Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  His feet hit the ground with a thud as he bolted upright. “For a while?”

  “Ah, well, we had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

  That was all it took to set his nerves on edge and churn his stomach anxiously. He never should have left her alone with that horse. He knew Mamoon would do something. “Are you hurt? Tell me you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. My shoulder is a little out of whack, but I’m fine.”

  “Damn it, Gabby, that horse isn’t predictable. Will you give up this notion of taking him to Scottsdale and just take Rajiv? Give Mamoon another year. Maybe then he’ll be where you want him.” Doubtful, but if he could make her believe that, he’d keep her safe that much longer. It bought time. Time for him to disconnect.

  Her voice assumed a stilted tone, brittle words that he could picture coming through clenched teeth. “I don’t have another year. If I don’t get babies on the ground—quality babies—and a stallion that’s worth his mettle, my entire program will take a hit I can’t afford. This isn’t just a hobby, Jake. This is my profession.”

  He banged a fist on the table. “You think I don’t know that? For God’s sake, I—” He stopped short. He’d almost spilled the truth. And telling her about his past wasn’t something he intended to do in the middle of an argument. He swallowed to compose himself and lowered his voice to a rational tone. “I’ve spent a week with you, and it’s pretty obvious you’ve put a lot of attention into your plans. But one year, Gabrielle. Even a few months more. If you find a better stallion…”

  “Enough, Jake,” she snapped. “I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m not going to listen to you tell me this is impossible.”

  On another heavy sigh, he stood and moved to the edge of the bed. “I just don’t want you hurt, sugar. It scares the hell out of me.”

  “You’re the one who left. I offered to cover your salary. I offered you a full-time job here, Jake. You turned it down. Don’t get all pissed off because I don’t have any other options.”

  The sharp reprimand punched him in the gut. There it was in black and white—he’d walked away from her. He had no right to try and impose his wishes.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and flopped backward onto the bed. “I can’t do this, Gabrielle. I didn’t call to fight. I’m a couple hundred miles away, and I miss you, sugar.” The words tumbled forth, uncoiling his gut the more he confessed. It was so easy telling her how he felt. Would be even easier to confess how much he loved her. But he could do none of that as long as he was hiding behind a story of who he was. “Don’t be mad at me, please.”

  Several moments of silence met his ears, the quiet sound of her breathing the only sign he hadn’t lost his connection.

  “Gabby?”

  “I’m here.”

  He heard the bed creak and smiled as a picture of her snuggled beneath the quilt leapt into his head. But with her next words, his throat went dry.

  “I don’t know what’s going on between us right now. Whatever time you need away, that’s fine, take it. But while you’re trying to figure all this out, there’s something you need to know.”

  He held his breath, waiting. His gut coiled into a tight ball, instinct telling him whatever came next he wouldn’t like.

  “I fell in love with you while you were here.”

  His air came out in a rush. His pulse leapt into his throat. God, she’d said it. She loved him. And there wasn’t a particle of his being that didn’t want to stop her before she said another word, and tell her he was so in love with her he didn’t know which end was up anymore. He bit down on his tongue, fighting back a well of unexpected emotion.

  “I know I shouldn’t tell you that. It gives you all kind of room to walk all over me. Especially if this is some game to you, something that didn’t mean anything. But if this weirdness in the truck this morning has anything to do with you wondering where I stand—well, now you know.”

  Now he knew. But just what the hell was he supposed to do with that?

  Gabrielle didn’t give him time to think about it.

  “What is it you want from me? Do you want me to wait? Is this something that we fall into when you happen to roll through town? Or is it over now, and this last week or so nothing but a memory?”

  Holy shit. The last thing he’d expected from her was for her to put him on the spot this way. He didn’t have the answers. Couldn’t bring himself to lie and tell her he didn’t care, or to spill the truth and tell her they had to move on. He pummeled a fist into the mattress. Damn, damn, damn.

  He exhaled. “It wasn’t casual.”

  “Wasn’t, or isn’t?”

  Hell, he didn’t know. He couldn’t even explain why he’d called her. He just couldn’t take another minute of being away. “It’s late, Gabrielle. I need to sleep.”

  The sniffle that drifted through the receiver broke his heart into pieces. Damn it, she was crying. He hated those tears. And tonight he carried the sole responsibility for them. Shit.

  “Can I call you, Jake?”

  “Yeah, sugar.” He clutched the phone tighter, longing to be close enough he could wrap her in his arms and kiss away those damnable tears. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Okay. Sweet dreams.”

  “You too.” He flipped the phone closed and dropped it on the mattress. Pushing a hand through his hair, he sat upright.

  You’re the one who left. I don’t have any other options.

  As he stared out the window in search of answers, her words echoed in his mind. He had left. Like he’d turned his back on his mother. He’d given her no other alternative and walked away, fully aware that the stubborn woman would do as she damn well pleased. He’d forced her hand. Left her with no other alternative.

  A sense of foreboding crawled down his spine. In his haste to escape the memories of the past, he’d done the same damn thing all over again. Gabrielle would take Mamoon to Scottsdale. He’d known this, but tonight it hit home with a meteor’s impact. She’d get herself killed with that nutty stallion. Maybe not at Scottsdale, but given enough time, Mamoon would turn on her as the fucking stallion’d turned on his mother.

  Absently, Jake fingered the tattoo around his bicep. Once again, he’d carry the blame if he let Gabrielle go through with this. He’d be damned if he let that happen. He would not be responsible for Gabrielle’s death under any circumstances.

  And the only way to make sure she stayed safe was to put Mamoon where he’d wanted to from the get go—in the ground. The euthanasia mandate sitting in his desk drawer at home would guarantee Gabrielle’s safety. She’d hate him. All those pretty words of love, and all the monumental feelings hearing her say them brought, would vanish as soon as she saw his signature on the document. But this time, he’d stand right there beside the goddamn vet and make sure it happened. She could hate him eternally, but he’d sacrifice anything to protect her.

  Sleep forgotten, Jake jumped to his feet and jerked his clothes on. He stuffed his feet in his boots, shoved his arms into his coat, and stormed out the door. He’d never make the pick up in Tallahassee, not with a stop in Houston. But he could still make the next run in New Hampshire a week from now.

  As he hauled himself inside his cab, he glanced down at the clock. One a.m. He could make it another few hours before exhaustion forced him to pull over on the side of the road. He had another four before his logbook dictated he rest, as it was. That would give him roughly eleven hours, ten if he pushed the speed limit, before he had to stop again. Three days, and he’d be in Houston.

  Three days before he destroyed the possibility of any future with Gabrielle. He gritted his teeth and started the ignition.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chores done, Gabrielle sat at the kitchen table and pushed her eggs around in a sloppy puddle. Every time she thought about taking a bite, her stomach rolled over. Telling Jake she loved him had been a bad idea. His silence told her that more loudly than if he’d shouted it at her. Stupidly, she’d egged him o
n for an explanation of where they were headed. No woman in her right mind did that with a man who obviously wanted distance. She might as well have bought herself a one-way ticket to eternal singlehood.

  She shoved her plate aside and dragged the calendar in front of her.

  Margie’s hand appeared out of nowhere, automatically collecting Gabrielle’s uneaten food. “What’s the matter with you? You haven’t touched your food.”

  “Eight days. We have eight days until Scottsdale, and Mamoon isn’t near ready. I don’t know how this is going to fall together.” Gabrielle jammed a pen down on the date and circled it. A frown tugged at her brow as she stared at the months. She’d forgotten something. The big red X on the sixth meant something important.

  Margie sat down across from her and folded her elbows on the table. “Gabrielle, you’re avoiding my question. Why aren’t you eating?”

  Still staring at the calendar, Gabrielle answered, “I talked to Jake last night.” Might as well spill all the ugly details—the sooner she did, the sooner Margie would stop hinting for an explanation. Then Gabrielle could put this disastrous affair behind her. Jake didn’t love her. Hell, he didn’t even want her as far as she could tell.

  It wasn’t casual.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his words. If it wasn’t casual, then what the hell was it? It certainly didn’t look permanent.

  “What did he say?”

  “I told him I loved…” Her eyes went wide as the date suddenly clicked into place. “Oh shit!”

  Margie spit a mouthful of coffee back into her mug. “You told him you loved him? How’d that go over? And why are you cursing?”

  Gabrielle stared at the calendar in disbelief. How could she be so foolish? Her stomach pitched violently. This wasn’t happening. “I forgot to go in for my shot, Margie. With buying Mamoon, Jake, the storm—one thing after another, I completely forgot.”

  Margie looked at her as if she’d suddenly grown horns. “What in the world are you talking about? Would you go back to the whole telling Jake you loved him?”

  Shoving the calendar out of sight, Gabrielle tamped down a rush of panic. She swallowed once, twice, and took a deep breath. “Birth control. I’ve been having sex like a damn bunny and completely forgot about protection.” She dropped her forehead to the table with a groan. “How could I be so stupid?”

  As if someone flipped a light switch on her emotions, tears burst free. The calamity of her conversation with Jake, the obvious way he avoided comment on their relationship, his hurry to leave—everything compounded. What an absolute disaster. In less than a month, she’d shot her entire life to hell. Broken heart, psychotic horse, guaranteed loss at Scottsdale from the way things were going, and now the added worry of pregnancy. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed into the tabletop.

  The chair scraped across the floor as Margie moved to Gabrielle’s side and rubbed her back. “It’s not the end of the world, sweetie.”

  “Oh, but it is. You don’t understand, Margie. Jake doesn’t want me. He lit out of here like he was on fire.” Sniffling, she wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and lifted her head. “This can’t get any worse.”

  Margie’s expression tugged into a frown, but she kept her voice low, her tone comforting. “Surely, you can understand why he can’t stay here, given his circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?” The absurdity sparked Gabrielle’s annoyance. She flung her hand toward the door. “He left. He’s on the road. I offered to pay him to help me out. There’s no circumstance in that. I can compensate any loss he might take by missing a haul. And don’t you dare give me some speech about male pride.”

  Margie stood up, her lower lip drawn between her teeth, a mannerism Gabrielle knew all too well. She knew something. Some God-awful truth she thought would upset Gabrielle further. It was the same look she wore the afternoon she’d informed Gabrielle her father had hit the roof in the barn when he caught wind of her plans to leave. The same damn expression she’d worn when she broke the news to Gabrielle that she’d caught Tony with another woman.

  “What do you know?” Gabrielle asked slowly.

  Her gaze fastened out the window, Margie asked, “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

  The hair on the back of Gabrielle’s neck stood upright. She didn’t want to hear what came next. Was he married? How the hell would Margie know anything about Jake? She ground her teeth together as anger sparked. “What did he tell you that he should have told me?”

  Margie shook her head. “He didn’t tell me anything, Gabrielle. I recognized him. When I did the internship with Dr. Ramirez, he used to bring his horses in all the time.”

  “His horses? He said he worked for someone who had horses years ago.”

  Slowly, Margie turned around to look at her. Worry drew her face into sharp lines, and she fidgeted her hands at her waist. “Does the name Lindsey-Sullivan ring any bells?”

  Gabrielle grabbed at the tabletop to steady the room’s sudden sway. Ring any bells? Everyone who was anyone in Arabian horses recognized the name. No wonder Jake knew horses so damn well. His mother was a trainer for God’s sake. He’d grown up showing. Horses were in his blood. “Asshole,” she spat.

  To her complete surprise, Margie rushed to her elbow. “Don’t. Don’t condemn him, Gabrielle. He can’t take the horses, I’m sure. He didn’t tell me anything, but I heard rumors. He left the horse world after his mother’s death.”

  The fight went out of Gabrielle. She slumped in her chair, confusion jumbling her thoughts. With an inward groan, she remembered the first conversation she’d had with Jake. She’d told him she knew of a trainer who’d been killed by a horse. God, how could she have been so insensitive? She’d sat right there in front of him and referred to his mother. No wonder his name had circulated out of the show circuit.

  “But I don’t need him to be in horses, Margie,” Gabrielle confessed on a whisper. “He can drive that damn truck all over creation, for all I care. I just want to be with him. Have him come home to me.”

  Margie crossed the room to retrieve her overly large bag-purse combination and set it on the table. Curious, Gabrielle watched as her best friend rifled through the satchel, her frown deepening with each shuffled piece of paper.

  “When I left that first afternoon, he told me he’d tell you.” She pulled out a crinkled magazine. “I dug this out of my attic, expecting he’d leave something out. I never thought he’d skip the whole story.” Hesitantly, she pushed the magazine in front of Gabrielle.

  Dropping her gaze, Gabrielle took in the picture on the cover. A petite woman, close to Gabrielle’s size, stood in the center of a show arena. In her hand she loosely held a leather lead affixed to a liver chestnut horse’s halter. The stallion stood in full halter pose, his flaxen mane glinting against the flash of cameras. Across the top of the photo, the caption read, “Stephanie Lindsey-Sullivan Killed by Champion Stallion.”

  Her stomach took another nosedive. The name on Jake’s tattoo—the initials she’d made out—his mother’s name. But why the ghoulish face? She studied the horse more closely, despair lodging a lump in the back of her throat. That couldn’t be Mamoon she held in hand. It couldn’t.

  Margie’s hand closed around her upper arm with an affectionate squeeze. “Let him go, Gabrielle. It isn’t personal. Read that, and you’ll understand.”

  Somehow she already did. What lay inside the magazine, she absolutely didn’t want to hear. Her horse. Her psychotic stallion that Jake had worked with every afternoon had killed his mother. Oh, God, no. He’d tried to warn her. Tried to tell her the horse was dangerous. She’d been too caught up in everything to pay a damn bit of attention.

  As she flipped the magazine open, dread rolled around in her belly. Dimly, she heard her back door close.

  ****

  Gabrielle stood near the table and stared down at the magazine. She lifted her coffee cup with both hands and took a long drink. Everything made sense now. Jake’s
knowledge of horses, the way he became a different, happier person when he spent time in the barn. The way he went from calm to furious every time Mamoon blew up and she happened to be in the way. His inability to stay. His refusal to talk about his time with horses. It all clicked into place.

  Except for one fact—his mother’s actual death. Stephanie had trained Mamoon for more than a year before the fatal blowup. By that time, she should have known what set him off, what his triggers were. The article said Jake had discovered her body in their barn and referenced she’d fallen near the pitchfork. While it was entirely possible Mamoon’s fear of pitchforks began that afternoon, Gabrielle would have wagered her entire trust fun and savings that Stephanie Lindsey-Sullivan wouldn’t threaten a horse with a pitchfork. The article stated Mamoon had come to her a basket case, which further convinced Gabrielle his fears stemmed from earlier years. Stephanie had to have known them.

  Why would she have a pitchfork so close?

  That didn’t make sense at all. Nor did the compassionate nature her horse exhibited when he wasn’t afraid. If he’d acted like a crazy idiot all the time, Gabrielle could see how anyone would believe the horse deadly. But he wasn’t. His episodes stemmed from fear. The photographs of Stephanie and Mamoon further illustrated that point. Shots of Mamoon nuzzling her, stills of her rubbing her cheek against his muzzle—the pair had gotten along. Just like she got along with him.

  So what in the world had really happened? What set Mamoon off?

  Further, why wasn’t he dead? The article specifically stated that he was to be euthanized in a settlement. Jake had pressed charges against the owner, then dropped everything when George Sheffield agreed to put Mamoon down.

  She took another drink and glanced out the window at the barn. Nothing would convince her that horse would purposefully try to harm her. She’d been in his way, but not once had he turned that temper on her. He may have killed Jake’s mother, but something drove him to it.