A Christmas Wedding

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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