Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  Dumbstruck by Margie’s sharp reprimand, Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open. She quickly snapped it shut and blinked. “Just what is that supposed to mean? Good grief, Margie, you act like I don’t have the right to be upset at all.”

  Rising to take her plate to the sink, Margie muttered something unintelligible. “It isn’t that. I just can’t stand to see you upset over a guy who doesn’t deserve your energy.” The plate clattered into the sink, and Margie set her hands on her hips. “He didn’t tell you the truth, and, yeah, I see the guy has reason to keep that kind of thing to himself, but, good Lord, he made promises. Maybe he didn’t come right out and say them, but he sure as hell let you believe them. He’s not worth your time.”

  “Maybe not. But that doesn’t change the way I feel. I’d like to wave a magic wand and erase all this. Especially the part where I still miss him. I still stay up at night thinking of ways to get him back.”

  Margie’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t you dare. You let him grovel if you want him back. Don’t you go running to him.”

  Easier said than done, Gabrielle argued with an inward groan. If Margie knew how many times she’d tried to call Jake, Margie would come unglued. If she knew how many pathetic messages she’d left, asking him to call, Margie’d whack her over the head with the skillet she presently scrubbed.

  “Do I have naïve written on my forehead?” Gabrielle asked.

  The look Margie gave her said she’d lost her mind. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m just wondering what it is about me that even prompted Jake into this in the first place.”

  Margie’s hands stilled over the soapy water. “Let’s change the subject. I think we should leave early for the show. I’ll set the phones to route to Dr. Venson’s clinic over in Ness, and we can leave a couple days ahead of time. It would do you good to get out of here for a bit.”

  “No. I want to know. What is it about me, Margie?”

  “If I tell you, you aren’t going to pick up that phone the minute I go home, are you?”

  Apprehension lifted the hairs along Gabrielle’s arms. One of these days, she’d understand how her best friend knew so much more about relationships than she did. It wasn’t as if Margie had a long list of love affairs to compare to.

  “Depends on what you’re going to say.”

  With a shake of her head, Margie plunged her hands back into the water. “I think he liked you, Gabrielle. I think everything you’ve told me was genuine, if you really want to know the truth. I don’t know what misfired in his brain, or where he gets off thinking he can treat you this way, but while he was here… I think it was every bit as real as you’ve said.”

  Gabrielle swallowed hard. She wasn’t prepared for Margie to suddenly change her tune and confirm the things she suspected about Jake. She turned her gaze back to the show materials to hide the sudden rush of tears. If Jake cared so much, where was he now? Why wouldn’t he answer her calls?

  “Do you think time will help?”

  The peal of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” from Margie’s satchel squelched her response. Drying her hands on her jeans, she went to the ringing cell phone. “Dr. Simmons.” She cocked the phone on her shoulder. “Oh, hi, Jim. What’s the problem?” She turned to Gabrielle and mouthed, Emergency.

  Perfect. Friday night and the only person capable of keeping her from crawling into her bed and giving over to a crying jag had clients to take care of. How come these things couldn’t happen when she wasn’t in the middle of a crisis?

  “Yeah, Jim. I can do that. I’m down at Gabrielle’s. I’ll be back at the house in fifteen. Meet me there.” She snapped her phone closed and dropped it into her satchel. “I have to run. Jim Wilson’s dog is whelping and has pups stuck.”

  “Okay. Come by tomorrow.”

  With an acknowledging wave of her hand, Margie flew out the back door.

  Alone again. Gabrielle’s gaze inched across the room to the far corner of the countertop where her cell phone sat.

  I think it was every bit as real as you’ve said.

  Was it? Was Jake sitting in a hotel room somewhere and too afraid to call?

  She pushed herself out of her chair and went to the phone. Flipping it over in her hands, she debated. Call him and look spineless. Give him the power to walk over her some more. Don’t call and let him think she’d gotten so angry she never wanted to hear from him again. Call and maybe…

  Her pulse accelerated as she flipped the phone open and dialed. She tapped her foot as the line rang…and rang…and rang.

  “This is Jake. I’ll call you back when I can.”

  “Call me, Jake.” Gabrielle snapped the phone shut. Right. Like he’d returned any of her previous calls. He’d ignore this one too, and go on with his happy, carefree life on the road. A sudden burst of anger roared through her. “Damn you, Jake!” With a powerful swing, she sent the phone flying across the room. It slammed into the wall and shattered.

  As she stared at the broken pieces, tears welled in her eyes. Alone, scared, and now the one means of contacting him lay in a useless heap on her carpet. If he decided to return this call, it wouldn’t make a difference.

  Defeated, she sank to the floor and gave over to sobs.

  ****

  Jake’s gaze flickered to his cell phone as it beeped, indicating Gabrielle had left another message. Like all the others, he vowed he’d listen to it later. When the sound of her voice didn’t cut him into shreds.

  “Avoiding someone?” Manuel asked from across the table.

  “Hm?” Pulled back to the racket of blaring televisions and rowdy voices as a nearby table of men cheered on a basketball game, Jake looked at his companion.

  “I said, are you avoiding someone?”

  “Oh.” He fingered the paper on his beer bottle absently. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Two bristly salt-and-pepper eyebrows arched. “Got trouble? She have something to do with calling out of the blue and asking me to have a beer with you?”

  She. How in the hell did Manuel know it was a woman? Jake frowned. “Yes and no. It’s a long story, and I can’t talk about it right now.”

  Manuel set his beer down slowly. Concern filled his dark brown eyes as he fixed Jake with a probing stare. “Are you in trouble, Jake?”

  Jake almost laughed aloud. Trouble. That wholly depended on how one looked at the situation. “Not exactly.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  Jake leaned back in his chair and signaled to the waitress for another round. “That horse that killed Mom… I ran into him recently.”

  Manuel sat forward, his elbows propped on the table. He pushed aside an empty bottle and clasped his hands. “And?”

  “And he’s still as crazy as he’s always been. I talked to Albert. Sheffield never put the beast down like he should have. Albert’s going to push it through the courts. But he asked me to talk to you and forewarn you we’ll probably have to fight it all over again.”

  Manuel’s hands tightened as he closed his eyes. When he looked at Jake again, his dark eyes glittered black. He lifted his hand, ran it through his thick, graying hair, then stabbed his index finger toward Jake. “You kill that horse, boy, and you spit on your mother’s memory. I’ll have no part of this.”

  Stunned, Jake gaped. He spluttered a moment, searching for some sort of response. Spit on his mother’s memory? How? The horse had killed her, for God’s sake. She’d be glad it paid a price. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he managed, “What the hell do you mean?

  Manuel’s gaze narrowed as he folded his arms over his chest. “Three years, you stayed gone. Are you finally ready to listen to what happened that afternoon? Or are you still too busy carrying around guilt you have no business feeling?”

  The waitress arrived, and Jake passed her a handful of bills. Manuel glanced at his bottle, but didn’t pick it up. Unlike Jake, who took a long swig in hopes the uneasy feeling in his gut would settle. After a few moments of silence, he answered wit
h a slow nod. “I’m listening.”

  With a jerk of his head, Manuel indicated the patio. “Let’s go out there, it’s quieter.”

  Jake hardly had time to stand before Manuel pushed open the glass door. He followed slowly, feeling more like he was walking to his own funeral than like he’d glean any useful information.

  Metal scraped against concrete as Jake pulled out a chair. He sat down with a heavy sigh. “So…talk.”

  “Your mother—she loved that horse, Jake. And that horse loved her.”

  Mmm-hmm. Loved her enough to kill her. That made sense.

  At Jake’s disbelieving snort, Manuel held up his hand. “No, you listen.”

  Taking another long drink, Jake nodded. “Go on.”

  “You didn’t see it because you swore off that stallion. But those two had a bond. They played together as much as they worked together. I’ve never seen your mother prouder of what she did with a horse.”

  Jake had to agree with that. While he may have missed the playful moments, he hadn’t missed the excitement that bubbled in his mother’s voice every time she talked about Mamoon. He dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

  “Stephanie was glad you refused to help her. Your distance let her figure out that horse. It took almost six months before she did, but when it all clicked together, she could predict what he’d do long before I think he even considered it. That day she died, Jake…” As if the memory pained him, Manuel closed his eyes. He steepled his fingertips and leaned back in the wrought iron chair. He didn’t look at Jake as he spoke. “That nutty horse tried to protect her.”

  Jake choked on his beer. Wheezing, he set the bottle down with too much force. Beer spilled over the top and soaked his hand. He let out an oath beneath his breath and wiped his hand on his jeans. “That’s absurd.”

  Manuel fixed him with a heavy stare. “You didn’t see it. And you were too busy bulldozing ahead with a lawsuit that only focused your Mother’s dying.” His gaze narrowed. “The only question anyone ever asked me was, ‘Did he step on her head?’ Course he did. There’s no disputing that, but no one wanted to hear anything else. That pig you hired reduced the rest of my statements in court to emotional misjudgment. He made a damn fool out of me once he heard what he wanted.”

  As his voice rose and crimson color crept into his cheeks, Manuel paused to look at the passing cars. After several moments of silence, he took a deep breath and looked back to Jake. “You remember that young kid, Ramón?”

  “The one who couldn’t figure out what a flake of hay was even after six months of working there?”

  With a chuckle, Manuel nodded. “The same. You ever wonder why no one could find him after you showed up?”

  Unease filtered through Jake. He answered with a hesitant shake of his head.

  “He ran off ’cause he knew it was his fault. He was cleaning stalls that afternoon, right after you left. Like he owned the world, he pranced down that barn aisle with a pitchfork balanced on his shoulder.”

  Anticipating what came next, Jake cringed. He’d witnessed firsthand what happened when Mamoon saw forks. “It set him off,” he murmured.

  “Not like you want to think. Mamoon took one look at that fork and tried to put himself between your mother and it. She was trying to get around him to grab his halter and get him out of there, when Ramón tried to defend himself against Mamoon’s hooves. He got a good whack in, but Mamoon got a good chunk out of his side too.”

  The scene played out vividly in Jake’s mind. Almost identical to what had happened in the arena, only Gabrielle had been on the opposite end. Damn, she’d come too close. He sucked in a sharp breath and braced himself for what came next.

  “Your mom fell. Mamoon didn’t know where his hind end was from his front end, he was so upset about that fork. When Ramón yelled for me, I came out in time to see Mamoon stomp that pitchfork in half. Like a snake, I tell you—he tried to kill it. Stephanie just got in the way of his hind hooves.”

  Anguish stabbed through Jake as he visualized how he’d found his mother. His chest tightened, the memory raw despite the passing of three years. Through clenched teeth, he exhaled and dropped his gaze to his half-empty beer. “How do you figure that was protecting?”

  “Because I saw it before. Same sort of scene with a whip. Only, your mom could shake a whip at that horse all day long, and he never flinched. She could muck out his stall with a pitchfork. He stayed out of her way, he never tried to hurt her. The rest of us though…” He trailed off as he gazed up at the stars.

  “The rest of you what?”

  “Anytime we got near your mother with something—hell, anytime we got near her period—I tell you, he put himself between her and everything. Other horses, horses he got along with across fences even, he’d get all pissed off if they got too close to her. God bless his pea-brain, he tried to protect her.”

  Jake rolled his beer between his hands. What Manuel claimed defied logic. That was the sort of behavior dogs exhibited. But horses? Impossible.

  “Don’t you kill that horse, Jake. Not if you ever want to look at yourself in the mirror again.”

  ****

  Jake picked up a framed picture of his mother and thumbed away the dust. She sat atop a grey mare wearing a wide smile. A long blue ribbon dangled from the horse’s halter, and at the mare’s shoulder, he held a small silver trophy. Nationals. He’d been ten that year, and, for the first time, he’d understood what winning felt like.

  He set the photograph back down and wandered around his study. Manuel’s words rang in his ears as he took in the memorabilia on the walls. Mamoon had protected her? The concept defied reason. Yet, Manuel seemed convinced of it.

  If Jake allowed himself to believe the fanciful story, the events he’d witnessed in Gabrielle’s barn made sense. Mamoon behaved the same way with her. The incident with the pitchfork, the way he pinned back his ears at Rajiv—exactly what Manuel recited. But why? He could understand a horse bonding with someone after months of training, but Gabrielle had owned Mamoon little more than a week. Why latch on to her so strongly, so quickly?

  He blew the dust off another photograph and stopped short. When had this one been taken? He certainly hadn’t been the photographer. Standing outside their training stables, someone had captured his mother in a timeless show of affection…with Mamoon. His neck was stretched out as if he were in halter stance, while she leaned forward to kiss his muzzle.

  If nothing else Manuel said was true, he hadn’t exaggerated the love portion. Jake’s mother loved that horse. Something deep inside his gut rolled over.

  All his life, he’d listened to his mother when it came to horses. Maybe not in other aspects—true he’d learned some lessons the hard way—but when it came to training, he never questioned her knowledge. She’d never once been wrong. If she predicted a horse would win, they’d come home with blues. She also knew when they’d come home with nothing.

  His mother had the innate knowledge to anticipate a horse’s behavior if she’d worked with one long enough. Some called it talent. Others called it natural ability. Whatever it was, her uncanny horse sense elevated her to the heights of training success. These trophies symbolized that, but more than the pretty ornaments, the photographs captured her as she always had been—full of life, smart, and dedicated. So dedicated she’d taught her son everything she could.

  And if he’d stop hiding behind all the things he didn’t want to face, he’d embrace the fact he possessed the same damnable instincts, the same unquenchable love for horses, she’d had. Deep inside, he didn’t need logic to believe in Manuel’s words. What Jake knew of his mother told the truth.

  He peered at the snapshot more closely and sucked in a sharp breath. Had it been that long since he’d really looked at her? Good God, how blind could he get? No wonder Mamoon had bonded with Gabrielle. The setting sun cast shadows on the pair, muting color and giving the photograph a silhouetted effect. In the dim light, Jake caught the resemblance. Same height, simil
ar build, identical heart. To a horse, with a limited faculty to reason, Gabrielle looked like his mother. She acted like her too—quiet voice, soft hands, fearless.

  His heart kicked against his ribs as everything sifted into place. Damn it all, that crazy horse thought he was protecting her. And taking Mamoon to the giant of all Arabian shows was like asking him to let someone swing a pitchfork at her head.

  He dropped the photograph and bolted out the door, down the hall, and to his room where he grabbed his cell phone off the dresser. He dialed by heart, the many times he’d hovered over her number debating to call having etched the digits into his mind. “Come on, pick up, damn it.”

  He glanced at the clock when her voice mail picked up. Hanging up, he redialed. He had to warn her, had to let her know Mamoon couldn’t handle the show. Not unless she could find a way to anticipate his fears and his worries and guide him through them before he had time to react.

  Her voice mail answered again, and he swore beneath his breath. At the beep, he instructed, “Gabby, it’s me. I know it’s late, but call me as soon as you get this.”

  He hit the disconnect button and stared at the device. There had to be a way to reach her. Pacing through his room, he considered his options. If she wasn’t near her cell phone, chances were she wasn’t at home to hear the home phone. Think, damn it, think.

  Struck by inspiration, he punched in the number for information. “Ransom, Kansas,” he told the automatic voice that prompted him for city and state. When the operator answered, he said, “I’m looking for the vet’s number.”

  “Last name, or clinic name?”

  “I don’t have them. She’s the only vet in Ransom.”

  “I’ll do a yellow-pages search, one moment please.” The phone clicked as she did something on the other end, and the line began to ring.

  Jake paced his bedroom as he listened to the tones. But on the fourth, Margie’s voice mail answered. “Dr. Simmons here. I’m away from my phone or on a call. Leave a message, and I will call you back.”

  “Damn,” he swore as he hung up. Dread filtered into his stomach as awareness settled through him. He’d ignored Gabrielle’s phone calls, hadn’t bothered to return them. Hell, he hadn’t even listened to her damn voicemail yet. He’d been too busy being a coward. Why would she answer now? Any rational woman would have gotten the hint and vanished.