Nevertheless, everything she’d read explained Jake’s behavior. It also drove home the realization that no matter how much she loved him, he wouldn’t be coming back. She couldn’t fault him for that; she probably wouldn’t either. That he’d stayed so long, offered to help her with Mamoon, spoke volumes. Anything more… She couldn’t even muster the hope.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked back to the table and dragged the calendar in front of her. Ten days with Jake, plus seventeen days from the sixth… She did the math and groaned aloud.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d practically been wearing a big fat neon sign that blazed fertile. With a shake of her head, she dismissed the thought. No use stressing over it now. She’d heard countless stories about how it took women years to get their systems back on track and get pregnant after coming off the shot. She might have taken a risk, but the chances weren’t terribly high.
Besides, she couldn’t do anything about it until she knew for certain, and she wouldn’t be able to discover that until after Scottsdale. Any test beforehand would be too early.
Worrying about it now was just another unnecessary stress that would distract her from what she needed to focus on. And right now, her attention needed to be one hundred percent on Mamoon.
When she returned from the show, she’d deal with the predicament of possible pregnancy.
One thing at a time.
Otherwise, she’d lose what little sanity she had left.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gabrielle slid Mamoon’s stall door shut with a heave. “Good boy.”
She grabbed the armload of tack and trudged down the aisle to the tack room. Meticulously wiping down the leather, she hung each piece up with care and stepped through what she’d learned about her stallion in their late evening session.
Hoofpicks were touchy things. He’d let her pick out his feet, but he wasn’t at all certain about whether he ought to resist or ought to stand still. Peppermints did the trick there—distract him before each hoof, and he didn’t dance sideways in an attempt to evade. She made a mental note to forewarn the farrier the next time she had his hooves trimmed. Might not be a bad idea to have Margie around for a touch of sedative either.
He did far better outside his stall than inside it. She could only surmise that either the horse had a touch of claustrophobia, or he associated the stall with some terrible memory. Likely a combination of both. Either way, she got much farther with her requests and he stayed much calmer when he had room around him. Not something that boded well for Scottsdale with the rows and rows of stalls, and little room for movement. The aisles too would be crowded with people and horses. The most space she’d be able to obtain would be in the arena.
And to her utter disbelief, when she’d had to move the manure pick out of the middle of the aisle, Mamoon hadn’t so much as flinched. In a moment of what Jake would call stupidity, she’d tested the discovery further and pointed the tool at Mamoon. His eyes grew huge, and he back-stepped a pace, but he didn’t explode. She hadn’t pushed the encounter and quickly got rid of the tool before her luck ran out.
All in all, today marked success. Scottsdale would challenge them both, but after this evening Gabrielle no longer feared it would turn into a humiliating event.
Tack put away, she exited the room. For the first time in three days, a smile touched her face as she made her way down the barn aisle, out the door, and toward the house. He’d done good, darn good, today. Starting with before-dawn training with Margie and Rajiv and ending with an after-dinner solo grooming session, he’d been as gentle as a puppy all day. She’d even let both boys out to play in the arena after Margie went into the clinic and didn’t have a bit of trouble bringing Mamoon back into his stall.
But as she entered her house and the emptiness surrounded her, her smile faded. Though Mamoon had progressed, three days had passed since she’d spoken to Jake. He hadn’t called, and she’d hadn’t tried reaching him.
She plopped down in the recliner near the fireplace and snuggled into the cushions with her feet beneath her. In the barn she could keep busy enough that memories didn’t haunt her. Here, however, he was everywhere. She couldn’t take a step through the house without reliving some conversation they’d had, something they’d done together.
She tried to stay angry. Tried to use reason to understand his distance, and, although on one hand his decisions made complete sense, on the other, nothing made sense at all. When she closed her eyes and his face rose to the forefront of her mind, she could read the emotion behind his eyes. He’d cared for her. How could that just…go away?
She stared at the coffee table, eyeing her cell phone. Ring, damn it.
What was he doing? Was he near Tallahassee for that load of oats? Or was he sitting in some truck stop for a late-night meal? If she could just see him one more time, all this nonsense would disappear. They’d find a way to make it work.
She let out a sigh and fought the rise of tears.
Try as she might to keep the issue buried in the back of her mind, she couldn’t keep pregnancy out of her thoughts. The prospect terrified her. Margie refused to discuss it, told her she was worrying unnecessarily. The odds weren’t likely after being on the shot for so long. But in her bones, Gabrielle suspected she was in trouble. Not that she couldn’t handle raising a child on her own. She had the time, the means, and certainly the capacity to love. But this…
This she didn’t want to do alone. Beyond that, Jake deserved to know. No, she argued with herself, his deserving to know had nothing to do with her wanting to tell him. She was scared, and Jake was the only one who could soothe that fear. She didn’t want him rushing back here for that reason alone. Obligation would never fix the underlying issues. Still, it didn’t change the fact she loved him, and this was their issue. She wanted him at her side no matter what the outcome might be.
She kicked her feet out and reached for the phone. Jake always knew what to say to make things better. He understood her, somehow. Knew what she needed to hear. He’d encouraged her with Mamoon, despite his protests against the horse’s sanity. He’d known what to say about her father. No, he didn’t do so well with tears—she chuckled at the memory—but he understood.
He’d said she could call…
She hit dial, and listened to the buzz on the other end of the line. On the fourth, his voice mail picked up. With closed eyes she said, “Jake, it’s me, Gabrielle. Please call. I miss you, and I have something I want to talk to you about.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “I know about your mom… I love you, Jake. I’m so sorry.”
Hanging up, she set the phone on the table and offered up a silent prayer that he’d call her back.
****
Road weary and heartsore, Jake watched the light on the face of his cell phone go dark. He couldn’t talk to Gabrielle. If he did, it would only reawaken all the things he’d buried in the last few days. She lingered too close to the surface, the memories too easy to get lost in again. And he couldn’t. He had nothing to offer her, no way of explaining his behavior, and no matter how he tried to find a solution to the things that made loving her impossible, he couldn’t.
They were doomed from the get go, and better that she hurt now than he drag it out and hurt her even more later.
He reclined in his office chair and glanced around the small room. A thin layer of dust covered his desk, the product of three years of disuse. Ribbons hung on his walls, a bright array of color that reminded him why he’d left this house. Each nook and cranny held some trophy, some plaque, some reminder of horses. Just the short walk from his front door to his office assaulted him with memories of the only thing he’d ever been good at.
Just like his mother, he was now destined for solitude. He’d never known his father. No, that worthless piece of trash had bailed when what was supposed to be a brief summer entertainment turned him into a dad. Jake’s mother had been stubborn, like Gabrielle. She’d had him, then thrown herself into horses. A few guys had com
e and gone over the years, but his mother’s driving need to succeed with horses eventually ran them all away.
Ironic. His driving need to escape horses condemned him to the same aloneness.
His gaze fell on a discarded photograph near an old show bill. Leaning forward, he reached for it and stared down at the image of his mother. Her bright, smiling face radiated contentment as she stood next to Mamoon. She’d ridden him for the first time that afternoon, and Jake could still hear the excitement in her voice. Four hours later, she took her last breath.
Damn that crazy fucking horse.
He squinted at the photograph. What the hell? A small riding crop rose behind his mother’s back, its handle tucked into her back pocket. Mamoon mouthed the wide bat end, his posture one of complete ease.
Jake blinked.
Everything came back in a rush. He’d taken the photograph because the horse had been playing with the whip. Mamoon’s behavior had been so amusing, so outright ridiculous as he tried to pull the whip out of his mother’s pocket time and again, Jake couldn’t resist cementing the memory. Though his mother laughed in the picture, she’d been annoyed that she couldn’t keep the stallion’s attention on anything but the game.
It was one of the few times he’d witnessed Mamoon since the God-awful day his mother unloaded the nightmare. He’d been impressed at how calm and submissive Mamoon had become. He’d intended to frame the photograph and give it to her for her birthday. A token of what could possibly be her greatest accomplishment.
She’d passed him the whip moments later, and he’d tossed it in the tack room on his way out of the barn. Distantly, he remembered his mother telling him in an early passing conversation, shortly after Mamoon’s arrival, that Mamoon hated whips.
He’d dismissed the comment, not wanting to know anything about the crazy thing she adamantly refused to return to its owners.
Hell, every time Mamoon saw a whip now, he turned into a lunatic. Had his taking that whip somehow triggered the stallion? Was he more of a contributor to his mother’s death than he’d believed?
He rubbed at his temples, trying to recall everything that had happened that day. Yet, try as he might, it all remained a blurry haze. The only thing he knew for certain, was that he’d come back from a dinner with a woman named Julie and found his mother dead.
That vision he saw in Technicolor.
Jake closed the barn the next morning. The horses left within the week. Manuel, his barn manager, had handled all the client negotiations and appointments. By the end of two weeks, not a single horsehair remained in the luxurious facility. Even the hay had been disposed of.
Jake hit the road somewhere between filing suit against Mamoon’s owners and his mother’s funeral. He hadn’t even attended that dark event. Still had yet to see her headstone outside of the catalogue photograph.
Christ, if he’d set off Mamoon by handling that whip…
He shook his head. That couldn’t be what pushed the horse into lunacy. The coroner said she hadn’t been dead much more than an hour. Something had triggered Mamoon after he’d left the barn.
With a frustrated sigh, he tossed the photograph on his desk and picked up the stapled legal document he’d been leafing through when Gabrielle had called. Whatever it was that made Mamoon turn murderous could happen again. And right now, the woman he’d give his life for was in danger.
Calm and complacent—just like the stallion had been that long ago morning.
Crazy and deadly lurked right around the corner.
He grimaced. Good thing he hadn’t answered the phone. He’d go from asshole to bastard the minute she discovered he’d been friendly with her while he plotted her horse’s destruction.
He’d make it up to her in time. Though she’d never see the gift as a peace offering, he’d buy her a stallion that would put Mamoon to shame. It wouldn’t undo the phone call he was about to make, but it would salvage her breeding program.
He picked up his phone and thumbed down to his attorney’s home number.
“Albert here.”
“Hey, Albert, this is Jake Lindsey-Sullivan.” The use of his given name felt strange on his tongue. He’d become so accustomed to plain old Sullivan, he’d forgotten how it sounded.
“Jake,” Albert boomed. “How are you, son?”
“I’ve been better. Listen, I just stopped in Houston after a brief trip to Kansas. You remember that crazy horse?”
The older man’s voice softened with compassion. “Of course I do. What’s going on?”
“He’s still alive, and still as crazy. I want you to move on this euthanasia order before he kills someone else.”
Albert Ross let out a rumbling mutter. “Knew we shouldn’t have let Sheffield handle it. What did he do, hide the horse?”
“He passed him around to unsuspecting owners. Can we get this pushed through within the next few weeks? The horse has a show coming up… I don’t want to screw with that. But that horse is going to hurt someone again.”
“No problem, son. We’ll probably have to fight it in court all over again. But if you can be available, we can get it rushed through. You might try and get in contact with your former barn manager. We’ll need him handy in case they want to review his earlier statements.”
“I’ll give him a call.”
“Okay. Let’s see, it’s Wednesday… Give me until Monday to see where we’re at. I’ll call you then.”
“Thanks, Albert.”
“Sure thing.”
Jake flipped his phone shut and set it on the desk. Mamoon would cease to exist before spring. He ought to be elated.
Instead, the bitter taste of bile rose to the back of his throat. He choked it down and opened his phone again, dialing from memory.
On the second ring, a man with a thick Spanish accent answered.
“Manuel? This is Jake.”
“Jake, Jake, good to hear you. How you doin’?”
“Good, and you?” Jake couldn’t hold back a smile. It was good to hear Manuel’s voice. Hell, the old man was the closest thing Jake had to a father. Letting three years pass without a single phone call bordered on criminal.
“You want me to come and work for you, yes?”
Jake chuckled. “No. I want to know if you’re busy Friday night. I’d like to take you out for a beer. Catch up a little.”
“A beer sounds good. What time?”
“I’ll come by and get you around seven. You still at the old house?”
“I’m still here. I’ll turn to dust here. These barns in my backyard though, Jake, they need horses in them.”
Jake ignored the not-so-subtle hint with a grimace. “I’ll see you at seven then.” Before Manuel could say more, Jake hung up.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“You want another?” Margie picked up Gabrielle’s margarita glass and waved it toward the blender.
When Gabrielle relocated to Kansas, Friday night became Mexican night—tacos, refried beans, and margaritas. Funny how, despite the fact her world had fallen to pieces, her routine stayed the same. She shook her head at Margie’s expectant look. “I better not. One’s enough.”
Margie refilled her own glass and rejoined Gabrielle at the table. She tapped the stack of show materials piled near the edge. “So, what are the plans?”
Grateful to get her mind off random thoughts of Jake and whether he liked Mexican or not, Gabrielle pulled the papers in front of her and laid out several smaller stacks. “I late-entried Rajiv. Both of them will be in the senior stallion classes, and, if they do well—or if even one does well—we’ll go for the Championships. I also took a risk and put them in open class where Mamoon might see a bit of serious competition with the Mullars’ new four-year-old, if they enter him.”
“Slow down. These are names I haven’t heard in years. The Mullars? Don’t they own the stables down the road from your folks?”
Gabrielle nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been hearing a lot about this grey colt they bought.”
Margie gazed at Gabrielle over the rim of her glass. “And your folks?”
With a perturbed frown, Gabrielle pursed her lips and tapped the show bill again. “Maharazad will be there, you can bet your truck on it. He’ll be right there competing with my boys. Watch your back. Alan has been known to get a little friendly with his whip if another competitor gives him a run for his money.” Her father’s trainer had never been one for scruples, a fact Gabrielle despised. The cocky asshole would have thrown a tantrum if Jake had shown against him. Alan would have been knocked down a few notches too.
But Jake wasn’t going to be there, and it was high time Gabrielle got that through her thick head. She picked up the pamphlet and passed it to Margie. “We have classes on two mornings, with the championship round on the third. I also asked to have our stalls moved.”
“Moved? Why?” Margie downed the last of her margarita and went to the stove for another plateful of tacos.
“Because of Mamoon. If he’s going to throw a fit, I don’t want him near all the eyes. Dad’s going to have reason enough to gloat. No sense letting him know I’m in over my head with this stallion.”
“Oh.” Sitting back down, Margie crunched into her shell. “Why am I eating seconds when you hardly finished your first three?”
Gabrielle glanced at the remaining half a taco on her plate. “I don’t feel like eating.”
“You haven’t eaten much since Jake left. You’ve got to get over this, Gabrielle. I know it isn’t easy, but you can’t just shut down. And if you are pregnant, you’d better eat.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” As a flicker of annoyance lit in her veins, Gabrielle turned her frown on Margie. “You aren’t the one facing a show that will either make or break you with a stallion you can’t depend on and the only person who can make him really shine just stomped all over your heart. Add into that a pregnancy scare, and, Margie, you have no idea how impossible eating is.”
“I don’t?” One dark eyebrow lifted in reproach. “You aren’t going through this all alone. Don’t make it sound like you’re flying solo here.”
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