Conflicted (Everlasting Love) Page 3

  “Just what?”

  “Shouldn’t I be one hundred percent sure? Shouldn’t I know, without a doubt, that this is what I want? You knew you wanted Daddy, you knew you could never be happy with anyone else. I just want that same kind of certainty.”

  Desiree fought the little voice inside of her that wanted to yell, “And look where that’s gotten me!”

  Biting back the bitter words, Desiree turned to stare directly into the troubled darkness of her daughter’s eyes. “Life isn’t always certain, Willow. You make the best decision for you based on what you think and feel at the time. You can’t tell the future and you can’t live your life second-guessing yourself.”

  “But you—”

  “Stop it.” The words came out harsher than she’d intended, and Willow jerked back in surprise. Desiree sighed, reached up to smooth her daughter’s hair. “You’re not me. You’re not living my life. It’s absurd to expect things to play out exactly the same way.”

  “I just want to be as certain as you were, as certain as Daddy was.”

  This time she couldn’t stop the harsh laugh from exploding out of her. “Your father was nowhere near as sure as I was. Not by a long shot.”

  “What do you mean? Your journals—”

  “My journals are written from my point of view. Not your dad’s.” She stood and walked out onto the balcony, watching as the florist’s van drove up and Maria, their longtime housekeeper, went out to greet it.

  “Willow, your father was very unsure about marrying me. Between the age difference and the money difference and your grandfather, he was certain he was making a mistake.” She turned to look at her daughter’s shocked face and this time her smile was genuine. “He figured we wouldn’t last six months, thought I’d cave to my father’s demands and the whispers of people around us.”

  Willow’s eyes were wide, shocked. “But he married you anyway? Why?”

  Like Desiree hadn’t asked herself that question at least a thousand times in the past hour? How could she answer her daughter’s question when she didn’t have a clue herself? She debated her options. Finally, opting for the truth, she said, “I don’t know.”

  “Mama—”

  “What are you so afraid of?

  “What if this is all just a huge mistake I’ll grow to regret? You and Dad—”

  “What about your father and me?”

  “You started out so happy, so in love. And then…” Willow’s voice trailed off uncomfortably.

  Desiree grimaced. Had their problems in recent years really been so obvious? If Willow knew, did that mean that Rio and Dakota did as well? The thought flattened her, devastating her when she thought she couldn’t get any more distraught. She searched for something to say to reassure her daughter.

  “Honey, no one knows the future. No one knows at the beginning of a marriage how or when the end will come. Through death fifty years later or divorce in five years, nothing is guaranteed.”

  “That’s my point. Why should I take this risk when it could end badly?”

  Desiree shook her head, astounded at how good her daughter was at complicating things. How could she have forgotten that sympathy and understanding never got her anywhere with Willow? Just as she’d forgotten that Willow was more than capable of calling the wedding off because of a few last minute doubts.

  “What if it doesn’t?” She hadn’t forgotten how to snap her daughter out of a good old-fashioned pity party.

  “That’s the best you’ve got?” Willow’s voice was incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I’ve already told you everything I know about the subject. What else do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to say that I’m not making a mistake, that James is a great guy, that I love him and he loves me.”

  “You already know all that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but what if that’s not enough?”

  Willow’s words slammed through her like a freight train. When had life gotten so mixed up that love ceased to be enough?

  Had it ever been enough? Or had she just been stupid to think that it was?

  She stared at her daughter, the silence in the room thickening. When she finally spoke, her voice was harsher than she’d intended. “What do you want, Willow Rose? A money-back guarantee that nothing bad’s going to happen to you? An iron-clad agreement that this is going to work out exactly like you planned?”

  “Mom—”

  “Because life doesn’t work like that. Everything isn’t always right or wrong, black or white. Sometimes it’s shades of gray. Sometimes—” She broke off at Willow’s shocked expression, bit back the words that burned in her throat, in her gut. She crossed the room to rest her palm on her daughter’s cheek.

  “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “It’s okay.” But the words were jerky and her daughter rigid beneath her hands.

  “No, it’s not.” Her hand slipped down to Willow’s chin and she gently tipped her face up until they were eye-to-eye. “Do you love him?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. Do you love him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does James love you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to build a life with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have children with him?”

  “Of course.” Willow’s eyes were huge, but the smile that trembled on her lips was suddenly real again.

  “Grow old with him?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Then what else are you looking for, Willow?” Desiree smoothed a hand over her daughter’s long, black hair, stared into her heavily lashed, almond-shaped eyes. Jesse’s hair, Jesse’s eyes. Nausea churned, but she steadfastly beat it back.

  “Today’s about a promise. Forget everything else. Forget the dresses, the people watching, all the planning. It’s all superfluous. Today is about a promise—the promise you’ll make to James and the one he’ll make to you.”

  She stared out at the green and endless land she’d sacrificed everything for. “Have you ever broken a promise to James before?”

  “Never.”

  “Has he ever broken one to you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Desiree looked her daughter straight in the eye, even as anguish burned through her. “Then what else is there? If you trust him not to break his promises, if you know that you won’t break yours, what is there to be afraid of? Today he’ll promise to love and honor you forever and you’ll do the same for him.”

  “Forever’s a long time, Mama.”

  Desiree’s smile was bittersweet. “It’s only as long as you want it to be, baby. How long is that?”

  Willow’s eyes grew soft and faraway, and Desiree could all but see the future in them. “An eternity, at least.” She smiled. “Thanks, Mama.”

  Desiree winked. “Don’t mention it. What good would I be if my kids couldn’t ask for advice every now and again? Anything else?”

  “No, I think you’ve covered it.” Willow rushed into her embrace, and Desiree savored the feel of her little girl in her arms, savored the rush of love and warmth.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Willow?” called Anna softly. She was Willow’s oldest friend and her maid of honor. “Felipe is here to do your hair.”

  “I’m coming,” Willow called, rushing toward the door. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. Oh, hey, don’t forget the necklace and journal.” She gestured to the items on the dresser.

  “I’ll get them later—I’m so scatterbrained today I’ll probably lose them if I take them now.”

  “Have fun with the girls,” Desiree commented, smiling at Willow’s renewed enthusiasm. She kept smiling even as she remembered the promises Jesse had made to her through the years. Promises she’d counted on. Promises she’d never thought he’d break.

  Her eyes fell, again, on the journal gleaming bright blue in the sunlight that poured through the open doors. She pick
ed it up, to put it back on the shelf so it wouldn’t get misplaced. But her hands paged through it of their own volition, searching, seeking that first…

  And then she found it. Her fingers reached out, traced the letters on the page and her heart broke at the love revealed in every word. She really was a bigger fool than she thought.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When I woke that morning, it seemed like any other morning on the ranch. It was spring, so the fields were alive with color, animal babies wandered the meadows and life was good. I was sixteen and it was hard to imagine life as anything but wonderful.

  I was trained at an early age to believe that the Triple H was everything. It was worth any amount of money, any personal sacrifice, any human life. Preserving it was my father’s destiny, and through him, my destiny as well. I had believed this all sixteen years of my life—had eaten, breathed, dreamed the ranch as the only child of Big John was supposed to. I had never given that destiny much thought, though it was always there, somewhere, in the back of my mind.

  At least it always had been, until that first Thursday in April.

  I had been out riding, as I did every morning before school. It was early, maybe 6:00 a.m., but light had streaked the sky for nearly an hour. I reigned Jezebel in hard, both of us exhilarated from the high-spirited romp we had just finished around the outskirts of the ranch. She and I loved going there because it was different than the other parts of the Triple H—wilder, more natural, closer to the earth and to God.

  I was washing Jezzie down, walking her around the paddock and plying her with sugar cubes from my pocket. My father’s voice, booming like a Texas thunderstorm, carried from the house to the paddock and caught my attention. He was laughing as he walked toward me, talking to a man I didn’t recognize.

  I stared at the two of them, unable to look away. My heart started pounding, my breath grew shallow and I learned, in only a moment, what destiny truly was.

  “DESI, SWEETIE, COME meet our new head trainer,” Big John called to her across three corrals.

  Head trainer? The words whirled around in her head as she struggled for breath. This man was the new trainer? The one Daddy had been running after for nearly a year? The one who, at thirty-one, had trained more winning Thoroughbreds than most trainers did in their entire careers?

  Her father called to her again and she headed toward him, swinging the gate shut on the paddock as she went. How could her father not see it? She might only be sixteen years old, but even she could recognize the combination of power and danger that oozed from this man’s every pore.

  “Jesse, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Desiree. Desi, this is Jesse Rainwater. He’s only thirty-one and already the best trainer in this hemisphere, and he’s agreed to work here. He’s going to bring us our next Triple Crown winner.”

  “Hello, Desiree. Nice to meet you.”

  The smooth silk of his voice sent shivers up and down her spine as she stared at him, tongue-tied. He was tall and dark, with eyes that looked right through her. Desiree had never paid much attention to the male of the species, but Jesse was impossible to ignore. More than a decade too old for her, he did without trying what all of the high school boys had failed to do. He curled her toes with just a look.

  From his too-long black hair to his black-magic eyes, everything about him appealed to her. His Levi’s were faded to white in places and his black T-shirt molded every muscle he had—muscles that had obviously come from hard work and not those toys at the gym. The hand that grasped her outstretched one was rough and callused, and numerous scars stood out against the deep bronze of his skin.

  Nothing about Jesse escaped Desiree’s notice and she could tell that nothing about the Triple H escaped his.

  He seemed to note every trainer and assistant, every workout boy and groom. Whatever his past, whatever his circumstances, in those moments he looked around the ranch as if he had finally found a home.

  Desiree cleared her suddenly thick throat, found her voice. “Good to meet you, Mr. Rainwater.”

  He smiled, a brief curve of those finely chiseled lips, and her heart beat double time. “Call me Jesse.”

  Taking a few deep breaths, she focused her eyes slightly over his left shoulder, hoping her father wouldn’t comment on her odd reaction. “Okay…Jesse.” Desi’s voice was breathless, shaky, and she cleared her throat again, praying no one had noticed.

  Big John’s eyes narrowed on her face. “Are you getting sick again?” He turned to Jesse. “Desi’s getting over a bout with pneumonia—kept her laid up for two weeks.”

  Her face burned while anxiety cramped her stomach. “I’m fine, Daddy. Just something in my throat.” If her father thought for one second that she was sick, she’d be stuck in the house for another two weeks. Big John took no chances with his only child.

  “She looks fine to me,” Jesse interceded, as if he could read her thoughts.

  Desiree’s eyes went gratefully to his and she flushed even more at his discreet wink. “I am fine, Daddy. Honest.”

  “All right, then. You want to help me show Jesse the ranch?”

  “Can I? Really?” She loved showing off the Triple H and Big John knew it.

  “Yes, really.” He laughed, patted her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  “I can’t yet. I have to finish taking care of Jezebel.” She gestured to the horse her parents had given her on her fourteenth birthday.

  “We’ll wait.” Jesse was the one who spoke.

  Her eyes darted to her father for approval and he shrugged good-naturedly. “Sure we will. You need some help, sweetheart?”

  “I’ve got it, Daddy. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.” Hands shaking, heart in her throat, Desi was conscious of Jesse watching her intently, even as he spoke to her father about the horses. Despite the nearly overwhelming desire to rush, she rubbed Jezebel down and brushed her thoroughly. The horse shouldn’t have to suffer just because her owner had suddenly lost her mind.

  Even in the early morning the Texas sun was strong, and she was uncomfortably aware of how she looked. Sweat molded her faded T-shirt to her back, and her comfy old jeans had so many holes in them Mama constantly threatened to throw them out. Her unwashed red hair was scraped into a ponytail, and a zit was blooming on her chin. She could ride a horse like nobody’s business and could quote more racing statistics than most professional gamblers, but she knew she’d never win any beauty contests.

  Finally, finally, Jezebel was groomed and the three of them set out to walk the ranch. As her father and Jesse talked about racing, she hung back a little and watched him. Like the other trainers they had had on the ranch, Jesse talked to the horses soothingly as he looked them over. But there was something different about how he did it. Looking into the horses’ eyes, softly stroking their necks, Desi could see him form a connection with them.

  She glanced at her dad, saw him watching Jesse with a speculative look in his eyes. Maybe it was his Native American heritage, maybe it was just a natural affinity for horses, but it sure looked as though he was reading those horses’ minds and they were reading his.

  Leaving the smaller stables, which housed some of the retired horses and their very young offspring, they headed for the first of the five huge racing stables. They had almost reached the door when a commotion broke out in a paddock behind them.

  She turned to look and felt the color drain from her face as she started to run. Crown’s Majesty, the best two-year-old stallion the Triple H had and the current hope for next year’s Triple Crown, was spooked. He’d gotten away from his handler and was out of control. He knocked George down and reared up on his hind legs, preparing to come down hard on the unfortunate exercise boy.

  As she ran toward the horse, Desi was conscious of her father and Jesse running next to her. “Get out of the way,” her dad shouted, as George rolled away from the razor sharp hooves.

  She ran faster, heart pounding. Fear was a living, breathing thing inside of her. The situation was critical
and she knew it. Stallions were notoriously high-strung, and Majesty was the highest strung of them all. She feared for George but she also feared for the horse. In a rage like this, Majesty could injure himself and never feel it until later. And by then his chances of ever racing again could be over.

  Jesse poured on the speed, running past Desiree and her father as if they weren’t even there. He was staring intently at the horse, and she knew he too realized how potentially dangerous the situation was. He stopped running about fifteen feet from Majesty and began talking to the frightened horse.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She knew Jesse was the best at what he did—her dad had been talking about him nonstop for months—but he didn’t know Majesty and the horse certainly didn’t know him. Big John, thinking along the same lines as her, moved to intercede, but stopped at Jesse’s abrupt hand motion.

  The sounds Jesse crooned made no sense. Not words, just a musical collection of sounds running together. Desiree held her breath as Majesty snorted angrily, turning toward Jesse as if to eliminate this new threat.

  She swallowed a scream as the horse charged. She expected Jesse to jump out of the way, but he didn’t. He held his ground, facing down the charging horse. Just when she was sure that he’d be trampled to death, he took one step to the side. As the rampaging horse ran past him, he grabbed Majesty’s mane and swung lightly into the saddle, still crooning soothingly.

  Desiree and Big John stared, openmouthed, as Majesty twisted and turned, trying to dislodge Jesse. But even they could tell that it was a halfhearted rebellion. Within sixty seconds he’d given up the attempt to knock Jesse off his back, and instead allowed Jesse to guide him into a gentle walk.

  As breath slowly returned to her tortured lungs, Desi became aware again of her surroundings. Everyone within visual distance of the altercation had stopped. Grooms and trainers alike stared at Jesse with respect. She, too, stood in absolute awe at what he had done with a horse he’d never met before. And Majesty wasn’t just any horse; he was the nastiest, most hot-tempered horse the Triple H had ever bred. Yet he’d responded to Jesse like a sweet-tempered colt out for an afternoon jog. It was truly inspiring to see.