The Mating Season

by Janet Dailey

  With a precarious lunge the foal wobbled on all four feet. Immediately its little broom tail began swishing the air in a signal of victory. It was evidently the sign its twin had been waiting to see, because it then made its first attempt. The mare blew softly, communicating with her offspring in the low sounds coming from her throat.

  A smile tugged at Jonni's mouth at the pathetically uncoordinated attempts by the twin foals to walk. Their spindly legs couldn't seem to decide which direction was their final destination. But there was a big lump in her throat, too, at the wondrous and age-old scene of mother and babies.

  Instinct guided the foals to the mare's flank with a couple of helpful nudgings from her, their knowledge part of nature's marvel. They suckled hungrily, heads butting, legs wobbly, tails swishing

  "I guess this little family don't need us anymore," Duffy declared, and walked toward the door leading out of the stall into the barn's interior walkway.

  "Yeah, we might as well be goin' to get our own supper," Ted agreed. "Here's your hat, Gabe." He handed him the hat. Respect and admiration gleamed in the look he gave Gabe.

  Gabe took the hat and set it on the back of Jonni's head. "See you in the morning, boys."

  "Good night," Jonni added, feeling intimately close to Gabe but not threatened.

  "Good night."

  Listening to the sounds of their footsteps fading into silence, Jonni made no move to leave the stall or the close, comfortable position beside Gabe. There was too much peace and contentment where she was for her to be anxious to leave it.

  "Hungry?" His one-word question was spoken quietly.

  "No." Jonni matched his tone, not wanting to break the spell. "I'd forgotten what it was like to watch something being born, to be a part of it."

  "The miracle of life."

  She nodded. "It's happening all the time. It's such a constant thing, yet it's always so new."

  Jonni continued to watch the mare and her foals. "That's what makes having babies so wonderful."

  "I suppose you plan to start a family immediately." An undercurrent of harsh violence threaded its way through his comment.

  A sudden tension electrified her nerves. She felt instantly defensive against the hurt his words caused. She tried to laugh, but it was a brittle sound.

  "Don't forget I have a career, Gabe," she reminded him with false brightness. "It's going to last for several more years yet. A model can't risk ruining her figure — or her future — by carrying a child."

  "You'd be in your thirties."

  "Yes, I know." Jonni was aware of the potential risk involved at that age, and she tried not to be frightened of it, to appear happy and unconcerned.

  "How large a family would you like to have?"

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jonni saw the downward tilt of his chin as Gabe turned to study her. "Four, five, half a dozen," she wished aloud before cold reality made her add, "but I'll settle for one healthy baby."

  "How many children does Trevor want?" There was something in his voice that indicated Gabe knew he was asking a loaded question.

  Her head jerked up. "Why do you always have to read between the lines?" she choked, a mist of tears stinging her eyes. Her gaze ricocheted from his narrowed look as she blinked away the moisture and struggled to maintain her poise.

  "He doesn't particularly want any children, does he?" Gabe persisted, challenging her to answer his question.

  She wouldn't admit that. "He'd like to have a son," she said. "Maybe I'll just have to keep trying until I get it right." Her attempt to inject humor failed miserably.

  The invisible force of Gabe's anger seemed to fill the silence. "He'll grudgingly accept one child and you want a brood. As incompatible as the two of you are, you're going to have a hellish marriage if you go through with it." His voice rumbled on a low, ominous note.

  "They say opposites attract," Jonni defended, frightened by the picture he was painting. She kept trying to imagine Trevor holding their child, but she kept having visions of the baby spitting up on his silk tie.

  In a movement rife with suppressed rage, Gabe grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. "You little fool, opposite personalities attract only when they complement each other. When the hell are you going to open your eyes?"

  But she had opened them. And she was being consumed by the dangerous black fires burning in his look. Her defenses were being melted away by their overpowering heat. She was only dimly aware of the grim line of fury thinning his mouth and tautening the muscles along his jaw. A savage despair seemed to flicker in his eyes.

  "How could any man not want you to have his children?" Gabe demanded with harsh softness.

  He pulled her inside the circle of his arms and crushed her to his chest. His chin rubbed against the side of her forehead as his hand, stroking the back of her hair, nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder. His embrace offered comfort and support and Jonni was weak enough to need it, feeling pummeled and torn apart by emotions she couldn't understand.

  "Break the engagement, Jonni, before it breaks you," he warned thickly.

  "But I'm going to marry him," she protested in a pained whisper.

  There was nothing to separate her from his bare chest. Unbuttoned, his shirt hung open. Beneath her hands his flesh was vital and firm; his chest hairs were rough against her cheek. He smelled of soap and straw and, most of all, the vigorous male odor of himself. The hard feel of Gabe was a sensation she was becoming addicted to.

  A work-callused hand roughly caressed her cheek as Gabe tipped her head up. His gaze skimmed over her face in a heavily lashed look which lingered on her parted lips.

  "How the hell do I get myself into these situations?" he muttered. "I've got to be the biggest damn fool ever born."

  "No, I am," she corrected breathlessly.

  In the next second his mouth was silencing her and dizzily sweeping her to a new emotional high. A wild kind of rapture raged in her breast. She felt it echoed by the thud of his heart beneath her hands. Her skin felt feverish wherever his caressing hands touched her. Desire became an aching torment that arched her soft curves to fit his unyielding male contours.

  Forsaking her lips, his mouth moved its ravishment to her neck. His strong white teeth nibbled at its sensitive cord. Jonni shuddered against him with the sweet intensity of longing and softly moaned his name.

  "Damn it, Jonni, I'm too old for this," he groaned, rubbing his cheek against hers in agitation. "Kisses aren't enough to satisfy my sexual appetite anymore." His hand covered her breast, demanding an intimacy and sending a shaft of dangerous pleasure into her being. "I want to make love to you. I want to feel your silken flesh naked against mine, Jonni. I want to satisfy your needs."

  "D — Don't ask me, Gabe." The first seed of panic began to grow, a rigidity entering her boneless shape.

  "What does that mean?" His hands dug into her flesh punishingly. "Am I supposed to take you without giving you a chance to say yes or no? Or is that a no?" He sounded cold with control.

  Jonni had been uncertain of her meaning before, but his taunting words made it definite. "It's no." Shakily, she pulled out of his arms and turned away so her expression wouldn't reveal how easily her mind could be changed.

  Gabe stood watching her for a tense moment, breathing hard. Swearing roughly, he reached down and picked up his hat, which had tumbled from her head. He dusted it against his leg to knock the straw off it, then pulled it low on his head. Out of the corner of her eye Jonni saw him start to button his shirt. His glittering eyes caught her look.

  "If the sight of a man's chest disturbs you, maybe you'd better look the other way," he suggested with hard cynicism and buttoned his shirt halfway before tucking it into the waistband of his Levi's.

  "You have every right to be angry," Jonni admitted. "It was my fault and I'm sorry."

  "You're sorry?" Gabe repeated sardonically. "If you think I'm going to apologize, you're crazy as hell."

  There was a flash of temper in he
r jeweled eyes. "Damn it, Gabe, I'm trying to — What? She stopped, not knowing what she was trying to accomplish.

  Gabe measured her with a look. "Yeah, maybe it's time you explained what you're trying to do," he challenged.

  "Hello?" Her mother's voice dragged out the questioning call. "Gabe? Jonni? are you still in here?"

  Jonni was saved from his question. "Over by the lights, mother," she answered.

  Two sets of footsteps approached the stall. "Duffy just told us the mare's had twins," her father spoke up. "Caroline and I came down to see them."

  Stopping outside the stall, the Starrs leaned against the sides of the manger to look at the newborn foals. Luckily, there wasn't much conversation required from either Jonni or Gabe as Caroline made exclaiming phrases over the equine family. Jonni was entrapped by an unbearable tension; a brittle shell surrounded her. And Gabe, who rarely showed expression, looked more tight-lipped than usual.

  "You two are probably starved by now," her mother declared, sighing as she pushed away from the manger wall. "I have a pot of soup warming on the stove and a plate of sandwiches on the table. You'd better come to the house and eat before you faint from hunger."

  Jonni's gaze slid briefly to Gabe before she walked swiftly past him to the stall door. Her stomach was a churning mass of nerves. Food was the last thing she wanted, but she didn't want to go into a lengthy explanation of that fact to her parents.

  "That sounds good, mom," she lied.

  "Aren't you coming, Gabe?" her father frowned as Gabe remained where he was.

  "No." His answer was abrupt. "I'm tired. I've lost my appetite somewhere."

  Her steps faltered, but Jonni resisted the impulse to glance at Gabe. She smiled at her parents and saw the funny look her father was giving her. "That's all the more food for me, isn't it?" she joked. She wanted to run out of the barn, but she restrained her pace to match her parents'. As she left with them, she felt Gabe's eyes burrowing into her back.

  Chapter Eight

  A FEW MINUTES PAST ONE on Friday afternoon, Jonni led the saddled dun gelding from the barn. The sun felt almost hot on her back and the air was deadly still. She swung into the saddle and turned the horse toward the corral gate. Gabe was on the other side of the enclosure, mounted on a big, muscled bay, its coat gleaming like polished mahogany. He had just started to ride out from the ranch yard, but at the sound of her creaking saddle leather he reined in the head-tossing bay horse to look back.

  It was impossible for Jonni to alter her course. With squared shoulders, she rode to the corral gate and bent to unlatch it. Gabe watched, obviously waiting for her. Pushing the gate open, she rode the dun through the narrow gap, then reined it backward and to the side to close the gate, never hurrying in her motions.

  "I just got done warning the boys, so I might as well tell you, too." Gabe spoke when she had finished. "From now on, there'll be no smoking when we're out on the range. Or if you have to have a cigarette, make damned sure it's out."

  Jonni frowned and walked her horse toward his. "Why?" His warning wasn't an idle one. Something had prompted it.

  "There was a grass fire near town this morning," he told her grimly. "Fortunately it was spotted right away and they were able to contain it."

  "A grass fire, at this time of the year?" Her expression was incredulous. "My God, what's it going to be like in the summer?"

  "Hell, if we don't get some rain." He reined the nervously eager bay toward the open land.

  "Where are you going?" Jonni asked.

  "I'm riding over to the Cimarron to check on the cattle." Gabe seemed to hesitate before he added, "You're welcome to come with me … if you want." His voice was cruel in its indifference.

  "I might ride partway with you." She tried to match his tone.

  One shoulder rose to indicate he couldn't care less and he sent the bay forward at a long, tireless trot. Jonni urged her mount into the same gait, feeling angered by his attitude instead of relieved.

  Gabe took the lead and Jonni followed to one side, her horse's nose even with the cantle of his saddle. He paid no attention to her. On a level stretch, his horse broke into a ground-eating canter, and Jonni's horse was quick to follow.

  The faster pace generated a breeze that evaporated the perspiration on her neck and cooled her skin. Her long blond hair was tucked beneath the crown of her hat, a few wisps escaping to curl around her collar. She pulled the front brim lower on her forehead to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun.

  Despite the lack of communication between them, Jonni found a certain companionship in riding over the red-tinted hills with Gabe. There was a destination ahead of her instead of an aimless wandering ride. With this inner, satisfaction, she began enjoying the rugged vistas provided by the land they traveled through. If her gaze strayed more than once to the wide shoulders of the taciturn man riding with her, she told herself it was only natural.

  As they neared the banks of the Cimarron River, Gabe slowed the tall bay horse to a walk. The dry, yellowing grass swished beneath their striding horses to accompany the creaking saddle leather and jangling bits. The stock cows were scattered over the land, some grazing, others chewing their cud. White-faced calves bawled for their mothers at the sight of the riders, but most lay sleeping in the sun.

  They stopped at the edge of the riverbank. Below them the current was sluggish, the water rusty with the red earth of its riverbed. Jonni stared at it for several seconds.

  "I don't ever remember seeing it that low before," she commented.

  "I know," Gabe agreed tersely.

  What are you going to do?" She glanced at him.

  He lifted his gaze, narrowing it at the southern sky. "Pray that those clouds aren't one of nature's practical jokes."

  Jonni looked in surprise at the thunderheads building on the horizon. She hadn't noticed them before. "They came up fast. It might be a storm."

  "Let's hope that's not an empty prophecy," he offered dryly. "It's hot. We'd better give the horses a breather."

  By the time Jonni had dismounted Gabe was on the ground, loosening his saddle cinch. She did the same and the zebra dun emitted a rolling snort of pleasure. Gabe led his horse into the scanty shade of a tall cottonwood tree, its limbs just starting to bud with leaves.

  Pulling on the reins, Jonni walked her horse over and tied it to a piece of deadwood so it could graze. Gabe leaned against the tree, bending a knee to rest his heel against the trunk. He lifted a hand to his shirt pocket as if wanting a smoke, only to remember the restriction he had imposed and return his hand to his side.

  "The cows look as if they're in good shape," Jonni observed. A meadowlark sang from off to her left.

  Gabe didn't comment on her remark. Tipping his hat to the back of his head, he let his gaze run over her face, the slimness of her neck and the, rise of her breast, leaving her with the sensation that he had touched her.

  "When you were growing up, what was your idea of marriage?"

  The unexpectedness of his question made her stiffen. "I don't think I want to get into that kind of discussion with you," she said tensely.

  "I didn't ask what your expectations are now," Gabe pointed out. "Only what they were when you were younger."

  "I suppose I thought it would be like my parents' marriage," she answered to show she wasn't afraid, "with the wife cooking the meals, cleaning the house and working in the garden."

  "And children?" Gabe prompted.

  "Yes, and children?" Irritation flared that he should bring up that subject again.

  He didn't pursue that particular topic. "Did you want to live in the city or the country?" he asked instead.

  "In the country, of course," Jonni retorted, "like, my parents. Where I could have horses and a place to ride. That's all I knew, so naturally it's what I expected."

  "After spending the past six years in New York, you prefer a home in the city," Gabe concluded. "An apartment, I should say," he corrected.

  "No, I don't prefer it?"
She felt the stirrings of unease. "I would like to have a house in the country, but with Trevor's business interests, it's more convenient for us to live in the city."

  "Whither thou goest, I will go," he mocked. "How noble of you to sacrifice!"

  "Listen, if you're going to start in on this again, I'm — Jonni began in agitation.

  "Don't listen to me," Gabe interrupted. "Listen to what you're saying. You want a home in the country where you can get up with the sun, and children that you can tuck into their beds at night. You want to be a wife and mother, not a person whose image is plastered on every magazine cover. Is that the kind of life lover boy is offering you?"

  "I know what kind of life I'll have with Trevor and I've accepted it." She began twisting the huge engagement ring on her finger, conscious of its heavyweight.

  "Have you, Jonni?" Gabe asked in low challenge. "Have you accepted the fact that you'll never be totally content for the rest of your life? It's a shallow existence he's offering you compared to the kind of fulfillment you want."

  "I can be happy with it," she insisted.

  "Can you?" Gabe was skeptical.

  "What do you care?" She flung him a shimmering blue glance, her voice rising sharply as her composure snapped, but she could no longer endure his baiting of her.

  A deadly stillness settled over him. There was a cold and ruthless look in the gaze he leveled at her. His silence was more unnerving than any of his previous comments. It was a relief when he finally spoke.

  "You deserve a beating for that remark."

  "And I bet you'd love to be the one to give it to me, too." But Jonni averted her gaze before Gabe could regard that statement as an invitation. "None of this is really any of your business," she said stiffly. "It's my life."

  "And you're on the brink of making an unholy mess of it," Gabe informed her in a grim tone. "There were times when we could talk things out. You used to come to me for advice. Now you won't even listen to reason."