Conflicted (Everlasting Love)

by Tracy Wolff

  “Look at me, Desiree.” Though his voice was low, it was no less an order. “I want to see your eyes when I do this.”

  Slowly, so slowly that time seemed to stop, he lowered his lips to hers. Desiree’s heart thudded painfully in her chest and, for a moment, she forgot to breathe. He was going to kiss her. Jesse Rainwater was finally, finally going to kiss her. Not a simple brush of lips, like that long-ago moment in the barn, but a real kiss. Her lips parted of their own volition and though her eyes wanted desperately to close, she kept them opened, terrified that he would stop if she broke the spell.

  Jesse stopped when his lips were barely an inch from hers. She willed him to come closer, to move that one last inch. But he didn’t. Instead he waited. Waited while his thumb stroked over her cheek. Waited while his eyes stared into hers. Waited until her nerves were frazzled, her body was taut and desire thrummed through her with every beat of her heart.

  “Jesse,” she pleaded, breathless and achy.

  “Desiree,” he answered, his voice tight and aroused.

  “Now. Please, now,” she said, uncaring that she was almost begging.

  He grinned darkly as he bridged the distance between them. “Now,” he agreed, just before his mouth covered hers.

  Light exploded in front of her dazzled eyes, and need, sharp and painful, swept through her, buckling her knees before she could brace herself. She stumbled against him and Jesse held her more tightly, his arms strong and firm around her.

  His lips moved against hers, coaxing her to open her mouth. She did and was instantly rewarded with more sensations than she’d thought it possible to feel. Soft. Warm. Deep. She sighed, cuddled closer and hung on for dear life.

  He sipped from her. Devoured her. Absorbed her, until heat slammed through her and dizziness circled. His tongue brushed her top lip, traced her bottom lip, plunged inside and tasted her.

  Desiree moaned and shut her eyes as the world spun. This, she thought as his tongue swept softly over hers. This is what she’d been waiting for. This is what she’d always known she would feel.

  He pulled away, cupped her face in his hands. “Jesse.” Her voice was soft, dreamy, as she moved to recapture his lips.

  “Desiree.” His was harsh, tight. “Let me take you home.”

  “Jesse, no!” It was almost a wail. “Please.”

  “Not here, darlin’.” His lips brushed against hers, comforting and arousing at the same time. “Not now.”

  “Why not now?” she demanded, cupping his face in her hands and leaning into another kiss. Desiree could feel his resistance—and his desire—in the heat pumping from his body, could feel his inner struggle in the hands that refused to move from her shoulders.

  He was shaking his head as he pulled his lips reluctantly from hers. “This can’t be because of what’s happening, Desiree.” He paused for a moment, as if he didn’t want to continue. “It can’t be because of your mother.”

  “It’s not!”

  “How do you know?” His gaze held hers captive, demanded the truth.

  She wanted to yell, to pout, to beg. But he was right and she knew it. She would never forgive herself if their first time was on her mother’s deathbed, no matter how much she wanted the cessation of pain his touch promised her.

  But what happened next? she wondered. How could she learn to let her mother go? What would become of Jesse and her? She closed her eyes, blocking out the insidious darkness of the night as question after question bombarded her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JESSE STORMED INTO HIS office, closing the door with enough force to rattle the frames on the wall. One fell to the ground, the glass shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces.

  Like his marriage. Like him, without Desiree.

  Fury grabbed him by the throat. He reached for the bottle of Crown Royal—ha, ha—that Dakota had given him for his birthday this year. His sixty-fourth birthday. Christ, when had he gotten so damn old?

  He poured himself a finger, tossed it back like water. Poured two fingers this time and settled into his desk chair to brood. Despite the silver liberally sprinkling his hair and the deep grooves near his eyes, he didn’t feel sixty-four. His body still worked the way it was supposed to—his back was strong, his mind agile. But recently time seemed to be creeping up on him and he had begun to wonder how much of it he had left.

  There were so many things he hadn’t done yet, things he’d put off as he chased after Big John’s dream, after Desiree’s dream. A dream that seemed more impossible and less important with every season that passed.

  Desiree didn’t understand. Maybe she couldn’t—at forty-nine, time hadn’t started ticking away from her in the same way it suddenly had for him. Maybe it never would. As young and as vibrant as she’d ever been, Desiree rolled over every obstacle in her path. Getting older wasn’t important, didn’t have anything to do with her goals for the ranch, so she didn’t pay attention to it or even acknowledge it.

  He took another sip of his drink, savoring the warmth spreading through him. He’d been cold for so long that the sudden fire felt like heaven. Fire from the liquor. Fire from Desiree.

  She was a mess—more shell-shocked and upset than he’d seen her in years. Of course, that wouldn’t last long. And when the shock wore off she’d come gunning for him in a way that made their earlier encounter look like a little girl’s tea party. Some small part of him almost looked forward to it.

  Desiree. His loving wife, the mother of his children. Why the hell hadn’t she said something when he’d moved out of their room eight months before? Or if not then, then anytime during the ensuing months? A little open communication, a small expression of concern, anything, really, and he would have run back to her and tried to make things better. Tried to be a better trainer, a better husband. That was the power she had over him, the power she’d always had.

  Despair swept through him, though he cursed himself for being an idiot, a moron, a stupid fool. After thirty-three years, the independent horse trainer who’d shown up here knowing he was the best was long gone. In his place was a much more humble man, one who’d tasted failure too many times to think he had all the answers. These days, much of his self-worth was tied to his feelings for Desiree, while much of hers was tied to her feelings for the ranch.

  The glass flew across the room before he was conscious of throwing it. He watched impassively as the heavy crystal tumbler shattered against the big stone fireplace in the corner.

  He’d failed her, damn it. He’d failed his children, failed the ranch and even failed her father, though the son-of-a-bitch was the only one who actually deserved it. But Desiree didn’t deserve it, had never deserved it, and neither had his kids. Though the Triple Crown had never meant much to his children, he’d wanted one of his horses to win it for them. So they could have their father back. So he wouldn’t have to work so hard to win something that was nearly impossible.

  So they could have their mother back.

  Every season that passed without the crown saw Desiree working harder, longer, more determined than ever to prove that she deserved this ranch. As if anyone had ever doubted her capability. But Desiree didn’t see the admiration in the faces of her employees, or the awe directed at her from so many in the racing community as her horses won race after important race.

  Unable to bear the stillness of inactivity a second longer, Jesse stood to pace. He was still too wound up to face the others, still too raw to face his wife.

  He grimaced. His soon-to-be ex-wife. Had he been stupid to think divorce was the only answer? God knew he still loved Desiree, still wanted her, still needed her as much as, if not more than, he had all those years ago when she’d been too young and too beautiful for him.

  * * *

  HE’D WALKED OUT ON her again.

  In the thirty-three years she’d known Jesse, he’d never treated her with even a hint of disrespect. Now, today, he’d managed to heap a mountain of it on her—not once but twice.

  She stare
d around the maternity barn in disbelief. Was she really that bad? Had she really done everything he’d accused her of? She’d shared the ranch—of course she had. She was in the position to know, better than anyone, just how much the Triple H needed Jesse. Without him these last few decades, they’d be so much less than what they were.

  She knew how to be a partner—

  She cut off the train of thought abruptly, refusing to give Jesse the power to make her second-guess herself any more than she already had. Even so, she was left with the same question that had been running through her head for the past few hours. What happened now?

  “Are you okay, Mom?”

  She jumped at the unexpected voice, whirled around to find herself face-to-face with her oldest son. Rio. Love swept through her, even as she sought to hide her anguish. Rio was, and always had been, their most perceptive and compassionate child. Not to mention the best veterinarian the Triple H had ever employed.

  “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just thinking.”

  “About Willow?” he asked, as he slipped an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug. Despite his embrace, she sensed a distance between them. It was a distance she herself had put there, one she’d had cause to regret almost every day for the past nine years. She’d made one mistake too many with her oldest child and now she was paying the consequences. They all were.

  “About change.” She smiled, laid a hand on his cheek. “I love you.”

  His eyes grew shadowed, his voice cooler. “I love you, too, Mom. But that doesn’t explain why you look so sad.”

  She shrugged, turning her head away before he could study her anymore. What could she say to him? I’m sad because your father hates me? Because he handed me divorce papers today and wasted no time telling me how much contempt he has for me? Because you don’t love me the way you used to and I don’t know how to fix all the mistakes that I’ve made? Somehow, she didn’t think that was the best way to approach Rio, let alone explain the divorce to their three children.

  The divorce. Had she just thought about it as if it was a foregone conclusion? As if there were no other options, nothing left to fight for? And why should she have to explain the divorce at all—Jesse was the one who wanted it. Let him explain to their children that he no longer loved her. Let him come up with a good reason to explain bailing out of a twenty-seven year marriage. Let him…

  She stopped abruptly. Unless he already had a good reason. Unless he already had her replacement lined up. Could that be it? Did Jesse have another woman?

  Nausea rose, nearly choking her, but logic couldn’t be denied. It made sense, would explain his absence in her bed and the sudden urgency of his demands. How could she have missed it?

  “Mom?” Rio interrupted her musings.

  With a conscious effort she pushed the thoughts away, forcing herself to focus on her son instead of the horror cutting through her. “Did you come to check out M.C.?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Before I have to change into the monkey suit James picked out for us.” He opened the medical bag at his feet, pulled out his stethoscope. “How’s she doing?”

  “Your dad thinks she’ll foal today, tomorrow at the latest.”

  Rio crouched down and ran his big, gentle hands along the mare’s belly before listening with his stethoscope. His concentration was intense, his dark brown eyes far away as he examined one of his favorite patients.

  Desiree watched as he rolled up his sleeves, treating the mare tenderly. Desiree had done something right in the past twenty-seven years, something to be proud of. And he was standing right in front of her. He had inherited his father’s gift and used it in the best possible way. It was hard to believe she’d ever objected to his chosen profession.

  “Looks like Dad’s right,” he commented as he finished his examination. “As usual.”

  He crossed to the sink, washed up. “So has Willow completely lost her mind yet?”

  “Not yet. But it’s close.”

  “I can imagine.” He grinned. “It’s hard to believe the little brat’s actually getting married.”

  Desiree smiled, nodded. “It’s hard to believe you three are all grown up, with lives of your own.”

  “Change is good, Mom. Now maybe you and Dad can concentrate on something besides the ranch and us.”

  She turned to stare into the wise eyes of her oldest child. “What’s that supposed to mean?’ She tried to sound carefree but knew she’d failed.

  “I don’t have to live here to know something’s not right with you and Dad, you know. It’s written all over your face.”

  Oh God. Did everyone see it? Had everyone known but her? Her mind raced to come up with an answer as she picked her way through her own confusion and hurt to explain things to her oldest son.

  “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’m not asking for a play-by-play of your problems. I just thought that, with the wedding over, you might be able to spend some time on them. You and Dad. A New Year’s resolution or something.”

  “Is it so obvious, then?”

  He fed M.C. a carrot from his pocket. He was quiet so long, she didn’t think he was going to answer. Then he said, “I don’t know. I just remember how things used to be. You know, when you and Dad were a team, instead of two people with separate agendas and separate lives.”

  Those days haunted her. Days when Jesse couldn’t get enough of her—when he showed up wherever she was just to say hi, just to steal a kiss and a few minutes alone with her.

  She sighed heavily as she reached a hand out to stroke her son’s hair. Those days were long gone, replaced by hours of anger, weeks of silence, months without making love.

  Rio was right. Jesse was right. Somewhere, somehow, things had gone so terribly wrong. But she could still remember the day everything had first been set right.

  Things have always come easy to me—some say I’ve been blessed while others claim I’ve lived a charmed life. In some ways, I guess they’re right. Everything I’ve ever wanted, I’ve gotten—either from my parents or through my own sheer, stubborn determination. There’s never been an obstacle I couldn’t go over or around, never been one that I couldn’t knock down.

  Until Jesse. After Mama’s death, I expected things to change for us, expected our relationship to be different. It was different, all right. While my role remained the same—I still sought out Jesse at every opportunity—his role had changed. Suddenly he wanted nothing to do with me—the casual hugs disappeared, as did the late-night chats in the stables and the smiles that lit me up from the inside.

  Oh, he stuck by me through Mama’s funeral, let me lean on him, let me take comfort and strength from him. But by the time I left for school—a few days after Mama’s funeral—he was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t even find him to say goodbye.

  This pattern continued for the next two and a half years—as I finished my sophomore, junior and senior years in college. When I went home on school vacations, I rarely saw him—he always managed to be somewhere other than where I expected him to be. Somewhere away from me. That first year after Mama died was probably the worst of my life—not only had I lost my mother, but I’d lost my best friend as well. And I didn’t even know why.

  As the months passed, I spent hours analyzing my last moments alone with Jesse. Spent hours wondering what I’d done wrong. Had I been too needy? Too inexperienced? Too forward? Too desperate? Too what? The questions haunted me, coloring my experiences with other men.

  Not that I wanted another man. Jesse had been the only man I’d ever noticed from the time I was sixteen, and nothing had changed, despite his obvious discouragement. But I was determined. His rejection was merely one more challenge, one more obstacle on the road my life was supposed to follow. And as soon as I figured out what I had done to turn him away, I could fix it. Fix me. Until he couldn’t help but see me, want me, need me as much as I wanted and needed him.

  Big John brought me home the day after my college graduation—he was the only one who came to the ceremony,
as Jesse sent a very polite note declining my invitation to attend. A note that I ripped to pieces as I stormed around my one-bedroom apartment.

  Daddy wanted to send me to Europe for a month as a graduation present—a present I declined. I’d already been away from the Triple H for far too long and I was desperate to be back. Desperate to work with the horses again and desperate to see Jesse, though I was deathly afraid he didn’t feel the same way about me.

  But I was twenty-two, optimistic and reasonably attractive—I was what you might call a late-bloomer. I’d finally grown into my long limbs and big feet, had finally developed the confidence to wear my bright-red hair with pride rather than apology. More than that, I was determined. I’d never given up on anything I’d wanted in my whole life and I wasn’t about to start now—not with Jesse, who was more important to me than anyone on earth.

  So I plotted and planned, using the time that Jesse was at races as a chance to get myself ready for the battle to come. It was my last stand, my final attack, and I refused to even imagine what life would be like if it didn’t work.

  DESIREE STEPPED BACK and surveyed the apartment, excitement and nervousness warring within her as she put her plan into action. The changes she’d made to Jesse’s place were subtle but important. The lights were dimmed—she’d had to change the bulbs to get the desired effect—and her homemade Alfredo sauce simmered in the kitchen, filling the apartment with the tantalizing smells of garlic and cream. The salad was tossed, the pasta boiling and dessert was in the fridge, where a couple of bottles of truly excellent Chianti waited.

  Music played in the background—Van Morrison crooning about his brown-eyed girl. Desiree had set the table for two, using dishes and a tablecloth she’d bought in college. Though the urge had been strong to decorate with flowers and candles, she’d fought against it. They were obvious, too obvious when she was hoping to sneak up on his blind side.

  She smiled with satisfaction as she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the far wall. While she’d kept everything in the apartment understated, relaxed, she’d dressed with anything but subtlety in mind.