Conflicted (Everlasting Love)
Tracy Wolff
CHAPTER ONE
“I’VE HAD IT, DESIREE. I can’t do this anymore. Not for one more day. Not for one more minute.”
“What’s the matter?” Desiree Hawthorne-Rainwater asked with raised eyebrows, glancing up from her jewelry box just in time to see her husband of twenty-seven years hurl a large manila envelope at the center of the bed they hadn’t shared in more than a year.
“This.” Jesse’s eyes darkened to obsidian as he used a sweeping gesture to encompass everything in the room, his voice vibrating with contained fury. “All of this.”
Understanding moved through her, warming her for the first time in she couldn’t say how long. At last, something they could agree on again.
The noise and chaos were grating—truck after truck of the supplies needed to make this afternoon and evening a success were arriving nonstop and she certainly couldn’t blame Jesse for being annoyed by it when she herself had wanted to run away and bury herself in work more than once since this whole process had begun.
In a moment of weakness, she’d even contemplated offering Willow money if she would simply run away to Vegas—anything to get life back to normal on their idyllic Thoroughbred ranch in central Texas. But Willow had her heart set on a Christmas wedding—at home—and as mother of the bride and assistant wedding coordinator, burying her head and encouraging elopement hadn’t really been an option.
“I know it’s been crazy around here lately, but it’ll settle down after the wedding this afternoon.” She smiled wryly at the six feet, four inches of bristling, enraged masculinity currently regarding her with disbelieving eyes.
Part of her longed to reach a soothing hand out to him, but the tension between them had grown so thick in the past few months that she was afraid even that small gesture would rock the delicately balanced boat of their relationship. “We just need to hang in there a little longer.”
“You think that’s what this is all about? Willow’s wedding?”
The warmth died as an icy trickle of unease moved through her. “Isn’t it?” It was her turn to glance around the room. “Things are nuts around here today and have been for a while.”
“You can’t seriously be that out of touch.” Jesse shook his head, disgust evident in every line of his body. “If it would make Willow happy today, I’d gladly put on a gorilla suit and attempt to fly to the moon under my own power.”
“Well, what, then?” She couldn’t help the defensiveness that had crept into her tone—once upon a time he’d felt the same way about her.
“I’m talking about the new trainer you hired.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment washed through her—along with a healthy dose of annoyance. Hating the weakness her red cheeks hinted at, she focused on the annoyance instead. Fed it, until she was almost as angry as Jesse.
It wasn’t as though she’d deliberately kept Tom’s hiring from Jesse. She simply hadn’t had time to discuss it in between all the other things going on the past couple of weeks. “I was going to talk to you about that.”
“You were going to—” Jesse broke off in midsentence, his eyes narrowing dangerously—a sure sign that he was one small step away from total meltdown. He took a couple of deep breaths, then in a voice so quiet it hurt to listen to it, he asked, “That’s the best you’ve got?”
Her irritation kicked into high gear. Who was he to question her decision—he who barely bothered to say three words to her at any given time? Who left a room almost as soon as she entered it? Besides, the Triple H was her ranch. She made the decisions on it and had for more than a decade and a half. “What do you want me to say, Jess? I did what I thought was best.”
“Did you? I thought—” He broke off again. Rubbed a hand over his eyes. Turned away. When he finally spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion. “What you thought best. I guess that’s what we’re both doing, then.”
He pointed at the envelope on the bed. “Sign the papers, Desiree. We both know this isn’t working anymore.”
“What papers?” she demanded as he stalked to the door. “Jesse?” She couldn’t keep her voice from quavering as he deliberately ignored her. “What papers?”
The sudden slamming of the door behind him was the only response she got.
Crossing the room on leaden legs, she reached for the envelope, though every instinct for self-preservation screamed at her to run the other way. Desiree Hawthorne-Rainwater didn’t run from her problems. Her father had pounded that into her from the moment she had taken her first step.
She pulled out a thick sheaf of papers.
“Jesse Rainwater vs. Desiree Hawthorne-Rainwater. Petition for Divorce on the Grounds of Irreconcilable Differences.”
Her legs collapsed beneath her and she hit the ground, hard.
Divorce.
Irreconcilable differences.
Divorce.
Jesse wanted a divorce.
The papers slipped from her nerveless fingers as the words chased themselves around in her head.
Her husband—the father of her children—wanted a divorce.
Her partner—the man she’d loved for thirty-three years—wanted a divorce.
And she hadn’t even seen it coming.