Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
ASHA
The stables are immaculate. Rohan leads me down the center aisle, past stalls housing some of the most beautiful horses I've ever seen. Arabians, mostly, with a few quarter horses mixed in. But I'm barely seeing them.
I'm scared of losing something I don't even have the right to claim.
Trigger's words keep replaying in my head, no matter how hard I try to focus on why I'm here. The raw honesty in his voice, the way his hands flexed at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
I don't have you. Not really.
I adjust the bag on my shoulder. He's wrong…
or maybe he's right. I don't know anymore.
All I know is that hearing him say those things, admitting he's jealous, admitting he wants more than what the contract offers.
.. It's everything I used to dream about hearing from him.
And that's exactly why I can't trust it.
"She's in here." Rohan's voice pulls me back to the present. He opens a stall door at the end of the row, and I force myself to focus.
The mare is stunning, a dappled gray Arabian. She shifts her weight, and I immediately notice the slight favor of her back left leg, not the front left as Rohan said earlier. Interesting.
"Hello, beautiful," I murmur, approaching slowly with my hand extended. She sniffs my palm then allows me to stroke her neck. "How long has she been off her feed?"
"Three days, give or take." Rohan leans against the stall door, and I can feel his eyes on me, not the horse. "Started the same day she began favoring that leg."
I run my hands down the mare's shoulder, feeling for heat or swelling. "You said front left earlier."
"Did I?" There's something in his tone that makes me glance back at him. He's watching me with that same intense focus from this morning, like I'm a specimen under a microscope. "My mistake."
I don't think it was a mistake at all. Setting down the vet bag Rohan supplied, I pull out a stethoscope and begin a thorough examination. The mare stands patiently as I check her heart rate and respiratory rate and listen to gut sounds. Everything seems normal so far.
"Your father must be proud," Rohan says casually. "Having a daughter follow in his footsteps in business."
My hands still for just a moment. "I didn't follow in his footsteps. I'm a veterinarian, not a businessman."
"But you understand his world. Help with negotiations, I'm sure. Make connections." He shifts his weight. "That's valuable in its own way."
I move to examine the mare's legs, running my hands carefully down each one, feeling for heat, checking the joints. "I suppose."
"And Trigger, he's in rodeo? That must create interesting dynamics between your families."
"He's not in rodeo," I correct, my hands continuing their methodical examination. "He knows how to ride a bull, but his family breeds Thoroughbreds. Like mine." I pause, feeling the slight heat in the mare's left hind fetlock. "That's actually part of the problem between our families."
There it is again, that studying quality to his questions, like he's trying to piece something together.
"Our families have their differences. We make it work."
"Competing breeding operations. That must be complicated."
"It can be." I move to the mare's abdomen and palpate carefully. At seven months, the foal should be easily felt. "How long have you had her?"
"She was born here. Offspring of one of our prized stallions." There's genuine affection in his voice when he looks at the mare. "She's been part of our family since the beginning. One of our best."
I nod, continuing my examination. "She's beautiful. Excellent conformation."
"How large is Trigger's operation?" Rohan asks, shifting topics. "Compared to yours?"
I glance at him as I pull out a portable ultrasound. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just curious. Mother is always interested in successful breeding programs. Maybe there's room for this to be more than just a land use agreement." He shrugs, but his eyes are sharp. "What about your family? How many generations have you been breeding?"
"Just one," I say, moving the ultrasound wand over the mare's abdomen, searching for the foal.
"Well, technically, our land has been in the family for three generations, but we've only been breeding for one.
When my father married my mother, the land was a farm.
They grew flowers and food, but my father had big ideas and converted the land into a ranch. "
The silence that follows is heavy. When I glance at Rohan, his expression has changed. There's something razor-sharp in his focus now.
"Your mother's family," he repeats slowly. "What was her maiden name?"
The question sends a chill down my spine, though I can't explain why. Maybe it's the way he's looking at me. Maybe it's the sudden shift in his demeanor. Or maybe it's just that I'm on edge after this morning with Trigger, reading into things that aren't there.
"Why does it matter?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
"It doesn't. I'm just curious." But his posture has changed, and there's an intensity in his gaze that wasn't there seconds ago. "Please. Indulge me."
The foal's heartbeat shows up on the screen, strong and steady, and I focus on it, using the examination as an excuse not to look at him.
"Fairfield," I say finally. "My mother's maiden name is Fairfield. The estate has been in the Fairfield family for three generations before my parents married and my father took over managing the land."
Silence fills the space, and I look up from the screen to find Rohan's face has gone carefully blank. Not surprised, not shocked, just blank in a way that suggests he's working very hard to control his expression. His jaw is tight, and I can see a muscle ticking in his cheek.
"Fairfield," he repeats, his voice quieter now.
"Yes." I turn back to the ultrasound, suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of his stare. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing's wrong,” he says, though his tone says otherwise.
"I'm almost done."
"Good." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that mirrors Trigger so exactly it's almost jarring. "I'll wait outside. Let you work."
Before I can say anything else, he's gone, the stall door clicking shut behind him.
I stand there for a long moment, my hands still on the equipment bag, trying to understand what just happened.
The way his entire demeanor changed the second I said my mother's maiden name.
The way he looked at me not like someone who's attracted to me, but someone who's just had a suspicion confirmed.
I finish the examination on autopilot, checking the mare's teeth and gums, taking her temperature, and examining the heat in her fetlock more closely.
When I'm done, Rohan is leaning against the wall across from Sahara's stall, his arms crossed, his expression distant.
When he sees me, he straightens, and I can see him physically composing himself.
"Well?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral. "What's the verdict?"
I run through the diagnosis and treatment plan, forcing myself to stay professional even when his studied glare is unnerving.
When I finish, he nods slowly. "Interesting."
"What is?"
"That's the exact same conclusion I told Mother yesterday."
The words hang between us, and I stare at him blankly while my brain tries to process what he just said.
"You're the vet, aren't you?" I say, handing him the bag I now believe is his.
His smile is slow, almost apologetic. "I am."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was better this way." He straightens from the wall, his expression serious now.
"I didn't want you second-guessing yourself or rewording your diagnosis because you were worried about offending me.
I wanted your honest, unfiltered, professional opinion.
" He pauses, and something almost like respect crosses his features.
"And truthfully? I wanted to see if another vet would reach the same conclusion I did. I'm competitive by nature."
"Are you sure that's all this was?" I ask skeptically.
His questioning, while cloaked in the guise of an easy conversation, felt more like digging. But digging for what? I don't see how any of those questions pertain to the merger, which is why I answered them.
Rohan's expression becomes more guarded, like he's weighing how much to tell me. "Let's just say my mother likes to be thorough when it comes to people who might be significant to our family's interests," he finally says.
"Significant? You're talking to the wrong Hale,” I say, assuming he’s referencing the merger.
"Am I?" He tilts his head, and there's something in his eyes that makes my stomach clench. "Tell me, Asha, does the name Daruka mean anything to you? Beyond my mother, I mean."
"Should it?"
"Can I show you something?" He's already moving toward the stable doors, not waiting for my answer.
Does the name Daruka mean anything to you? His words echo in my head, and I hesitate, but only a moment, until I match his pace stride for stride back to the house because I can't say no.
"When I saw you yesterday, I knew you looked familiar, but I couldn't place it.
" Rohan leads me toward a mahogany shelf lined with framed photographs at the far end of what appears to be a private study.
"And now I know why." He picks up an old photograph, his fingers careful on the worn frame.
"I couldn't place it because the last time I saw you, you were small. "
He holds it out to me. It's a framed picture of my family.
I'm sitting on my mother's lap, maybe five years old, wearing a yellow dress I don't remember.
My father sits beside us, but he's not looking at the camera.
He's looking at my mother and me, his expression so full of love that my chest tightens.
He's looking at us like we're his whole world.