CHAPTER ELEVEN
TEARS LEAKED FROM THE corner of his eye despite himself as he surveyed his daughter in her wedding dress. The fact that Desiree remained dry-eyed next to him only made his lack of control more annoying. The music started—a Spanish guitar version of some love song that sounded familiar but he couldn’t place—and he watched the bridal party get into position.
“Are you ready?” his daughter asked, clutching his arm with one cold hand.
“As ready as I’m going to get,” he answered, watching first his wife, then Willow’s bridesmaids, precede them up the aisle.
When Anna finally got to the front, the melodic strains of the guitar switched to the bridal march. He felt Willow tense next to him.
“We can still duck out the back,” he whispered to her, even as he straightened and prepared to take that first step forward.
“Too late,” she giggled as she took a deep breath. “I love you, Daddy.”
Jesse’s heart clenched, skipping a beat or two before he could steady himself. “I love you, too, baby.” He tried to be surreptitious as he wiped at his eye, but he looked up just in time to see Willow smiling indulgently at him.
“All right, all right,” he muttered. “Let’s do this thing before I change my mind about giving my only daughter away.”
The walk up the aisle was a fusion of faces and memories. He couldn’t help remembering the day his daughter was born. The first time he held her. The first time he put her on a horse. The first time she’d ever had her heart broken. She’d been his for so long—his baby, his little girl—that giving her away now was a lot harder than he’d ever anticipated.
Then they were at the front and all he could do was kiss her cheek as he handed her off to another man. He made a wish for her happiness then took his seat next to Desiree, trying his best to look as if it wasn’t the last place he wanted to be.
Desiree reached out a hand, laid it on his knee. “She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?”
Waves of heat spread through him, radiating from his knee, warming him in a way that made a mockery of his anger. He stared, transfixed for a moment, at the delicate hand that was as familiar to him as his own. She’d done something to her nails—they were long and half-white and seemed out of place on her strong but delicate fingers.
He clasped for her hand, savoring the feel of her soft skin as it rubbed against his tough and callused palm. She had such small hands—palm to palm, her fingers barely reached the knuckles of his own—it amazed him still that she could hold a bucking horse or a crooked businessman in the palm of them. She’d always done a hell of a job of holding him in them, as well—wrapping him around her little finger, keeping him under her thumb.
The familiar fury burned through him and he stiffened, dropping her hand as if it had suddenly burned him. How could she do this to him with just a word, just a touch? How could she make him wish things were different, even after he’d found out how deeply her betrayal ran?
“Jesse?” Her voice was low, her cheeks red as she stared at him with dismayed eyes.
“Yes, Desiree. Willow looks very beautiful.” The words were stilted, almost painful, but he couldn’t do any better. Not with everything that lay between them. Not with that damn newspaper article burning through his brain like a wildfire.
He turned away before she could say more, angling his shoulders so that his back was almost completely toward her. She gasped, but he resisted the temptation to look, just as he resisted the instinctive need to apologize. She was the one who had hurt him, he reminded himself. She was the one who had spent the last five, ten, even fifteen years of their life together giving everything she had to the ranch so that there was nothing left over for him, for them.
The ceremony passed in a blur. He stood at the right places, sat when everyone else did. He heard his daughter take her vows, watched her new husband lean down to kiss her, but nothing seemed real. He watched it all from a distance, as if a glass wall separated him from everyone else in the garden.
Then it was over and they were heading to the ballroom for the reception. People were stopping him, congratulating him, chatting him up, and for the first time in his life he was grateful for the need to socialize. It made the distance between Desiree and himself less noticeable.
The hours passed quickly. Food and liquor flowed freely, laughter and joy even more so. He had no appetite, but ate and drank because it was expected of him. Because Desiree’s eyes were on him and his stupid pride wouldn’t allow her to see how much he was hurting. The divorce had been his idea, after all.
He danced the first dance with his wife, the second with his daughter. As he held Willow in his arms and looked down at her glowing face, some of the ice that had formed around him melted.
“You look happy, baby,” he murmured as he pulled her close.
“I am, Daddy, happier than I ever thought possible.”
“Then I guess I’ve got to get used to the fact that you’re not my little girl anymore.” He kissed her cheek. “Things are changing so fast.”
A small frown appeared on Willow’s face. “She really loves you, you know.”
He stiffened. “I’m not discussing this with you, Willow.”
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment she looked so much like her mother that it took his breath away. “Well, I’m discussing it with you. You hurt her, Daddy. I know you didn’t mean to, but you did.” She looked over at Desiree, who wore a broad smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Can’t you see how devastated she is?”
“My relationship with your mother is none of your business.”
“It is when I see how sad you both are. Whatever you’ve done, it can still be fixed.”
“Whatever I’ve done?”
She sighed heavily. “Yes, Dad. Whatever you’ve done. I know she isn’t the easiest person to live with, that she’s obsessed with the ranch and the horses and the stupid Triple Crown. But…” She paused.
“Don’t stop now.”
She eyed him with unconcealed frustration. It was the same look she’d been giving him since she was two and he’d refused to let her ride one of the champion Thoroughbreds. He couldn’t help smiling at her impatience.
“I wasn’t planning to. You’ve got to remember she was raised by Big John. A lot of who she is and what she wants comes from him, whether she wants it to or not.”
“Willow—”
“All right, all right. I won’t say anything else.” But her eyes gleamed when she reached into a hidden pocket on the side of her dress. “But in exchange, I need you do me a favor?”
He eyed her warily. His youngest was not above subterfuge if it would get her her way. “What do you want me to do?”
Her smile was brilliant as she handed him a blue book. “Give this to Mom for me. I’m afraid I’ll forget and it’ll get lost.”
His eyebrows pulled together as he examined the book more closely. “What is it?”
“She’ll know. Just tell her thank-you and that I didn’t want to lose it.”
The music stopped. “I’m going to go find my husband.” She giggled. “My husband,” she repeated. “I really love the way that sounds.”
His smile was indulgent while he watched her walk away, but the indulgence quickly faded to puzzlement as he studied the book in his hands. There was no title on the front, nothing on the spine. What kind of book was it and what could be so important about it that Willow was carrying it around on her wedding day?
He cracked the cover and started in surprise when he saw the sloping perfection of Desiree’s handwriting. Eyes narrowed, he skimmed the first page, barely noticing the hollow feeling suddenly invading his stomach. Someone bumped into him and he shoved the book guiltily into his pocket before moving as far from the dance floor as possible.
He wanted to escape from the crowded room, leaving the festivities far behind as he settled down to read the words his wife had written so many years before. He wouldn’t, of course. Willow would kill him if he ducked out of her wedding festivities before she and her husband did. But the journal was burning a hole in his pocket despite his best intentions, commanding his attention when he should be focusing on socializing and making sure that everything was going smoothly.
He went through the motions for the rest of the evening, laughing with old friends and acquaintances. Talking a little business when he couldn’t avoid it. Dancing with his daughter and hanging with his sons when he could.
But eventually Willow and James left on their honeymoon amid showers of bubbles and good wishes. The guests slowly began to leave until only the cleaning and catering staff and his family remained.
“My God, my feet hurt,” Desiree muttered, slipping out of the four inch heels she’d been wearing for the last six hours.
“Mine, too,” commented Brooke, as she followed suit.
“Then why wear shoes like that?” asked Rio. “There must have been ones with lower heels you could have gotten.”
“But they wouldn’t have looked nearly as good,” answered his mother with a mock frown. “And you know us Rainwater women—we’re all about vanity.”
All five of them burst into laughter. “You’ve been a lot of things in your life, Mom,” commented Dakota. “Vain has never been one of them.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Desiree inclined her head ruefully. “Of course, that’s probably because I’ve never had anything to be vain about.”
“That’s not true.” The words burst from Jesse before he could stop them. “You’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful.”
Desiree’s eyes widened as they met his. Electricity arced between them, powerful and intense, and her laugh, when it came, was awkward. “Yeah, right. I’m a regular cover model—all six gangly feet of me.”
Rio cleared his throat, disturbed more than he wanted to admit by the sudden tension streaming between his parents. “Do you need any help cleaning up, Mom?” he asked.
Jesse watched as she broke their contact and focused on their son. “Go on to bed, all of you.” She included Jesse in her sweeping motion. “I’m just going to stay and make sure the caterers get things packed up and get off all right. The rest can be cleaned up tomorrow.”
“We can stay and help,” Brooke offered, though she swayed with exhaustion. “With all of us working—”
“Rio, take your wife up to bed. She looks like she’s going to drop,” Jesse interrupted. “You go, too, Dakota. Your mom and I can handle this.”
When the kids had left, Desiree turned to him. “You don’t need to stay. I can handle things, really.”
He studied her, noticing her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes for the first time. “You look exhausted.” His tone was more accusatory than he liked.
She stared at him in disbelief as her hands clenched into fists by her sides. “It’s been a long day, Jesse. Filled with surprises,” she said shakily.
Guilt hit him hard, a quick punch to the gut that nearly had him doubling over. He had done this to her. He had ruined their daughter’s wedding day with his impulsiveness.
He wanted to say something to erase the haunted look in her eyes. It had been his intention to have it out with her tonight; he had planned on confronting her and demanding an explanation about Tom Bradford. But she looked so tired, so beaten, that he couldn’t bring himself to kick her when she was down. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with things between them. He knew her well enough to know that by tomorrow all of her defenses would be back in place.
“Go to bed, Desi.” His voice was husky with everything that had been left unsaid. “I’ll pay the caterers.”
“I can take care of it—”
“Damn it, Desiree. I know you can take care of it. I know you can do everything. But you’re dead on your feet. Go to bed and let me take care of this for you.”
She froze at his tone, her eyes growing wider. When she spoke, her voice was stilted. “Okay, then. Thank you.” Her bare feet whispered across the floor as she all but ran for the door.
He stared after her, cursing himself. He’d hurt her again, though he hadn’t meant to. When had she gotten so sensitive? He laughed unpleasantly. When had he become such a bastard?
He grabbed a beer from behind the bar before sinking into a chair in the corner, as far out of the way as he could get from where the catering staff was packing up. He popped the top and took a long swallow before propping his feet on a nearby seat.
Silently contemplating the beer, he brooded as he listened to the activity going on around him. Long minutes passed before he remembered the book Willow had given him. Desiree’s journal. He pulled it out of his pocket to stare at it. He wanted to open it and read what was inside. But he wasn’t sure, even after all these years, that he could handle it. That he could deal with Desiree’s true opinion of the ranch and of him.
Eventually he did open it, of course, because he could do nothing else. He read the first entry quickly, his eyes widening with disbelief as he skimmed her thoughts on love, on destiny. Page after page, he was shocked and abruptly humbled by this rare glimpse into his wife’s mind. Perhaps that’s what his daughter had had in mind when she’d handed it to him.
He read voraciously, stopping only when his gaze fell on a date he couldn’t bear to remember. He nearly closed the book, nearly walked away from it to avoid reading his wife’s thoughts about what had happened on August 6, 2006. It was a day he had come to think of as the beginning of the end of their marriage. He’d lived and relived it in his thoughts and dreams nearly every night for the past two years, and he really didn’t want to read about it from Desiree’s point of view.
But he’d never been a coward, had never walked away from the more unpleasant tasks in life. So, with a grimace and a long swallow of beer, he began to read.
How do you take back what you say in anger? How do you fight a battle that seems completely unwinnable? I’m so tired that I don’t know if I can fight anymore. How can anyone be this tired at forty-seven—tired and angry and so disgusted with myself that I can barely look at myself in the mirror or my husband in the eye?
Things had been going so well. Rio had just come home from school and was working on the ranch. Jesse and I had managed to smooth out so many of the rough edges that have crept into our marriage through the years. Then I went and ruined it. No, we ruined it, because he must take at least partial responsibility for what has happened.
We lost the Triple Crown again—a state of affairs that I am becoming embarrassingly familiar with. Our quest for the title and the near misses, year after year, have even sparked a kind of folklore around the track. Tales of a jinx, a curse, a self-fulfilling prophecy that will keep us from ever winning those three races in one year.
I don’t believe in superstition and I don’t believe in curses, but as I wait, year after year, to fulfill my father’s dying wish, I admit it gets tougher and tougher to still believe.
I did something horrible, said things I am completely ashamed of now that the heat of anger has passed me by. But how do I take them back? How do I approach him and say that I am sorry? Where will we be if I can’t?
When did marriage get so difficult? When did a collective dream cease to be enough and individual dreams spring up to take its place? I want a Triple Crown. I want to fulfill my promise to my father. Jesse doesn’t understand, because he wasn’t raised by Big John. He doesn’t understand this burning need inside of me not to screw up, not to live down to my father’s expectations of me.
How could following my own needs and desires, how could becoming the best woman I knew how to be, be such a complete disappointment to him? I married Jesse because I loved him and I couldn’t imagine my life without him—a feeling that still holds true today, even after every bitter word that’s passed between us and every disappointment we’ve been for each other. It is only after I’ve fought with my husband month after month, year after year, that the real question has become clear to me. How have I let the needs and ideas of a prejudiced old man rule the life I’ve spent so many years trying to build? How have I let my father interfere so completely in my relationship with my husband, with my children, with everyone I know?
We lost the Triple Crown today and I am so ashamed of what I said, of how I acted. I accused Jesse of sabotage, of betrayal, though I didn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth even as I said them. But he did. I could see it in his eyes, see it in the pain and disgust and—hatred?—that stared back at me. I told him he had betrayed me, betrayed the ranch, betrayed our entire family, when the truth is I’m the one who’s betrayed him—over and over again. I’m the one who’s let everything come between us, the one who’s pushed him away when all he wanted was to take care of me, to be close to me.
We lost the Triple Crown today when my horse came in second at the Belmont Stakes, second to Jesse’s horse, Delilah, from his new stable, his new brainchild, his new love, Cherokee Dreaming. I’ve never felt so incompetent, so angry, so downright foolish—what is he not getting from the Triple H, what am I not giving him, that he feels the need to start his own line?
We lost the Triple Crown today and as I stared my husband down, terrible accusations trembling on my lips, I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d lost something infinitely more precious.
JESSE DIDN’T WANT TO face Desiree, didn’t know what to begin to say to her. Things weren’t supposed to work out this way. Delilah was a great racehorse with a huge heart and the love of running, but she was a late bloomer, a late starter. It had been a miracle that she’d qualified for Belmont at all, a miracle that all of his plans had come together so smoothly.
Months ago he’d noticed that Born Lucky ran best when Delilah was beside her. They brought out the best in each other, pushed each other, challenged each other, saw in each other something that made them both run faster and better than they had ever run alone. He’d worked hard—incredibly hard—to get Delilah into this race to help pull Lucky out of the funk she’d descended into. As he’d clocked them on the training circles these past few weeks, he’d even come to dream of a one-two finish. But in his dreams Born Lucky was always first, with Delilah a close second. The reality had been the reverse and the consequences worse than he even wanted to contemplate.
He’d taken his turn in the winner’s circle as owner instead of trainer—a little thrill ran through him at the thought, though he quickly tamped it down—had taken care of the horses, had talked to the press as well as friends, acquaintances and even his kids as he’d searched the throngs of people for his wife. But Desiree was nowhere to be found, which is why he’d finally returned to the hotel, angry and upset…and just nervous enough to be disgusted with himself.
The suite was empty, though Desiree’s clothes still hung in the closet and her toiletries still sat on the bathroom vanity. He tried to ignore the relief that swept through him, to pretend that he hadn’t been afraid she’d taken her things and cut out of town as fast as possible.
He grabbed a cola from the minibar and, after kicking off his boots, sank gratefully onto the plush sofa. He let his head fall back, closed his eyes and tried to block everything out for at least a few minutes.
Less than five minutes later the door to the hotel suite crashed open and he jumped despite himself. He turned to see Desiree breathing fire, so angry that she was noticeably shaking. “How could you?” The accusation whipped through the room.
He put out a placating hand. “Let me explain.”
“Explain?” she asked in a voice that cut like razors. “What’s there to explain, Jesse? You deliberately sabotaged the Triple H, deliberately put in one of your precious horses to keep us from winning.”
Though he’d been expecting the accusations, had prepared for them even, they still hurt and angered him. “Do you really believe that?”
“What else am I supposed to believe?”
“You could trust me.”
Her laugh was harsh, and incredibly painful to hear. “You stabbed me in the back in front of hundreds of thousands of people and now you’re telling me I should trust you?”
“It wasn’t like that, Desiree. Things didn’t work out like I had planned.”
“Oh, I think they worked out exactly as you planned. What I want to know is why? What did I do that was so bad you felt the need to humiliate me this way?”
“Humiliate you?”
“Yes, you humiliated me. Do you have any idea how many people have given me pitying looks this afternoon? Do you have any idea how many snide comments I’ve had to deal with about controlling my husband, or worse, controlling the hired help?”
“Excuse me?” His voice dripped ice. “Since when has our marriage been about controlling each other?”
“Don’t you twist my words.” Her eyes narrowed.
“I don’t think I had to twist them—you did a fine job of that yourself.”
“I refuse to be the one put on the defensive here. You’re the one who entered a ringer into the race. You stole the Triple Crown right out from under me.”
He stared at her incredulously. “When did this get to be all about you, Desiree? When did the rest of us fall by the wayside?”
“The day my husband betrayed me.” She glared at him with enough hatred to stop his heart. “You know how much this meant to me. That race was ours—no one else would have been able to touch Lucky and you know it.”
“What exactly are you accusing me of?”
She pulled herself up to her full height and somehow managed to look down her nose at him, though he stood a good four inches taller than she. “I think it’s obvious, isn’t it? All these years I’ve put my faith in you. I’ve ignored the gossip that said you didn’t have it in you to deliver this title. All these years, I’ve trusted you. But now I can’t help but wonder if that trust was misplaced. Have we lost all these years because of bad luck? Or have you been sabotaging us all along?”
There was a roaring in his ears. His chest was so tight he would have worried he was having a heart attack if he could think of anything but Desiree and her insane accusations. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“Stop it, Desiree, before you say something you can’t take back.”
“I haven’t said anything I would want to take back.”
Fury filled him, burning hotter and more vicious than it ever had before. He opened his mouth, prepared to deliver a scathing retort and lay into her like she so richly deserved. But he choked back the words at the last minute, refusing to lower himself to her level.
He walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. His fists were clenched, his breathing harsh, as he struggled to get himself under control. He just needed some time—a minute, a few seconds, anything to give himself a chance to calm down. To get the image of strangling her out of his head.
The bedroom door slammed open. “Don’t you walk away from me.”
“Get out.”
“Don’t you dare tell me to get out. I am paying for this suite, just like I pay for everything. Your salary, the house you live in, the food you eat.”
The roaring grew louder. Desiree, eyes wide, had clamped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words had escaped. He could see the apology in her eyes, but it was too late. The damage was done.
“Jesse, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, don’t back down now, darlin’. You’ll lose all your momentum.”
“I’m sorry. It just came out. I…” She looked ill as she made the excuses, but he was far past caring.
“I’ll move Cherokee Dreaming off the ranch as soon as we get back.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, yes, I do. As for the rest…” He shrugged. “I guess it’s up to you. I spent the first years of our marriage trying to convince you to move off the Triple H. I wanted to build a home for us and our children using my own money. I didn’t have as much as your father, especially back then, but it would have been enough. I would have built you the nicest house I could.”
“I know.” Her voice was anguished.
“You don’t know anything. If you did, you never would have had the nerve to throw that in my face.”
He crossed to the dresser, scooped a pair of jeans, clean underwear and a red polo shirt from the top drawer.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To get my own room. One you aren’t paying for.”
“Jesse, no.” Her voice was low and urgent. “You can’t.”
“It’s a little too late for you to tell me what I can or can’t do,” he replied as he headed toward the door. “Besides, you don’t expect any of your other employees to sleep with the boss.”