Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

Nothing happened.

  Frowning, she tried again. When the aisle remained dark, she repeated the motion a third time. “Damn,” she mumbled.

  “Problems?”

  That was one way to put it. Nightmare was another. With the power off, the heated buckets would freeze within a few hours—if they hadn’t already—and the horses wouldn’t have water. Beyond that, without electricity, she couldn’t run her well pump to refill buckets come morning feeding. And God only knew how long it might be before the power company repaired downed lines. Out here, things worked on a different time schedule—slow, and slower.

  She heaved a sigh and trudged back to the doorway. Without a word to Jake, she wandered around the side of the barn to inspect the service. Where the wires should have led into the barn, they dangled uselessly from the main.

  “Double damn!”

  “What’s the matter?” Jake appeared at her side.

  His husky voice sent a ripple of sensation surging through her. She pointed at the useless service. “No power.”

  Jake surveyed the swaying wires, then turned and gazed toward the house, his head cocked, his expression thoughtful. “Lights are on in your house though.”

  “I buried that line when I bought the place. Hadn’t gotten around to this one yet.”

  His chuckle died in a crisp, icy gust of air. “Let’s get this horse unloaded and get you inside where it’s warm.” He grabbed her elbow and gave her a little tug.

  Oh, God, he was touching her again. He had to quit that. Every time he did, her stomach quivered. All she wanted to do was turn into those thick arms, nuzzle against his chest, and breathe in that enticing aroma of spice and orange.

  When they reached the trailer, she went to the door. Hand half-raised, she paused as a thought hit her like a shower of bricks. If the service was out on the barn, that meant the guesthouse lacked power as well. After everything Jake had done for her, she couldn’t put him up in a cold cottage without so much as a means of using the toilet or shower. Which meant…

  Her heart drummed a heavier beat. A thrill of energy leapt through her veins.

  Which meant Jake had to stay in the main house. With her. In a guest room so close to her bedroom, she could see his bed through her open door. And he could see hers.

  Oh, holy crap, this wasn’t happening.

  Scowling, Gabrielle hollered, “Heads up!” She jerked open the trailer door, swung it wide, and darted behind the metal barrier, waiting for the worst.

  The stallion let out a long, low snort that rolled through the night. Heavy, cautious steps brought him closer to the exit where he stopped. He lifted his nose, braced his feet, and let out a shrill whinny. The horses inside answered, returning nickers and quieter greeting calls.

  The stallion turned wide eyes on Gabrielle, tossed his head, and jumped out. As he trotted down the aisle, she caught a glimpse of flaxen tail thrown over his back and high-stepping knees before he disappeared into the shadows.

  “Shut the door,” she instructed.

  But Jake was ahead of her. Already shoving, he pushed the heavy metal door back into position and dropped the latch. “You have water in there for him?”

  “There’s a stall open, and the buckets are full. As long as they aren’t frozen, he’ll find them. There’s hay in there too. We’re good to go until morning.”

  With a sideways nod, he indicated the running truck. “Get in. I’ll drop the trailer here.” He paused, a slight frown marring his brow. “Unless you want it somewhere else?”

  “No, this is fine.” She flashed him a smile before darting for the passenger’s door.

  In the back of Gabrielle’s mind, she knew she shouldn’t let Jake unhitch her trailer without at least offering to help. However, the cold had turned her fingers into icicles, and her leather boots had soaked up the snow. She couldn’t feel her toes. Simple misery pushed good manners aside, and she latched onto Jake’s offer of help, all too grateful for the opportunity to snatch a few minutes of warmth.

  The truck bounced as the fifth-wheel hitch let go and the weight lifted off the bed. She snuggled into the velour seat, hugging her arms around her body. If she hadn’t run into Jake, if she’d chickened out of coffee, she’d be sitting here alone. Likely stewing over her inability to open the barn and forced to leave her horse in the trailer until she could get in contact with her neighbor five miles down the road.

  At least Jake seemed to be in good spirits. Any other man would likely be scowling, complaining about the situation. He didn’t have to escort her to her farm. And the fact he wasn’t faulting her for this predicament amazed her. Daddy would have. Everything was always her fault.

  She sighed.

  Always.

  He’d have taken one look at her horse and told her she was a fool. That she hadn’t done her research well enough or checked the right references. Heck, she’d called everyone listed on every piece of paper she could find associated with the damn horse. What else was she supposed to do? How could she have known there was evidently some conspiracy between everyone who’d owned him in the last twenty-four months, give or take? Daddy would have told her that was her first clue—too many owners in such a short time period for a horse with his reputation. That no one had one slightly negative thing to say about him either should have been her second clue. No horse was that perfect.

  The truck chimed as Jake opened the driver’s door and slid inside. “Where to?”

  Lifting her hand, she pointed at the snow-packed drive attached to the rear of her house. “The back door’s unlocked.”

  Slowly, he navigated them to a stop beneath the yellowish light of her rear porch lamp. As he turned the ignition off, he twisted in his seat to look out across the wide drive. “Where’s that cottage house?”

  “It’s on the other side of the barn. But, uh,” she faltered, gnawing on her lower lip for a minute before continuing, “It’s on the same service too.”

  Jake grinned. A low husky chuckle erupted softly from his throat. “Figures that’s my luck.”

  She braved a sideways glance. “I’ve got a guest room. It’s not much, but it’s warm. And you can use my shower as well as the phone here.”

  His bright blue gaze settled on hers, and his smile dimmed. “You sure?”

  Gabrielle gave him a short nod. “Not many other options. You did say you didn’t bite, didn’t you?”

  His grin came back in a flash, mischievous and full of amusement. “Only if you ask, sugar.”

  Opening the door and jumping into the snow, she fought off a shiver. Only if she asked. She’d bet her savings that man’s bite would pack a punch, and certainly not in a painful way. Given the intoxicating nature of his kiss…

  She shook the thoughts off. Her mind didn’t need to travel that path while he was cooped up in her house. She didn’t do one-night stands, and she wasn’t about to start sleeping with strangers simply because Jake had a body that made her envision hours of orgasms.

  With Jake on her heels, she edged open her back door and stepped inside her kitchen. A quick glance at the clock told her it was ten to three in the morning. She heaved a sigh. Morning would come early. Far too early for her weary body and stiff muscles.

  “The telephone’s there.” She pointed to a cordless, wall-mounted phone beside the doorway to her living room. “If you want more privacy, there’s a study around the corner and a phone on the table by the window.”

  “I’ll use that one. It might take a while.” He dropped his coat on the back of a kitchen chair and vanished through the mahogany arch.

  Alone at last, Gabrielle pulled in a deep breath. Lord, he was something. From the width of his shoulders, to the firmness of his jeans-clad butt, every single part of him captured her immediate attention. His eyes though—those blue portals gave the effect he could see all the way into her soul. That in simply looking at her, he could see the way her nerves stood on end and how her insides quivered.

  That kind of reaction screamed danger. Alarm sire
ns blared in her head. Once in her pathetic love life she’d experienced such a fierce draw to someone. Tony had broken her heart into so many pieces, it had taken her four years to put them together again.

  Another reason to ignore the affect Jake the trucker had on her. Shoot, she still didn’t even know his last name.

  “I’m going to take a shower, real quick, Jake,” she called.

  She traipsed down the hall and pushed open the bathroom door. Heated beige marble tile called to her frozen toes as she shut herself in. She took a seat on the toilet, forcing her mind away from Jake’s voice rumbling through the adjoining wall. With a hefty tug, she pulled her wet boots off and dropped them on the floor. A chunk of ice dropped from the tread. It melted within seconds.

  The way she did every time Jake touched her.

  Damn it. She was not going to consider that further.

  Annoyed with her mind’s betrayal, she huffed out a breath, tossed a towel on the sink top, and spun on the faucets. In moments, she was bare. She paused to inspect her reflection in the wide mirror. If her hair were blonde, not this blend of red and orange and brown, Jake might have kissed her a second time. He probably liked blondes. Flawless blondes with big boobs and long legs. In contrast, while she didn’t have what she’d call small breasts, they certainly weren’t large. She was short. Thin, but definitely not model quality and definitely not the kind of girl Jake would pick out of a crowd. Men like him preferred knockouts.

  Her father was a classic example, and her mother, a stereotypical mate. Barbie and Ken. Perfect on the outside. A disaster beneath the surface.

  She frowned. It didn’t matter whether Jake found her attractive or not. He’d be gone in the morning. He’d find someone to help him with the truck, and he’d remain just a pleasant memory. The night she brought a trucker home—Margie would faint.

  With an amused smile pulling at her mouth, she stepped into the shower. The steamy spray soaked into her stiff muscles. That’s exactly what Jake would be—a pleasant memory. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Only, as she ran her hands through her hair, it occurred to her she’d agreed to see him again. This night might end, but there’d be another. Not too far off from here, if he meant what he said about stopping by on his way through to Florida. He couldn’t stay a pleasant memory if he made an appearance in her future.

  Her stomach did a wild flip-flop as reality settled around her shoulders. Model-quality or not, Jake liked her. And he was in her house. Talking on her phone. Sleeping where she could hear him, where she could see him. Where all she had to do was cross the hall to touch him.

  Damn, and double damn. So much for quieting down her nerves.

  Chapter Six

  In the study’s dim lamplight, the sound of running water heightened Jake’s awareness of Gabrielle. He’d chosen the study, not the kitchen, for his phone call simply to escape her presence for a few minutes. Bantering with her about biting had wrecked havoc on his system. In less time than it took to exhale, images of Gabrielle splayed naked on a soft mattress while he worked her over with his mouth sprang to life. In one solitary heartbeat, his pulse went from steady to erratic, and his cock answered that fantasy with a powerful swell.

  When he’d secluded himself in the wood-paneled room with French doors, he had no idea she’d torment him further by slipping into the adjoining shower. Though a wall separated them, he felt closer to her than he had standing at her side.

  Naked on the other side of that wall…

  Holy hell. He ground his teeth together. Get a grip.

  The water shut off. A pipe rattled before silence filled the house. The muffled sounds of a door rolling open, followed by the rattle of a glass pane told him she’d left the shower. He pictured her wrapping a towel around her body, the hem fringing muscular thighs. In his mind, he even saw bright pink toenails.

  Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he tugged at his jeans to make more room. Staying in this house tonight would kill him. Her guest room had better be on the other side of the house. Hell, the basement would be even better. As far away from her as possible so he could control this ridiculous urge before he made a complete ass out of himself. Never before had he reacted so fiercely to a woman he’d just met.

  “Jake?”

  Her voice drifted down the hall, startling him. He sat taller, rubbed his palms on his knees. “In here.”

  She appeared in the doorway dressed in a pair of cotton pajama pants that on any other woman would have looked laughable. But the way she folded down the waistband beneath a fitted cotton shirt revealed a slice of her flat stomach and the upper half-moon of her belly-button. Goddamn sexy.

  Head cocked to the side, she rubbed a towel through thick, long locks and gave him a smile that knotted his stomach even further. For a moment, she was no stranger. The scene was so comfortably intimate, he’d swear he’d known her a lifetime. As if he were looking through some surreal telescope and caught a glimpse of a future that somehow felt…right.

  “Did you get a hold of anyone?”

  He blinked. What? Oh, right, his broken down truck and roadside cargo. “No. I’ll have to call in the morning once we know what this snowstorm does.”

  Gabrielle crossed the room. A whiff of faint flowers floated behind her. She flipped on the television and perched herself on the arm of a chair less than two feet away. “Guess we ought to see what the forecast says.”

  No sooner had she uttered the words, than the light on the desk flickered. The television dimmed out, then quickly flashed back on. From somewhere deeper in her house, a beep sang out in a high, shrill note. Computer power supply, his mind rationalized.

  “Huh,” she murmured.

  An uneasy feeling settled in Jake’s gut. Blown transformers in a snowstorm couldn’t be a good thing. If the house lost power, that didn’t say anything positive about what was going on outside.

  He stood and went to the window. A good eight inches blanketed the ground—it was a wonder her truck had made it home at all. Dark skies spit heavy flakes, the rapid fall showing no signs of decreasing any time soon.

  “Do you have a fireplace?”

  She gave him a curious look and dropped her towel to her lap. “Of course.”

  “And wood?”

  Again, the look as if he’d asked her if she drank water. “Out by the garage, why?”

  “Twenty to twenty-five inches predicted for areas of southwestern Kansas,” a CNN reporter droned.

  Jake’s gaze drifted to the television. Two feet of snow. He hadn’t seen snow like that since he was a kid. The last storm that blew through the plains packing that much punch shut things down for weeks. Thank God, he’d been on the east coast near Tennessee. This time, however, he wouldn’t be so lucky.

  Then again, trapped with Gabrielle might put lucky in an entirely new perspective.

  The lights flickered once more. The television emitted a low buzz as it struggled with a weak energy flow.

  “I’d better get some wood. By the garage you said?”

  “Yeah,” she answered as she rose to her feet. Worry marred her pretty face, tightened her soft mouth. “Be careful out there, okay?”

  With a nod, Jake left the room. He’d be careful, he always was. Yet, for some reason, the admonishment fisted around his heart. He liked the sound of it. Liked the idea that Gabrielle might be concerned for him. It had been entirely too long since a woman had worried about his safety.

  He jerked his coat off the back of the chair and braced himself against the bitter chill. When he opened the door, an icy gust whipped in to steal his breath. Damn that was cold. Downright bone-chilling.

  With one hand on the door, he hollered back inside, “Turn your heater up.” Then, he pulled the back door closed, carefully descended the stairs, and stepped into a snowdrift that went clear up to his knees.

  “Son of a bitch,” he hissed. So much for dry clothes. He’d have to change…

  He closed his eyes on a low groan. Christ! Of all the fo
ol things, he’d left his duffel bag in the damn rig.

  ****

  Gabrielle snapped the thermostat shut and turned around to survey her living room. Outside, the wind howled, rattling her glass front doors. The eerie sound drifted through the silence, making her crave noise. Any kind of noise. Hastily, she flipped on her stereo and took a deep breath as Beethoven filled the speakers. But the symphony faded on a final chord, the disk jockey’s voice dominating the channel.

  “And for our listeners on the road, we advise you Interstate 70 is closed west of Hays. Highway officials warn all travelers to expect whiteout conditions in areas further east, through Manhattan. We’re getting reports of power outages throughout the state. Stay home, folks.”

  That was all she needed to shake off the uneasiness swirling around in her belly. She flew into action, darting through her kitchen and down to her basement. There, she rummaged through her shelves until she found the box of candles she kept for last-minute gifts. With a grunt, she hefted it into her arms and trudged back upstairs.

  Damn, why hadn’t she let Jonas, her handyman and neighbor, finish installing the generator last fall? God only knew how long this storm might take things down. With little less than a month to whip a crazy stallion into shape for the show her future depended on, the last thing she needed was this kind of set-back.

  She set the box on her dining room table and pulled out four fat, red candles in a jar that she’d bought for Christmas and forgot to use. After placing one on the table, one in the kitchen, and two on the fireplace mantel, she set her hands on her hips and stepped through her memory, trying to recall where she’d left the matches.

  In the bedroom. She’d used them when she’d had a glass of wine by candlelight last week in a sad attempt at pretending her personal life wasn’t as depressing as it really was.

  Trudging back to the bedroom, she dug through the drawer on her nightstand and found the box of kitchen matches. The lights dimmed in perfect timing with the closing of the back door.

  Guilt settled around her shoulders as heavy footsteps made their way through her house to the living room. He was her guest—he shouldn’t be working like this. She should be out there lugging in firewood. The man had done more than enough for her in one day.