She shuddered at the first touch of his lips

There was an unbearable sweetness that came from being touched by Jesse. Before he could move, before he could stop, Desiree wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him even more tightly against her.

His lips closed over hers gently, sweetly, and for a moment the earth ceased to spin. Warmth started in her belly, as her body came to life for the very first time. His mouth moved against hers once, twice, and the warmth became a burning she never could have imagined. She moaned softly and opened her lips.

And then it was over. Jesse was thrusting her away from him, his breathing harsh. “Desiree—”

“Shh.” She reached up, her fingers once again resting against his mouth. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. I was the one who kissed you.”

Then she spun around and ran toward home, knowing—deep inside—that her life had irrevocably changed. It might take her a few years, but Jesse Rainwater was going to be hers. He just didn’t know it yet.

Dear Reader,

It is with great joy and excitement that I write this, my first letter to you, about A Christmas Wedding. This is a story near to my heart, not just because it is my first (which would be reason enough) but because it takes place very close to my own home.

I got the idea as I was driving through central Texas one summer day with my entire family. We had just passed a Thoroughbred farm and my oldest son, who was eight at the time, was fascinated by the place. His questions prompted me research to help him find the answers, and that research hooked me on the idea of a book set in the Thoroughbred racing world.

And though I had the setting down right away, the characters were a little harder to come by. I wanted a tough-as-nails Thoroughbred rancher, but I wanted her to be a woman. Imagine, I thought, the struggles she would have as she fought for her place in a sport still dominated largely by men. Well, Desiree Hawthorne was born, and because she needed a hero as strong and sexy and smart as she was, so was Jesse Rainwater.

I’ve written a number of books since A Christmas Wedding and have loved all of my characters. But Jesse and Desiree are my favorite, perhaps because they have to fight so hard to find—and hold on to—each other in a world that is constantly shifting beneath their feet.

I’ve been a Harlequin reader for twenty years now, ever since my mother first stuck a Harlequin Romance novel in my hand after a fruitless trip to the bookstore, where I had read every young adult novel on the shelves. Therefore it is a huge thrill to me to have my first novel be a Harlequin Superromance book. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it—drop me a line at tracy@tracywolff.com and let me know what you think.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Tracy Wolff

A Christmas Wedding
Tracy Wolff

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks, and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. Married for twelve years to the alpha hero of her dreams, she is the mother of three young sons and an English professor at her central Texas community college. Tracy loves to hear from her readers, so check out her Web site at www.tracywolff.com and her blog at sizzlingpens.blogspot.com.

For my mom,

who started this whole roller-coaster ride

so many years ago, and for Jenn, who swears

she always knew I could do it.

Thanks to both of you for sticking by me.

Acknowledgments

Beverley Sotolov for believing in this story and

for her patience as she helped a brand-new writer

get her feet wet so beautifully; and to

Wanda Ottewell for helping make this novel

the best it could be and answering

a million or so questions.

Thank you both.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

“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?

CHAPTER TWO

DESIREE GAVE HERSELF A few more minutes to cry, but she was a Hawthorne through and through—her father had drilled the pride and responsibility of the name into her from an early age. In a little more than seven hours, three hundred people would be here, expecting the wedding of the year. She’d be damned if she’d greet them with puffy eyes.

She took a moment to get herself together. Though the wedding had been planned in meticulous detail—Willow really had missed her calling as an army general—there were a few small tasks that still needed to be done. She had to get out of this room, keep moving, hold things together for another twelve hours or so.

Climbing to her feet, she crossed the room, then threw open the balcony doors and let the cool air flow over her as she surveyed the ranch that had been in her family for generations. This land was hers—as far as the eye could see and beyond. Passed from her great-grandfather to her grandfather to her father to her. The first woman to inherit in four generations. Had she worked so hard to be worthy of the name that she’d neglected the only man she’d ever loved? Had she somehow let what she felt for the ranch negate what she felt for Jesse?

She pushed the questions to the back of her mind, knowing that she’d have to deal with them eventually. Just not today. She fought to focus on the details to be attended to instead of the headache behind her eyes. She still had to check on the caterer, talk with the florist, make sure the ballroom was in order for the reception. But first she needed to get a couple of things.

Something borrowed.

She crossed to her jewelry box, pulled out the string of pearls she’d worn to her own wedding, just as her mother had done before her. Willow, so enthralled with the past that she had made plans to wear them almost as soon as she’d told James yes, had picked her gown because it looked best with the necklace.

Desiree could only hope they would bring her daughter more luck then they’d obviously brought her. Slipping the pearls into her pocket, she made a wish for her daughter’s happiness. Wished that Willow would never feel the rage and fear that pounded through her mother at this very moment.

Something blue.

Turning slightly, she stared at the bookcase near the door that held the many volumes that chronicled her life. Big John had been a huge stickler for details and an even bigger one for recording history. From childhood he’d drilled into her the importance of her place on the ranch, and from there, her place in history. It had become second nature to spend a few minutes every couple of days recording the events of her daily life in all their glory and monotony.

She’d promised Willow that her something blue could be her first journal—the one that told the story of Jesse’s and her relationship. As a teenager Willow had pored over the book, and Desiree had known, even before Willow ever gave voice to it, that she’d wanted to be swept off her feet as her mother had been so many years before. It had finally happened—later than it had for Desiree—but Willow had gotten her heart’s desire.

Desiree steeled herself as she reached for the lapis-blue journal Jesse had given her years before, told herself it was just a book. Still, her hand shook as she grasped the journal, and though she was determined not to open it, in the end she couldn’t help herself.

She turned the cover with trembling hands, read the dedication Jesse had written on the inside of the front cover. But before she could work up the nerve to read the first entry, a knock sounded and her daughter’s voice carried through the heavy wood door.

“Mom?”

Desiree opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a low-pitched croak. Clearing her throat, she took a deep breath and tried again. “Come on in, honey.”

Willow entered, looking so beautiful it nearly broke her heart. She was still dressed in her robe, her hair and makeup not yet done for the wedding. But she was tall and elegant, her nails done to perfection and her brown eyes so full of hope.

Had Desiree looked like that once? Had the mere thought of Jesse brought a similar glow to her face? Of course it had—from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him until…

Until when? When had the glow faded? When had the small irritations of daily life worn away the joy and passion, the hope and anticipation, until all that was left was pain? And love—even as the glow of youth faded, her love for Jesse had endured. It had endured more than three decades, would have endured at least three more, if he hadn’t done this. If he hadn’t…

“Mom, are you okay?”

Desiree jerked. “I’m fine, baby.” She reached out a hand, ran it softly down Willow’s cheek. “Just thinking about how things are changing.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Desiree answered as Willow threw her arms around her. The fuzziness that had clutched at her since Jesse had tossed down the divorce papers finally cleared as the strain in her daughter’s voice registered.

Desiree pulled back, stared into her daughter’s eyes. “What’s going on, Will?”

“I’m just happy.” Willow raised an unsteady hand to wipe at her eyes, but her smile trembled at the corners.

Eyebrows lifted, Desiree stared at her youngest child. “That’s a pretty pathetic smile for someone who’s crying from joy.”

“Mama, don’t.” The request was almost a wail as Willow pulled away.

“Don’t be concerned when my only daughter comes in here looking devastated on what should be the happiest day of her life?” Desiree grasped Willow’s hands in her own.

“I’m scared,” Willow blurted. “I’m really scared.”

“Of course you are. That’s perfectly normal—”

“No, it’s not. Not like this.” She turned away abruptly, strode to the balcony and stared out at the ranch.

Desiree sighed, ran a hand through her own short, disheveled crop of hair as she searched for the right words. Yesterday they would have been right there, waiting for her to speak them. But today…today only emptiness remained.

“What if I’m making a mistake?” Willow’s voice was soft and trembly, so unlike her youngest child that Desiree had a moment of alarm.

“Do you think you are?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m here, talking to you.”

“Oh.” Desiree nodded. “I see.”

“What do you see? Tell me, Mama.” Willow’s movements were agitated. “I’m not like you—I’ve never been like you.”

Desiree snorted. “Of course you aren’t. Why should you be like anyone but yourself?

“Come sit with me, baby,” she murmured when her daughter didn’t answer, drawing Willow to the small love seat by the window. “Now what is this all about?”

Willow shrugged even as she buried her head against Desiree’s neck. “How did you know, so fast, that Daddy was the right one for you?”

Desiree stiffened, stifling her own pain. She wrapped her arms around her youngest child and rocked her slowly, as she had done when Willow was a child.

“I just did, sweetie. One look at him and my heart recognized him as mine.”

Willow shuddered. “It wasn’t like that for me with James. It was slow, unexpected. It crept up on me and then suddenly, one day…”

“You knew you loved him.”

“I guess.” Willow took a deep breath, pulled slowly away. “One day I woke up and realized that I should spend the rest of my life with James. He’s perfect for me—he calms me down, he listens to me, he—”

“Turns you on.”

“Mama!”

“Willow!” Desiree echoed her daughter’s shocked tone with some amusement. “Just because I’m almost fifty doesn’t mean I’m dead. And it’d be a really bad idea to marry a man you’re not attracted to.”

“I know that. It’s just—”

“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 picked 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.

Overriding the awe and respect Jesse had earned was an overwhelming curiosity, a need to know exactly how he’d done what he’d done and a desire to learn from him. So she stood quietly, as her father and other men rushed forward to congratulate Jesse. He was calm amidst all the commotion, ignoring the compliments and questions. He simply dismounted and began walking Majesty toward his stable. Desi tagged along behind, not willing to lose sight of him for an instant.

Once inside, Alan, the ranch’s business manager, called to Big John. He excused himself for a minute, leaving Jesse and her alone with the horses.

She almost stayed silent, worried about embarrassing herself in front of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But curiosity got the best of her, as it so often did, and she asked, “What are you doing?”

He looked at her, his black eyes carefully blank. “What do you mean?”

“You’re talking to that horse and he’s talking to you.” She watched his eyes go wide in surprise. “And not with your voice. I saw you do it with Majesty earlier.”

He smiled wryly. “No one’s ever noticed before.”

She flushed. Probably because no one had ever studied him as intently as she was. “You look different when you do it. Your eyes go kind of hazy and it’s like you’re not here anymore.”

He nodded. “I can walk with animals. That’s what my grandfather called it. My mother, too.”

She was fascinated. “So, you’re Native American?”

He stiffened and his eyes grew a little wary. “I’m half Cherokee.”

“That’s awesome.” She cleared her throat, nervous under his intense scrutiny. “How does it work?”

He paused for a minute, then smiled as if he understood her curiosity to know everything about him. “I don’t know exactly. One person in each generation of my family has the gift. By the time I was six, everyone knew it was me. I don’t know why I was chosen.”

“Because you won’t abuse it. You’re strong and you hold your power well. But there’s no cruelty in you.” Her hands flew to her mouth almost before she was done speaking. Mama always told her to think before she spoke and she had gotten better at it. Except, it seemed, with Jesse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“That’s all right.” He eyed her speculatively. “How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“That’s not an answer.” His black eyes pinned her in place, demanded an answer that she didn’t want to give.

“You know things about animals? Things no one else does. Right?”

He nodded. “So what?”

“It’s like that for me, with people. I just know things. Daddy says I’ve got good instincts. Mama says it’s a curse to see so much about others.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t, really. It’s not something I think about. It’s just there, you know?”

“I do, actually.”

“I figured you might.” She smiled at him shyly.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

He nodded as his eyes swept around the stable and out to the land beyond the open door. “What’s your favorite part of the ranch, Desiree?”

Shivers worked their way up and down her spine. No one ever called her by her full name, largely because she hated it. Something about being named after a long-dead great-grandmother had creeped her out from the time she was a little girl, but the way he said it—in that rough satin voice—made her appreciate her name for the first time. She shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

He cocked his head to the left, the look on his face patently disbelieving. “Yes, you do.”

“The training circles.” Desi blurted the truth without stopping to think.

“Why?” His intense concentration made her nervous. He studied her the way he studied the horses, as if he was examining every thought in her head.

“They’re about becoming. No one’s won, no one’s lost. It’s just pure potential. Just a horse and a dream, before reality intrudes.”

His lips turned up slightly at the corners in the first smile she’d seen that reached his eyes. “So you’re a romantic.”

“Aren’t all teenage girls?”

“I don’t know. You’re the first teenage girl I’ve talked to since I was a teenage boy.”

She giggled. “Then you’ve got a lot to learn.”

“I guess I do at that.” Silence reigned for a few moments. Finally he said, “You know, my culture believes strongly in special gifts—strange, inexplicable talents that only a few people have.”

“Obviously. Look at what you can do. People would have to be pretty cynical if they could still doubt that extra-sensory talents exist after witnessing your connection with that horse out there.”

He turned until he was fully facing her. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

“Oh.” She glanced away, blushing despite her best efforts not to. “Then—”

“You understand things you’re too young to know about. You see things others can’t.”

“Yes.”

“So can I ask you a question about that?”

“You mean you haven’t already?”

He laughed. It sounded kind of rusty, as if he’d almost forgotten how. “I’m serious. What do you see when you look at me?”

Too much. She saw too much when she looked at him. She saw the surface—the handsomest, sexiest, most amazing man in the whole world. She saw the brilliant horse trainer, the one who walked in the minds of animals. She saw loneliness, the self-imposed isolation, though she didn’t know why. And clearly, so clearly, she saw what he would be for the Triple H and for her. The future. Her future.

But she couldn’t tell him any of that. Not this man whom she had just met. This man who was too old for her, too serious and too hard by far. So she said simply, “A guy who works for my father.” It was lame, but she didn’t know how else to answer.

She wasn’t ready for him yet and he certainly wasn’t ready for her.

DESI CAME BACK TO herself with a start, turning the pages of the journal as she skimmed through the next few months’ worth of entries. There was nothing much of interest there—at least not for a soon-to-be-divorced woman of forty-nine.

After all, her response to his question had set the tone for the next eighteen months of their relationship. She had chased after him, wanting to spend every waking moment with him and he put up with it, though he never again opened himself up to her. Until one night, when everything between them changed with one random act of violence.

Out of habit, and a need she refused to admit even to herself, Desiree flipped to the seventh entry in the book, one she—and her daughter—knew by heart.

I was seventeen the first time Jesse ever touched me. I mean really touched me, not just a pat on the back or an affectionate ruffle of my hair. It was prom night and I was all dressed up—hot-pink halter dress, skyscraper heels, a new haircut and more makeup on my face than I normally wore in a year. I was uncomfortable, miserable, convinced I would humiliate myself by losing my balance in the five-inch heels and tumbling onto my butt in front of my date and the entire senior class.

I hadn’t wanted to go to the stupid dance, hadn’t wanted to waste time I could spend with Jesse on a stupid high school boy. But Mama had insisted, had finally convinced me that I would regret missing this dance for the rest of my life. She even went so far as to line up my date for me—I think she was afraid I would buck tradition and go by myself. Fear that was, truthfully, well-grounded.

Mama was tenacious. Before I knew what was happening, I’d been whisked into her favorite salon for a facial, manicure, pedicure, haircut and some other tortures too painful to mention. She found the dress, bought the shoes, even presented me with my very first pair of diamond earrings on the day of the dance.

The evening started out ordinarily enough. Steven picked me up in his father’s Cadillac, took me out to dinner then danced with me for hours once we arrived at prom. I tried to be enthusiastic, tried to enjoy the dancing and the festivities despite my awkward nervousness and aching feet. Steven was a gentleman—funny, attentive, interesting—and eventually I relaxed enough to enjoy the dance and the party he took me to afterward.

When we got back to the ranch sometime after three in the morning, I was happy, a little excited and too restless to sleep. So I took off my shoes and invited Steven, a city boy, to the stables to meet Jezebel. When he reached for my hand, I let him, because it had been a nice night and the gesture seemed harmless.

I introduced him to my horse, laughed as he fed Jezebel sugar cubes and cracked jokes at his own expense. When he wrapped an arm around me and lowered his head to mine, I didn’t protest because I was curious. Obsessed with Jesse from the first moment I had laid eyes on him, I had missed out on the many dating rituals of my peers. I was seventeen and had never been kissed, had never been held by an attractive boy, had never felt the rush of desire as hands smoothed over my body.

His lips met mine and the sensation was mildly pleasant—not earth-shattering, not arousing, not even very interesting. I pulled back with a smile, said something funny, turned to leave. And just then suddenly he changed. He grabbed me, pulled me to him, his hands moving hard and fast over my arms, my back, my breasts. I tried to pull away, tried to shove him back, but he was strong and aroused and I had nowhere to go.

DESI SCREAMED AS Steven dragged her to the ground, his hand slipping inside her dress to fondle her bare breast even as he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. She gagged and turned her head, her body bucking desperately beneath his.

“Stop it! Steven, I mean it. I want you to stop.”

“You don’t mean that.” His breathing was harsh as he forced her legs apart, settling himself between her thighs and rubbing himself against her. “You can’t.”

“I do. I do. Steven, no!” Her voice was panicked, her hands shaking as she shoved against his face. Annoyance gave way to anger and anger to fear as time stood still and she realized that she couldn’t move, that he had her pinned beneath him and that there was no one around to hear her screams.

She strained against him, her body inching along the ground as she fought to escape him. “Come on, Des, stop fighting.” Steven’s voice was low, but she could hear the strain in it as he struggled to keep her beneath him. “You’ll like it. I promise.”

Adrenaline surged through her and she put her hands on his forehead, pushing against him with every ounce of strength she possessed. His head snapped back, an almost comical look of surprise replacing the desire in his eyes. It only took a second for him to come to his senses, but that second was all Desi needed.

She rolled away from him and ran. Dirt and hay clung to her dress but she didn’t notice as she raced for the door. He caught her mere seconds from freedom, his hands grabbing the hem of her dress and tugging so hard that she stumbled and the material ripped.

She kicked out as she fell, her foot catching him squarely in the chest. She heard the air rush from his lungs as her heel connected and she scrambled, on all fours, desperate to escape this nightmare that was spiraling completely out of her control.

Spying a shovel near the door, Desiree extended her body, reached for it, pausing only a second as she waited to feel her hand close around the wooden handle. But that moment of hesitation was all it took for him to be on her, one hand shoving her face into the ground as his other lifted her dress and ripped frantically at her pink lace underwear.

“No! Please, no!” The words were torn from her against her will, shrill cries that sounded nothing like her voice. She tried to move, her fingers clawing at the ground as she twisted against him. But he was on top of her and he outweighed her by at least sixty pounds.

Tears streamed down her face as strangled sobs tore through her chest. She wanted to scream, to beg, to plead, but he was too heavy and she couldn’t breathe. She heard the rasp of his zipper, felt her dress tear again as the lack of air caught up to her and the world slowly turned gray around the edges.

“Steven, please.” The words were hardly more than a whisper, the fight all but gone from her as she began to float silently away. Her lungs shuddered, desperate for air as tears leaked slowly down her chin to mingle with the dirt beneath her cheek.

She felt so heavy, as if she weighed a thousand pounds. Much too heavy to move or struggle. Desiree’s eyes drifted slowly shut despite her determination to fight. She felt him push against her, heard a bellow of rage that didn’t register.

She heard a scream from far away, followed by a crash and then, suddenly, she was free. Her lungs were on fire as she sucked in gulp after gulp of oxygen.

She could hear Steve whimpering behind her, could hear the slap of flesh hitting flesh. She struggled to her hands and knees and tried to get to her feet, but her legs felt like jelly.

“Stay there, Desiree. Don’t move.” Jesse’s voice bit off the words, and relief pumped through her. They were only five words, but they were the five sweetest words she’d ever heard. Jesse was here. Everything would be okay. She would be okay.

Another crash, another groan. She turned in time to see a bruised and bloody Steven hit the wall face-first. “Are you okay?” It was Jesse’s voice again, harsher than she’d ever heard it. She stared at him, watched his eyes burn with a rage so black it nearly frightened her.

“I’m fine, Jesse.” Her voice was hoarse, raw. Jesse snarled at the sound, his eyes taking in her torn dress and mud-streaked face, her bruised flesh and shaking body.

With a growl of fury, he buried his fist in Steven’s stomach. The power of the blow drove Steven to his knees and he knelt on the ground, retching. His clothes were now as torn and dirty as hers, his nose bled profusely and his arms were wrapped defensively around his stomach when Jesse reached down and grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

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