She lowered the pillow long enough to give him a furious glare. In the next instant, she flew off the bed and out of the room. “Leave me alone, Jake.”
The bathroom door slammed shut.
Great. Just fucking great. Once again, he’d blown it in the comfort department. He should have walked away when he’d realized she was crying. Muttering, he scooped up both their coffee mugs and wandered to the kitchen. The only thing he could do right now was exactly what she asked—leave her alone. Experience told him, if given time to herself, a woman always managed to get her emotions under control and resolve whatever it was that caused the tears. She didn’t really need his pathetic attempts at consolation.
Problem was, he couldn’t stand witnessing a woman’s upset. Gabrielle’s affected him more than usual, and, for the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why. He didn’t know her well enough to justify this uncomfortable pull in his gut that came with her tears.
He left the mugs near the sink, grabbed his coat, and stalked outside. He’d rather deal with the damn horses than sit around and wait for her to come out of the bathroom while he prayed she’d forgive whatever he’d said that set her off.
****
Gabrielle lifted her head out of her hands and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Eyes red and puffy, her hair a mess from repeatedly pushing her hands through it, she resembled something straight out of Night of the Living Dead.
How absolutely mortifying to break down in front of Jake. Worse, he hadn’t even tried to understand what had her so upset. Just like her father, he’d jumped right over the cause of her tears to telling her they wouldn’t solve anything. Couldn’t a man just let her be sad for once in her damn life? Was it impossible to comprehend that she might have feelings—and, since she was female, they might be illogical every once in a while?
Well, she was certainly on a roll today. She couldn’t screw up a new relationship any faster. From pushing for some sort of commitment, to snapping at him, to bawling like a lost child, she’d done about everything a girl shouldn’t do when it came to dating. Hell, she might as well have thrown herself on the floor in front of his feet and begged him to marry her, for all the positive impressions she was making today.
It would be a miracle if he didn’t hightail it out of here the first day the roads cleared.
And frankly, she wouldn’t blame him at this point.
She let out a groan. God, who did those kinds of things?
You, dummy.
Yep, that about summed it up. All the way around. She took a deep breath and pursed her lips. Time for some damage control. She had to pull her head out of her hind end, find her brain, and start using it. If she wanted to keep Jake around, she’d better stop acting like a clingy, spineless girl and start behaving like the levelheaded woman who was in control of not only her life, but her emotions too.
Standing, she turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face. She took a few minutes to apply a touch of eyeliner and mascara—mainly to feed her confidence than to impress. Then, with a lift of her chin, she squared her shoulders, turned the handle on the bathroom door, and exited. She could do this. She could pretend she didn’t possess insecurities. After all, she’d been doing exactly that for as long as she could remember.
Chapter Nineteen
Jake set down the plastic pitchfork and leaned against the wall. Mucking stalls had lost its appeal after he’d completed the third one, but he’d picked out two others before his back finally ordered him to quit. Damn, it had been a long time. Once, he could have picked all twenty in Gabrielle’s barn and have had plenty of energy left to work horses. Now, a measly five, and the idea of doing anything other than sitting down for a while felt like extraordinary effort.
He glanced around, taking in the tasteful way she’d put the barn together. Tall varnished walls opened on luxurious stall fronts with ornate, green-painted bars. Each stall sported clean feeders, fresh salt blocks, heated water buckets, and a deep pile of bedding. The double-sized foaling stalls all had been installed with low boards to keep a foaling mare from getting cast against the wall, and, oddly enough, she’d padded the corners, features he’d heard some breeders were installing to minimize injury, but ones he hadn’t quite subscribed to yet.
Gabrielle skipped no detail. From the meticulously organized tools hanging on the wall to the wire coverings on her light bulbs to the overhead fly-repellant system, everything was perfect. Just the way he would have recommended.
Nostalgia gripped him hard as he breathed the lingering scent of pine, manure, and well-cleaned leather. He glanced to the half-doors that closed off the darkened indoor arena, seeing a time when he’d lived every waking moment in a similar place. Things had been so simple then. His future laid out, his goals a mere step away from completion. Horses were everything back then—past, present, future. Nothing happened without first considering the Arabians.
He flipped a light switch, expecting a dull, green-blue fluorescent glow to illuminate the indoor riding area. When darkness reigned, he remembered the loss of power and squinted into the dimly lit enclosure. The sunlight outside streamed in through high windows. The latch on the half-door gave easily, letting him step inside. Beneath his boots, a puff of dust rose as he walked to the center. She needed to water the arena.
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. Damn, here he was exploring her barn, mentally issuing orders to staff that didn’t exist. Talk about instinctual reactions.
Two bright white jump standards sat to his left, one leaning awkwardly to its side. Reflexively, he straightened the fixture and wiped a thin coating of dust off the horizontal bar. Which one of her horses jumped? Or did she, as he used to do, use the jumps as exercise and no one in her herd competed in hunters?
Atop a turned-over bucket to his left lay a dainty halter with a thin chain serving as its chin strap. Attached to the flimsy piece of tack dangled a narrow, leather lead. He picked them both up and fingered the gold divots set into the cheek pieces with reverence. Training halters. If hers were this nice, he could only imagine how flashy her show halters would be.
Strange how this place, so far removed from Houston, could feel so much like…home. The barn, the scents, the daily worries and chores—goddamn, it was like visiting his high school for his ten-year reunion. So different, yet so very much the same. He could almost hear the snap of whips, the crackling of plastic bags, the ping-ping of a farrier in the attached aisle.
He’d almost forgotten all those sounds of comfort. Just like he’d almost forgotten how it felt to have a horse strain all the muscles in his shoulder with one fierce head toss. Even that, though painful for an instant, held a degree of comforting familiarity. Like the leather in his hands, it was the one thing he knew how to do truly well.
Or maybe he’d forgotten that too. Maybe three years on the road erased that kind of talent. Practice meant everything, after all.
He bent down to put the halter back on the stool and paused. Did he still have it? Could he still set up a horse in proper position?
Compelled by the question, he closed his fingers around the piece of training equipment and shut his eyes. His jaw tightened as he sucked in a gulp of air. Relaxing his hand, he let the halter fall to the ground and strode from the arena. As he passed through the half-doors, he grabbed a grooming halter off the wall and marched to the back of the barn.
Ghazanfar would work. An older gelding had surely seen the show ring at some point. And judging by his elegant face, no doubt he’d done halter once or twice.
Jake rolled the barn door open and peered out into the field. There, Ghazanfar and Masia grazed on the hay he’d tossed to them, nose to nose. He took two steps forward, and stopped. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t care whether he still possessed the ability he used to. None of that mattered now. He drove a truck. He’d left horses behind. Going back—out of the question.
Besides, these were Gabrielle’s horses. He couldn’t just come in here and make himself at home. Ho
w many times in his life had he told students, junior trainers, and stable hands the same thing? Don’t touch the horses without the owners’ permission.
He turned around to head back to the barn. But when he was halfway inside the doorway, curiosity won out. Gabrielle wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t even know. He just needed a few minutes, nothing more. Then Ghazanfar would be back in his paddock, and Gabrielle would never be the wiser.
Jogging and stumbling through the snow, he entered Ghazanfar’s paddock. He haltered the gelding and led him into the barn.
****
As Gabrielle passed by her kitchen window for the dozenth time, she glanced out at the barn. Jake had been gone at least an hour. What was he up to out there? Worry would have plagued her, if it weren’t for the fact she could see Mamoon still standing in Rajiv’s paddock. At least Jake wasn’t fooling around with the stallion. But what in the world had him so occupied?
The timer on her stove dinged, drawing her away. If he didn’t hurry, the brownies would be cold. Along with the chicken casserole that had come out of the oven twenty minutes ago.
Damn, she really didn’t want to brave the snow again today. Particularly not with the way the wind picked up as night approached. Stitching a horse in the frigid temperatures was her limit.
She set the baking dish on the counter and fisted her hands on her hips. Well, crap. If this didn’t tell her loudly and clearly how far away she’d pushed Jake, she didn’t want to know what came next. Obviously, he didn’t feel inclined to come in any time soon.
But she’d be damned if she let her meal go cold. She’d cooked with him in mind, and letting him microwave the meal just didn’t seem right. Especially given she was the cause of his distance.
With a heavy sigh, she wandered back to her room for her boots. As she tugged on the first one, the sound of the back door closing brought her head up and a smile to her lips.
“Smells good,” Jake called.
She kicked off her boot and hurried into the kitchen. “Hungry?”
Already pulling a plate down from her cabinet, he flashed her a wide grin. His cheeks pink from the freezing temperatures, his expression held an unusual brightness. Those sky blue eyes glinted with merriment; his chiseled features held an odd, relaxed quality. He looked…happy.
“Starved,” he quipped as he reached for the fresh brownies.
Gabrielle let out a laugh and batted away his hand. “That’s dessert. Sit down, I’ll get you a plate. What have you been doing out there?”
He stopped at the refrigerator for a Coke before he dropped into a chair. “I cleaned out some stalls for you. It sounded like you could use a bit of time to yourself, and I needed to do something physical. I’ve been sitting for too long.”
Stalls? In the snow? The tractor’s battery had died the day before she left to pick up Mamoon. “How’d you manage that? I didn’t hear the tractor start.”
“Good old-fashioned wheelbarrow. I unloaded the feed you had in it.”
Wheelbarrow. In the snow. The man was nuts. She didn’t use the wheelbarrow on good days, let alone in weather like this. “Well, thank you.”
“Sure thing, sugar. Can I help you do anything?”
She shot him a sideways glance. What had gotten in to him? He hadn’t been this full of energy—or goofy smiles—since she’d met him. “Um. No. I’m good.”
“Yes, you are,” he murmured in a low voice.
Her cheeks flushed hot, and the serving spoon slipped through her fingers. It clattered when she caught it against the bowl.
Jake laughed.
With a mock frown, Gabrielle pursed her lips. “That’s enough of the flattery, Jake Sullivan.”
“Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable?” His grin widened, his expression shifting to mischievous.
Struggling against her own laughter, Gabrielle finished dishing out his portion. “That’s exactly why.” She set the plate down in front of him and returned for her own.
“So I shouldn’t tell you that you have the cutest little ass I’ve ever seen, or that those jeans look exceptionally good on you?”
Gabrielle choked on a stolen fingerful of green beans. With a shake of her head, she joined him at the table. “You absolutely shouldn’t.”
“Okay, babycakes.”
She couldn’t help but stare. What had happened to the serious man who’d told her to buck up a few hours ago? Where had this humor been then? She probably wouldn’t have snapped at him if he’d used it instead of logic. Giving in to a grin, she met his amused gaze. “Who stole Jake? Can I have him back, please?”
His eyes softened, but his smile lingered. He reached across the table and captured her hand. “I do like holding your hand, sugar.” The teasing gone, the low tone of his voice conveyed seriousness. He tapped his fork on the edge of his plate. “This is good.”
“The brownies are better.”
That bright blue gaze lighted again, humor dancing feely. “I can think of things better than brownies. Are you busy tonight?”
Unable to help herself, she let out a short burst of laughter. “I don’t know,” she managed through chuckles. “I think the snow’s got me confined to the house.”
“Hrm. Guess that ruins the idea of taking you down to the local bar and buying you a beer, eh?”
She laughed harder. Good Lord. If spending time doing physical work in a barn was all it took to bring out this playful side of his nature, she’d find a way to see he did it every day. Speaking of… She’d almost forgotten the idea she’d come up with while toiling over the stove.
“Jake, I thought of something while you were outside.”
“Oh?” He stabbed a bite of chicken and chewed.
“You’re really good with horses, you know that?”
“Been told that a time or two.”
“Well, you see, you know I want to go to Scottsdale with Mamoon, right?”
He lifted his next bite more slowly as he nodded.
“And Mamoon seems to like you. It made me wonder what it might take to convince you to help me out a little. I know you like the road, but it would be just for a short time. I’m sure—”
“No.”
She drew back with a slight frown. “I can pay you whatever you might miss by not hauling for a few weeks.”
With calm deliberation, Jake set his fork down on the edge of his plate and pushed his half-eaten dinner aside. He said nothing, merely stared at their joined hands.
She took his silence as willingness to listen and continued, “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I don’t want it to seem like I’m asking you to do it because of whatever is going on between us. You have talent. I can’t get Mamoon to respond like you can.”
“No, Gabrielle.” He answered so quietly, she had to strain to hear him. His gaze lifted to hers, his good humor erased. “I don’t want to work with horses.”
“But why not? Jake, you’re gifted with them. You could make a fortune training horses. You could go wherever you wanted, manage your own time, never have to worry about…anything. And I can introduce you to the people that would make that happen.”
“I’m going to have a brownie. Do you want one?” He stood up and took his plate to the sink.
“Jake, I’m being serious.”
At the stove, he leveled her with a fierce look of warning. “I’m not going to argue with you. I said no. I mean it. Don’t ask me again.”
Shrugging her shoulders in hopes she looked unbothered by his curt response, she answered, “Fine.”
****
Jake lingered in the doorway, trying to ignore the strained silence that had descended. In that never-ending time, she’d finished her dinner, eaten a brownie, and even drank half a cup of coffee. Yet, she hadn’t uttered another word.
To be fair, neither had he. Only, he was too busy trying to sift through the conflicting emotions that had risen when she’d made the unexpected proposal. Stay with Gabrielle. An excuse not to leave. Work with horses. Ghazanfar had reminde
d him of how much he missed training. He’d stood that horse up, trotted him around, pretended they were in the show ring and the black gelding had just won Nationals. God, it felt good to do what he’d been born into. But make a living out of it again? He couldn’t. Sooner or later, the past would catch up with him. Another horse like Mamoon would come in, or he’d fail a student, or, worse, the magazines would publish more about his mother. About how he’d played a role in her death.
He couldn’t work with horses. Never again.
Flashing lights drew him to the front window. Curious, he peeked through the thin sheers in time to catch the slow advance of a snowplow. Bright orange and yellow illuminated the snow as the blade pushed through the thick accumulation. Something in his gut did a slow, hard tumble. Road crews meant electricity. Electricity meant phone service. With the telephone lines functioning, he’d have no excuse to put off contacting a tow truck for his rig.
Gabrielle evidently read his mind. From the doorway, she quietly observed, “Guess the tow trucks will be out and about soon.”
“Yeah.” His voice lacked enthusiasm, his remark low and hoarse. He watched the plow crawl by, the lights dimming as it disappeared into the darkness.
“There’s a decent garage in Hays. It’s the closest place I can think of that would work on semis.”
“Okay.” He couldn’t turn around and look at her. If he did, she might see the war waging in his mind. He had to leave. But damn it all, he didn’t want to. Not yet. There was too much to learn about Gabrielle, too many things that fascinated him he didn’t want to leave behind.
Behind him, a floorboard creaked. “I’m going to read for a while. I turned the stove off. The television would probably work.”
Beneath the subtle suggestion, he read the underlying statement that he wasn’t welcome to join her. Great. Just fucking great. Could he blow it any further? He stifled a groan and curled his hands into the window ledge. Why did she have to bring up the subject of training horses? Everything had been perfect until that moment. He’d been in the best mood he could remember since…since that terrible day in his barn three years ago.
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