Conflicted (Everlasting Love)(25)

“How do you know?” His gaze held hers captive, demanded the truth.

She wanted to yell, to pout, to beg. But he was right and she knew it. She would never forgive herself if their first time was on her mother’s deathbed, no matter how much she wanted the cessation of pain his touch promised her.

But what happened next? she wondered. How could she learn to let her mother go? What would become of Jesse and her? She closed her eyes, blocking out the insidious darkness of the night as question after question bombarded her.





CHAPTER SIX




JESSE STORMED INTO HIS office, closing the door with enough force to rattle the frames on the wall. One fell to the ground, the glass shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces.

Like his marriage. Like him, without Desiree.

Fury grabbed him by the throat. He reached for the bottle of Crown Royal—ha, ha—that Dakota had given him for his birthday this year. His sixty-fourth birthday. Christ, when had he gotten so damn old?

He poured himself a finger, tossed it back like water. Poured two fingers this time and settled into his desk chair to brood. Despite the silver liberally sprinkling his hair and the deep grooves near his eyes, he didn’t feel sixty-four. His body still worked the way it was supposed to—his back was strong, his mind agile. But recently time seemed to be creeping up on him and he had begun to wonder how much of it he had left.

There were so many things he hadn’t done yet, things he’d put off as he chased after Big John’s dream, after Desiree’s dream. A dream that seemed more impossible and less important with every season that passed.

Desiree didn’t understand. Maybe she couldn’t—at forty-nine, time hadn’t started ticking away from her in the same way it suddenly had for him. Maybe it never would. As young and as vibrant as she’d ever been, Desiree rolled over every obstacle in her path. Getting older wasn’t important, didn’t have anything to do with her goals for the ranch, so she didn’t pay attention to it or even acknowledge it.

He took another sip of his drink, savoring the warmth spreading through him. He’d been cold for so long that the sudden fire felt like heaven. Fire from the liquor. Fire from Desiree.

She was a mess—more shell-shocked and upset than he’d seen her in years. Of course, that wouldn’t last long. And when the shock wore off she’d come gunning for him in a way that made their earlier encounter look like a little girl’s tea party. Some small part of him almost looked forward to it.

Desiree. His loving wife, the mother of his children. Why the hell hadn’t she said something when he’d moved out of their room eight months before? Or if not then, then anytime during the ensuing months? A little open communication, a small expression of concern, anything, really, and he would have run back to her and tried to make things better. Tried to be a better trainer, a better husband. That was the power she had over him, the power she’d always had.

Despair swept through him, though he cursed himself for being an idiot, a moron, a stupid fool. After thirty-three years, the independent horse trainer who’d shown up here knowing he was the best was long gone. In his place was a much more humble man, one who’d tasted failure too many times to think he had all the answers. These days, much of his self-worth was tied to his feelings for Desiree, while much of hers was tied to her feelings for the ranch.

The glass flew across the room before he was conscious of throwing it. He watched impassively as the heavy crystal tumbler shattered against the big stone fireplace in the corner.

He’d failed her, damn it. He’d failed his children, failed the ranch and even failed her father, though the son-of-a-bitch was the only one who actually deserved it. But Desiree didn’t deserve it, had never deserved it, and neither had his kids. Though the Triple Crown had never meant much to his children, he’d wanted one of his horses to win it for them. So they could have their father back. So he wouldn’t have to work so hard to win something that was nearly impossible.

So they could have their mother back.

Every season that passed without the crown saw Desiree working harder, longer, more determined than ever to prove that she deserved this ranch. As if anyone had ever doubted her capability. But Desiree didn’t see the admiration in the faces of her employees, or the awe directed at her from so many in the racing community as her horses won race after important race.

Unable to bear the stillness of inactivity a second longer, Jesse stood to pace. He was still too wound up to face the others, still too raw to face his wife.

He grimaced. His soon-to-be ex-wife. Had he been stupid to think divorce was the only answer? God knew he still loved Desiree, still wanted her, still needed her as much as, if not more than, he had all those years ago when she’d been too young and too beautiful for him.

*

HE’D WALKED OUT ON her again.

In the thirty-three years she’d known Jesse, he’d never treated her with even a hint of disrespect. Now, today, he’d managed to heap a mountain of it on her—not once but twice.

She stared around the maternity barn in disbelief. Was she really that bad? Had she really done everything he’d accused her of? She’d shared the ranch—of course she had. She was in the position to know, better than anyone, just how much the Triple H needed Jesse. Without him these last few decades, they’d be so much less than what they were.