totally me. I’m too distracted. It’s not your fault at all, I just... I have to go.”
Jarvis’s arms loosened and she apologized again, barely taking in his dazed look as she pictured meeting up with Brody. If she could take some pictures of him for her blog, that would put her on the map. He was retired. What was he up to? That was a blog she could write that would get some attention.
If he would agree. And why wouldn’t he? They’d parted on good terms, and they were friends, right? If she wanted to make this work, she had to be bold.
Hannah tugged her clothes straight before she went out into the kitchen and then the bar, convincing herself that this was the right thing to do, and that Brody would want to see her again, as much as she wanted to see him.
* * *
BRODY JERKED AWAKE, suddenly alert as he peered around his room. Sunlight peeked through a crack in the curtains, making him squint as he checked the clock. It was just past nine. He didn’t even recall when he’d gone to bed, though it had been late. The days all seemed to slide by recently, one blurring into the other. He peered at the half-empty bottle of Scotch on the dresser, and the glass by his bed.
That reminded him that his shoulder had been hurting like hell last night, and the alcohol was better than the pain pills the doctor prescribed. Well, somewhat anyway.
His shoulder was dislocated and sprained when his horse had thrown him. Luckily, nothing was broken.
Some luck.
If he’d been driving his stock car instead of riding Zip—the Thoroughbred colt he’d adopted from a rescue organization—none of this would have happened.
Racing might be dangerous, but the “quiet” life might kill him yet. Brody wasn’t built for quiet.
At least he was getting back to where he could do some light work with the horses and drive. For several weeks after he’d been thrown, he thought he would go out of his mind with boredom. He was counting the days until his mandatory “retirement” was over; it couldn’t happen soon enough.
Then he realized what had awakened him as the aroma of coffee drifted through the open door.
Someone was downstairs.
Was he with a woman last night? He didn’t think he’d had so much to drink that he wouldn’t remember. Though his sponsor had told him to behave, Brody wasn’t much good at that, either. There had been a few women since he’d left the track. He had to have something to do.
He’d had contractors in for several months, renovating the old farm house from top to bottom, and he’d adopted some new horses, but apart from all that, sex was at least a temporary reprieve. Though, since that news item appeared saying he was looking to settle down he couldn’t bring a girl home without her wanting to stay for good.
Now he tended to not go out. It was like being in prison. Walking to the window, he groaned when he saw a familiar car parked out front.
He must have drunk more than he usually did to have Jackie over. What a mess.
“Hey, sexy. Hungry?”
Jackie stood smiling inside his bedroom door, then she crossed the room to link her arms around his neck and kiss him before he could say anything. He turned his head, breaking the kiss and loosening her hold.
“Jackie, what are you doing here?”
She shrugged, pouting.
“I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d come over and surprise you with breakfast.”
Brody brightened slightly. “So you just got here?”
“About an hour ago. I brought some muffins from the bakery you like, made coffee and I could put on some eggs, too. I thought you might like to work up more of an appetite first, though...”
He stepped away, putting some distance between them—he’d been trying to put a lot of distance between himself and Jackie. He’d explained it to her several times, but she was more persistent than he’d expected. She’d been a high school girlfriend and more recently...an impulse. A mistake.
He was thankful that at least he hadn’t made it worse. She knew where he left his extra key, and had let herself in, obviously.
Grabbing some jeans from the chair, he pulled them on.
“Don’t get dressed on my account.”
Brody’s only response was a withering look as he left the room. He could hear her heels on the hardwood stairs close behind as he went to the front door.
“Jackie, I appreciate your making breakfast—”
“Then show me,” she said, sidling up to him again and putting her arm through his.
Brody sighed, stepping back and putting her away from him, his patience threading thin. He wasn’t interested.
“You need to go,” he said bluntly. “We’ve already talked about this.”
Her eyes turned diamond-chip hard as she set her hands on her hips, ready to argue. A knock at the door startled them both, and Brody almost groaned aloud. Who else was here this early in the morning? He was relatively private about where he lived, but still, fans and reporters seemed to find him more often than he liked.
“Hold on,” he said, turning away from Jackie to see who it was.
When he swung open the door, though, he couldn’t have been more shocked to see a familiar pair of blue eyes staring back at him.
HANNAH STARED AT BRODY, who wasn’t on television this time, but standing only two feet in front of her.
She froze, unsure what to say, her bravado evaporating like the morning fog in the sun. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.
She’d driven all night, wanting to see him before she lost her nerve, but apparently she had lost it anyway. She’d gotten the address of his family’s ranch from Abby, but he’d been hard to find, especially since she’d ended up navigating unmarked farm roads where her GPS had also lost its signal.
She was exhausted and hungry, but she was here. Part of her mind registered that it was one of the most flat-out beautiful properties she’d ever seen. The sprawling colonial farmhouse with its black shutters, enormous porch and pretty red door were classic. The brass race-car knocker on the door had let her know she was in exactly the right place. Lush green fields and trees surrounded the house, and several horses grazed in the pasture—it was like something from a postcard.
She tried to say his name, but no words came out.
Lifting her hand uselessly—to do what? Wave? Shake his hand?—she let it drop to her side again.
Thoughts scattered as she remembered how he used to look in the morning...naked, mussed head of hair, gleaming eyes...and sexy. Extremely sexy.
Brody’s six-foot-plus frame filled
