Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  As if he’d been waiting thirty years for this particular night. It sounded too corny for him to put much stock in, to even consider longer than the time it took to flit across his brain. He shoved the thought aside with so much force it had no hope of lodging where he could consider it with any depth. No way had he waited thirty years to get tangled up with a horsewoman.

  But Lord above, she felt so right snuggled up against his side, her perfect little bottom molded into his lap, her slender back fitted against his chest. He could get real damn comfortable with her. At least until the roads cleared and he could get his truck fixed. Then he had to leave. Had to leave.

  Before she put two and two together and associated Sullivan with Lindsey-Sullivan, which, inevitably, she would. He’d held his breath when he’d confessed his last name, praying beyond all hope she wouldn’t flip over and make the association right there. But luck favored him, and she hadn’t recognized what she should have.

  She’d never understand.

  And there was no way in hell he intended to explain why he’d shut down his barns, left the world of Arabians behind, and abandoned Houston.

  He shifted, lifting a little so he could get a better look at her face. He brushed a thick lock of red hair from her cheek and studied her sleeping features. So pretty. So absolutely at peace.

  He’d like to sleep like that. Would welcome a night’s rest where ghosts of his past didn’t haunt him, didn’t lurk in the darkness, waiting for him to shut his eyes so they could scold, scream, and taunt. God, what bliss.

  Dropping back against the pillow, he gathered her closer and nuzzled his nose into her hair. The flowery scent soaked into his blood and stirred his arousal once more. Damn, what the hell was wrong with him? This kind of desire wasn’t…normal. At least not for him. And the way he’d come unglued with her—that too bordered on unsettling. He’d always prided himself on his finesse in the bedroom. Tonight though, he’d been as keyed up as a virgin.

  True, it had been a while since he’d been with a woman. But even that didn’t quite explain how absolutely out of control he’d been… Or how completely sated he felt in the aftermath of climax.

  He pressed a kiss against her hair and closed his eyes. A nagging sensation crawled up his spine. He was in trouble. Deep trouble. This, whatever it was, couldn’t possibly end well. He’d either be an asshole, or she’d weasel her way in where he couldn’t let her, and he wouldn’t come back from that kind of impossible situation. No matter how content he felt, he must remember this was temporary. He’d enjoy the short time they had together. Would look forward to the brief interlude on his return trip home. But it ended there.

  There were no other options.

  ****

  Comfort spread slowly through Gabrielle as sleep gave way to the morning light that filtered through the windows. She cracked one eye open, then the other. The soft gray light lifted the shadows.

  At her feet, the fire glowed dully. Heat spilled onto her toes even though the flames had long died out. But the weight around her waist, the heat of Jake’s body warming her back, the way the quilts tangled around them and bound them even closer, soaked into her soul.

  Jake. She’d made love to Jake.

  Holy shit.

  Her eyes widened a little more as the reality of the previous night sifted into her conscious awareness. A tendril of nervousness stuttered her heart, and she swallowed thickly. So this was the morning-after crap Margie babbled on and on about. Gabrielle had never quite understood the fuss. Going to bed with a guy meant commitment. Every time she slept with someone, she knew exactly where she stood. Random strangers didn’t occupy her bed.

  Ever.

  Until now.

  She cringed a little. What did it mean? Anything? Or was she just another girl in a long string of many he got comfy with on the road?

  Turning her head a fraction, she took in the powerful muscling in his arm and caught a glimpse of his tight abdomen. With the way he was put together, she seriously doubted Jake made a habit of celibacy. He certainly wouldn’t have to wait for women to come his way. They probably threw themselves at him.

  At least she could say she hadn’t done that. Well, she didn’t think she had. She’d done everything she could to make sure he made the first move. True, she hadn’t thwarted him. She probably should have. Wasn’t that what she always told Margie? Don’t jump into bed with them so soon, and they’ll stick around, hon.

  So much for listening to her own advice. That little piece of wisdom had fled the moment Jake’s mouth touched hers.

  The rise and fall of his chest gave her the security to twist a little more and study his face. Long, dark lashes dusted a sparse layer of freckles beneath his eyes. Dark stubble shadowed his chin, giving him a more rugged appearance. Lips parted slightly, he made no sound as he slept.

  So what did it mean? And at what time did it become appropriate to inform him she didn’t do casual sex?

  Margie’s voice answered for her, a memory of a not-so-long-ago conversation when Gabrielle had suggested her best friend ask her lovers for answers as opposed to guessing. Gabrielle, you don’t do that. That’s the quickest way to scare a guy off. He knows I’m thinking about it. I know he knows I’m thinking about it. I’ll find out soon enough.

  She’d found out a week later when the guy hadn’t called.

  Not that Jake had any way to run off immediately. He needed a tow truck and engine work before he could vanish. But that didn’t mean once they repaired his vehicle he’d feel any kind of obligation to keep in touch.

  And she wasn’t about to risk that happening before whatever this was ran its natural course.

  Problem was, she didn’t quite know how she’d handle being treated the way Margie had been. Not talking to someone after sleeping with them, in her book, was…well…like treason. Completely, utterly, disrespectful. A guy should at least possess the balls to tell a girl where she stood.

  Which led her right back to the question at hand. What had sleeping with Jake started? Or had it started anything at all?

  Good grief, she’d drive herself crazy with the questions. The smartest thing she could do was scoot out of his embrace. Get up, get away from his thought-staggering presence and do something. Think. Decide what rules she wanted to play by, and let him know immediately what her terms were.

  Reclaim the power, as Margie said.

  She picked up his arm and lifted it off her waist. One scoot, and she’d pushed away from his heavenly embrace. Once upright, she grabbed her shirt and pajama pants and quickly tugged them on. Time to see to the horses, discover what the weather had done overnight.

  She gave in to a languorous stretch and rolled her neck on her shoulders. A subtle crack freed a stiff joint as well as an expansive yawn. With a quick glance to make sure she hadn’t woken him, she tiptoed over his sleeping form to the window.

  Frost gathered on the pane, the aged frame a measly barrier to the cold outside. She rubbed a fist over the icy sheen, creating a hole just large enough to peer out at her front lawn.

  Thick hills of crystalline snow blanketed the grass, the nearby road, and the rolling acres of cropland across the way. No footprints marred the surface, no telltale marks of rabbits, deer, or even the stray cat that occasionally frequented her front porch. And the lack of tire tracks, or tractor ruts down the dirt road, told her those drifts were deeper than they looked. If they weren’t, Jonas would have already hauled baled hay out to his cattle at the end of the lane.

  Not good.

  She squinted up at the sky. Gray flakes tumbled down like tufts of cotton. Damn, it was still snowing.

  She reached for the lamp on the nearby table, testing the switch to see if they’d managed to repair whatever transformer had blown last night. It clicked but failed to light. She let out a miserable little sigh and dropped her head to the cold glass pane. No power, no water, and sixteen horses in the barn. Joy.

  What time was it anyway?

  She pushed awa
y from the window and trudged into the kitchen to check the battery-powered clock above the stove. Ten-fifteen? Crap! Her horses were probably ready to tear down the stall walls by now. She usually did morning chores around seven.

  With a longing look at the coffeepot, she muttered and hurried to her bedroom. Fatigue still lingered in her limbs, weighing them down, reminding her the day of hard labor ahead wouldn’t pass quickly. If she could shower, that would snap the sleep from her system. But a shower was definitely out. She’d have just enough water in the lines to soak her hair before it sputtered out.

  Damn it all, she should have let Jonas install that generator. She’d learned last winter how frightening no power could be. Except then, it had only lasted a day, and she’d only had four horses in her barn. When the electricity came on, she’d been in too much of a rush to catch up on neglected chores to help him wire it up.

  She could hear her father’s response already. Learn from your mistakes, Gabrielle. Daddy would never be caught in the middle of a blizzard with no way to water horses.

  Grumbling, Gabrielle jerked a gray sweatshirt over her head and yanked on her jeans. Daddy could go to hell. Despite the appearances he kept, he wasn’t perfect. Their relationship alone was a testament to his failures.

  As she stomped down the hall, a high-pitched double-beep rang from her study.

  “Gabrielle?” Margie’s voice filled the silence.

  Oh, damn. Setting up walkie-talkies between her farm and Margie’s had seemed like a good idea once upon a time. They’d done it for occasions just like this—when the power was out, or when cell service died, or if for whatever reason, an emergency cut off contact. But this morning, however, Gabrielle despised the thought.

  Beep-beep. “Gabrielle, can you hear me?”

  Pausing in the doorway, she debated whether to answer. If she did, she couldn’t hope to keep Margie in the dark about Jake. If she didn’t, Margie would worry.

  She glanced at the window and took in the heavy snowfall. For all Margie knew, Gabrielle could be in the barn, tending to chores that took longer than usual given the weather. She couldn’t very well climb in her truck and hightail it over here either. Not if Jonas’ tractor wouldn’t make it down the road.

  Beep-beep. “Gabrielle, you didn’t let me know you made it in okay last night.”

  Crap. Nothing like a little guilt to make her morning perfect.

  She stomped through the doorway and snatched the walkie-talkie off the desk. “I’m in between runs to the barn. I’m home safe. Over.”

  “You okay over there?” Obvious relief fringed Margie’s voice.

  Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder and offered up a silent prayer Jake wouldn’t make a sudden appearance in the doorway. She absolutely wasn’t ready to explain him to Margie. Not until she could explain to herself.

  “As fine as I can be with no power. You?”

  “You sound…annoyed.”

  “Of course I’m annoyed. There are snowdrifts the size of China between me and the barn. I gotta get back out there, Margie. Everything okay there?”

  Following another set of beeps, Margie’s low chuckle resonated through the receiver. “I’m about the same as you are. Holler at me later.”

  “I will. Gotta go.” Anxious to terminate the conversation, Gabrielle dropped the receiver back on the charger, half-expecting the little green light to glow. When it didn’t, she shook her head and left the study.

  Time to assess the damage. Generator first.

  She stuffed her feet into her tall rubber boots, pulled on her heavy wool barn coat, and tugged her muffler from the standing coat rack near the back door. She pushed the thick cotton up over her ears, pulled her hair free, and zipped her coat. With a deep breath, she prepared for the frigid confrontation and jerked open the back door.

  ****

  Jake startled at the loud thud that echoed through the house. Blinking, he lifted up on his elbows and frowned at the empty spot beside him. Damn it, he was supposed to wake up with her in his arms. Take a little time to enjoy the warmth of her soft skin before he had to climb out of this cozy little haven.

  What the hell was she up to?

  No sooner did he ask the question, than the answer boomed in his head. Horses. That foolish woman was out in this weather tending to her livestock. Just like his mother. She, too, had rarely ever taken time to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. He’d finally realized, around the age of fourteen, he’d never have a father as long as his mother trained horses. She simply didn’t have time to date. Another reason he wanted nothing to do with the world of horses. He wanted more out of life than racing from show to show every weekend.

  But hell, he couldn’t exactly sit here while Gabrielle wrestled with the snow.

  His eyes widened. Or that nutty horse she’d lugged home. Damn, they’d left that beast free in the barn. To do anything out there, she’d have to confront that crazy thing. And judging from the stallion’s behavior last night, she might very well need help.

  Grumbling, he tossed the covers back and rummaged for his clothes. He pulled them from beneath the tangled covers and dressed as he rose to his feet. He would not let her get hurt as long as he occupied space in her house. Not on his watch, damn it.

  Son of a bitch. Three years ago, he’d sworn off horses. Now, in less than twenty-four hours, he found himself right back in the thick of them. Damn it all, he’d known getting tangled up in Gabrielle wasn’t smart.

  With a muffled oath, he jammed on his shoes and hurried after her.

  Chapter Ten

  “Whoa! Easy!”

  The shrill shout that echoed through the half-open barn door spurred Jake faster. He half-stumbled, half-leapt through the deep snowdrifts, following Gabrielle’s voice.

  “Whoa boy!”

  A heavy thump, followed by the sound of clanging metal, clamped his gut down tight. Shit, she was in trouble. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

  Surging ahead, he pushed through the heavy snow and barged into the barn. The door thumped against the wall from the force of his shove. The sound ricocheted through the clatter. His gaze traversed the long, shavings-covered aisle and stopped on Gabrielle.

  His heart lurched. Fear spiked through his veins.

  Standing in front of the horse, a long lunge whip in one hand, her other outstretched, she approached at a shuffle. Her voice rang low, blending with the undercurrent of nickers and whuffles of the other stalled horses.

  “Easy, boy. Whoa. Good boy.”

  The stallion’s focus riveted on her. His nostrils flared. His ears stood erect. His already prominent dark eyes bulged, the white sclera visible even at a distance. Every muscle along his sleek body tensed, telltale evidence of the creature’s fight or flight nature. Warning signs Jake hadn’t seen in years, but recognized instantly.

  He held his breath, frozen in place. The wrong move, an untimed, unexpected noise could push the nutty horse over the edge.

  “Eee-sey,” Gabrielle cooed in a whispery tone.

  The stallion took a tentative step backward that pushed his hind end into the corner. His diagonal position in the aisle gave Jake a better view of the animal. Liver chestnut coat, speckled here and there with patches of white roaning. Marks highly unusual for an Egyptian Arabian. Sabino. Perhaps Rabicano—color patterns highly sought after in the breeding market. His long, flaxen mane fell to the bottom of his shoulder. His tail dragged behind his hind end, littered with pieces of shavings. A wide, white blaze emblazoned his face and heightened the creature’s beauty.

  But the stallion’s physical presence didn’t close Jake’s throat. The horse alone managed that. Watching the petite woman he’d just spent a fabulous night with approach the same psychotic beast that killed his mother, suffocated him. In one, heavy heartbeat, his world tilted on its axis. A wave of heat rushed through him as nausea rose.

  Holy fuck.

  It couldn’t be. The owners had sworn they’d put him down. He had the goddamn piece of paper guaranteeing
it stuffed in his desk at home. It was the one reason he hadn’t sued them. Insuring no one else would suffer his mother’s fate somehow justified that decision.

  No, it couldn’t be. A son, perhaps. A cousin. Hell, maybe Bahadur Mamoon had a full brother who inherited the same genes and coat pattern. It wasn’t impossible. He’d seen siblings so identical they looked like twins.

  Mamoon was not standing in Gabrielle’s barn. Fucking impossible.

  “Good boy,” Gabrielle purred. Close enough to grab his halter, she reached for the stallion’s face. Her fingertips skated over his wide cheek. She slipped her fingers beneath the nylon strip, and her posture visibly relaxed.

  Her touch enraged the horse. Letting out a high-pitched whinny-snort, he reared back. His front hooves came off the ground and hovered for a timeless second before they slammed down. He bolted forward, heedless of Gabrielle.

  Her hand caught in the halter. Her feet lifted off the ground, the horse’s sheer strength overpowering her slight weight. Before Jake could blink, she flew into the stall front, slid down the closed door, and crumpled with a plaintive cry.

  Snorting, the horse darted up the aisle, toward Jake. As he drew closer to the wide door to Jake’s left, the same door they’d unloaded him through last night, the stallion slowed into a prancy jog-trot. Tail thrust over his haunches, he dropped his head and sniffed at the shavings.

  “Damn it, I said whoa,” Gabrielle muttered.

  Jake looked back at her, only to find her approaching with the same steadfast determination he’d read in his mother’s features too many times. She intended to win this argument. Would not walk away and let the horse learn he could get out of something by putting up a fight. A lesson any decent trainer inherently understood. Gabrielle, however, wasn’t a trainer, and this horse obviously wasn’t normal.

  “Gabrielle,” he called quietly, keeping one eye on the horse at his side. “Don’t push it. We can herd him into the stall.”