Conflicted (Everlasting Love)

by Tracy Wolff

  But she was talking over him, through him. “You’re away from home four and five months a year. I know beautiful, younger women throw themselves at you—I’ve seen it. And I know my stomach’s not as flat as it used to be, that my breasts—”

  “Desiree, don’t—”

  “Stop lying, Jesse. Stop—”

  His mouth crushed hers punishingly, as rage and pain and fear swept through him. His hands tangled in her hair, pulled her head back roughly as he possessed her, devoured her.

  She opened her mouth to protest and his tongue swept in—tasting, testing, teasing. Desiree moaned and the hands she’d brought up to push him away suddenly clutched his shirt, pulling him closer.

  How could she think he didn’t want her or that he would choose someone else before her? The questions taunted him as he devoured her, filling himself with the heady, seductive taste of her. He was desperate—a starving man too long denied the sustenance he needed most.

  She tasted the same, like wildflowers and rain and the most exclusive dark chocolate. He craved her and had for a very long time. She was in his blood, in his heart, in his very soul. How had he thought to rid himself of her? How had he thought he could live without her?

  Moaning, Desiree pressed herself against him and he forgot all the reasons this was a bad idea. He was caught up in feelings, mesmerized by the sensory explosion that had happened the second his mouth touched hers.

  He opened his eyes, triumph roaring through him at the slight flush passion lent to her pale, milky-white skin—a familiar sight, yet new, as well. Everything felt new and exciting as he savored this unexpected happening, as he gloried in the feel of his wife—his wife—in his arms again. Finally.

  She was beautiful. More beautiful now in her maturity than she’d been when he married her. Giving birth to his children had filled her out, rounding her body in all the right places. Her breasts were fuller, but still as high and firm as they’d been in her youth—testament to the exercises she performed religiously. Her legs—rider’s legs—were long and lithe and her skin was incredibly soft to the touch. Her stomach was flat, and though her rear had filled out a little in the past few years, it looked good on her.

  So where were her insecurities coming from? Where had she gotten the idea that she was no longer attractive to him? Hell, of all the problems they had, sexual attraction had never been one of them. From the first moment he’d touched her he had burned for her—so hot and deep that twenty-seven years wasn’t nearly enough time for the flame to flicker out.

  Suddenly she pulled away, ending the connection as abruptly as he had begun it. “I have to go.” She gestured to the door, as she tried to slip past him.

  He stared at her blankly until she pushed at him a little. “Jesse, let me pass, please.”

  He nodded, turning slightly to allow her to exit as he struggled for control. He watched her walk to the door, watched her hand close convulsively on the handle. “Desiree.”

  He saw her stiffen, her body shuddering once, twice, before she regained control. Tension was a time bomb ticking inside of him as he contemplated the sorrow in Desiree’s eyes before she’d moved past him, as he saw again the sad smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes.

  “I need to check on Willow.” Her voice was subdued. “I have to make sure everything’s going well with the florists, the caterers. I need—”

  “Desiree.”

  Her eyes darted to his. “Not now, Jess. I can’t do this now. We’ll talk later. We’ll…Later.” She closed the door behind her.

  He had his own duties to take care of for the wedding. So why was he still standing here? What had he expected? For one moment of passion to soften her? That the fleeting connection they’d experienced would last?

  It never had before. Why should today be any different? From the moment she’d gained control of the ranch, Desiree had been out of his reach.

  Shoulders slumped, head down—the pride of a lifetime battered if not completely vanquished—Jesse turned toward the wall of photos and ribbons and newspaper articles Desiree had obsessively saved for the past twenty years. With unerring accuracy, his gaze found the one that had almost single-handedly changed his life. The one that had sent Desiree into a tailspin and set him on a path he’d never planned on taking.

  Horseracing legend and Triple H ranch owner Big John Hawthorne died today after suffering a massive heart attack. He was rushed to Breckenridge Hospital in Austin, Texas, after his son-in-law, Jesse Rainwater, found him collapsed inside one of the Triple H stables.

  Though Hawthorne was born into horse-racing royalty, he was never content to rest on the accomplishments of those who came before him. Considered a visionary by many in the business, he and the Triple H are responsible for many of the advances in Thoroughbred breeding and racing that have occurred in the past twenty-five years.

  In recent years, his horses have won nearly every prestigious race the American horseracing world has to offer—except, ironically, the Triple Crown. Many in the horseracing community attribute his unparalleled success to a keen eye for horses and an even keener eye for personnel. Perhaps his biggest coup was landing the legendary Rainwater to train his horses, a stroke of genius that many believe is directly responsible for the recent fame and prestige of the Triple H.

  Hawthorne is survived by his daughter Desiree Hawthorne-Rainwater, Rainwater and his three grandchildren Rio, Dakota and Willow Rainwater.

  As dictated by family tradition, Hawthorne’s only child, Hawthorne-Rainwater, will inherit the ranch her father poured so much of his heart and genius into. The question on the lips of nearly everyone involved in American horse-racing this morning is how will she handle the responsibility? Can she live up to the high expectations set by her father or will she step aside and let Rainwater, her husband of nine years, run the ranch according to his own specifications?

  Those closest to Hawthorne-Rainwater believe that she has both the skill and the drive to take over for her father. “Desiree’s been trained for this from the time she was a small child,” comments Brian Willings, an official for the National Horseracing Association. “She is not only willing to take over for her father but also extremely capable and knowledgeable—perhaps even more than he was. Most of us in the business expect great things from Desiree and the Triple H. The next few years should prove extremely interesting.”

  Jesse watched closely as Desiree stripped off the black dress and stockings she’d worn to the funeral. He suddenly didn’t know who this woman was—where was the Desiree that had raged when her mother died, the one who had cried in his arms?

  This quiet, composed woman who wore duty like a shield wasn’t his wife. He understood that she was in shock—Big John’s heart attack had taken everyone by surprise. But Jesse had expected some kind of reaction, something that demonstrated how much their lives had changed overnight.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, crossing the room to lay a warm hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m fine.” She shrugged off his support as she slipped a dark purple turtleneck over her head. “I’ve got a ton of things to do.”

  He stripped off his own jacket and tie. “The ranch can wait for a day or two, Desiree.”

  “Not really, Jesse.” She was polite, remote, a totally different woman than he had held in his arms four days earlier…before her father had died. “There are decisions to be made, people to be contacted. It’s our busiest season.” She pulled on a pair of jeans, reached for her favorite boots.

  “People understand, darlin’. Hell, just about everyone in the business was there today.”

  “They still expect the ranch to be run properly, Jess.”

  “They expect, and understand, that you’ll need time to grieve for your father.”

  “What they expect is for me to fall flat on my face, and I’m not going to let that happen.” Her eyes shot fire at him even as her lower lip trembled a little. “Now, get out of my way so I can get to work.”

 
“Nobody expects you to fail, Desiree.”

  Her laugh was harsh, her eyes bright with anger and grief. “Everyone expects me to fail. I’m a woman in a profession where men rule. None of them think I have a chance in hell of running this ranch on my own. I’m going to prove them wrong.”

  “Is that what you think? That they’re standing around like a bunch of vultures waiting for you to screw up?”

  “Damn right I do. And it’s not going to happen—not now and not twenty years from now.” Her eyes glistened with determination as she stared into his. “There’s never been a Thoroughbred ranch run by a woman before because none of the men in the business think it’s possible. I’m going to prove them wrong. I’m going to make the Triple H the best ranch in the country and I’m going to do it with or without your support.”

  He watched, openmouthed, as she left. He finished undressing slowly, hung up his suit and Desiree’s dress, slid into his own jeans and heavy sweater.

  With a sigh he headed for the front door, but made a detour to the family room at the last minute. Rio was playing with his Star Wars figures while Willow and Dakota sat on the couch, watching cartoons with Maria.

  “Everything okay in here?” he asked, planting a kiss on his daughter’s cheek while he ruffled Dakota’s hair.

  “I want Mama,” said Willow, her lower lip stuck out in an obstinate pout.

  “Didn’t she stop by before heading out?” he asked the housekeeper.

  “No, Jesse. I wouldn’t even have known she’d left if I hadn’t heard the front door slam.”

  He reached down and scooped up his three-year-old daughter, tickling her tummy as she laughed delightedly. “Mama will be back later,” he said. “She’s got a lot of stuff to do today.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like business stuff. Plus she’s pretty sad right now.”

  “’Cuz Grandpa went to heaven?” asked five-year-old Dakota.

  “Pretty much.” Jesse crouched down in front of the couch, pulling eight-year-old Rio into his arms as he did. “Mama’s going to be kind of busy for a while, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. But she’s taking over for Grandpa and—”

  “You mean Mom’s gonna run the ranch?” asked Rio, wide-eyed.

  “That’s exactly what I mean. And since it’s a hard job, she might not have quite as much time to play with you as she used to. But you can always come see me if you need anything or ask Maria to call down to Grandpa’s—Mama’s—office if you want her. Okay?”

  He stared into the three solemn faces and cursed Desiree and her insane sense of duty. No one doubted that she could run the ranch fabulously—God knew Big John had been grooming her for it since birth. She could have waited a couple of days to take on her duties, spent a little time helping her family get used to the changes that were bound to come.

  Not to mention the fact that she needed some time to assimilate things herself. She’d lost her father, her children had lost their beloved grandfather, and they could all benefit from her sticking close to home right now and grieving with them.

  But it wasn’t to be. Hours later, after the clock had struck midnight and then some, Jesse went in search of her. He and Maria had gotten the kids fed and off to bed, but all three had demanded to see their mother before they slept. He’d put them off by promising that Desiree would be there to wake them up in the morning, though the disappointment in their faces was almost more than he could bear. Particularly as he wasn’t sure if Desiree would make a liar of him or not.

  As he walked toward the largest stable—the one that had held Big John’s office for as long as he’d been on the Triple H—Jesse inhaled the fresh scent of new grass and early spring.

  Pausing at one of the outdoor corrals, he rested his hip against the fence as he surveyed the ranch that had been his home for more than fifteen years. Every corner of it held memories—quick snapshots of his time with his wife, not so pleasant remembrances of arguments with her father. If it hadn’t been for Desiree, he would have left years ago to start the small, independent stable that had always been his dream. But her loyalty was to the ranch and his loyalty was, and always had been, to her.

  With a sigh, he continued his trek to the stables, shaking his head at the lone light burning in the window to Big John’s office. He entered the stable quietly, stopping to murmur to each of the horses in turn. He rubbed one behind the ears, fed a sugar cube to another, ran a hand down the back of a third as he crooned softly in the language of his mother and his grandfather.

  “Desiree,” he called softly, as he approached her father’s office. “It’s time to come to bed, darlin’. Everything will still be here in the morning.”

  When she didn’t answer, a skitter of unease skated down his spine, one that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with emotion. Some days, when he least expected it, memories of the past snuck up on him, memories of her screams for help, of finding her with her clothes ripped and her body bruised. He shook off the unpleasant memories, tried to concentrate on the present.

  “Desiree,” he called again, approaching the open office door. He could hear the radio playing, tuned to the classic rock station she loved. He peered in, then smiled sadly when he saw her slumped over her desk, her cheek resting on a stack of papers, her eyes closed. She was asleep, having worked herself into exhaustion. Her eyes were shadowed with dark circles, her skin so pale it was nearly translucent. A vein in her temple throbbed even as she slept, and the sight wounded him as nothing else had.

  He went over to her on silent feet, reaching out a soft hand to stroke an errant lock of hair from her forehead. God, she was beautiful. Even rundown and worn-out, her beauty shone from her. It made him needy, made him ache with the desire to hold her against him, to feel her head buried against his neck and her hands tangled in his hair—habits she’d acquired early on in their relationship, habits that he’d come to depend on.

  He ran a finger over the fragile skin of her cheek, a thumb over the softness of her lower lip. He savored the peace and contentment washing through him. She wasn’t easy—anybody raised by Big John couldn’t be—but she was fair. She was strong and determined, and most important his. And he would take care of her, whether she wanted him to or not.

  Reaching an arm under her, he lifted her into his arms and began the long walk back to the house. He loved the feel of her body pressed against his, loved the idea of sheltering her body with his own.

  Carrying her through the front door and up the stairs, he laid her on the bed they’d shared for nearly ten years and began stripping off her boots and jeans in an effort to make her more comfortable.

  “Jesse?” Her voice was low and husky as she reached for him.

  “I’m here, darlin’.” He slid her jeans down her hips and moved to pull her turtleneck over her head.

  “What happened?” she asked, sitting up sleepily in an effort to aid him in his task.

  “Get some rest, Desiree,” he murmured softly as he slipped her favorite nightshirt over her head. Made of an unattractive gray cotton, it was ancient and had been his for years before she had confiscated it. But Desiree loved it, chose to sleep in it on nights when she was feeling exhausted or overwrought or just plain ornery. “Everything will still be where you left it in the morning.”

  Yawning, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down with her as she sank into the softness of the feather pillows. “Stay with me?” she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

  “Always,” he answered as he settled himself beside her and pulled her into his arms. He still wore his boots and all the rest of his clothes, but if she didn’t mind, then neither did he.

  She snuggled against him, her hand fisted in his shirt as if afraid that he would leave her at the first opportunity. “I love you.” She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her.

  “Me, too, darlin’. Me, too.” He pulled her more firmly against him, let his mouth skim softly over her hair as she found her spot, h
er head resting in the crook of his neck. “Go to sleep, Des. They’ll be plenty of time to talk tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow,” she agreed, her chin pressing into his chest as she nodded.

  He closed his eyes and slid into sleep with thoughts of the future drifting through his head. They had so much to talk about, so much to do—plans for the children, for the horses, for the ranch. Tomorrow, he told himself as sleep claimed him. Tomorrow would be more than soon enough.

  But when he woke the next day in the early-morning darkness and reached out a hand to touch her, Desiree was gone. It was the beginning of a pattern that would become hauntingly familiar as the days and weeks and years slowly passed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “WILLOW, IT’S TIME to get dressed.” Desiree knocked on the closed door of her daughter’s bedroom. “Anna will be here as soon as she finishes dressing, but I thought I’d come see if you needed any help.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Come on in.”

  Desiree was surprised to see all three of her children gathered. “What have you been doing in here? Don’t you two have tuxes to change into?”

  “We’re going, Mom.” Dakota headed for the door, stopping to drop a kiss on her forehead.

  “What was that for?” she asked in surprise.

  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed. “How long have we got?”

  “Fifteen, twenty minutes. People are already starting to arrive.”

  “We’ll be ready.” This time it was Rio who spoke, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

  “You look gorgeous, Mom,” Willow murmured, taking in the chic hair and makeup Felipe had done, as well as the holly-red silk dress that dipped low in back. “You certainly don’t look like the average mother of the bride.”

  “I know.” Desiree’s smile was self-deprecating. “I’m still tall and gawky after all these years.

  “Not gawky, Mom. Statuesque.”

  Desiree snorted, even as she wrapped a companionable arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “You’re good for my ego—do you know that?”