof—and the fact that they know of my rivalry with Spencer and want no part in it.” He glanced at Rhett and managed to smile. “Not that that’s the only reason I hired you. You’re an excellent trainer.”
“I know the best there is. Someone who’s trained a Derby winner. Someone who’s beyond Spencer’s influence and whose hands are clean. Someone with integrity and honor.”
“Who is he?”
Rhett’s mouth twisted. “She.”
Brooks frowned. “No woman is on record as having trained a Derby winner.”
“No. She wouldn’t be.” Rhett dipped his head. “She’s never been officially named as a winning trainer—she’s only served as an assistant and only for one Derby race. But everyone on the backside knew she was behind that win. The woman behind the man, so to speak. And lucky for you, you know the man. Her grandfather’s your neighbor, Earl Ellis. The guy that owns Lone Oaks Crossing.”
Brooks recalled the name of both the man and the property, but he’d only seen him once, from a distance. Five years ago, the day the construction crew had broken ground on Brooks’s house, Earl had appeared between the oak trees that divided their properties and watched from afar for over an hour as the crew worked. Eventually, Brooks crossed the field and introduced himself.
Earl, his tan, leathery skin creased with age and a world-weary expression on his face, had given his name, shaken Brooks’s hand, and said one thing before he clucked his tongue to the mare he was mounted on and rode back to his home.
What you got right there’s a dream. Best keep your eyes open and hold it tight.
“I only met him once,” Brooks said. “And I haven’t gotten a good look at his land. Just saw the outskirts from a distance when I broke ground here.”
“Lone Oaks Crossing used to be a breeding and training farm but it’s run-down now,” Rhett said. “Earl’s best days as a trainer have been behind him for quite a while, I’m afraid. Ever since his granddaughter left, really. Now he just boards horses occasionally to make ends meet.” He reached into his back pocket, withdrew a tightly folded paper, and held it out. “Her name’s Jo Beth Ellis. She has the touch but left the sport and Lone Oaks some time ago. Hasn’t trained a horse in years, from what I’ve been told. Been teaching at a high school across state instead.”
Brooks strode across the porch, took the paper, and unfolded it. Two phone numbers, the name of a local hospital, and a hospital room number were scrawled on the page.
“That first number,” Rhett said, “which won’t do you any good right now, belongs to Earl, and the second to one of his friends, Frankie Kyle. I gave her a call earlier, trying to track Earl down, and she told me he had a stroke sometime early this morning. She was still at the hospital with him when we spoke.”
Brooks frowned. “How’s he doing?”
“Good, from what Frankie told me, though she said he’ll have a ways to go before he’s back on his feet. She also mentioned that Jo’s on her way into town to see him.” He gestured toward the paper. “Earl’s room number is on there in case you decide to give it a go. I expect you’ll find Jo there if you go tonight or first thing tomorrow morning.”
Brooks grimaced. “A hospital isn’t an appropriate place to pitch a business venture.”
Rhett nodded. “I agree. But it’s an opportunity to introduce yourself, and it may be your only chance to snag a word with Jo. She didn’t leave the sport on very good terms and, from what Frankie told me, doesn’t make it out this way often. You have a lot of convincing ahead of you.”
Brooks looked at his stables again, his hopes sinking. Until now, everything had played into his hands. He was so close to success—so close! But without a trainer, his plan was shot. And Spencer, who’d taken advantage of the weaknesses of others, would ruin more lives.
“To beat Spencer, you need Jo,” Rhett advised. “You either go all in now or fold.”
CHAPTER 2
When Jo arrived at Lone Oaks Hospital, the sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows of trees across the half-empty parking lot. She barely noticed the hour as she hustled inside, anxious to see Earl after the long drive. She clutched the collar of her bloodstained blouse higher on her neck.
Inside, the long halls were quiet, save for rhythmic beeps and the low murmurs of doctors and nurses. Jo followed the signs on the wall to locate the room number the nurse had given her. The door had been left open a few inches and she pushed it wide, carefully not making any noise. She halted midstep at the sight of Earl, pale and still, sleeping in a bed.
“Oh, my sweet Jo.” An older woman, slumped in a chair beside the bed, shoved to her feet, crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around Jo. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
