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“Don’t talk,” she said. “Just rest.”
“I . . .” He scowled, then blinked hard, his lips contorting as he struggled to speak. “W-will if . . .” He struggled for a moment, then exhaled heavily, his chest sinking.
Wet heat filled her eyes, but she forced herself to smile. “You will if you want to? That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?”
His bleary eyes returned to hers and one corner of his mouth hitched up.
“See?” She squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t need words. I know you well enough to know what you’re thinking.”
His gaze left hers and roved lower, focusing on her bottom lip. The scowl on his face melted away, deep creases of pained concern taking its place on his face. “Wh—wh . . .” He stopped trying to speak and lifted one shaky hand to point at her wound instead.
Still smiling, she touched her injured lip with the tip of her tongue and shrugged. “Just another day on the job in my profession.” Her breath caught. Well . . . her former profession. But now was neither the right time nor place to share that news. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
Earl, his mouth twisting again, turned his hand over in hers, his gnarled fingers weakly squeezing her thumb. “Y-you . . .” He struggled, then mouthed the word soundlessly: matter.
Smile fading, Jo held his gaze, watching as his eyes grew heavier each second until they eventually closed, his soft, rhythmic breaths the only sound in the room. Then she lowered her head to the bed, her forehead touching Earl’s strong shoulder, and, for the first time that day, allowed the tears to fall.
* * *
Brooks stood outside room 408 in Lone Oaks Hospital, staring at the numbers tacked to the wooden door, and shifted the flower-filled vase he held from one hand to the other.
“May I help you, sir?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the woman—a nurse, judging from the scrubs she wore—and shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m just here to . . .” Intrude in a stranger’s life during a vulnerable moment for opportunistic gain like a heartless jerk? “. . . visit a friend.”
The nurse smiled in return, her eyes lit with a warm spark he’d seen many times over the course of his life. “You’re Brooks Moore, aren’t you? Owner of Original Sin? A friend and I toured your estate recently. It’s absolutely beautiful.”
He nodded, recognizing the cajoling tone. “Thank you.”
When he’d first opened Original Sin, many locals had been skeptical. Lone Oaks, a rural town about sixty miles outside of Lexington, sustained several tourist destinations for either bourbon or thoroughbred seekers, but none of the tourist hot spots combined the two. Most believed undertaking both would dilute the quality of one or the other. Original Sin, the first estate in Lone Oaks to offer tourists the two local attractions in one scenic location, had succeeded beyond everyone’s expectations—including his own—generating a level of status and wealth the local business community hadn’t foreseen. As a result, he was recognized—and propositioned—in multiple ways nowadays.
“I hope to visit your estate again soon. Maybe for a private one-on-one tour,” the nurse said, a teasing note entering her tone. “You sure I can’t help you with anything?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” She gestured over her shoulder. “You can find me at the nurse’s station.” Her smile widened as her gaze roved over him from head to toe. “Just ask for Jenny.”
He dipped his head, recognizing the invitation in her tone though he wasn’t in the mood. Women, he’d had. Money, he had. It was power he was after now. And, according to the inside knowledge Rhett had shared with him hours earlier, he needed Jo Beth Ellis to earn the respect and access he craved.
“Thank you,” he repeated tonelessly to the nurse as he turned away. He waited for her steps to fade before nudging the door in front of him open and entering the room.
Inside, an older man lay on the bed, sleeping. Earl. Brooks recognized the craggy features of his tan face. A pang moved through him as he studied Earl’s sinewy frame and frail hands, lying still on the bed. He didn’t know Earl well—at all, really—but he could clearly recall from their first meeting how the older man’s body held all the hallmarks of outdoor labor, grit, and determination. To see him like this now, ill and vulnerable, unsettled Brooks more than the sight of a stranger should.
Beside Earl, long waves of what Brooks could only think of as honey-colored hair the same shade as his finest double-barrel bourbon spilled across the mattress. A slim woman slept there, her arms folded on the bed, her head resting on her forearms, and those beautiful strands of hair obscuring her face.
Brooks hesitated, glancing down at his boots, then back at the door, weighing his options. He could wake her, he supposed, but only an insensitive jerk would do that. He winced, realizing he was already one for barging in here, unannounced and uninvited. Best to rectify that mistake before he made it worse.
Moving quietly, he walked slowly across the room and set the vase he carried on the window ledge. His business card was tucked into a thin plastic holder buried inside the blooms. Perhaps if he waited until tomorrow afternoon, called, and asked to speak with Jo Beth Ellis, the timing would be more appropriate and she’d be receptive to speaking with him. Then maybe he wouldn’t come across as a completely insensitive ass.
Satisfied with his decision, he cast one more glance at the bed then headed for the door, stepping silently across the linoleum floor.
“Are you a friend of Earl’s?”
At the soft voice, Brooks halted, mere inches from the door, then faced the bed again. The woman sat upright now, her pale hands pushing her long hair back from her face as she stared up at him. She had the darkest blue eyes he’d ever seen—so dark and rich, they took on a black hue when the light hit them just right. But her mouth was what held his attention, the dried blood on her lower lip and the bloodstain on her blouse at odds with her pretty features, business-style slacks, and sensible shoes.
“My grandfather,” she said in quiet tones. “Are you a friend of his?”
Brooks nodded, then focusing on her words, shook his head. “No.” He spoke softly, too, so as not to disturb Earl. “I’m his neighbor. May I ask how he is?”
