Waiting For Yes

by Claire Ashgrove

  She blinked up at him, her face pale, her expression a blend of shock and confusion.

  “Get out of here!” With a rough shove, he pushed her toward the opposite end of the barn and started for the horse.

  Blinded by rage and frustration, he ignored the threatening hooves and snatched at the chain still holding Mamoon. He released the emergency snap and jumped backward as Mamoon bolted to the end of the barn. Letting out a deep breath, Jake slumped forward, hands on his knees. It was over. Thank God. Now, to catch that bastard and teach him a lesson or two about manners.

  He lifted his head, eyeing the stallion. Enough of this crap. Whatever was wrong with that beast ended now. Determined, he took a step forward.

  But from the corner of his eye, he caught the dark color of Gabrielle’s coat as she approached. Exasperated, he turned on her. “I told you to get out of here, Gabby. That horse is fucking crazy! This whole thing is nuts! Go inside before you get hurt worse.”

  “I won’t.” Blood seeped through the fingers she held to her temple. Defiance, however, glared back at him. “That’s my horse. He’s going to learn. We’re going to Scottsdale, and I don’t care what you, Daddy, or God Himself has to say about it—I’m going to win, Jake. I’m not going to listen to you tell me I can’t. That I don’t have what it takes. I got enough of that from my father.”

  Un-fucking-believable. This had nothing to do with her, or her ability.

  But the flash of pain that reflected in her eyes curbed his anger. He stalked toward her and pried her hand from her face to inspect her injury. A long cut ran from her hairline down her cheek. Blood trickled from the jagged edges, but it didn’t look deep. At least she wouldn’t need stitches. He could help her bandage it, and in a day or two, she’d be just fine.

  “Sugar.” He sighed as he gathered her into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin. “I don’t doubt you. I’m convinced you could turn the devil into a saint if you put your mind to it. I doubt that horse.”

  She stiffened and pulled back. He tightened his arms, refusing to let her go. Lowering his voice, he gazed down into her jade green eyes and confessed, “I can’t accept your hurt. Give me some time to learn this horse. Let me figure out what sets him off. I’ll keep my word, but I won’t see you injured in the process. Understand?”

  Her gaze searched his, and, with a reluctant nod, she edged out of his embrace. Disappointment sagged her shoulders, but she retreated. His heart rolled over as he watched her go. Damn it all, he’d done exactly what he tried to prevent—wounded her.

  The firm thud of the barn door echoed hollowly in her wake.

  Several hours later Jake locked Mamoon in a stall. Every muscle in his body ached. The cold seeped into his bones, adding to his discomfort, and he’d lost feeling in his toes a good two hours earlier. He’d made progress, discovered the whip set Mamoon into panic faster than anything. But at what cost?

  As he let himself in the house, he found the answer. A cold meal sat on the stove. The rest of the house was dark, save for the light illuminating the hall from Gabrielle’s room. As he bypassed dinner and headed for a change of clothes and a shower, he found her sound asleep. Angry again. Just one more strike against that goddamn horse.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Gabrielle sat in her living room with a book folded across her lap. She tried to read, but the words jumbled together, making the effort worthless. For four days she’d watched Jake get up at dawn and head out to the barn. He stayed there until lunchtime, when he would spend a little time with her. After about an hour, however, he returned to the chilly outdoors and didn’t come back in until dark.

  Four dinners she ate by herself. Four nights she retired solo. Although Jake joined her after a hot shower, and excepting the night she’d gotten hurt, they’d made love at least once, she couldn’t take much more of this. She’d learned secondhand her horse had a phobia of whips. Evidently, he didn’t do too well in confined places either. And he absolutely hated the barn aisle. All things she should have learned by witnessing the events that led to discovery. Instead, she’d been confined to the house on some ridiculous excuse that Jake worried about her getting hurt.

  Touching, yes. Frustrating, even more so. She wasn’t a child, and she didn’t intend to go through another day like this. Tomorrow she’d go to the barn with him regardless. She’d put her hands on her horse, and Jake would instruct her. End of subject. No more trainer making up the rules around here. This was her place, damn it.

  She dropped her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes with a sigh. Despite her annoyance, faulting Jake felt selfish. He’d worked his rear off the last few days for her. According to what he told her every night, he’d made progress. She shouldn’t be upset. He was doing everything he could to help her with Scottsdale. But try as she might, the burn of jealousy refused to smother out. She wanted to be the one who bonded with Mamoon. How was she supposed to show him if they were strangers?

  The door creaked open, and she sat up. Must be time for lunch. No other reason would bring Jake inside midday. Unfortunately, today he’d have to fend for himself. She couldn’t find the energy.

  “Hey, sugar.” Strong hands gripped her shoulders. Warm breath washed over her skin as Jake leaned over the back of her chair to kiss her cheek. “What are you doing?”

  “Reading.”

  “Think you can put it down for a bit?”

  Twisting sideways, she peered up at him with a quirked brow. “Why?”

  Jake moved around in front of her and caught one hand as he dropped to a squat. His thumb trailed across her palm, sending a thrill of sensual energy shuddering down her spine. “Your horse would like to see you, I think.”

  A whole new kind of excitement burst inside her. She shot to her feet. The book tumbled to the floor. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  She had to force her feet to walk, not run, to the back door. Finally! Four days of torture, and she’d finally make progress this afternoon. Coat on, she turned an exasperated look on Jake who stood in front of the fridge. “Hurry up.”

  He popped a piece of leftover ham in his mouth and nudged the refrigerator door shut. “Coming,” he said around his mouthful. Laughter crinkled the corners of his eyes as he reached for the doorknob.

  Gabrielle beat him to the barn, anxious energy forbidding her to match his slow, casual gait. Inside, she darted to Mamoon’s stall and looked through the bars. He lifted his head and stepped toward the door. Gabrielle’s heart swelled. She stuck her hand through the barrier, delighting in the way Mamoon allowed her to stroke his nose. “Hey, boy.”

  A rustle behind her announced Jake’s approach. But the way Mamoon’s eyes went wide for a fraction of a moment, before he flattened his ears, told her Jake was right behind her. “He doesn’t like you much, does he?” she observed.

  “Actually, we’ve been getting along fine. He was doing real well a little bit ago.”

  “Maybe he’s just hungry?” She slid the stall door open and set a foot inside.

  Mamoon snorted. He sidestepped as she extended a hand. With a frown, she pulled it back and allowed Jake to tug her out of the stall.

  “Let’s let him eat,” Jake suggested. “Go ahead and get Rajiv out. I’ll teach you for a while.”

  Her mouth quirked. Flattening a palm against his chest, she quipped, “Handsome, you can teach me whatever you want.”

  Jake swatted her on the rear as she skipped past. While she haltered Rajiv, her mind wandered down the path it had traveled several times over the last few days. Back to the dream she’d had, and the question of just what parts had been fiction and what had been truth. Every once in a while, she caught Jake watching her with an expression that stole her breath away. But strategically dropped hints and attempts to coax that confession out of him yielded nothing. She was still no closer to discovering whether those three little words had been a product of her imagination or part of the conversation.

  She led
Rajiv behind Jake, following him into the arena. Lord, the man had a nice ass. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the worn denim that hugged his buttocks. Rear ends like his belonged in magazines, not in her barn. She giggled at the thought.

  Jake raised an eyebrow in silent question.

  With a shake of her head, she dismissed the wanderings of her mind and focused her attention on horses. “So what’s on the agenda?”

  “Halter set up. You’ve seen the classes, haven’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “All right. So you know that you’re going to walk in with the entire group of stallions and stand on the rail until the judge asks you to step out. Then you’ll walk and trot, and then you’ll set your horse up. How much of that do you feel comfortable with?”

  Gabrielle glanced at Rajiv. “With him, everything but getting him to tighten his back and stretch this snaky neck of his.”

  Jake chuckled. “Your old man there knows the ropes. Arabs don’t forget, Gabrielle. You know that. Trust him to teach you today.”

  “Okay. So, where do we begin?”

  He inclined his head. “Go ahead and take him over there. Get him to stop and plant his hind feet. Then we’ll talk about the stretch, which on Rajiv, you want to keep to a minimum. On Mamoon, however, take everything he’ll give.”

  Gabrielle did as Jake asked, losing track of time as he instructed, corrected her mistakes, and praised her efforts. His insight was limitless. Each time she struggled with a concept or command, Jake found a new way to phrase what he’d said previously, until she’d managed to sift all the information into place and work with little interjection on his part.

  Rajiv, a former multi-winning halter champion in youth, fell into the routine easily. He anticipated her requests—something Jake told her she couldn’t allow with Mamoon because Mamoon would take advantage—and made the entire process easy. A shame he wasn’t straight Egyptian. If he were, she’d have never had to deal with the temperamental Mamoon. Rajiv could take her everywhere she wanted to go.

  “Okay, sugar.” Jake grabbed the end of her leather lead and asked Rajiv to move into his personal space. He held Rajiv loosely, gazing down at Gabrielle with such seriousness for a moment she thought she might have disappointed him. But when he smiled, her trepidations melted away like ice cream on a sun-baked sidewalk.

  “You hang on to him. I’m going to fetch Mamoon. I want you to just watch what Mamoon does, learn how he’s different by sight, first. Tomorrow you can practice with him.”

  Elated by the prospect she’d finally see her future star in action, Gabrielle answered with an enthusiastic nod. She entertained herself with Rajiv, petting him, combing her fingers through his mane, and chatting absently while she waited for Jake to return. When at last he led the magnificent Mamoon into the arena, Gabrielle’s throat closed in awe.

  A thousand pounds of Arabian perfection moved across the arena floor like a winged horse. His flaxen tail carried high, the white-blond wisps floated out behind him. He knew he was special, and, sweet Mary, he didn’t hesitate to let anyone who might be watching know it too. Everything about that stallion screamed champion. No wonder he’d been so highly sought after at one time. She furrowed her brow. No wonder his babies cost more than he had; they likely didn’t come with the more…difficult…aspects.

  “God, Jake, he’s beautiful,” she wheezed as Mamoon assumed the halter stance.

  His long, elegant neck stretched toward Jake, his nose just a fraction above Jake’s head. Jake used no whip or crop to keep the stallion’s attention or focus, instead, he held a shiny metal object over his head that glinted in the light. It worked, strange as it was, for Mamoon obeyed like a robot, never hesitating, never balking, at Jake’s requests.

  Amazing. The horse she watched now resembled nothing of the crazy thing that had kicked the snot out of her new trailer. This one knew discipline, and whoever had taught him had made a significant impression.

  “He is beautiful,” Jake concurred as he asked Mamoon to stop a few feet away from Gabrielle and Rajiv.

  Positioned on the opposite side of Rajiv’s back, Gabrielle had to stand on tiptoe to see Jake. Mamoon, however, took one look at her and flattened his ears.

  Great. Four days with Jake, and Mamoon had gone back to hating her. Just perfect. Exactly what she needed to build her confidence about Scottsdale.

  “Okay, put Rajiv up. If you have to be in Arizona in two weeks, you’d better get to body clipping this winter coat off this guy. Can you handle that?”

  She laughed aloud as she nodded. “We had dozens of grooms at the barn, yet every time Daddy had a big show, Mom made me body clip the horses. Said I had the steadiest hand and an eye for smoothness.”

  “Perfect.” Jake’s grin deepened. “Because I suck at it.”

  Assuming mock surprise, Gabrielle teased, “The mighty horse trainer has a fault? Say it isn’t so.”

  Chuckling, Jake pointed at the exit. “Shoo. Put him up, and I’ll tie Mamoon. While you’re clipping him, I’ll clean some stalls.”

  Her steps felt light as she led her eldest horse back to his stall and removed his tack. Mamoon was making progress. If she hadn’t seen it, she’d never believe it. She gave Rajiv’s neck a soft pat and slid his stall door shut. Before she backed fully away from the stall, he had his head in a hay bag. Good old Rajiv—steady and dependable. She shook her head in humor and returned to the arena.

  Jake had Mamoon tied on the far side. He sat on a footstool near the horse’s front legs, the lead rope dangling loosely across his lap. He looked up with a soft smile as she drew nearer. “If you stay with him, I’ll get your stuff. Tell me where to find it?”

  Gabrielle ran her hand down Mamoon’s wide blaze. “In my tack room, in the black trunk against the rear wall.”

  “Be right back.”

  As Jake started away, she reached out and caught his elbow. He turned with a curious lift of dark eyebrows.

  “Not so fast, handsome.” A light tug on his arm brought him close enough so she could rise on her toes and give him a kiss. “You’ve done good with him. Thank you, Jake.”

  His lips still lingering against hers, he answered with a playful nip of his teeth. “We aren’t done yet. Go get reacquainted.”

  With a brief nod, she turned back to Mamoon. “Whatcha think, boy?” His mane felt like silk beneath her fingertips. Jake must have combed it out when he groomed him. She scratched Mamoon’s withers, chuckling softly as he arched his neck sideways and his bottom lip twitched. “Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it?”

  She scratched a little harder, and the horse bobbed his head with vigor. Sneaking a look sideways to make sure Jake wouldn’t catch her in the act, she pulled a peppermint out of her hand. Mamoon devoured it greedily.

  “Hey, you’ll make him mouthy.”

  The deep timbre of Jake’s voice at her shoulder startled her. She snapped her head up at the same time as she shoved her hand behind her back, the way she had many times as a child when the trainers had scolded her for giving the horses treats. But Jake’s rumbling chuckle freed a bright smile. “My horse, my rules,” she quipped as she took the clippers out of his hand. “Treats are mandatory in my barn.”

  He laughed again, shaking his head. “Okay you two have fun. I’m off to clean.” Still chortling, he exited on the opposite side and grabbed the plastic manure fork from the nearby grooming stall. He entered the gate that separated off an isolated aisle of stalls and stopped near Mamoon’s flank. “What do you think ab—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Mamoon reared. His front hooves crashed into the soft ground inches away from Gabrielle’s foot. She reached for the lead rope that dangled from his halter. But Mamoon was faster. With one mighty pull backward, he snapped the leather strap at the halter’s crown. Free, he wheeled around. His hind end slammed into Gabrielle and shoved her into the half-wall that partitioned off the arena. Sharp pain shot through her side as her ribs connected with the thick rail.

&n
bsp; Jake lunged forward, reaching for the useless lead. “Get out of the way, Gabby,” he thundered. Lead in hand, he tossed it at Mamoon in an attempt to loop it around his neck. It fell to the floor in front of the horse’s pounding hooves.

  Mamoon snaked his head sideways, teeth bared, ears pinned. Jake leapt aside. Teeth grazed over his coat, tearing off a long strip of cloth. The stallion dropped the torn shred with a violent headshake and spun again, his fury directed at Jake.

  Her own safety forgotten, Gabrielle snatched up the lead rope and darted at Mamoon. He gave her merely a sparing glance before he popped into the air again. One hoof struck out at Jake’s head. Jake defended himself by raising the plastic fork and issuing a challenging thrust.

  Mamoon struck again.

  Through the chaos, reason filtered into her mind. Mamoon had been perfectly fine before Jake came near him with that tool. They both already knew whips sent him over the edge. This had to be another reflexive reaction to some past abuse. She shouted, “Drop the fork!”

  “Get out of the way!”

  Gabrielle ignored Jake and took another step closer. A light toss sent the snap end of the lead sailing over Mamoon’s neck. She grabbed at it, but Mamoon lunged again, and she grabbed a handful of air. No doubt about it. Mamoon’s stare was riveted on the plastic prongs. He lurched at Jake again, teeth bared and perfectly aligned with the manure pick.

  “Drop the fork, Jake!”

  Giving her a look of incredulity, Jake took a giant step backward and tossed the fork sideways. It landed with a twang, five feet away. Mamoon’s gaze followed.

  Gabrielle reached for the lead once more. Her fingers grasped the dangling snap, and she quickly gathered both ends in her hand. With a heavy snort, Mamoon arced his neck and pawed at the ground. Yet, he didn’t move. Didn’t so much as flinch as Jake edged closer to Gabrielle and snatched the lead away.