Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  “Knock it off, you bastard!” Losing his cool, Jake jerked hard on the lead rope. The horse revolted, rearing with so much force, he nearly flipped over backward.

  “Gabby, bring that horse back out!” Wrestling Mamoon into some semblance of obedience, he compromised and pushed the stallion back away from the barn. The horse’s frantic feet stilled, but he let out an ear-piercing whinny.

  The sound died abruptly as Rajiv stepped out of the barn.

  “Oh, fuck it,” Jake spat. “We’ll do this in the paddock.”

  Gabrielle’s expression almost made him laugh aloud. Gone was the You’ve lost your mind look. Instead, she gaped at him as if he’d just suggested they commit murder. Ignoring it, he nodded to the paddock. “Tie up your horse in there. I’ll stitch this one if it makes you uncomfortable. You just hold.”

  A little tick pulled at the side of her jaw as she ground her teeth together. Damn, looked like he’d have hell to pay regardless of whether his theory worked or not. He sighed inwardly. Nothing he could do about that now. Fix the horse. Then fix the girl. The girl could take care of herself somewhat. The horse couldn’t.

  “Go get the stuff,” he quietly instructed when she had Rajiv tied to the fence post.

  Her eyes flashed in warning.

  “Fine. You hold the horse, and I’ll get the stuff.” He thrust his lead rope at her.

  When she jerked it from his hand, he stomped through the snow back to the barn to collect the cooler and basket. Returning to the paddock, he found Gabrielle gently stroking Mamoon’s neck, and the horse leaning into her hand. Good. At least Mamoon felt like cooperating. Jake let out a relieved breath and a little of the tension trapped in his shoulders dissipated. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out half bad after all.

  He set their supplies in the snow and reached for the already-prepared syringe of tranquilizer. He pulled off the cap and advanced toward Gabrielle. But as he got within touching distance of Mamoon, the damned horse caught sight of the needle and stuffed his nose in the air. The quick jerk pulled the lead from Gabrielle’s hands. She let out a soft cry as she clutched one palm with the other. Mamoon jogged over to Rajiv’s opposite side.

  Concern replaced Jake’s annoyance. He stuffed the syringe between his teeth and caught her hand, inspecting it. “Are you okay?”

  She tugged free of his fingers and shook out her wrist. “Just rope burn. I’ll be fine.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Jake suggested, compassion softening his voice. He picked up the basket and cooler again, and maneuvered over to the horse.

  Gabrielle caught the lead rope, but when Jake took a step forward, Mamoon balked again. She held fast, refusing to let him twist free. However, the more he fought, the higher her feet lifted off the ground, and the more she lost her leverage.

  Jake dropped the syringe and snatched the lead rope out of her hands. One quick jerk, and Mamoon came to an abrupt standstill. However, his body language clearly said if Jake picked up the needle again, he’d be more than happy to fight some more.

  “You’re going to have to do this, sugar. Can you hit a vein?”

  Her brows puckered with her frown. “On a horse that stands still, yeah. No way can I do it on him.”

  “Well, then get to it.”

  Before she could protest, Jake reached one hand up and latched on to Mamoon’s ear. He gave it a hard twist. As a rule, he despised ear twitching. While the so-called experts said the endorphins distracted the horse, in his experience, the method only made horses shy about their ears. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. And he’d do whatever it took to keep Gabrielle out of harm’s way. She certainly didn’t have the strength—or the height—to execute the twitch.

  Gabrielle blinked a moment, then fished the syringe out of the snow. Giving Jake a wary glance, she stepped into his side and ducked under his elbow.

  His hand cramped with the effort of holding Mamoon’s ear, and he gritted his teeth, willing his body to cooperate just a little bit longer. “Hurry up, sugar.”

  With a short nod, she ran her thumb down the thick jugular vein to make it bulge. Slowly, she eased the needle in. A draw on the plunger added blood to the mix, telling him she’d correctly hit her mark. And then it was over. Tranquilizer administered, Gabrielle backed out of the way.

  Jake let loose of Mamoon’s ear, but let his hand linger to massage the offended appendage. “Well, that didn’t go half badly. You wanna get the suture ready?”

  “Did you just ask me to do something?”

  Okay, so maybe he deserved that remark. He had been a bit heavy-handed since he’d gotten her out of bed. But right now wasn’t the time to hash through that argument. “Could we talk about this later?”

  “Sure, Jake.” She flashed him a sugary smile. “We can talk about it whenever you want. Just tell me when’s good for you.”

  Her sarcasm cut through him like barbs, and he flinched. Sure as shooting, he’d just doomed himself to an extremely unpleasant conversation once they had Mamoon fixed up. Damn it all.

  Reaching down for the supplies, Gabrielle quickly prepared the needles and clamps and passed them to him. He swapped lead rope for tools and switched sides with her. Yet, fear did strange things to people and animals. It had the power to override medical treatment, and, as Jake approached Mamoon, it did just that. The horse’s droopy eyelids widened as if he’d never received the heavy tranquilizer, and he backed up, seemingly oblivious to the wobbling of his hind legs.

  “Damn it,” Jake cursed on a hiss. “Hold him still, Gabby.”

  “I’m trying. He’s not listening.”

  He had to give her credit—she was doing everything he would have tried to keep the horse from escaping. She just was so tiny her efforts didn’t amount to much. Careful to keep the suture needle away from her, he exchanged places and resumed his hold on Mamoon’s lead. When he corrected the horse, the resistance returned didn’t match what he’d anticipated. He easily overpowered the animal, and in moments, Mamoon submitted, returning to his droopy, drug-induced haze.

  Jake extended the clamp to Gabrielle without a word.

  Mamoon snorted, lifting his head a little. Yet when Gabrielle took the offensive material out of Jake’s hand, Mamoon’s eyes remained on her, but he relaxed visibly. He offered no protest, not even a twitch, as Gabrielle approached his injury. When she set her hands on the torn flesh, he shied a step closer to Jake, but made no effort to argue.

  Jake’s heart accelerated as Gabrielle squatted near the horse’s side. That close, one sideways leap and Mamoon would land on top of her. Lacking any topical anesthetic, she’d just put herself in harm’s path. No. He’d put her there. Damn it.

  Yet, as she jabbed the needle through Mamoon’s hide and Jake braced against inevitable confrontation, all Mamoon did was flinch. He pulled on the lead, attempting to twist his head and look. Jake gave him enough slack to let the stallion see.

  With a long, shuddering exhale, Mamoon submitted.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gabrielle gently ran the warm, wet cloth down Mamoon’s sutured side, wiping away the clotted blood and bits of flesh. Her handiwork was nothing worthy of great praise, but at least the wound was closed. With a little luck, it wouldn’t scar too badly.

  Mamoon shifted his weight and cocked the leg closest to Jake. She eyed the striped white hoof, measuring the stallion’s reactions for signs he was losing his patience. However, he made no further movement, seemingly content with merely adjusting his stance.

  Wiping her hands on her jeans, she stood up. She ran her fingers down Mamoon’s thick neck. Despite its winter fullness, his coat was smooth. Healthy. Remarkable given the conditions she’d found him in. While he was in good weight, and outwardly in good shape, he’d been shoved into a tiny, ice-covered pen on the far corner of his former owners’ property. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Drugged, the stallion painted a picture of gentility. If only he were this social, this manageable all the time, her aspi
rations of a Championship at Scottsdale would see fruition. As it was, only Jake could handle the horse. Her prize purchase didn’t want her anywhere near him. A discovery that tugged at her heart. She wanted a bond with this horse. He was supposed to be the foundation for her dreams. Yet, she couldn’t touch him without tranquilizers.

  And Jake could. A bitter pill to swallow.

  “I’m going to turn him loose,” Jake commented.

  Without bothering to respond, Gabrielle picked up the medical supplies and untied Rajiv. Seeking some way to nurse the growing ache in her heart over Mamoon and the annoyance Jake’s demands created, she wrapped her arms around Rajiv’s neck and gave him a tight hug. He bobbed his head, lifting her to her toes twice, before she let go and pressed a kiss into his dark hair. Her partner for seven years, the gentle stallion always knew how to make her hurt go away.

  She left Jake in the paddock and returned to the house alone. Let him stay out there in the cold. She’d had enough of his high-and-mighty attitude and his know-it-all commands. If she’d wanted to deal with that, she’d have stayed in Arizona.

  Dropping her coat on the kitchen table, along with the basket, she wandered back into her bedroom where she flopped onto the bed. She hugged her pillow close, giving in to the frustration she’d kept at bay while she tended Mamoon.

  Since she’d been a child, she’d always gotten along with even the most difficult horses. Mamoon’s rejection stung worse than Gabrielle could have ever fathomed. He was her horse. Not Jake’s.

  Silly logic she knew better than to put too much stock into. It shouldn’t matter what a horse thought of her. He was a business investment. As long as he won at Scottsdale and produced exceptional offspring, she didn’t need to bond with the animal. But from the looks of things, she’d have a damn hard time even providing basic care if she couldn’t touch him.

  God, it was so unfair. All she’d ever wanted was a little piece of something to call her own. Something she could be proud of. Twenty-four years of misery had led her to remote Kansas, where she’d made friends, gained respect in the town. Sam, the grocer, knew how excited she’d been over Mamoon. John, the man who ran the co-op three afternoons a week, expected a full report sometime this week. How was she supposed to look these people in the eye and admit she’d made a terrible error? That the horse she’d thought she was purchasing at a steal of a price was worth half as much as she’d paid, if that. Frankly, given his disposition, Mamoon would be lucky to bring more than meat-market price.

  A tear slid down her cheek. Even Margie would give her that look. The one that said both, I’m so sorry, and This is your fault, sweetie. She’d never point a finger, never insinuate Gabrielle had done something inappropriate, but the thought would linger in her violet eyes. Like it had when Gabrielle faced her father’s first rejection after she’d moved to Kansas. She’d called to ask about bringing her favorite mare up here. Daddy, however, refused to let her, making it more than clear his denial came solely from her desire to leave home.

  He wanted her to fail. Not out of meanness, but, because if she did, she’d have to go home, and he’d have his little girl back. His perfect little girl who didn’t question what he wanted and jumped when he said jump, hoping she might receive a word of praise.

  Another tear broke free, followed by a third. In a blink, they spilled at liberty, coursing quietly down her cheeks and into her pillow.

  Now, she had a man occupying her house who exhibited her father’s same gruff demeanor. Who couldn’t even bring himself to ask her to do something in her own barn. Jake took charge, removed her control, without ever hesitating or considering what she might desire. The same man she’d lost all reason with last night and started a discussion she never should have broached. No wonder he seemed off. Distant. She’d practically pushed him into a commitment.

  One he likely didn’t want. And now that he’d had time to sleep on it, time to fully absorb what she’d been trying to say, he wasn’t comfortable.

  She stuffed the thought aside. Although she needed to think that situation through and come up with a fix before her words took on life of their own, she couldn’t think about it now. Her upset over Mamoon dominated. He was so pretty. Majestic and regal. Countless photographs she’d saved on the computer scrolled through her mind. His commanding presence made him impossible to ignore. Standing up in halter, working in a western saddle. Every single shot showed him for the champion he was.

  Not a one of them portrayed his real nature.

  Where had she gone wrong? Six months of research, of negotiating with his owners, of creating a new run for him and refencing her property to give him accommodations worthy of his status—how had she overlooked something as detrimental as his personality? She’d even asked what his disposition was like. Explained she would be handling him herself, without the help of a trainer or stable hands. Each time, she received assurances Mamoon was as gentle as a kitten.

  He was, as long as Jake had hold of him.

  Her tears fell a little harder, and she hugged the pillow close to muffle a pathetic sob. Her horse. Her dream horse. And he looked at her as if she were some carnivorous creature intent on feeding on him. God. Why?

  ****

  Jake poured a fresh mug of coffee, took a long drink, and poured a second cup. If he intended to smooth things over with Gabrielle, bringing her coffee had to earn him some brownie points. The way she’d stormed off and left him in the paddock didn’t bode well.

  He gathered both mugs and wandered to the study, expecting to find her there with a book. A muffled sound from her bedroom, however, diverted his steps, and he wandered down the hall. At her door, he stopped short. Sprawled out on her bed, her back to him, she clutched a pillow. Napping? He couldn’t blame her, if so. He wouldn’t mind getting some more sleep either.

  The same strange little noise made him cock his head curiously. Not sleeping. She didn’t snore. As many times as he’d woken up the night before, he could testify to that. Not sleeping then…

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he checked a groan. Crying. Oh, damn. He didn’t do tears. On more than one occasion, he’d been called an asshole because of his inability to cope with a woman’s tears. He simply shut down. Damn, damn, damn.

  He glanced about apprehensively. Should he go to her, or pretend he hadn’t been here? Though he’d slept in her bed, this was still her bedroom. Her place of solitude. Sleeping with her didn’t give him the right to enter at liberty. And he was pretty damn certain right now she wouldn’t extend an invitation. Maybe he should just go back to the kitchen.

  He took a half step in the opposite direction and guilt crashed onto his shoulders. If he’d contributed to this display, he needed to go to her. Heaving a resigned sigh, he turned around. “Hey,” he called.

  Gabrielle scrunched down into the covers. “Go away.”

  Thirty seconds earlier, he would have. But he’d already committed to trying to comfort her. Ignoring her order, he wandered into her bedroom. He moved around to the opposite side of the bed, put their coffees on the nightstand, and sat down. “What’s this all about?” He set his hand on her shoulder.

  She turned her head away. “Leave me alone, Jake.”

  “Nope. ’Fraid not. What’s with the tears?”

  “Nothing you’d understand.”

  He frowned at the back of her head. “Try me.”

  She sniffled, but made no move to cooperate.

  “Sugar.” Stroking her back, he lowered his voice. “I brought coffee. Sit up and tell me what’s got you so upset.”

  If it weren’t for the pillow she had her face buried in, he’d have sworn the sound she made was a scream. Her fist beat into the pillow above her head, and she kicked one foot, bouncing the bed.

  Well, shit. He’d hardly said a word, and he’d already managed to ruin this whole consolation thing. Now that marked a first. Usually, he at least learned what the problem was before he screwed up things by putting his foot in his mouth. His frown deepened, and
he tugged on her shoulder. “Talk to me.”

  She bounced her foot again. Her chest rose with a heavy sigh. Like a cat stretching in the sun, she unfolded herself and sat up, wiping at her cheeks. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

  Jake set her coffee mug into her hands. “Tell me anyway.”

  Gabrielle rolled her eyes with a groan. “Do you ever ask? Good God, if I’d wanted my father around, I’d have stayed in Arizona.”

  Blinking, Jake absorbed her comment. With a shake of his head, he dismissed it as more of her upset, a remark that held little meaning and was more the product of frustration than genuinely insightful. “Drink some of that. It’ll warm you up. Your hands feel like ice.” He nodded to her coffee mug. “While you’re at it, tell me why you’re crying.”

  She looked down at the cup, but didn’t drink. For several long moments, she stared as she turned the handle around and around. When she finally decided to speak, her voice came in a low whisper. “Mamoon.”

  “What about him? He’s stitched up. He’ll be fine.” He’d be even better dead, but making the observation wouldn’t help anything at the moment.

  With a slow shake of her head, Gabrielle explained, “I know.” She sighed again. Her shoulders drooped heavily. “He was my dream horse, Jake. The one everything would start with. Rajiv is nice, but nothing like Mamoon.”

  “Well,” he began, choosing his words carefully. He didn’t want to give her false hope. At the same time, a stiff reality check wasn’t what she needed to hear. “Mamoon’s making progress.”

  He stared, befuddled, as she began to cry harder. What in the world had he said now?

  “Right.” She sniffled as she set her cup on the nightstand. “The only person who can touch him is you.” Her voice broke on a wail, and she covered her face with the pillow.

  He set his hand on her knee, squeezing gently. “Coming around is progress. You can’t have overnight miracles. Tears don’t solve anything. Buck up, sugar.”