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“You’re not obligated to do this, Jo.”
“I know,” she said. “But I’m your neighbor . . . and friend. And friends don’t turn their backs on each other. Swing by the farm in the morning—same time as usual—and we’ll get started.”
Brooks stood there, overcome with so many conflicting emotions he couldn’t define them. He watched as Jo climbed back into the cab of Earl’s truck, cranked the engine, and drove away, waiting until the truck disappeared over a hill in the distance. Then he pulled out a cell phone, dialed the number he’d memorized years ago, and waited for the other person to answer.
“Brooks,” a male voice drawled on the other end of the line. “I figured I’d hear from you, just not quite so soon.”
There was gleeful menace in Spencer Harris’s tone. It had always grated on Brooks’s nerves.
“I understand you’ve been to Lone Oaks Crossing,” Brooks said quietly, his eyes fixing on the line of oak trees that separated his property from Earl’s.
“I may have stopped by,” Spencer said. “To introduce myself and pay a neighborly visit.”
“What’s between us,” Brooks said, “remains between us. You’re reaching too far this time.”
“Who says I’m reaching? When you’re in the game, Brooks, you’re in the game.”
“As of now, I consider Lone Oaks Crossing an extension of my property. You’re to keep your distance.”
Spencer’s low chuckle crossed the line. There was a hint of menace in his tone this time. “You’ve always been territorial, Brooks. First, Rose Farm. Now, Lone Oaks Crossing. Do you consider Jo your property, too?”
Brooks clenched his teeth. “As I said, what’s between us, stays between us. Keep your distance—especially from Jo.”
“Oh, but now that you consider Lone Oaks Crossing your property,” Spencer drawled, “that makes the land and whoever inhabits it yours, which means they’re fair game.” Silence fell across the line for a moment, then Spencer continued. “All you have to do—all you’ve ever had to do—was give me a call, like you’ve done today, and let go of that grudge you’ve been holding against me for decades. Neither I, nor my father, is the monster you try to make us out to be.”
Brooks continued staring at the oak trees, watching the leaves on their branches flutter in the cool breeze, some falling to the ground. “You’re not monsters, Spencer. You’re opportunists. You take whatever you want, without concern for others.” He tilted his head, listening to the breeze. “I’m just setting things right. Taking my turn at the table, so to speak. Growing my wealth and business as you sought to grow your own over the years. Only, I’ve chosen to do it the fair way.” His muscles tightened. The image of Jo’s tender expression as she stared up at him minutes earlier exposed a vulnerability within him he hadn’t known he possessed. “Until now. Stay away from Jo, her family, and Lone Oaks Crossing, or I may see fit to change my strategy.”
Brooks disconnected the call and shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. He stood there for a while, scanning his extensive estate, thriving business, and the guests milling about his property. Then his attention returned to the line of trees separating his property from Earl’s. A sense of fear he hadn’t experienced since his time spent in Dream House, when he’d grieved his parents and wondered about his future, resurfaced. Until now, his losses had been his own. His risks only affected his business, his home, and his land. But things had changed.
Jo, an innocent party—a woman he found himself falling for—had just been placed right in the middle of his conflict with Spencer.
* * *
Jo drove up the driveway of Lone Oaks Crossing and parked the truck, cut the engine, and slumped over the steering will, resting her forehead against her hands.
What had she done? What had she just gotten herself into?
Lifting her head, she looked at the main house, then glanced at the stable and rolling hills of her family farm. She had no choice but to defend her home and her family. Spencer Harris might not have come right out and said he would steal Lone Oaks Crossing from under Earl, but the threat—however unspoken—remained all the same.
It had only taken moments for Jo to sense Harris’s real nature and ill intentions. During her time training horses years ago, she’d learned to sense the true nature of each horse she encountered. And as a teacher, she’d learned to spot ill intent in the students she worked with as well as assess their needs and limitations.
Spencer Harris was a different breed of man from those she’d encountered in her lifetime. He was, she admitted ruefully, the exact opposite of Brooks.
Her hand rose absently, her fingertips trailing across her lips, which still tingled from the feel of Brooks’s mouth against her own. Even now, after leaving his presence, driving the short distance between their homes, and achieving distance from his magnetic appeal, she could still feel his presence, sense the pressure of his palms and strong fingers cradling her waist as he’d deepened their kiss.
Brooks had been tender and gentle in all of her interactions with him.
Spencer, however, was ruthless and aggressive. The disgusting man’s words had conveyed more meaning than he’d probably suspected. The man had it in for Brooks, made no secret of it, and appeared more than willing—almost eager—to bring down anyone who got in his way of inflicting damage. Jo turned her head, her eyes seeking the familiar line of oaks at the edge of Lone Oaks Crossing. The trees weren’t the only dividing line between herself and Brooks. A massive amount of wealth, possessions, and power lay at her neighbor’s disposal. But Brooks didn’t wield those things in the same way that Spencer did. Brooks used his resources for good purposes, graciously loaning her money to stave off foreclosure of Earl’s farm, going above and beyond to bring her new boarders, and providing a helping hand to children in need like Cheyenne, who had, in the short time since she’d arrived at Lone Oaks Crossing, sensed the peaceful serenity and security the farm provided.
I kinda like . . . not being alone.
Jo closed her eyes at the memory of Cheyenne’s words, picturing Brooks as a young teenager, around Cheyenne’s age, alone at Dream House, grieving the loss of his parents and family home alone, unsure of what the next day might hold for him and who would be there to help him through it. Wet heat burned her eyes and she blinked hard, staving off a fresh surge of tears.
Brooks, from what little he’d shared with her about his conflict with Spencer and the damage the other man had inflicted upon Brooks’s family, had every reason to be angry, vengeful, and to despise Spencer.
But that wasn’t Brooks’s true nature from what she’d seen.
Brooks was a far better man than Spencer could ever dream of becoming. And she knew, for a fact, that Brooks was a kind man. More than that. Brooks was the best of men.
