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  In slow motion, he leaned forward.

  One thick palm framed the side of her face. His eyes searched hers, emotion flickering behind their sky blue depths. Sorrow, regret, and affection stared back at her as his thumb caressed her cheek. “Be safe, Gabrielle,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes against a storm of sorrow. Instinct filtered through her hope, and in the half-second of time that passed before his other hand came up to join the first, she knew. This wasn’t a temporary goodbye. Jake intended on driving away forever. A sob bubbled in the back of her throat, threatening to strangle her.

  Before it tore free, Jake’s mouth settled against hers. He nudged her lips apart, inviting himself inside. Softly, slowly, he explored. Roused her awareness until the reality of his departure gave way to striking tenderness. She responded to the familiar feeling he awakened, her body tightening with an anxious surge of energy.

  He held her in place, seemingly content to kiss her until time stood still. In the quiet, she caught the hard fall of his breath. Beneath her fingertips, his heart hammered fierce. His mouth took on a more demanding quality as he slid one hand into her hair and curled his fingers against her scalp.

  A sound of pleasure vibrated in his throat, and Jake drew the kiss to a lingering close. He touched his forehead to hers, then sucked in a deep breath. “Win for me, sugar.”

  Before she could gather her senses and respond, the passenger’s door slammed shut. Panic flooded her. He couldn’t walk away. That kiss alone said things she’d longed to hear. He cared for her. She loved him. He couldn’t just turn his back on all that.

  Jamming her hand against the handle, she shoved open the door and jumped out. “Jake!”

  Other Titles Available by Claire Ashgrove:

  Seduction's Stakes

  All I Want for Christmas…Is Big Blue Eyes

  Timeless Valentine

  A Christmas to Believe In

  “Timeless Valentine is a story romantics are sure to enjoy. Author Claire Ashgrove has created a heartwarming, yet sometimes heartbreaking, story with compelling characters a reader can’t help but fall in love with.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews

  “[In All I Want for Christmas…Is Big Blue Eyes] Claire Ashgrove proves yet again what an amazing storyteller she is with her wonderful new Holiday tale. She gives us unforgettable characters and not only our hero and heroine but a cast of truly memorable supporting characters as well.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews

  “Claire Ashgrove wins a Triple Crown with Seduction's Stakes, a wonderful story, unforgettable characters, and an amazing love story.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews—2009 Book of the Year Nominee

  “Claire Ashgrove has written a book I found impossible to put down. Her book, A Christmas to Believe In, reminds me of Linda Lael Miller's wonderful Western family series. Ms Ashgrove, I commend you for your talent and for taking the time to write a story, that proves Christmas is the time when dreams are fulfilled. Jesse, Clint, and Ethan, found those dreams and tackled the obstacles. This book is a Christmas gift for all of us, romance reading at it's best.”

  ~Mary M. Rickson, Author, Tripping Through Time

  Waiting for Yes

  by

  Claire Ashgrove

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Waiting for Yes

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2011 by Claire Ashgrove

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2011

  Print ISBN 1-60154-910-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the countless horsewomen who've dared to have hope in a dream, and belief in an Arabian.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to the Dreamweaver ladies, Dyann Barr, Alica Dean, Melissa Lattin, Kimberly Baskett McEnany, and to the ladies of WCW, Linda Kage, Leigh Stites. You gals are awesome. Thank you to my best friend, Erin Huttig, for always listening to my endless babble. Midwest Romance Writers, Mid-America Romance Writers, and Heartland Romance Writers—thank you for the invaluable lessons. Mary Belk thank you for your belief, motivation and friendship. Kat O'Shea for your enthusiasm. A special thanks to Kevin Swalley for helping me get the nuances of semi-trucks and breakdowns all smoothed out!

  As always, thank you to my family. Without your support, none of this would ever come together.

  This book would not have happened were it not for the early influence of Kathi Troch, who took a teenage girl under her wing and taught her more things than any horse-crazy girl can count or remember.

  And to WDA Orion, while you aren't the subject, you are the inspiration.

  "The spirit of the Arab is like the wind;

  Try as you might, you cannot capture it,

  but, if one can be still enough,

  it will enter your heart and capture your soul."

  ~Unknown

  Chapter One

  “Night Star’s got peanut butter in the ears, Red Wolf. He’s gonna miss the Yankee stuck in the granny lane. Hey, Yank, you got your ears on?”

  Gabrielle Warrenton chuckled. She had her ears on all right. But damned if she’d let the group of passing semis know she was fluent on a CB radio. It was far too amusing to listen to the conversations, pretend to be blissfully unaware, and flatter her ego. After all, late night CB conversations were strictly entertainment.

  Besides, the trucker who had been on her tail since morning broke in Nashville didn’t need any more encouragement. He’d dogged her all day long, pulling over when she did, occasionally switching positions and leading. When he passed, he never failed to wave. Once, he’d honked his ridiculous horn and about startled her onto the shoulder. Since that sudden swerve, he hadn’t tried that again.

  But more often than not, he stayed behind her pickup truck and horse trailer. Strangely, she had yet to hear a peep she could recognize as the driver shadowing her. Still, she didn’t want to take any risks.

  “Yank’s got peanut butter in the ears too, looks like.” The voice she’d come to recognize as Red Wolf responded to the first.

  “Shame. Oh well. I’m over and out. Gonna pull off and catch some sleep.” True to his word, the driver in the fifty-three-foot long trailer ahead of her hit his turn signal and eased onto the shoulder.

  All that remained on the open stretch of westbound Interstate 70 was her heavy duty Chevy-pickup/horse-trailer combination, a purple cab pulling a curtain sider, and her shadow—a turquoise cab lit up like a Christmas tree that dragged a shiny silver tanker. The purple cab belonged to Red Wolf.

  Farther back, three other semis trailed Gabrielle’s small group, but they too remained strangely silent. Likely on a different channel. Not too many drivers stayed quiet this late at night.

  As the static drifted through her radio, she waited for Red Wolf to strike up a new conversation. But though he called out, no one answered. Gabrielle blinked to wet her sandpaper-filled eyes and squinted at the road. There had to be a stop around here somewhere. Why hadn’t she stopped in Abilen
e? She needed to stretch her legs. Use the ladies room. Gulp down a gallon of strong, black coffee. Anything to stay awake.

  Her windshield wipers ticked off the minutes. Light snowflakes gathered on the glass where the washer’s didn’t swipe. Just what she needed. Two hours from home, and the predicted snow refused to wait. If today could get any worse, it just had. Unloading an unruly stallion in the middle of a snowstorm didn’t make her list of favorite things to do. In fact, it didn’t make her list of anything she’d like to do, period. Particularly the specific stallion behind her. Crazy described him kindly.

  She bent over and flipped the dial on her radio in search of lively chatter. Laughter erupted around her, hearty masculine noise that at once sparked her curiosity.

  “That’s a big ten-four, Ghost Ship. Where you at?”

  “Passing mile marker 209.”

  Mile marker 209? That’s where she was. But the voice didn’t belong to Red Wolf. Which could only mean…

  She glanced in her side mirror. Yep, her shadow was still on her tail. The voice had to belong to him.

  “Where ya headin’, Ghost Ship?”

  “Colorado border. I figure if I can make it there before this snow hits hard, I can hole up and wait it out.”

  His voice was deeper than she’d expected. Fringed with a rough quality that scraped against her ears pleasantly. Almost sexy.

  “That is, if my rig makes it that far. I’ve been fighting my transmission since Kansas City.”

  No almost about it. That voice was definitely sexy.

  She looked in the mirror again, taking in the multitude of lights glinting off his cab. When he’d passed her earlier, she’d noted not a single one failed to burn soft orange. From the running boards to the headers, each tiny light illuminated the dark turquoise paint.

  “You, Dodger?” he asked.

  The other man’s voice crackled through her speaker. “Heading down to Dodge.”

  “Going home, then?”

  “Yeah. The missus complained I’ve been gone too long. I’ll stay a day or two. Get a little lovin’. Then it’s back on down to Texas for me.”

  “Always nice to go home to a woman,” Ghost Ship agreed. “Speaking of—you get a look at the one in this truck on my front door?” He let out a low whistle.

  Gabrielle’s cheeks heated. Tailing her and talking about her? This was really too much. Granted, the few glimpses she’d caught of him painted him as easy on the eyes, but handsome or not, a trucker wasn’t her ideal of Mr. Perfect. Still, his voice drew her in.

  She turned the volume up a notch.

  “Don’t think so,” Dodger answered.

  “Sight for sore eyes, I tell you. I could get fond of going home to her. Little thing. Red hair.”

  Dodger laughed low. “Those redheads are trouble.”

  “I think I could handle her trouble.”

  Biting down on her lower lip, Gabrielle stifled a burst of laughter.

  “She’s gonna break my heart, Dodger. I’ll be dreaming of her while I’m camped on the side of the road. Her and her trouble.”

  “You better hope she don’t have ears on, Ghost Ship.”

  “Nah. Tried that somewhere in Missouri.”

  In a moment of sheer impulse, Gabrielle snatched at her radio. What the hell. She was supposed to be staying awake, wasn’t she? Talking would help more than anything, and at almost one in the morning on a Thursday, her best friend wouldn’t be in any mood to answer a phone call.

  Besides, Gabrielle couldn’t resist the opportunity to embarrass her shadow. He’d left himself wide open. She cleared her voice and pressed the button. “She has ears, boys.”

  “Well, well,” Ghost Ship answered on a chortle. “Just how much of that conversation did you hear?”

  Gabrielle grinned. “Enough.”

  “What do we call you, little lady?” Dodger asked.

  “Good question. I don’t have a handle. I listen mostly.”

  “Eavesdropper,” Ghost Ship quipped.

  From his tone, she visualized a goading smile. Her grin widened as she let out a light laugh. “I hear the best conversations that way.”

  “I bet. Where ya headin’?”

  “Home.” No sense in telling him where home was. With the way he seemed intent on keeping up with her, she wouldn’t put it past him to follow her to her large stables just outside the Ransom city limits. “Where’s the nearest stop? I need coffee.”

  Ghost Ship answered, “You can get a good cup of black water about fifteen miles ahead. You should see the lights soon.”

  The gravelly tone to his voice sent unexpected chills down her spine. Damn, she could listen to him talk all night long. I wonder what his whisper sounds like. The thought popped up, unbidden, and her cheeks heated again.

  “I’m gone, Ghost. Gonna check in with Chuck over on Channel 11.”

  “Night, Dodger.”

  Gabrielle dropped her control into her lap and shifted in her seat. A yawn possessed her. Silence filled her truck, an uncomfortable quiet that only heightened her awareness of the man on the other end of the line. She squinted again, peering out for distant lights, as the flakes in front of her headlights fell harder. Joy. Unloading a crazy stallion in a snowstorm looked unavoidable.

  “No handle, huh? You need one,” Ghost Ship broke through the stillness.

  She smiled as she picked up the receiver once more. “Haven’t had much use for one.” She paused, considering her options. “How about Daisy Mae?”

  Ghost Ship’s low laughter rumbled around her, as intense as if he were sitting in her passenger’s seat. Caught in the power of his voice, her stomach fluttered.

  “You’re no daisy, and you’re not a Mae. I say Wildfire.”

  “Wildfire?” She blinked. “Where’d you come up with that?”

  “Your hair.”

  Damn. Why the hell did that sound so…intimate? “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Wanna talk about it over coffee?”

  Uh-oh. Not what she’d intended at all. “I—ah—well—”

  “I promise not to bite unless you ask me to.”

  Double damn. That visual was absolutely not something she needed. Other than the fact he had dark hair, she didn’t even know what the man looked like.

  “Say yes, Wildfire. I’ll help wake you up.”

  “I bet.” No sooner than the reply tumbled off her lips, Gabrielle’s face burned hot. She hadn’t just said that, had she? She hadn’t uttered it with a touch of flirtatiousness either. She didn’t want this man following her. Didn’t intend on encouraging him at all. All she’d hoped for was a little entertainment to make the remaining two hours something less than hell.

  “I’m waiting for yes.”

  With a sigh, she blinked long and slow. What harm could come from it? Likely the rest stop would be heavily populated. Surely she could sit down and have a cup of coffee with a stranger and not have to consider whether he might clonk her over the head with something heavy. It was just coffee. Not a…date…or anything. Even if it did carry that awkward implication.

  “Ten-four. Over and out.”

  She hung her receiver on the overhead console and gripped the wheel with both hands. Better to keep conversation at a minimum. The anxious churning in her stomach would only intensify if she talked with the man more. She’d chicken out, no doubt about it. Meeting truckers at rest stops just wasn’t something she did. Her father would kill her for it, if he ever found out.

  Not that Daddy ever agreed with anything she did. She’d spent the better part of her twenty-six years learning that disappointing lesson.

  The wind picked up, buffeting her truck. She tapped her brakes, wary of the light covering of snow on the highway. The trailer shifted, pulling toward the shoulder.

  Her heart lodged in her throat.

  Her fingers tightened reflexively on the wheel. Easing off the pedals, she rolled through the skid. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.

&nbs
p; The tires grabbed the pavement, righting the trailer as the double-axeled wheels crossed the yellow line. Gabrielle let out a long breath. Close. Too damn close. She had no business stopping at a rest stop. The roads would only get worse, and the horse in tow wouldn’t overnight in a truck stop. Nor would she. That only invited trouble.

  She reached for her radio, intending to cancel coffee.

  Ghost Ship’s voice broke through her nervous tension. “Nice recovery there, Wildfire. You been doing this awhile?”

  His calm tone eased the trembling in her limbs. She swallowed. Conversation was good. Whether she stopped or not, he took her mind off the rapidly-deteriorating conditions. “I’ve hauled horses since I was sixteen.”

  “I guessed as much. You’re mighty easy to follow.”

  In his rough baritone timber, she caught a hint of a rolling drawl. Texas maybe? Someplace south, definitely. “Where are you from, Ghost?”

  “Grew up outside of Houston. The road’s my home now.”

  Texas indeed. Her spirits dimmed a little. Everyone she’d ever met from Texas came with an ego the size of the state. Texas this, Texas that. Bigger, freer, better. If the natives could get past the fact the state had actually joined the Union a couple hundred years ago, that would mark progress.

  “I hate Texas.” The remark slipped free. She snapped her mouth shut with wide eyes. Good grief, hadn’t she learned a long time ago that was the first way to make a Texan go on and on and on?

  His chuckle stunned her. “Don’t worry, sugar, so do I.”

  “Oh.” It was all she could think to say. After a moment of silence, she managed, “Why?”

  “Long story.” His voice was quieter. A touch thoughtful.

  Ahead, the glow of fluorescent lighting illuminated the black sky. Blurred by falling snow, a tall sign flashed big, red numbers, displaying the current gas prices. She really should cancel this coffee break. Two hours remained. She could make it that far.