Читать книгу A Christmas Wedding - Tracy Wolff - Страница 9

“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.

Desiree studied the bedroom door, seeing once more the contemptuous look Jesse had thrown at her before slamming out—as if simply being in the same room with her might somehow contaminate him.

A sob escaped before she could stifle it.

God, she was such a fool.

Eleven words. That’s all the time or interest he’d had to spare. After twenty-seven years of marriage and a friendship that dated back over thirty years, their relationship could now be reduced to eleven measly words. Fewer, really. This isn’t working anymore. Sign the papers.

Her stomach revolted and she grabbed the wastebasket by the bed just in time to prevent herself from throwing up all over the white Berber carpet.

When the nausea finally abated, she collapsed—prone on the floor. Too weak to get up, too shocked to do anything but stare into space.

What should she do now? she wondered.

What could she do?

Did she sign the papers?

Or fight?

She was so tired of fighting—she’d been doing it for so many years and on so many fronts that she didn’t know if she had any fight left in her. Didn’t know if what little she did have left was enough or if she had lost the war before the first battle was ever decided.

She tried to ignore her suddenly throbbing head, tried to plan a course of action. She was good at plans, she reminded herself—good at listing goals and plotting how to get there. She would just…

Just what? Desiree tried to think, to focus, but her mind refused to work. It’s usual agility no match for the shock rocketing through her. She lifted a hand to press against her eyes, then stopped in midmotion, horrified to see it tremble. Her father would never have approved.

But what did she expect? She had been woefully, embarrassingly unprepared for this, completely blindsided by the idea of not having Jesse in her life. Of not being a part of his. Because no matter how bad things had gotten in the past few years, divorce had never been an option. She loved Jesse wholeheartedly and, until five minutes ago, would have sworn he felt the same.

Not anymore. Her fists clenched involuntarily, her expensive—and unfamiliar—French manicure digging grooves into her palms as doubt assailed her again. How could she have been so wrong?

Pushing herself into a sitting position, she concentrated on breathing, to combat the bile scalding the back of her throat. In, out. In, out. Her eyes fell, unwittingly, to the carpet Jesse had been dead set against, swearing white had no place on a Thoroughbred ranch. Maybe he’d been right, as it now boasted numerous stains.

Without thinking, she sought out the light amber stain near the nightstand where Jesse had dropped his drink the first time she’d worn the red push-up bra and thong Willow had insisted she buy on her fortieth birthday. The bloodstain near the balcony where their oldest son, Rio, had sliced his forehead open when he was seven. She smiled absently—he’d been so brave. The red lipstick near the bathroom door—she’d dropped it years ago, when her youngest son, Dakota, had flown into the room and grabbed her around the waist, so thrilled at being named first-string varsity quarterback that he could barely get the words out.

The memories of a lifetime. Their lifetime.

Desiree tightly hugged her knees to her chest. She was cold all the way to the bone, despite the perfection of the late-December day. Willow had been afraid to hold the wedding outside, terrified that the capricious central Texas weather would ruin one of the most important days of her life. But Desiree had pushed for a garden wedding as images of the ranch decked out in sunshine and poinsettias danced through her mind. And she’d been right to push—the morning had dawned clear and bright. A perfect day to give her youngest child away.

She’d looked forward to this day for months, had even thought past the excitement of the wedding to how things would be when it was all over. When she and Jesse could snuggle on the couch and talk, finally, about this thing that had grown between them. About the plans she’d made to fix things.

What a joke she was.

Desiree swiped impatiently at her wet cheeks, disgusted with the tears that continued to fall. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d cried in the past thirty years, but her stoicism had deserted her completely.

What kind of woman was totally blindsided when her husband asked for a divorce? How could she not have known—she, who prided herself on knowing everything that happened on the ranch? How could she notice a stable boy’s discontent and not see her own husband’s misery? Was she really that blind?

Damn it, why hadn’t he said something, anything, to clue her in to the fact that things had gotten so bad that divorce was the only option? When had he decided? Divorce papers weren’t drawn up overnight—no matter how rich you were. How long had he known? How many days had he sat across from her at breakfast and known that he didn’t love her anymore? How many nights had he worked beside her in the study knowing that he was leaving?

Yes, she’d recognized that things were going downhill between Jesse and her, just as she’d recognized that she was mostly to blame. But she’d thought she had all the time in the world to fix it, had put it off until a more convenient time. Until the kids were on their own. Until the ranch didn’t need her so much.

Until Jesse no longer needed her at all. She really was her father’s daughter after all.

JESSE TOOK THE STAIRS three at a time, desperate to get some fresh air. He was nauseous, his gut churning sickly as he realized he’d taken the last, irrevocable step necessary to end the relationship that had shaped most of his adult life. To sever all ties between himself and the love of his life. And he’d done it right before Christmas, on their daughter’s wedding day. Could he have picked a worse day?

Slamming the front door behind him, he sucked huge gulps of air into his suddenly starving lungs. He closed his eyes, only to open them again as he saw Desiree’s stricken face dancing on the back of his closed eyelids. Guilt ate at him making him even angrier because she was so clearly the one in the wrong.

He hadn’t planned on doing it today, had had no intention of hurting Desiree on what should have been one of the happiest days of her life.

He’d been holding on to those papers for almost three weeks now—asking himself if he really wanted to go through with it. Telling himself he’d talk to her after the wedding, after Christmas, when things had settled down and they could discuss—rationally—what they should do about their pathetic excuse for a marriage.

But when he’d found out about the new trainer—about his replacement, for God’s sake—he’d stopped thinking altogether. Fury had taken over, and it had been all he could do to keep from finding Mike and stuffing that damn article down his shrewd yet well-intentioned throat.

Jesse’s hand slipped into his pocket of its own accord and he was staring at the fragment of newspaper before he realized what he was doing. As his eyes skimmed over the headline—again—he found himself thinking back on his conversation earlier that morning with Mike.

“Jesse Rainwater. You’re just the man I’ve been wanting to see.”

Startled by the unfamiliar voice booming from his living room, Jesse spilled some of the water he’d been pouring into the base of the eight-foot Christmas tree as he turned to investigate. A large sandy-haired man wearing a hat and suit was walking toward him, right hand extended.

“Mike?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he recognized the famous Thoroughbred rancher from Kentucky. “What are you doing here?” He put the watering can on a nearby table and headed toward the living room, grasping the man’s outstretched hand in his own.

“I’m in town for the ceremony, of course. I couldn’t miss my only nephew’s wedding, could I?”

Jesse grinned. “Right. How did I manage to forget you were James’s uncle?”

“Probably cuz things have been so crazy I wasn’t able to make the engagement party or much of anything else.”

“That would do it. I’m not sure if James is even here yet, but—”

“No, the boy’s still at the hotel with his folks. I came early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Really? Well, have a seat.” He gestured to the bar. “Can I get you something?”

“Much obliged—whiskey, straight up.” Mike sat on the couch, stretching his long booted feet out in front of him. “I’m sure you’re busy today, so I won’t take up much of your time.”

“All right.” Jesse hoped he’d make it quick. He had a number of things he needed to get done—including checking on a couple of the horses and making sure the garden was properly set up before he changed for the ceremony.

“I’ve been watching you for a while, Jesse. Well, me and the rest of the horseracing community, that is.”

“I’ve been watching you, too,” Jesse answered. “That’s part of the game, isn’t it?”

“It is at that. But I’ve taken a personal interest in you, particularly with what’s been going on with Cherokee’s Dream and Born Lucky.”

Stiffening at the mention of two of his own line of horses—a line that had been bred and trained away from the Triple H—Jesse stared at Mike through narrowed eyes. “They’re not for sale.”

Mike snorted, a broad grin on his tough, sun-wrinkled face. “I didn’t expect they would be. I don’t want to buy either of those horses.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you to come and work with me.”

Jesse laughed. “Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.”

“I’m serious. I want—”

“Look, Mike, I’m not looking for new employment. And if I was, my wife would have something to say about me going to work for a major competitor.”

“I bet she would at that.” Mike took his hat off, tapped it against his thigh. “But I don’t want you to work for me. I want to make you a partner.”

“A partner? In what?”

“In my ranch, man. In Whistling Winds.”

Thousands of thoughts whirled in Jesse’s head as he stared at the man sitting across from him, but none of them made any sense. “You want to partner with the Triple H? I’ll be honest—you need to be talking to Desiree. I don’t think she’ll go for it, but this is her ranch—”

“I didn’t say anything about partnering with Desiree or the Triple H. I said I wanted to make you a partner in the ranch.”

“Me?” Jesse ran a hand through his hair, totally bewildered by the completely unexpected offer. “Do you need money, Mike?”

Mike’s laugh boomed out and he reached forward to slap Jesse on the back. “Not at all, man. Not at all.”

“Then I don’t understand what you’re getting at. Why come all the way here and offer a partnership in your ranch? You’ve always guarded that ranch like a jealous fishwife.”

“I still do. Much, I think, as Desiree guards this one.” He leaned forward, took a sip of his drink. “Am I right?”

He was exactly right, but Jesse wouldn’t admit it. He might be unhappy with the state of affairs on the ranch—and in his marriage—but he wasn’t going to broadcast it. “That’s pretty much the nature of the beast.”

Mike nodded, apparently satisfied at his response. “Exactly.”

“So, that still leaves me in the dark as to why you want to offer me part of your ranch.”

“Not just part, Jesse. I’m willing to offer you one-third of Whistling Winds, turned over to you as soon as you sign the papers.”

“One-third? What the hell do you want from me in return? My firstborn?”

“Hell, no.” Mike laughed again. “I’ve got four kids of my own—I don’t have room for any more. I want you to bring that small stable of horses you’ve developed away from here to breed and train on my ranch. I want those horses, and any others that you breed, buy or train, to run for the W.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“My work is here. My life is here. I’m married to Desiree and I’ve been head trainer on the Triple H for over thirty years.”

“What have you got to show for it?”

He bristled before he could stop himself. “What does that mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Everyone knows Desiree holds the strings on this ranch so tight that you’ll never get a piece of it, whether you’re her husband or not.” He lifted a hand as though to forestall the explosion Jesse felt rising within him. “I can see I’ve touched a sore spot and that wasn’t my intention. Nor am I insulting Desiree. She’s done a hell of a job with this ranch since Big John died. No one can deny that or help being impressed by it.

“But at the same time, we both know this ranch wouldn’t be where it is today if it didn’t have you.”

“Mike—”

“I’m getting old, we both are, and neither of us have time to sit around and blow smoke up each other’s asses. You’re the best trainer in North America, probably in the whole damn world. You’ve got the best eye for horseflesh I’ve ever seen and I need that eye, those skills, for my ranch.

“I’ve got the second-best Thoroughbred ranch in North America—you know it and so do I. I also know that the Triple H is better, and that’s because of you. I don’t want to get between you and your wife, and I’m not asking you to choose. I don’t want you to come to my ranch and train my horses.”

“You want me to come to your ranch and train my horses?” Jesse couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.

“Exactly.” Mike slapped his hat on his knee again. “And when they win—which we both know they will do—the credit goes to your brand. And mine.”

“Of course. I get one-third of your ranch and you get—”

“The rights to half of your brand. We both know that in three to five years Cherokee Dreaming will be the premier name on the racing circuit. And I have to assume Desiree knows it, too. Yet she hasn’t made you a partner, has barely acknowledged that your stable exists.”

“Mike—”

“I don’t mean any disrespect to your wife, Jesse. God knows I’m not stupid enough to think that’s the way to get you to agree with me. What I’m asking is if you want to be a part of something great. Not just work for a great ranch, but be part owner of one. You’ll have the same freedom with your line that you’ve always had, but you’ll have one hell of a financial backing behind you. You won’t have to stable the line away from the ranch, won’t have to fit in its development in your spare time. It’d be your only focus, your only responsibility and you’d get one-third of the profits brought in to my ranch by any of my horses.”

Mike leaned forward, took a long swallow of his drink. “You’d be a fool to say no.”

Jesse stood, walked slowly to the front window that looked out over the Triple H. This ranch had been his home for the past thirty-three years. Truth be told, Desiree had been his home all these long years. He’d decided weeks ago that he needed to find a new home, when he’d finally figured out that he couldn’t be what Desiree wanted anymore.

He’d made his own plans, had expected to buy an acre or two of land somewhere and train his horses. He’d anticipated staying in Texas because he wanted to be close to his kids. But he’d never imagined an offer like this, had never dreamed of becoming a full partner in a ranch with the stature of Whistling Winds.

How could he have expected a relative stranger to make an offer like this when his own wife had never even considered offering him half as much? He turned, regarding Mike Jacoby through narrowed eyes.

He’d always respected him, had often been impressed with how he ran his ranch. “Still, we both know I’d be a fool to do anything right now.”

Mike smiled as he settled his hat back on his head. “You’re right. It’s a big day for you and Desiree.” He reached for the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket, pulling out a group of folded papers. “Here’s the contract I’ve had drawn up. Look it over, let your lawyer look at it, whatever. Make notes on what you want changed and we’ll negotiate.”

“Look, Mike, I really don’t think this is going to work.”

“Well, I do. So take your time, think it over. A lot of the stuff in there is negotiable.”

Jesse eyed the other man curiously. “What makes you so sure I’m going to go along with this? I am married to one of your biggest competitors, after all.”

Mike stared at him for a long time, all sense of levity gone from him. Finally, just when Jesse thought he wouldn’t answer, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded up newspaper. “This ran a few weeks ago in the Louisville Courier-Journal. It made me think that now might be the time to put my plans into action.” Dropping the newspaper article on the glass coffee table, he tapped a broad index finger on it a few times before rising to leave.

He stopped at the door. “If I’m wrong, then I apologize for bothering you. But the fact that you’ve listened this long makes me think I’m not wrong.” He paused, then with a heavy sigh said, “I’m not screwin’ with you, Jesse. Thirty-three percent of my ranch and the freedom to breed and train your horses any way you want. Give it some thought.”

Jesse watched him slip out the front door, and though he knew that he needed to get going, he picked up the article Jacoby had left. Even knowing that he wouldn’t like what it had to say couldn’t prevent him from skimming the words.

Desiree Hawthorne-Rainwater, sole owner of the Triple H Thoroughbred Ranch, has long been revered in horse-racing circles for her knowledge and dedication to producing some of the best racehorses in the country and perhaps the world. Hawthorne-Rainwater has often attributed her success to her husband and head trainer, Jesse Rainwater, who she claims is “The best Thoroughbred trainer working in the world today.” Yet, despite these claims, Hawthorne-Rainwater has recently, and discreetly, signed trainer Tom Bradford to replace Hawthorne as the Triple H’s head trainer as early as January.

Rainwater has been at the Triple H for thirty-three years, having been hired by horse-racing legend Big John Hawthorne to revolutionize the historic Thoroughbred ranch’s breeding and training programs. During his tenure, Rainwater has never had a year when one of the three-year-olds he’s trained failed to win at least one of the races in the Triple Crown of horseracing—the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes. Many years, including this past one, his horses have won two of the races.

But a source close to Hawthorne-Rainwater cites her frustration at never having won all three races in one year—and therefore capturing the much-sought-after Triple Crown—as the number-one reason she has chosen to replace her husband after so many years. “Desiree has spent an incredible amount of time, money and effort to make sure she has the best ranch in the business. Her husband’s failure to produce a horse capable of capturing the Triple Crown has become a frustration for her in recent years, one that she is no longer content to sit by and accept as inevitable. She believes Tom Bradford can bring the missing ingredient to the Triple H’s training program and hopefully guarantee the ranch its first Triple Crown winner in over forty years.”

Many in the horseracing community are surprised and unimpressed with Hawthorne-Rainwater’s choice. “Jesse is the best trainer I’ve ever seen,” says Baron Richardson, owner of the Bar L Thoroughbred Ranch of Louisville, Kentucky. “He has a natural affinity for horses that is rare, even in these circles. Tom Bradford is a good man and a great trainer, but he’s not in Rainwater’s class.”

Bradford, who is currently employed by the Bells-and-Whistles Ranch of Atlanta, has produced numerous award-winning racehorses in the course of his career, including Jacy’s Fancy, Hell’s Bells and Whistling Dixie. Whistling Dixie, who has won over thirty races in her career, is best known for winning the Belmont Stakes in 2001.

Rainwater, who has trained such impressive horses as Crown’s Majesty, Crown’s Rhapsody and Royal Jewel, has recently started his own stable of horses—Cherokee Dreaming—a venture that many believe is partially responsible for Hawthorne-Rainwater’s change of heart. The horses of Dreaming Cherokee—trained by Rainwater and his oldest son, Rio—have already made a strong impression in the

American horseracing community.

NOW, HOURS LATER THE agony still nearly brought him to his knees.

How could Desiree have done this to him? To them? How could she have gone behind his back and hired someone to replace him without even giving him a heads-up?

He shook his head. But then again, why was he surprised? Desiree had always run this ranch how she wanted and to hell with what he or anyone else had to say.

His hand clenched involuntarily, crumpling the paper into a ball before he could think better of it. Part of him wanted to keep the article so that he could hurl it at her later when the inevitable confrontation came. But that was a childish desire, one he knew he wouldn’t give in to—no matter how angry she made him.

Besides, what was the use? The damage was done, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive her her duplicity.

With a sigh Jesse tossed the crumpled article at the nearest trash can—one of at least forty Desiree had had placed around the grounds for the upcoming ceremony and reception. Though he wanted nothing more than to sit in his study and brood, there was work to be done. His time at the Triple H was clearly coming to an end, but for now the horses were still his responsibility. He wouldn’t let them down.

As he headed away from the house, he couldn’t stop himself from turning and staring up at their bedroom window. Had she signed the papers? What would he do if she refused?

What would he do if she didn’t?