Conflicted (Everlasting Love)(40)
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.