Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  Hastily, he shoved the jeans into the small closet behind the driver’s seat, stacked his digital media, and made a halfhearted attempt at straightening his bed. Better. When he got to Colorado, he’d vacuum out the dust and bits of popcorn still cluttering the carpeted floor. He tossed his bag out the door. Truck locked, he dropped down into the snow.

  Jake stumbled as he climbed over the snow. He caught himself on his hands, but the force of impact sent him sinking to his chest. Snow gathered between his partly opened zipper and his shirt, slipped beneath his waistband. With a gasp, he struggled to his knees, then his feet. Son of a bitch, that was cold. He swiped at his clothes in a vain attempt to keep the snow from melting. But the stuff down his jeans—no way could he get rid of it without embarrassing Margie. Gritting his teeth against the unpleasant wetness, he hitched his bag over his shoulder and stalked toward Margie’s truck.

  Inside, he shuddered.

  “You could help her, you know.”

  He gave Margie a perplexed frown. What in the world was she talking about? All he cared about right now was getting some dry boxers on before his balls froze off. Rubbing his hands together, he huddled closer to the heater vent. “How?”

  “Show her the ropes. Teach her what she needs to know for Scottsdale.” She made a tight turn in the middle of the road and pointed her truck toward Gabrielle’s house.

  Jake couldn’t help but chuckle. “Right. I couldn’t teach anyone what she needs to know in three weeks time.”

  Margie shrugged. “You could show her stallion for her. Be the hero and all that sappy crap.”

  The idea sent a shudder tumbling down his spine where it landed in his gut and rolled around like a pack of angry hornets. He couldn’t return to showing. Old friends would hound him with questions, want to know why he’d vanished, would he stay around. Former clients would seek him out, anxious to return to his barn. Before he could blink, his former barn manager, Manuel Hinkle, would be on the phone begging for his job. One trip around the arena, and his neat, tidy life would resemble the chaos in his cab.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve moved on, away from horses.”

  “To driving a semi.” Though she didn’t look at him, he heard the censure in her voice. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Margie beat him to words. “Why’d you walk away from it anyway?”

  Grinding his teeth together, he opted not to answer. The whole goddamn world of horse people knew why. Magazines and news stations alike covered his mother’s death for an entire week after it occurred. Especially the Arabian Horse Association’s monthly publication. Hell, they’d done an entire tribute to her and her training stables.

  “Help her out, Jake,” Margie suggested in a near whisper. “She needs it. I don’t care how you do it, but don’t let her go down there and give her father reason to rub her nose in a loss. If she has to lose, don’t let it be because she was outshown by another trainer, not another horse.”

  Closing his eyes, he nodded, though he knew he wouldn’t. Maybe with a different horse he’d consider the possibility. Never with Mamoon. He refused to walk on his mother’s grave that way.

  ****

  Gabrielle walked a slow circle around Mamoon, enchanted by the way the horse followed her with his gaze. If she stayed too long at his rear, where he couldn’t see her, he’d pivot on the forehand and swing his head around to look. When she moved to his side, he popped a shoulder to keep her in his line of sight.

  His tail swished lazily, his posture once again rigid. As if he could startle sideways at any moment. Though Rajiv ignored her, content to maw down the bucket of grain she’d given him, Mamoon refused his feed. He let her approach, time and again, tolerating her neck scratching, but not once did he make a move to get closer. He didn’t even nudge her pocket in search of treats.

  Strange. She’d have sworn his behavior came from a fear she might harm him if it weren’t for the way he hadn’t moved out of her path. Hadn’t tried to take a single step away from her.

  She made another circle around him. As his head snaked to the side and his gaze settled on her, she swallowed a renegade giggle. Damned strange. Had someone beat him? Could that explain his unusual behavior? Surely, he hadn’t breezed through life without at least one person attempting a come-to-Jesus session. Too many people would leap to punishment before ever considering the cause. And if they were the cause, nothing would make them admit it.

  His mistrustful attitude suggested he’d been on the receiving end of something heavy-handed at least once. But what had started the belligerence to begin with? The simple fact he was a stallion?

  Approaching him again, she ran a hand down the length of his muscular neck. “What’s your story, Mamoon? I tried to learn it before I bought you. Everything they told me was lies. Did you just get too big for your britches?”

  She combed her fingers through his mane, smoothing out the tangles. To her surprise, the stallion lowered his head and leaned into the pressure of her hand. She smiled softly as she scratched, the way he bobbed his head in a counter-rhythm striking a chord of compassion.

  From the pasture, a high-pitched whinny clamored through the still air. Mamoon lifted his head at the same time Gabrielle did and stared at the silhouette in the distance. Too far away to identify markings, Gabrielle only recognized the solitary equine as one of her foalless mares.

  “There’s a whole field of pretty girls out there. If you do well for me, they’ll all be yours, big boy.”

  Disinterested, he dropped his nose to his feed bowl and sniffed. Rajiv shifted his weight, his gaze straying to Mamoon’s untouched grain. Mamoon’s ears flattened. He lifted his head, and with one meaningful lunge, positioned himself between Gabrielle and her senior stallion.

  She let out a surprised squeak and backstepped. Maybe giving them grain to share hadn’t been the brightest idea. But they’d gotten along so well until now.

  Rajiv pinned his ears and returned Mamoon’s threatening stare. His tail switched with agitation.

  “Hey!” she scolded.

  Having heard the tone of her voice on more than one occasion, and well aware that she meant business, Rajiv broke his fixation on Mamoon’s feed. But Mamoon, on the other hand, used the senior stallion’s lapse in concentration to his advantage. He advanced with his neck only, a quick strike with his teeth bared. He nipped Rajiv on the shoulder, successfully pushing the bay stallion to the side.

  At that moment, the sound of crunching snow brought her attention to the driveway. Margie’s truck crept through the thick snow. Jake! A blush crept into Gabrielle’s cheeks. She must have it bad for him if an hour away could make her heart thump on his return. Forgetting the stallions, she rushed out of the paddock anxious to give him a hug.

  But as she turned around to latch the gate, she paused. Her hands stilled, one holding the chain, the other braced on the fence post. Her mouth dropped open as her eyes widened. What the—?

  Standing side-by-side, Rajiv and Mamoon ate out of the same feed dish. They even took turns. First one grabbed a mouthful, then turned his head aside to let the other. Back and forth, not even a single muscle twitch to indicate either minded sharing.

  “Gabrielle, come inside! I’m going to make us all lunch,” Margie called.

  Jolted out of her daze, Gabrielle latched the chain around the post, then hooked it back on itself. Some things about horse natures weren’t meant to be understood. Even the most well-trained horse had a few secrets up its sleeve. This was one of those times. Whatever their differences, they’d evidently worked them out when her back was turned.

  Jake waited on the back porch, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him—tall, handsome, looking so very much like he belonged there. He grinned as she approached, that lazy smile warming her blood.

  “Hey, handsome.” She bounded up the steps and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  He returned it with a chuckle. His hand found hers. The other opened the door. “Come in. You
can help me find a tow company while Margie cooks.”

  In one fell swoop, Gabrielle’s heart sank to her feet. She willed her smile not to falter as she chastised herself for being so foolish. Here she’d been excited to see him—more excited than she should be over his hour-long absence—and he had one thing on his mind. Leaving.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Yeah, out on 283. I need to get it in to Hays. To Jimmy’s Transmission Repair.”

  Jake’s voice drifted into the kitchen from the study. At his simple statement, Gabrielle’s heart sank a little more. He really was leaving; her idyllic fantasy would come to an end. Why, oh why, couldn’t the weather have been a little worse or held out a bit longer? She turned to look out the window with a heavy sigh.

  Margie’s hand settled on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  Summoning a brave smile, Gabrielle managed a short nod. “Just not ready for him to go, I guess. I mean I know it’s too early to keep him around. But I like having him here.”

  Margie’s smile was warm. “You mean you really like him, don’t you?”

  Gabrielle looked away, the scene outside more comfortable than her best friend’s all-too-knowing gaze. “Yeah,” she answered in a whisper. “I do. A lot, Margie. More than I should.”

  Light laughter met her confession. “I never figured you’d fall for a trucker. Though, to be fair, that one’s quite a looker.”

  “Quite a lover too.” Heat crept into Gabrielle’s cheeks, and she dipped her head to hide behind her hair.

  “Oh? Do tell.”

  An elbow poked Gabrielle in the side, wresting free a light chuckle. “All I have to say is he blows the stories you’ve told me out of the water, and makes Tony look like a naive teenager.”

  “Details, woman! Details.”

  Gabrielle laughed harder. “Not on your life. But maybe that’s why I’m so wrapped up in him. Do you think it’s possible good sex is making me think all the things I shouldn’t?”

  “Sweetie, when it comes to emotions, there is no should or should not. You can’t control those things. You do what feels right, and you hope for the best.” Margie ran her hand down Gabrielle’s arm in a soothing fashion. “I think it’s safe to say he likes you.”

  “I guess. I don’t know, Margie. What if all this ends when he drives down that highway? I was all goofy over his coming back with you, and he’d been gone, what? An hour at most? He, on the other hand, rushed in here to use the phone. Like he couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

  Margie squeezed her hand tightly before returning to the stovetop. “You’re overreacting. Take a deep breath. Ride the wave and stop over-thinking things. It isn’t like you two have known each other long enough for him to have a hold on your heart.”

  Gabrielle remained silent, her gaze fixed on the barn. Technically, no they hadn’t. But the blunt truth of everything was, she’d let him have that hold. She’d given him emotional power over her that she shouldn’t have surrendered so readily. She barely knew him. Yet, at times, she felt as if she’d known him a lifetime.

  “Oh, God, you have,” Margie muttered. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with him. Please don’t tell me that.”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “No, don’t be silly. I haven’t fallen that deep. I do like him though. More than I should. Sometimes, I think he shares the same emotions. Other times, I think he’d take off in a heartbeat if his rig worked.”

  “He’s got a job, Gabrielle. I’m sure he’s worried about that cargo. This is normal. Has it been that long since you’ve dated to remember how the game works?”

  Had it? Probably. Though she’d like to be all cool and detached, the simple fact she’d had that atrocious conversation with him signified she’d forgotten how to play by the rules. “I talked to him the other night. I didn’t mean to. The words just kinda slipped out. I made it clear I wanted more than just something casual.”

  Margie’s hand stilled over the skillet. “I thought we talked about this?”

  “We did.”

  “Then what the hell went wrong with the plan?”

  “Everything. God, Margie, I’ve really screwed this up. I’ve probably pushed him away. He’ll go, and I won’t hear from him again.” Her voice faltered, and she stared down at the sink to mask the sudden swell of tears. Her hair fell forward, disguising her face from Margie’s perceptive gaze. She lowered her voice to a raspy whisper. “I want to keep him.”

  ****

  Outside the kitchen doorway, Jake closed his eyes and inhaled. Keep him. Damn, why hadn’t he waited just a few minutes longer before he left the study? He didn’t want to know this. Didn’t want to come face to face with Gabrielle’s emotions. She’d fallen for him, and he hadn’t quite meant for that to happen.

  He hadn’t quite stopped it from happening either. Hell, he’d gotten caught up in it too. Great sex, beautiful woman, warm bed. Who wouldn’t? But keep him?

  He should have put a stop to this when Gabrielle hinted at wanting permanency. Shouldn’t have allowed her to become attached. It would have stung then, but had he voiced what he wanted, or rather what he didn’t want, hearing the catch in Gabrielle’s voice wouldn’t make his gut twist like it was.

  Why did she have to be right? That made it worse. He did plan on leaving without ever contacting her again. Except she had one thing flat out wrong. He wasn’t doing that because he didn’t want her. If he kept in contact with Gabrielle, he’d be back here, unable to stay away. Too much pain came with Gabrielle. Pain he couldn’t fault her for, but lingered all the same. He wanted her to keep him, damn it. And he had no way of ever making her understand how that left him conflicted.

  “Maybe if you talk to him, you can find some answers,” Margie suggested.

  Gabrielle’s soft laugh made Jake’s heart skip a beat. But her response inched his throat closed. “Right. I can see how that would go over. Excuse me, Jake, you’ve been here less than a week, and I don’t want you to walk out of my life. I’m pretty attached to you.” She laughed again, a derisive little sound that bordered on a soft snort. “Talk about pushing a guy away fast. I’m surprised you’d even suggest that, Margie.”

  Enough. He refused to stand still and eavesdrop. The conversation wasn’t meant for his ears. Never mind how each word Gabrielle uttered made his gut hollow out. Damn, when had he lost control of this situation? The second night in her arms?

  No, he’d lost control the minute he kissed her in the parking lot. That impulsive act doomed him. No getting around it, a man who kissed a woman before saying hello was a man who lacked complete control. And that he could put the blame squarely on her for. Her and her fire-red hair that caught his attention in the early morning sunlight as she passed him on the highway and took a drink out of her travel mug.

  Damn.

  He strode forward purposefully, avoiding Gabrielle’s gaze as he entered the kitchen. “Smells good, Margie. What is it?”

  “Chicken fried steak.”

  His mouth watered. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d had homemade chicken fried steak. “Brown or white gravy?”

  “White,” she answered with a grin.

  On the heels of a false groan, he gave her a wink. “Careful, or I might fall in love and never leave.”

  The way her grin faltered and how she slid her gaze sideways to Gabrielle had him inwardly grimacing. Shit, wrong thing to say. Damn, damn, damn. The last thing he wanted to do was stir up that conversation again. Hell, he still didn’t have the courage to look at Gabrielle for fear he’d utter something ridiculous. Something like admitting to the fact he didn’t want to leave.

  He swiftly changed the subject. “I’m going to go check on the horses. Maybe clean out another stall or two. I’m going to get fat if I sit around all day.”

  Before either woman could say another word, he snatched his coat from the stand near the door and shrugged it on. With a brief nod over his shoulder to bid goodbye, he stepped out into the cold, shut the door, and ma
rched toward the barn. Keep him. Why in the name of all things holy did those two words have such a powerful effect?

  Because she’s under your skin. Down deep. Where she doesn’t belong.

  He changed direction, heading for Mamoon’s paddock. There was only one way to expel the anxious energy humming in his blood—a good old-fashioned wrestling match with a willful horse. He wouldn’t have time to think about Gabrielle or what was happening between them, and the physical exertion would be a welcome release.

  Halfway to the paddock, he changed his mind. Gabrielle was in the kitchen, she’d see him from the window. Doubling back, he stomped through the small doorway into the feed room. As he rounded the corner into the aisle, he grabbed a halter off the hook and strode to the back of the barn. Ghazanfar would have to do. While the horse wouldn’t put up much of a fuss, he’d still serve to distract.

  The black gelding whinnied loudly when Jake rolled the heavy sliding door open. He trotted to the low fence rail, but true to Gabrielle’s claims, made no attempt to step over. Bright eyes watched Jake approach. A low snort sent wisps of smoky breath spiraling up from flared nostrils. Beautiful. Something deep inside Jake wound down like a vise. God, how he loved these creatures. The breed, the refinement, the simple elegance found in one casual pose, spoke to the part of his soul that refused to surrender to his forced attempts at forgetting.

  Ghazanfar dropped his head and allowed Jake to slip the halter over his nose. He followed at an excited jog-trot as Jake led him into the barn, down the aisle, and through the half-doors to the arena. In the dim light, the gelding’s silhouette portrayed perfection. From the deep dish of his nose to his tippy ears, all the way down to the high dock of his tail, he embodied all the qualities that made an Arabian a breed of distinction. Gabrielle knew how to pick them, that was for damn sure. Even this gelding, with no reproductive potential, set high standards for her breeding program.