Braham swiped at the tears in his eyes. His heart was now lodged in his throat. “She’s here? Where?”
Jack pointed toward the side of the house. “Over by the barn.” He then gave Braham a scrutinizing look. “You need to clean up first. Come up to my room and take a shower. I’ll find you something more appropriate to wear.”
Braham jerked his thumb in the direction of the vehicles. “What’s going on here?”
“It’s Derby weekend. Elliott and David’s horse is an early five-two favorite for the Kentucky Derby tomorrow. There hasn’t been this much hype surrounding a horse in over a quarter of a century. The three-year-old stallion is a favorite to win the Triple Crown, and right now he looks unbeatable.”
Braham hustled up the stairs, following Jack to the second-floor landing. “Is the race here on the farm?”
Jack led him down the hallway and into his guest room. “It’s at Churchill Downs in Louisville. The farm is hosting a breakfast in the morning for a few hundred of Elliott and Meredith’s friends. Afterward we’ll take limos to Louisville for a day of racing. The Derby’s not until late tomorrow afternoon.” Jack opened the closet door and shoved back hangers, searching through neatly arranged jackets, shirts, and trousers.
“How long have ye been here?”
“A week. Charlotte and I decided we didn’t want to miss any of the festivities this year. So we came up early.”
Braham tossed his bag on the bed. “I packed my kilt. I only need a shirt and jacket.” He looked around. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Jack pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “Through there.”
Braham headed into the adjoining bathroom, looked at the controls on the wall in the stall, and scratched his head. He didn’t want cold water, and he didn’t want scalding water. Finding the perfect temperature, he had discovered, took practice. Today he didn’t have time to experiment. He turned the handle to the left then put his hand into the stream of water. He got it right first try, and stepped into the warm spray, grinning.
“Shampoo, shaving cream, razor—everything’s in the shower.” Jack carried a light blue shirt and navy jacket into the bathroom and hung the clothes on a hook.
Braham rubbed shampoo into his shoulder-length hair. “Do ye think she’ll be glad to see me?”
“Are you kidding?” Jack folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the sink, laughing. “She has a picture of you she kisses every night. What do you think?”
“I was afraid she might have found someone else.” Braham turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and stepped out of the shower.
A man with a recognizable Scottish burr called from the bedroom. “Jack, where are ye?”
Still chuckling, Jack said, “In here.”
David entered the bathroom carrying two beers and came to an immediate stop, squeaking rubber-soled boots on the marble floor. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He shoved both cans at Jack, pushed up his sleeves, and slugged Braham in the gut.
Braham dropped to his knees, sucking wind like a man with asthma. “What the hell was that for?”
David scowled, fisting both hands. “Because ye waited more than three fucking years to show up.”
Braham pulled to his feet. “It’s been over four for me.”
David threw a right-left jab to Braham’s gut, although not as hard as the first punch, and Braham doubled over. “I thought ye were smarter than that,” David said.
Braham grabbed hold of the counter, weaving slightly. “If ye’re going to hit me again, go on and take yer shot. Let’s get this over with.”
David relaxed his rigid stance and said in a lighter tone, “I’m done. Get dressed and I’ll give ye a welcome hug. I don’t hug naked men.”
“What naked man aren’t ye going to hug?” Elliott entered the bathroom and grabbed the doorjamb when he saw Braham. “Well, I’ll be damned. When did ye get here?” Elliott extended his hand and shook Braham’s with a forceful grip.
“He just arrived. But I wasn’t about to let him hug my sister until he cleaned up. David thought he needed more than a bath.”
Elliott crossed his arms and glanced from David rubbing his hand to Braham rubbing his belly. Elliott made a noise deep in his throat which didn’t need interpretation. “Well, get dressed, then. The van’s ready to take Stormy’s Sun to the track and Meredith wants a group picture. Ye best be in it.” He smiled at Braham. “Ye’re part of the circle now.”
“Charlotte doesn’t know he’s here, Elliott. Don’t ruin the surprise,” Jack said.
“She’s yer sister.” Elliott walked out of the room, shrugging. “Ye know her best. I’ll at least warn Meredith. David, I’ll see ye at the barn.”
A few minutes later, standing in front of the mirror dressed in kilt, blue shirt and blazer, Braham brushed the tangles out of his hair. His jaw quivered, and he cleared his throat roughly. “Are ye sure she’ll be glad to see me?”
Jack popped open one of the cans and took a long pull on the beer. “She’ll be thrilled.”
Braham pushed his hair behind his ears. “How do I look?”
“Like a damn Scot in a kilt. How do you think you look? Come on, let’s go.”
Suddenly, panic grabbed a foothold in a pocket of fear, and Braham hesitated. “I don’t want to see disappointment on her face. Maybe ye should tell her I’m here. Give her time to adjust to the idea before she sees me.”
Jack tugged on the jacket’s lapels. “Once she sees those legs, she’ll be smiling. Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Braham dug his hands into the pockets of the jacket, and his heart lurched. Throughout his life, when he needed courage most, it came from unexpected places. His fingers clasped the length of a thin cotton cord—the cord that had tied the hood around Jack’s head—the cord Jack had
