Conflicted

by Tracy Wolff

  His fingers wrapped around her wrist as his thumb stroked softly over her palm. “You have to promise me that you won’t have anything to do with him. Ever.” His voice was fierce, his eyes fiercer as they glared into hers. “I mean it, Desiree. Nothing. If that jackass so much as looks at you accidentally, I want to know about it.”

  “Jesse—”

  “Promise me.” His hands reached up, cupped her face. “Not telling your folks is against my better judgment and if you can’t promise me that you’ll let me protect you, Desiree, then this isn’t happening. We’ll go up to the house right now—”

  “Okay,” she said. “I promise.”

  He studied her, his eyes searching for something he must have found, for he nodded reluctantly. “Good enough. And I promise you he won’t hurt you again, Desi. I swear, no one will ever hurt you like that again.”

  “Jesse—” Her voice broke and tears spilled before she could stop them.

  “Shh, darlin’. Don’t cry.” He pulled her against him, his strong arms holding her tightly against his body. “I can’t stand to see you cry.”

  His voice was low, strained, and his tenderness only made her weep harder. Cursing softly, he settled onto a nearby bench and pulled her onto his lap. She continued to sob, her heart aching from the bittersweet joy of being held so closely by the man she loved even as her body ached from the attack of another.

  He rocked her, murmuring soothingly as he stroked her hair. “Desi, stop. Please stop. You’ll make yourself sick.”

  But she couldn’t stop as the night’s events caught up with her.

  He cursed again, his voice low and vicious, then his lips were skimming over her wet chin, her cheeks, up to her eyes to catch the tears before they could fall. She shuddered at the first touch of his lips, at the unbearable sweetness that came from being touched by Jesse.

  Before he could move, before he could stop, she wrapped her arms around him, locking him against her. His lips moved over her cheek, again, and she turned her head slightly, just enough so that their lips met.

  His lips closed over hers, gently, sweetly, and for a moment the earth ceased to spin. Her lungs stopped breathing, her heart stopped beating—everything she was and everything she had was focused on the tentative brush of his lips against hers.

  Warmth started in her belly, spread outward slowly as her body came to life for the very first time. His mouth moved against hers, once, twice and the warmth became a burning she never could have imagined. She moaned, softly, and opened her lips.

  Then it was over. Jesse stood, thrusting her away from him, his breathing harsh. “Desiree—”

  “It’s okay.”

  He shoved a hand through his unrestrained hair, his movements jerky and uncoordinated for the first time since she’d met him. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”

  “Jesse,” she interrupted, waited until his gaze found hers. She nearly smiled at the confusion in them, nearly lit up as joy coursed through her. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know.”

  “Desi—”

  “Shh.” She reached up, her fingers once again resting against his mouth. “Jesse, stop. It’s okay. I understand.” She paused and her thumb stroked his cheek. “Really, I do. Thank you for comforting me, for saving me. I’m okay now.”

  She reached down and gathered her shoes, feeling his gaze heavy upon her. She walked to the door, stopped, turned to face him. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, Jesse. I was the one who kissed you.”

  Then she spun around and ran, full speed, toward home, knowing that her life had irrevocably changed. It might take her a few years, but Jesse Rainwater was going to be hers. He just didn’t know it yet.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DAMN HER TO HELL. Jesse’s booted feet covered the distance from the house to the garden quickly, though he barely noticed where he was going. How could he have been so damn stupid, so goddamn gullible? He’d been softening toward her, thinking he’d made a mistake. Thinking that maybe, if he compromised a little more, things could change.

  He tried not to focus on what a complete ass he’d really been. Knowing that he’d been feeling bad about the state of their marriage when all along she’d been hiring his replacement behind his back was enough to make him sick. And not only hadn’t she consulted him about it, but she hadn’t even had the courtesy to say a word about it. Not one damn word.

  That pretty much showed what she thought of him, didn’t it? Not even the courtesy of a boss/employee conference to tell him that she didn’t think things were working out any longer, that she had gone and hired a new trainer to start in January. January—one month from now. One month, he assumed, so that he could show the new guy the ropes. Like hell.

  He’d known—goddammit, he had known—when she’d come back from the races in Kentucky that something was up. Known that she was hiding something from him. Again. When he’d confronted her about it she’d laughed at him. Told him there was nothing wrong and that he was blowing things out of proportion.

  Damn her!

  It was the secrecy, more than anything else, that had made him think about divorce. He couldn’t take the deceit any longer, nor could he live with the knowledge that his wife wouldn’t confide in him. How had their marriage become such a sham when she was all he’d ever wanted?

  He wanted to throw things, needed to hit something, was almost desperate to pick a fight just so he’d have something to throttle. Fury coursed through him, so powerful that it made him shake, nearly brought him to his knees.

  It wasn’t that she’d replaced him. Or, he corrected himself with habitual honesty, it wasn’t just that she’d replaced him. It was that she had done so in such an incredibly devious way. That she hadn’t told him. That she hadn’t cared enough to worry about how and when he would find out.

  Had she planned on telling him at all? Or was she simply going to bring Tom onto the ranch and expect Jesse not to notice? Maybe she thought the fifteen years he had on her had suddenly made him senile?

  He stared blindly at the perfectly decorated garden, barely seeing the hundreds of chairs arranged in rows or the flower bedecked arbor where his daughter would say her vows in a little more than three hours. With a roar of agony he lashed out, kicking the chair next to him and starting a chain reaction that knocked it into the chair next to it and so on, until half the row lay in disarray.

  Cursing, he bent to pick up the chair he’d originally kicked, only to feel his legs go out from under him. Weak-kneed, shaking, he sank into the nearest upright seat, his head in his hands.

  “Dad, are you all right?”

  Stiffening at the sound of Dakota’s voice, Jesse’s heart rate accelerated as he tried to compose himself.

  “I’m fine. Just a stupid accident.” He stood stiffly, bent to pick up one of the fallen chairs.

  “It didn’t look like an accident to me,” his son answered as he helped set the chairs to rights. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Jesse reached over and ruffled Dakota’s hair as he had done throughout his son’s childhood. “Long day, that’s all.”

  “The wedding hasn’t even started yet. You getting old or something?” Dakota teased as he set the last chair back onto its feet.

  “Must be.”

  “Nah. Not you.”

  Dakota leaned in, gave him a strong one-armed hug and Jesse found himself swallowing the lump in his throat. Was he really considering going to Kentucky—leaving not only his wife but his children behind? He shook his head to clear the cobwebs that suddenly made thinking impossible.

  “You need help with anything?”

  Jesse heard the words from far away, though it took him a minute to fight through his emotions enough to comprehend them.

  When he didn’t answer right away, Dakota grabbed his biceps. “Are you all right? Dad?”

  He shook it off, all of it—or at least buried it. The anger, the pain, the utter exhaustion. He cou
ld pull them out later and examine them when this day was over and his children were back to living their own lives.

  “I’m fine. Just a little out of sorts.” He forced a grin and headed toward the stables. “I can’t believe I’m losing your sister. First Rio then Willow. Pretty soon it’ll be you.”

  Dakota laughed as he fell into step next to his father, a careful arm still braced around Jesse’s shoulder. “No way. Now that Willow’s getting married and Rio and Brooke are talking about giving you your first grandchild, I figure I’m off the hook for a long while.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. You know your mother.”

  Dakota laughed. “I do. Well enough to know that she’s so wrapped up in the ranch that she won’t give me and my single status more than a passing thought for the next few years.”

  Jesse’s smile was bitter. “Isn’t that the truth?”

  They walked toward the racing stables in silence for a few minutes before Dakota asked carefully, “So what was that chair thing all about?”

  Jesse flushed as embarrassment hit him again—wasn’t it just his luck that the one time he lost control, his son was around to see it? “Nothing. I’m working through some frustration issues, that’s all.”

  “With Mom?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come on, Dad. You two can pretend all you want, but you didn’t raise any stupid kids. We all know something’s up.”

  “Nothing is up.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Dakota.” Jesse’s voice was serious.

  “Yes?” Dakota stopped dead at the impatience in his father’s tone.

  “When your mother and I need our three children running around in our heads, we’ll let you know. Until then, stay the hell out.”

  “Got it,” he said with a rueful grin.

  “Good.” Jesse smiled back. “Now I’ve got a couple calls to make. Why don’t you do me a favor and check to make sure every horse in here’s been exercised today?”

  “Sure.” Dakota loped off, his long-legged stride taking him effortlessly to the charts at the far end of the stable.

  Walking into his office, Jesse picked up the phone and the stack of messages sitting on his desk, prepared to answer the most pressing phone calls before he headed up to the house to get dressed. But he found himself staring at Dakota as he worked, wondering just how obvious he and Desiree had been in the past couple of years.

  If Dakota, who lived a couple of hundred miles away and was the least observant of their children, had noticed, what could Rio and Willow be thinking? His heart hurt at the idea that he had been nowhere near as discreet as he had thought he was, that his children had known all along that something was wrong.

  But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. He’d been worried the divorce would come as a huge shock to them, but maybe they’d been anticipating it for a while. Maybe it had seemed inevitable to everyone but him.

  Desiree, despite her protestations of ignorance, had to have known this was coming. Why else would she have hired a new trainer, if she hadn’t expected things to fall apart between them?

  Cursing himself and his inability to stop her from hurting him, Jesse turned to the messages and began dialing the phone. After returning the two most important phone calls—one about a horse he wanted to buy for the ranch and the other to an assistant trainer he and Desiree had discussed hiring—he crossed to Wink’s stall and petted the five-year-old stallion.

  Peace flowed through him as his hands sunk into the horse’s long, wiry mane. His whole life might be a mess, but this, this was simple. He might not be able to communicate with his wife worth a damn, but at least he could still see what was going on with his horses.

  Wink whickered softly, nudging him with his beautiful aristocratic nose. “I know, boy. I’m sorry your schedule’s so off today, but Willow’s getting married and everything’s a bit crazy. Tomorrow will be better, I promise. Tomorrow we’ll get you out for a nice long run, instead of that short little jog they gave you today.”

  Would he even be here tomorrow? Next week? Sadness overwhelmed him and he leaned forward, burying his face against the horse’s neck and drawing strength from his old friend. He’d need every bit of strength he could find to get through the wedding and the reception without throttling Desiree.

  He stroked the horse for a few minutes before turning away with a sigh. “Are you just about done, Dakota?” he asked. “It’s time to head up to the house.”

  “I need a few more minutes, Dad. But go ahead if there’s something you need to do.”

  There wasn’t anything he needed to do, but he was unwilling to stand around looking pathetic and useless in front of his youngest son. He should run by the maternity barn and check on M.C. Though he knew everything was going as planned with the very pregnant mare, he’d feel better if he saw her with his own eyes instead of relying on what his assistant trainers told him. She was one of his favorites, after all, and the foal she carried was incredibly important to the Triple H’s future.

  Not that the ranch’s future was really any of his business anymore. He crossed the room to stare blindly at the pictures and newspaper clippings Desiree had hung so painstakingly on the wall—here and in the study in the house. Little bits and pieces of the Triple H’s history, little bits and pieces of her marriage. Too bad their feelings for each other weren’t as unchanging as these small scraps of paper.

  He was drawn, inexorably, to the one clipping he’d actually mounted on the wall. Desiree had never understood why he’d chosen this story to mount, had asked him to take it down numerous times. But he’d remained firm. Failure, his failure, was as much a part of the Triple H as the successes were. And this failure, his first really big one, still smarted after all these years.

  In one of the most shocking upsets in horse-racing history, Crown Rhapsody lost the Belmont Stakes, and in doing so lost the Triple Crown many believed the horse was all but guaranteed.

  After an incredible showing at both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, where she finished both races at least two lengths ahead of the field, the Triple H’s horse’s winning streak came to an end in the middle of the Belmont Stakes.

  Halfway through the three-quarter-mile race, Rhapsody—who already had a commanding lead over most of the field—stumbled and fell, taking three more horses with her: Sterling’s Silver, Serendipity and Pennywise. While she was not seriously injured, suffering only two sprained ankles, Serendipity suffered two broken legs, three shattered ribs and assorted other injuries while Pennywise ended up with a dislocated shoulder. Sterling’s Silver, after much debate, was put down.

  “While we at the Triple H, and the rest of the horse-racing community, are saddened by the loss of Sterling’s Silver, we are extremely grateful that the collision did not endanger the lives of more horses,” commented Jesse Rainwater, Crown Rhapsody’s trainer since birth. “We look forward to a long racing career for Rhapsody and expect her to be back on the track within six weeks.”

  While few in the horseracing community doubt the brightness of Crown Rhapsody’s future, all acknowledge that, for the Triple H, this year’s Belmont Stakes will always be the one that got away.

  HE LOVED THE SMELL of the track, the scent of horses and popcorn and money combining into a potent cocktail of luck. Jesse took a deep breath, absorbing the scent into his very soul before leaning forward and speaking softly into Crown Rhapsody’s ear.

  Always high-strung, today she was so nervous that neither Jesse, nor Herbert—the parrot that was her constant stall companion—could calm her down. Almost as if she, too, knew that this wasn’t just another race. As if she knew that this was it—the race that could bring her everlasting glory and bring Jesse, if nothing else, a chance to relax from the craziness of the quest Big John had set him on nine years before. He was more than ready for a break, the chance for a little bit of peace calling to him as little else ever had.

  Hailed as the greatest racehorse since Secretariat, the entire rac
ing community had high hopes for Rhapsody—major newspapers and racing magazines across the country proclaimed that the Triple Crown would be won this year, that the outcome of the Belmont Stakes was a guaranteed certainty. Even the bookies had gotten onboard, offering some of the lowest odds on his horse that Belmont Park had ever seen.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Rhapsody was capable of winning this race. She’d won the Derby by almost three lengths, leaving her competition in the dust—literally. The Preakness hadn’t been any harder. She’d taken an early lead and raced to victory nearly unchallenged.

  Why then was he so nervous about this race? Why was his stomach knotted and his head pounding as if the fate of the world rested on this one horse’s shoulders? He’d never worried about a race before, had always done his best with breeding and training and left the rest up to the horse. Win some, lose some. That had always been his philosophy, though his horses won many more races than they lost.

  But this was different. Desiree was on tenterhooks, thrilled and crazed at the idea of finally bringing the Triple Crown back to her daddy’s ranch. Back to her ranch. Maybe that was where his own anxiety was stemming from—he didn’t want to disappoint her, couldn’t bear to see the sadness in her as the most coveted prize in horseracing slipped through their fingers again.

  Taking a few deep breaths, Jesse calmed himself, centered himself, sent himself seeking within the worried and uptight mind of his very high-strung racehorse. He walked with her for a little while—in the manner his mother and grandfather had taught him so many years before. He found her fears and soothed them as best he could, comforting and reassuring her. If only his fears could be soothed as easily.

  “It’s time to go,” Desiree’s voice was higher than normal, excitement and nervousness showing on her face as she approached the stables where he and Rhapsody waited.

  “She’s ready.” His own voice must have been tighter than he thought because Desiree smiled reassuringly as she laid a soothing hand on his shoulder.