Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  Jake snapped on a long longe line and ran his hand down the horse’s thickly furred neck. “Good boy,” he murmured. With a pat to the horse’s muscular shoulder, Jake backed away from Ghazanfar. The line slipped through his fingers as he edged to the center of one end, a loose hold that the gelding didn’t challenge. Ghazanfar stood at the opposite end, perpendicular to Jake, his head turned in interest. His tail twitched. One ear flickered to the side.

  Jake groped behind him, searching the ground for the longe whip he’d used the last time they’d worked together. His fingers closed around the shank, and with a slow arc, he brought the whip in front of him, pointing it at Ghazanfar’s flank. A lazy shake that jiggled the free-hanging length sent the gelding forward at a trot.

  As Ghazanfar worked in a circle around his handler, Jake eyed his movements. Long, ground-covering stride, enough knee action to be showy without hindering extension, hind hooves that landed in the indentations the front ones left behind. Jake spoke in low tones, ushering the flashy moving black through trot, then walk, then canter. With all paces completed in one direction, he turned Ghazanfar around and worked him through the same gaits the opposite way. Time suspended marked only by the gelding’s quick respiration and the lathered sweat gathered between his hind legs.

  The warm-up came to a close with a light tug on the lead and a firm, “Whoa.”

  Ghazanfar stopped with the precision of a horse who’d spent years in training. Feet square, he swung his head sideways, looking at Jake as if to ask what came next.

  A smile drifted to Jake’s face. Whoever trained this boy had done a respectable job. Although, had it been him, he’d have preferred the horse not skid so much at the halt, but rather ease down into it, maintaining a balanced frame the entire way. Then again, Gabrielle had said the gelding was older. Age had a way of making horses evade requests they felt required too much effort.

  He approached Ghazanfar and scratched his wide forehead, beneath his forelock. “What a good boy you are. Ready to try this halter stuff again?”

  The gelding rubbed his head in counter-motion to Jake’s fingers, a gesture that strangely mimicked an affirmative nod. Though in his heart Jake knew the movement was merely a product of wanting more scratching, he couldn’t put aside the fanciful thought the horse had answered. He chuckled to himself, shook his head, and took a step back.

  Standing in front of Ghazanfar, he collected the whip’s loose end, so as not to accidentally strike him, and finagled the overly long tool above the gelding’s head. A shorter, less cumbersome whip would have been ideal, but for now, what he had would have to suffice.

  At once, Ghazanfar’s head snapped up. A gentle tug on the lead rope, an extension of the whip toward the horse’s shoulder, and Ghazanfar planted his hind feet while moving his fores out farther in front of him. Like gymnasts popped into splits, the gelding popped into halter stance. Only, his left foreleg touched slightly behind the right.

  Jake nudged the askance leg with the tip of his whip. Obediently, Ghazanfar moved it forward, stretched out a little farther.

  “Atta boy,” Jake coaxed. He lifted the hand that held the lead. With steady pressure to Ghazanfar’s head, he asked him to stretch out his neck, lift up his nose, and show off his chiseled head.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Gabrielle’s voice cracked through the stillness.

  The whip fell from Jake’s hand as he whirled around. Standing in the darkened entryway, Gabrielle had her hands on her hips. Though he couldn’t see her expression, the tone of her voice told him all too clearly he’d find fury etched in those delicate features. Beside her, Margie leaned on a partially closed door.

  Shit! He’d been so lost in what he was doing, so focused on the damn horse, he’d forgotten to listen for visitors. Good God, how stupid could he get? While searching for an appropriate response, he bent down to pick up the whip, then collected the slack on the lead, and moved toward the horse.

  Gabrielle didn’t give him time. She stalked through the doorway, across the arena, and jerked Ghazanfar’s lead from his hand. “My horse, Jake. Liars don’t get to touch them.” She spun on her heel. The gelding whirled around with her.

  “Wait.” Jake took a step forward and grabbed Gabrielle by the wrist. “Just wait a damn minute.”

  She shot him a glare and shook off his hold. “Don’t touch me.”

  Her venomous rebuke left him staring wide eyed. Dumbfounded, he opened his mouth to protest, but when words failed, he snapped it shut. Grinding his teeth together, he started after her. “Wait,” he barked.

  Ignoring him, Gabrielle stomped into the aisle and disappeared around the corner.

  Son of a bitch. He’d expected she would be annoyed if she ever caught him, but this kind of anger didn’t fit. Though he had downplayed his experience, he’d never told her exactly what he’d done with horses. How the hell would she know he’d lied? Unless…

  Unless someone told her his secret. His gaze cut to Margie, narrowing in silent accusation.

  She held up both hands, palms out, and answered the unspoken question with a sharp shake of her head. “I came out to see your stitch job.”

  Anger sliced through him. If Margie hadn’t revealed who he was, then what in the hell had crawled up Gabrielle’s ass? That mad over his working with her senior gelding? Ludicrous. Nothing he’d done would have jeopardized that horse. And throwing the word liar around that way—he refused to let her storm off without an explanation.

  He shoved the door open wider and stalked through.

  Margie’s hand clamped down on his forearm. “Let her be,” she warned quietly. “Go in the house. I’ll talk to her.”

  Jake debated, his gaze pulling in the direction Gabrielle turned. Anger demanded he pursue. Guilt hounded him to confess. Explain everything. Get the whole damn thing over with. Tell her how he’d killed his mother, that he couldn’t shake this love of horses despite that terrible truth, and beg her to understand why he couldn’t stay.

  “Jake.” Margie’s fingers bit down more strongly. Her nails pricked his skin.

  He snatched his arm away in surrender.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “You did a good job.” Margie stood up and brushed the snow off her knees. She ran her hand lightly over Mamoon’s side, fingering the stitches before facing Gabrielle. “It’ll heal clean. Shouldn’t scar too badly, if at all. Nice work.”

  Gabrielle unhaltered the stallion and rubbed her hands together. “Good. Let’s go eat before I freeze.”

  “Ah, no.”

  Halfway through the gate, Gabrielle stopped. She tossed Margie a frown. “What do you mean no? You cooked. I’m not eating alone with that lying jerk tonight.”

  Margie joined her at the gate and took the latch out of Gabrielle’s hand. She snapped it into place, gave the chain a tug, then met Gabrielle’s gaze. “That’s exactly why I’m not staying. You need to talk to him. I’m sure there’s a reason he didn’t tell you how much experience he has with horses.”

  Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open. With a disbelieving shake of her head, she squinted at her best friend. “Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m not defending him. But a couple hours ago, you told me how much you like him.”

  “Liked,” Gabrielle corrected on a grumble. She’d liked him a heck of a lot. Only then, she thought she knew him. Now, she didn’t have the faintest clue what was real, lie, or staged. Seeing Jake with her horse, watching him set Ghazanfar up with the kind of precision that came with years of experience, opened her eyes to what she didn’t know about the man.

  Margie poked a bony finger into Gabrielle’s shoulder. “You still like him. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be pissed off. So what if he knows Arabians? It doesn’t change how he’s treated you or made you feel.”

  Still sporting a wary frown, Gabrielle studied the blonde at her side. This unexpected defense wasn’t Margie’s style. In years past, when Gabrielle bemoaned broken hearts, Margie turned into a Doberman, m
ore than willing to attack. If Gabrielle claimed someone was a creep, Margie echoed the sentiment without pause. So why the difference now? Had Jake said something during their ride to his rig?

  “Admit it, Gabrielle, because it’s all over your face. The guy lights you up like a bottle rocket. Unless he’s married, engaged, or hiding children he hasn’t disclosed, there’s no reason to write him off yet. Go figure out why he didn’t tell you. Don’t bite his head off.”

  Gabrielle swore beneath her breath. Of all the unbelievable things—Margie championing Jake. Traitorous. She stomped away, heading for the house. “I don’t want to speak to him.”

  “Then don’t.” Falling into step beside Gabrielle, Margie shrugged. “See if he talks to you.”

  That wouldn’t help things. Speaking to Jake at all would crack her resolve. Right now, she didn’t want to be understanding or forgiving. What she wanted was to kick him in the shins until his legs broke. Then he could crawl back to his godforsaken truck and freeze his ass off in the snow.

  She stopped short, her gaze dropping to the ground. Slowly, she turned around. “Margie?”

  One foot inside her truck, Margie hollered, “Yeah?”

  Gabrielle took two steps back toward the barn. “I’ll talk to him if you go inside and tell him to come out here.”

  Even from the distance, she could hear the surprise in Margie’s voice. “Out here?”

  Trying to hide a self-satisfied smirk, Gabrielle answered, “Neutral territory.” She uttered a silent prayer that Margie wouldn’t question the answer.

  Luck worked in her favor. Margie slogged up the porch steps and stuck her head inside, belting out, “Jake, Gabrielle wants to see you in the barn.” She shut the door before Gabrielle could hear his answer. Returning to her truck, she said goodbye with an enthusiastic wave.

  As Margie’s truck crunched through the snow, Gabrielle waited in the middle of the yard until the porch door opened. Jake exited, but stayed on the porch, his gaze fixed on her. Her pulse accelerated. Lord, he couldn’t out-stubborn her. Not when she intended to let him know exactly what she thought of his lies. She sucked in a deep breath and summoned her willpower. Ignoring the anger simmering in her blood, she beckoned him closer.

  He gave her a curt nod before cautiously descending the stairs. Thank God. A few steps more, and Jake would learn the hard way what happened when people lied to her. She searched for an amicable smile, attempting to pass off an approachable look.

  “Hey.” His expression was unreadable, his blue eyes void of emotion. But the tight set to his jaw hinted at irritation.

  “Hi.”

  With an inclination of his head, he indicated the barn. “What did you need me for?”

  “Ah.” To keep from following through with the urge to nail him square in the shins, she kicked a toe into the snow. Lying, cheating bastard. I can play you like you did me. “Ghazanfar needs another bale of hay and lugging it through the snow is pretty hard for me to do.”

  One dark eyebrow arched. “That’s all?”

  She nodded.

  “Then you’ll listen to me?”

  Not on your life, buddy. She nodded again.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m going to go inside. It’s cold out here.”

  “All right. I’ll meet you in the house.” Hands in his pockets, he headed for the barn.

  Gabrielle waited until the feed room door closed, and then bolted. Running as fast as she could over the snow, she stumbled through the deep drifts, her goal, the back door. On the stairs, she slipped, but latched onto the railing and hauled herself upright. A quick glance over her shoulder at the barn told her Jake was still inside. Perfect. She couldn’t ask for a better setup.

  A short burst of laughter broke free as she yanked the back door open. Ducking inside, she slammed it shut and nimbly flipped the lock. Take that, asshole. Sleep in the damn barn.

  Unconcerned, she shrugged out of her heavy coat and draped it over the coat rack. For all she cared, he could sleep out there with the horses for the rest of however long he intended to stay. He absolutely would not share her bed, and the guest room was too close to hers for comfort. Too easy for him to sweet talk her back into his arms.

  She wandered back to her bedroom and shimmied out of her clothes. As she tugged on a T-shirt and stepped into her pajama pants, her gaze fell to the bed. Visions of tumbling around the sheets, Jake’s body gliding against hers, leapt to her mind. Whispered confessions she’d believed meant something, now screamed fool! He knew pretty words, and she’d been a sucker to fall for them.

  A surge of fresh anger swept over her. Damn him! What else had he lied about? That he hadn’t ever spent all night with a woman the way they had last night? Probably another stretch of the truth. In all likelihood, she wasn’t the first. More like one among many.

  Loud racket at the back door jolted her out of her thoughts. Scowling, she stomped to the kitchen and checked the lock. “Go away, Jake. The barn’s warm enough.”

  “Let me in, Gabby,” he demanded. “I’m not sleeping in the goddamn barn.”

  “Better find a place then. You aren’t sleeping in here.”

  His fists drummed on the door. “For God’s sake, let me inside. It’s not what you think.”

  She didn’t bother with an answer. Instead, she went to the cupboard for fresh coffee grounds and started a new pot. A movement outside the kitchen window caught her eye. As she stood on tiptoe to peer over the bush that hugged the lower sill, Jake’s face appeared in the window.

  Like lightning, she rushed to the window and double-checked the lock.

  “Gabrielle!” His bellow cut through the old glass panes, loud enough she cringed. “Look, I’m sorry. Let me in, damn it. I’ll explain everything.”

  She couldn’t hold in a disbelieving snort. Right. He’d find more pretty words. And she’d believe them again, which was worse than his speaking flattery. Not going to happen. Not any more. Gabrielle drew the thin sheers, blocking Jake from her sight. At a jog, she headed for the windows in the dining room, only to find Jake already looking in.

  ****

  Jake stared at the drawn curtains barring every window on the ground floor. He spat in the snow. Fury, hurt, and…fear, damn it…all vibrated through his system. Fear he had no chance of fixing this mess. That he’d already lost her no matter what he said.

  Locking him out didn’t particularly surprise him. But he’d expected she’d concede somewhere before a half-hour expired. She hadn’t, and now he couldn’t feel his damn fingers. As dusk settled across the snow-covered fields, despair blanketed down on his shoulders. They sagged with the heavy weight, regret slowing his heartbeat to a dull thump-thump.

  There had to be a way to make her see reason.

  He stepped back from the house and searched the second floor. A tree branch grazed the window, but the sprig wouldn’t begin to support a cat’s weight, let alone his. The rest of the windows were dark and unadorned. Although he could lug a ladder to them, she’d undoubtedly lock them beneath his nose as she had every other one he’d approached. He’d already tried the front door, and nearly got his fingers smashed when the chain prevented him from total entry and Gabrielle shoved hard, forcing him out.

  She couldn’t really mean she wanted him in the barn, could she? Hell, if he had to, he’d sleep in a guest room far from hers. Just not in the damn barn like a common piece of livestock. Even if he might deserve it.

  His gaze followed the eaves. Neat, tidy. No shingle curled, no gutter bore chipped paint. Snow pillowed between the gabled lines. The fading sunlight glinted in a fashion that made the old farmhouse look like something out of a Christmas storybook. All she needed were electric candles in the windows, and the place would look like someone waited for Santa Claus.

  Santa…

  A slow smile pulled at his mouth. He shoved his hands into his pockets, tucked his chin to his chest, and assumed an air of surrender, in case she watched from behind one of those
damnable curtains. Jake headed for the barn, but as he approached the tracks they’d made in the snow, he dodged to the side, out of Gabrielle’s possible line of sight.

  Moving as fast as the calf-deep snow would let him, he trudged to the barn for the ladder. The aluminum weight rode effortlessly on his shoulder as he exited. He hurried across the yard to the garage and set the ladder against the wall long enough to enter and grab an armful of wood. Ladder once again slung atop his opposite shoulder, Jake eyed the windows until he spotted Gabrielle’s silhouette against the dining room sheers.

  Perfect.

  Moving a handful of feet away from the window, yet still close enough she could see him, he propped the ladder against the roof, ensuring it made contact with an audible thump. Then, he mounted, the dry logs tucked under his free arm. Two could play at her game, and, by God, he wasn’t spending another minute outside.

  Beneath him, a sliver of yellow light brightened the snow as Gabrielle peeked through a window. He smirked as he hauled himself onto the roof. Now, to create the right sound effects. At least he hoped it worked that way.

  He stacked the logs near the eave, using a bank of snow to keep them secure. Then, he shuffled toward the ridge cap. As he half-crawled, half-walked, he cleared a path down to the shingles. When he reached the top, he stepped out of the clearing and scooted on his rear back down to the ladder. The sound-silencing problem removed, Jake grabbed the logs, stepped into the cleared row, and stomped up the roof once more, this time taking great care to step heavily enough his footfalls would be heard inside.

  At the apex of her roof once more, laughter threatened to ruin his ploy. He took a deep breath to tamp it down and scanned the roofline. Approximately twenty feet to his left lay the back porch. With a little luck, she’d exit that way.

  He held the logs out in front of his body and let go. Five, large, thick timbers hit the shingles and rolled awkwardly toward the eave. Their triangular shape slowed their descent, at times forcing them to slide and skid before tumbling once more.