Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  Her best friend wouldn’t acknowledge him either. Especially since she’d had to clean up the mess he’d left behind.

  It was too late for phone calls.

  He stopped at the foot of his bed and stared at his duffle bag.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Night blanketed the Arizona show grounds as Margie eased the truck and trailer into the unloading area. Bright lights filtered out from the elaborate barns, and colorful banners hung on the walls, announcing the upcoming event. From a distant rotunda, laughter and the faint ring of music drifted in the air—the banquet celebration where all the top owners and trainers gathered the night before the show to celebrate the affair.

  Gabrielle glanced out the open passenger’s window and took a deep breath of fresh pine, leather oil, and fly spray. A deep sense of comfort seeped through her veins, and she gave in to a smile. Finally. She’d made it to Scottsdale despite her father’s attempts to shatter her confidence.

  He’d be at that banquet, along with her mother. And Mom, as she had for all of Gabrielle’s life, would listen to Daddy boast and brag, quietly nodding to encourage him. Mom had never been able to call Daddy’s bluff. Not the way Gabrielle had. No, dear old Mom only offered excuses if someone dared to point out Henry Warrenton’s flaws. He doesn’t mean it, dear. You’re the light of his life.

  Right. The only light in her father’s life came from the gleam of trophies his creep of a trainer lugged out of the show ring. Gabrielle frowned. That wasn’t entirely correct. Her father’s eyes gleamed when he had the upper hand on someone’s future.

  “Stop frowning. You agreed not to think about anything but the show while we’re down here,” Margie chastised as she shut the engine off. “Now, let’s get these horses unloaded so we can find our hotel room and order room service.”

  Gabrielle couldn’t help but giggle at the suggestion. If there was one thing in the world Margie couldn’t resist, it was room service. Since they’d been kids, she leapt at any opportunity to see a rolling cart and covered dishes. “Okay,” she answered with a grin.

  As Gabrielle jumped out of the truck, she fished her check-in papers out and held them at the ready for the approaching steward. He took them from her, verified the Coggins certificate read negative. With a jerky nod, he returned the documents. “Check the horses in with the show secretary in the morning, Miss Warrenton. Do you need any help finding anything?”

  “No, we’ll be fine, thank you.” At least she hoped. So far, Mamoon had been quiet. With Rajiv in the back near him, the three-day long trip down had gone smoothly. So smoothly that they’d taken their time, stopped to explore a few historical landmarks, and delayed their arrival by a full day.

  The steward assumed his post near the far end of the barn, and Gabrielle moved to join Margie at the trailer’s tack-room door. “Let’s get the stalls ready first, then unload the boys. I don’t want to fiddle around in Mamoon’s stall too long tonight.”

  Margie shoved a vacuum-sealed bag of shavings out of the small enclosure. “You’re reading my mind.” Another bag hit the asphalt in front of Gabrielle’s boots.

  Gabrielle fisted her fingers into the plastic and trudged down the nearby aisle. They weren’t the only ones who’d brought horses in early, she noticed as she passed the stalls. Door after door confined immaculately groomed equines. Geldings, mares, stallions; some with plaques that announced previous championships, some with tiny little note cards that only held the owner’s contact information. Heads popped up as they passed, nickers floated on the humid breeze.

  At the end of the long row, Gabrielle rolled open a door tagged with her name. She lugged the bag inside, ripped it open, and dumped the shavings on the ground. In the stall next door, Margie did the same.

  Repeating the trip four more times, the pair bedded two stalls, hung feed and water buckets, and threw in copious amounts of fresh hay. Stalls ready, they returned to the trailer for the two stallions.

  “I’ll unload Mamoon and wait for you. You have to take Rajiv inside first,” Gabrielle told Margie. As Margie reached for the trailer’s rear unloading door, Gabrielle exclaimed, “Wait!”

  Margie paused, the latch half-opened. Her lifted eyebrows asked for an explanation.

  “I need peppermints. Just a minute.” Gabrielle jogged around the side of the trailer and opened the passenger’s door. She dug through her purse, stuffed a handful of peppermint disks into her pocket, and hurried back to the trailer. “Okay.”

  Margie smirked. “That horse is going to get fat off peppermint. Good thing it doesn’t have a toxic level.”

  “Shush. Bribery hasn’t failed me yet.”

  As the trailer door opened wide, the stallions whinnied. Mamoon took a step backward, tightening the tie that held him in place. When his head met with resistance, he pawed anxiously.

  “Easy, boy,” Gabrielle soothed. She set a foot in the trailer and settled her hand on Mamoon’s flank. Rubbing her hand along his body, she approached his head where she quickly exchanged trailer tie for lead rope. “Back.” She pushed her fingers into his chest to emphasize her command, and Mamoon backed off the loading ramp.

  He refused to stand still as they waited for Rajiv. His tail swished, and he danced in place, his attention riveted on the distant celebration. With gentle tugs on his lead rope, Gabrielle directed his focus back to the trailer, and Mamoon let out a long whuffle.

  Margie backed Rajiv out in a similar fashion. When his hooves hit the pavement, however, she didn’t waste a minute in encouraging him forward. The stallion took a look around. His ears pricked, and to Gabrielle’s amazement, he visibly changed demeanor. Though he retained his usual calm attitude, his body stiffened. He tossed his tail over his back, lifted his nose high, and near-pranced down the aisle at Margie’s side.

  Amazing. If she’d realized Rajiv possessed that kind of show presence, she’d have brought him the year before. Although they might not have come home with championships under their belt, Rajiv wouldn’t have embarrassed her in any fashion. Small wonder her father had pitched a fit when she’d stuffed him in her trailer to take him to Kansas. Not so small wonder her father hadn’t ever told her about this side of her favorite horse’s nature.

  She followed with Mamoon. At the doorway, he balked, but she quickly offered him a treat to distract his apprehension. Chewing, he allowed her to lead him to his stall and entered quietly. She took off the halter and backed out, joining Margie in the aisle once more.

  “Well, shall we get our tack?” Margie asked.

  “Yeah, let’s get everything settled in tonight. That will give us most of tomorrow to ourselves.”

  With a curt nod, Margie started for the trailer.

  Gabrielle stole another look at Mamoon, and grimaced. Instead of lazily eating his hay, he paced the stall in circles. He ignored Rajiv, as if his buddy weren’t even present, and lunged at the door. It rattled in its slider, but held fast. Yet, she wasn’t taking any chances. She wrapped the halter around the door and buckled it. A loop of the lead rope reinforced her makeshift lock further, and satisfied, she jogged to the trailer.

  But as she stepped into the tack room to gather an armful of grooming supplies, Mamoon’s high-pitched whinny shattered the night. A loud thud told her he’d challenged the door once again. She flinched. Not good. Not good at all. Dropping her supplies, she raced back to his stall.

  “Easy, boy. Settle down. Eat your hay,” she cooed through the bars. Mamoon took one look at her and let out a snort. He double-timed it to the opposite front corner and let out an ear-piercing whinny.

  Against all rational logic, Gabrielle unfastened the halter, flung the stall door open and hurried inside. Mamoon swung his head around, his gaze locking on her as she held out her hand. “Mamoon, easy,” she cooed. “It’s okay. Easy, boy.”

  His sides heaved in short, panicky breaths. A fine sheen of nervous perspiration turned his neck and chest dark brown. Eyes wide, nostrils flared, he stilled and let her approach.

/>   “Good, boy. Calm down.” Gabrielle took the halter with her. She touched his shoulder, then eased her hand along his sweating neck. Mamoon nudged her arm with his nose, a rather rough gesture that jarred her a step backward, but he made no attempt to run her off or turn his panic her way. He stood still, the muscles in his shoulders twitching as she slipped the halter over his nose.

  “What’s his problem?” Margie asked from outside.

  Gabrielle shook her head. “I don’t know. New setting maybe? He was like this in the trailer all the way home from Tennessee. Damn, I need Jake here, Margie.”

  “No you don’t. You’ll be just fine.”

  “This was crazy. I shouldn’t have brought him down. Jake asked me to take just Rajiv. I should have listened.”

  “Gabrielle, stop it.” Margie entered the stall and handed her a soft cloth. “Put this through his halter and try to cover his eyes. See if that helps. You can take it off after he gets used to the smells and sounds.”

  Gabrielle accepted the cloth and gave her horse a hesitant glance. If covering his eyes didn’t settle him down, he’d hurt himself in the damn stall. She wadded the fabric up in her hand and stroked it down his nose.

  “So it’s your horse that’s carrying on like a lunatic. I should have known.”

  At the sound of the deep masculine voice, Gabrielle’s spine stiffened. She knew that voice a hundred times over. Grinding her teeth together, she turned her head and looked through the stall bars at her father.

  “He’s nervous.” Determined not to have her father witness Mamoon’s fits, she hastily stuffed the cloth beneath his halter, tied the corners near his ears, and gave him one hearty pat on the neck. She reached into her pocket, pulled out another peppermint disk, and offered it to him.

  “Where’d you find that piece of work, Gabrielle? And what in the world possessed you to think you could handle him?”

  She swallowed through her tightening throat and clenched a hand into a fist at her side. Damn him. As he always had, he knew just what to say to make her feel three inches tall. She ignored his remark, lifted her shoulders, and stepped away from Mamoon. “I’m going by Gabby these days, Daddy.”

  “I see.” His gaze pulled to Mamoon again. His eyes narrowed. “You’re in over your head.”

  “I have things to do, Daddy. If you’ll excuse me, Margie and I have a truck to unload.” She didn’t need any more doubt piled on her shoulders. With a silent prayer that Mamoon would stay relatively calm, she exited his stall. He whickered as the stall door rolled shut, but ceased his nervous antics.

  “Gabrielle,” her father barked.

  Her back stiff, she turned to him.

  “I don’t want you embarrassing yourself tomorrow. Let me hire someone to show that horse for you.”

  A shot of pure indignation surged down Gabrielle’s spine. Maybe Mamoon was too much for her to handle, but she’d rather be laughed out of the arena than accept a charitable donation from Henry Warrenton. She’d never stand on her own two feet if she let him step in now—and he’d never let her forget it either.

  “I’ll be fine, thank you.” She stalked after Margie, leaving her father simmering in a deep shade of crimson.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Attention all barns. We will begin our morning session with class number 216, Two-Year-Old Fillies. Class 217, you’re on deck.

  At the sound of the announcer’s voice, Gabrielle pulled in a deep breath to quell the nervous jittering in her belly. Up and down the long barn aisle, owners and trainers bustled out of tack stalls, into horse stalls, and hurried to get their horses ready for the afternoon. Some sat on folding chairs outside elaborate stall fronts draped with colorful curtains, enjoying a cup of coffee as they waited for classes that would come later in the day. Curious others peeked through stall bars to investigate the competition.

  Margie stepped out of their rather plain tack-dressing stall and gave her a smile. “You ready? We go in about an hour—229.”

  Gabrielle nodded and leaned on Mamoon’s stall. She was anything but ready. After taking her precious stallion out to the arena late last night, she’d become convinced today was a disaster waiting to happen. Though only a handful of horses populated the wide arena, Mamoon hadn’t kept a bit of attention on her. He’d danced and pranced, pinned his ears at anyone who passed, and even once spun his butt around at a grey gelding as if he intended to kick the poor thing.

  Embarrassing described the encounter mildly.

  Margie set a reassuring hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder. “You remember when we were kids and I had that new bay mare? She was keyed up tighter than a spring our first show out. You remember what you told me?”

  Gabrielle shook her head.

  “You told me all I had to do was make it through the class. That’s all you and Mamoon have to do. I know you don’t think so, but if you make it through, you’ve won, Gabrielle. Maybe not the blue, but he’s won.”

  Make it through the class. Easy, if the horse listened at all. But Margie had a point. Countless times Gabrielle had repeated the same mantra to herself. Each time she took a new horse into the ring, each terrifying first ride, she recited it. Despite her fiercely competitive nature that yearned for first, finishing the class marked success.

  Besides, with the way Rajiv was behaving, he might just surprise them all. He’d made heads turn last night.

  She pushed away from the stall and bent over to dust the bits of shavings off the hem of her dress pants. “We’ll see how it goes. But I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Margie cracked a smile. “See? There you go. Every time you get a bad feeling, you win. Now calm down. Mamoon’s done this before. You’ve shown amateur owner to handle before. Open classes are the same thing. You just have arrogant trainers like Alan in there to annoy you.” Giving her a friendly elbow jab, Margie grinned. “Remember how good it felt to beat that trainer when you were fifteen in the hunter class? He was pissed. Just think how angry you’ll make Alan.”

  The thought did the trick, and Gabrielle chuckled. That trainer had been peeved. On that particular afternoon, Margie’s horse had pulled up lame, and she’d dropped out of the class. Sitting on the rail, Margie had heard the oaths the trainer let out when he came in second. For Gabrielle, it had felt damn good when she’d passed him by and he’d glowered at her. To see that look on Alan’s face would make the past week of heartache worthwhile. She could forgive Jake for everything if Alan ate Mamoon’s dust.

  She flashed Margie a shaky smile. “Okay. I can do this. Let’s get the halters cleaned up?”

  With a flourish Margie swung the heavy fabric that covered the tack stall’s door to the side. “Enter, madame.”

  The silly gesture cracked through the rest of Gabrielle’s nerves, and a giggle slipped free. She ducked beneath Margie’s arm and plopped down on a footstool with a jeweled halter in hand. Humming a soft tune, she wiped at the delicate straps and gave in to the comfortable feeling of being back in the show ring. This was where she’d grown up. Though she lacked the trainers she’d had in youth, she had the knowledge Jake had given her. She’d made it this far, no sense condemning herself to failure before she ever gave the arena—or Mamoon—a fair chance.

  “Gabrielle!”

  The brittle masculine bark brought her head up with a snap. She groaned aloud as her gaze skated to Margie. Just what she needed—her father to remind her of her inadequacies.

  ****

  Jake shifted his duffle bag to his opposite shoulder and scribbled his name across the form the show secretary stuffed under his nose. He pushed it back across the counter and accepted the manila folder in her outstretched hand.

  “Your number is inside. You better hurry—229 is three classes out.”

  He poked his nose inside the envelope, double-checking that his number was indeed included. Satisfied, he gave the blonde a nod. “Thanks.”

  “Of course. Oh, and Jake?”

  “Yeah?”

  Her smile cr
inkled the corners of her eyes. “It’s nice to have you back.”

  Jake held down a grunt and dropped his sunglasses back onto his nose. Damn, he’d hoped being recognized would wait a while longer. The last thing he needed right now was for Gabrielle to get wind of his arrival before he made it to her stalls. He tucked his chin down in hopes of hiding his face and stalked out of the office.

  As he marched across the show grounds to the long barns, his mind ran in wild circles that matched the frenzied churn of his stomach. What the hell did he say to her? Sorry, sugar, I went crazy for about three years. But I’ve got it together now. Right. He snorted to himself. She’d buy that as a plausible excuse for ignoring her for the last ten days.

  Seventeen hours on the road, not including the seven he squeaked in near Juarez for sleep, and he still didn’t have the damndest idea how to explain. Or, for that matter, where to start.

  “Jake? Is it you?” A vaguely familiar feminine voice accompanied light fingertips on his forearm.

  Muttering, Jake stopped and looked up to find one of his family’s long-time clients smiling at him. Her graying hair had once been jet-black, but as it had done to him, three years changed people. “Annie.” He thrust out his hand to shake hers as he returned her smile.

  “I’d recognize you anywhere, Jake. What are you doing in Scottsdale? It’s good to see your face.”

  He hesitated, his gaze pulling to the aisle that contained Gabrielle’s reserved stalls. What was he doing here? At this point, he had no idea whether Gabrielle would even want him near her horses. He might be walking straight into his own hanging. Not that he deserved any less. Still, he’d rather face the embarrassment of being shunned privately, not in the middle of a Scottsdale show barn. “I, ah, have some unfinished business to take care of.”