A Christmas Wedding. Tracy Wolff

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ