Chapter Thirteen
“Add fertilizer to your life, and see where it can grow.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #21
Waylon took Highway 71 out to Log Cabin Road, then made a right and headed east. He hadn’t been out that way before, but he’d been told that Bluebonnet Farms was only five more miles down the road. Heather lived on Bluebonnet Farms. Not in the main home with Blu, but in the smaller cottage that had been the original home on the property. She didn’t know he was heading her way right now, and for all he knew, she might not even be there. But she wasn’t at the viewing party at The Buffalo. And he hadn’t seen her since early that morning at the ranch.
Yet it was Tuesday. It was time for them to talk.
He glanced at the wrapped package lying beside him as he slowed, then steered to the other side of the road. As he passed the slower-moving hay truck, he threw up his hand in greeting. Then he thought about the possible outcomes of the evening.
One, no pregnancy. Just as Heather had predicted.
Just as he wanted.
They could continue as they were—only he wasn’t exactly sure what they “were”—and he’d have no additional long-term worries or commitments. That was the optimal scenario. The one that made sense.
Or two. A pregnancy. Rose could have a sibling.
He pressed on the gas, inching the speed up too high for the narrow road, and almost missed the turn that took him to the farm. Slowing rapidly, he made a wide sweep to the right, his back tires sliding in the gravel, before straightening the vehicle and seeking out the home where Heather lived.
He hadn’t given thought to Rose having a sibling in years. It didn’t seem to be in the cards for them, and it wouldn’t be ideal if it happened now. Yet he’d caught himself thinking about it over the last couple of days. Playing out how things might change if Heather were pregnant.
Would she want him to be in her life?
He shook his head at his foolish thoughts. They’d had sex once, and within minutes of finishing, she’d climbed onto Ollie and ridden away.
I’ll see you on Tuesday.
She’d said the words, and as they’d foretold, he hadn’t heard from her since. Not that he’d tried to see her, either. Other than watching her from his office window that morning.
He’d had paperwork to catch up on before he and his dad spent the rest of the week branding, and though he’d told himself he wouldn’t glance out the open window even once—that he wouldn’t so much as seek a glance of her—when laughter had drifted up from the backyard, he’d lifted his head from the papers scattered around him and sat there for fifteen full minutes doing nothing but watching her.
He’d thought about their brief question and answer session when she’d caught him at the spring Saturday afternoon. She might not know what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, but she was excellent at what she was doing now. He could see the passion in her as she worked. She’d said that her parents had always just known how their lives would play out, and Waylon had the feeling that whatever it was her parents had had, she’d inherited.
He passed the main house, then saw Heather’s down a small slope. And as he took in the many flowers and greenery surrounding it, he smiled.
Yeah, she had what her parents had, all right. A total green thumb.
As he pulled to a stop thirty feet from her, he also saw that her green thumb was currently hard at work. Though the sunset was fast approaching, she was on all fours in the landscaped area spanning the left side of her small porch, frayed shorts covering her cute rear and a bright blue tank riding just above the shorts. He also caught earbud wires running from her ears. Therefore, it didn’t surprise him that she hadn’t turned as he pulled up.
Cutting the engine, he pocketed the keys and stepped from the truck, and as if sensing she was no longer alone, Heather glanced over her shoulder. She didn’t move from her outstretched position at first. She hadn’t caught sight of him.
But the instant she did, her entire body jerked.
Three seconds of pandemonium followed. Heather simultaneously turned in his direction and tried to push to her feet. She lost her balance. She teetered.
And then she fell flat on her rear in the middle of a leafy bush.
Scowling up at him, trowel in one hand and a tiny purple flower in the other, she yanked out her earbuds and growled. “What are you doing here, Waylon?”
“Hello to you, too.” He’d intended to offer her a hand up, but a natural sense of preservation held him back. He’d never seen her in such a foul mood. “You weren’t at the viewing party,” he explained. He watched as she scrambled to her feet. “And it’s Tuesday.”
“I’m aware of what day it is.” Moving both the trowel and flower into one hand, she used her teeth to yank off the glove of her other. “And I wasn’t in the mood for a crowd tonight.”
He’d been disappointed to discover she wasn’t at the bar. He’d enjoyed mingling with everyone the week before, and had been looking forward to doing it again tonight. As well as seeing Heather, of course. But there’d been no way he could stay there and wonder what her absence meant.
Was she not there because she was pregnant?
Because she wasn’t?
“You knew I’d want to talk,” he pointed out, and she rolled her eyes as if bored.
“Of course I knew you’d want to talk.” She tossed the trowel to the ground. “And I’d planned to call you tonight.”
Surprise hit him. “I didn’t know you had my number.”
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “I’m resourceful like that.” She inspected the bush she’d landed in, stooping to assess the damage, while at the same time returning the flower to the half-empty flat. “I got your number from your dad today.” She spoke as she worked. “He came down to check out the job we’re doing out there.”
She’d talked to his dad? His dad hadn’t mentioned it. “So you and Charlie hung out?”
She eyed him over her shoulder.
“What did you think of him?” Other than the few minutes before Waylon had suggested they leave his dad and Blu to their own devices on Saturday, he hadn’t thought Heather had been around him.
She gave up on the shrub and pushed back to her feet. “What I think is that if he hurts my foster mother, he’d better hope the three of us never find him.”
Waylon loved her protective streak.
But he also found himself defending his dad. “He’s not a bad guy.”
“I never said he was. But from what I can tell, he’s not the settling type, either.”
Sounded as if she’d pegged his father right. Waylon didn’t know a lot about the man’s love life, he just knew that Charlie Peterson did as he pleased. He’d never remarried, he’d taken several jobs throughout the years, seemingly wherever the urge struck, and Waylon had only ever seen him with a handful of women. And none had registered as anything lasting.
“I’d say that’s fairly accurate.” He studied her, thinking about her look of shock when she’d first realized that Blu and his dad had been flirting. “But let me ask you this . . . would you actually be okay with Blu hooking up with anyone?”
Disgust marred her face. “Seriously?” She cringed. “Just stop. Don’t say ‘hooking up’ when referring to Aunt Blu. Ever. That’s just so . . . wrong.”
“Yet she is a grown woman.”
“And she’s been doing just fine for twenty years without ‘hooking up’.” She held her hand up to stop any more discussion of the subject, her expression remaining as irritated as when he’d first arrived, so Waylon decided to push another button.
“How about bad moods, then?” At her confusion, he added, “Does Blu have bad moods? Is she where you learned to do them so well?”
“Oh, for crying out—” She bit off her words and scowled. “It’s cramps, Waylon. You’ve heard of them, right? And bloating.”
Her eyes suddenly blinked too rapidly to be natural, and he thought she might cry.
He wasn’t sure how to fix it.
“I feel like crap, okay?” She spoke more evenly, but she still wore the look of a woman with one foot already dangling off the edge. “I always do the first twenty-four hours, so I’m sorry about the mood. But this is why I didn’t go to the party. Because all I want to do is growl at people and”—she literally growled—“chocolate. Good Lord, I want chocolate.” She peered over his shoulder to where he’d parked. “You don’t happen to have any stashed away in your truck, do you? Because I’d do about anything for some chocolate right now.”
Waylon ignored her backhanded offer of “anything” and sorted through their reality. She wasn’t pregnant. Which he’d already guessed from her current mood. But strangely, her words settled uncomfortably inside him.
“So you’re not . . .” His gaze dropped to her stomach, and Heather barked out a laugh.
“No, Waylon. I’m not.” She stared down at herself. “Like I told you. Clockwork.”
He nodded. “That’s good.”
Wasn’t it?
Yes. It was good. He gave another nod. His life was too crazy. Kids and marriage weren’t on his radar.
“Yes.” Heather eyed him suspiciously. “It is good.”
“But you do want kids someday?”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“Never mind.” Why had he asked that? She’d already admitted she did. It’s why she’d originally taken a job as a kindergarten teacher.
He turned for his truck, ignoring her when footsteps followed behind him.
“Where are you going?” She hurried to keep up. “Are you just going to leave now?”
He opened his truck door and reached in. “You don’t want me to leave?”
He had not been going to leave. No way. He was finally seeing her again, and he intended to stay until she forced him out.
But he did like knowing that she didn’t want him to go.
“I don’t know,” she denied. “It just seemed . . .” Her words slowed as he turned back, and when he held out a wrapped, flat box she finished with, “kind of odd.”
She lifted her gaze, and he gave her a closed-mouth smile.
“You brought me a present?”
He forced it into her hands without answering, and she immediately tugged at the yellow paper. He’d seen the wrapping paper in the drugstore the day before, and it had reminded him of her. Very sunshiny. Today notwithstanding.
With only two strips removed, Heather looked up again. And damn, but this time there were tears in her eyes.
“You did have chocolate.” She stared down at the box he’d picked up after taking Rose home. “Why would you bring me chocolates?”
“Cramps, bloating . . . cravings.” He twisted his mouth and waited for her response.
And her response was to rip the remainder of the paper from the box.
Waylon held back his laughter, but the lightness of the moment and the gusto with which she tore into the box were comical. Apparently unneeded calories were not a concern at that moment.
After picking out one of the heart-shaped, dark-chocolate pieces, she lifted it to her mouth and shoved it in. A groan rolled out of her. “What kind of guy are you to know that?”
Relief washed through Waylon. The Heather he’d come to know was back. “I’m a dad who lived with Rose’s mom for a long time. Even before the dad part came into play.”
“Yeah?” She chewed on the chocolate, moaning in sync with the movement of her jaw. “Tell me about that,” she mumbled as she plucked out another piece. “About Rose’s mom.”
Waylon thought fondly of Nikki. As he always did. She’d had her negatives, but he wouldn’t trade having had her in his life for anything. “We were best friends since birth,” he said simply. “We lived our whole lives together.”
Heather paused before selecting a third piece, recognition lighting her eyes. “Your dad said you were born on her grandfather’s ranch.”
“Right. Dad worked there at that point. Nikki was born two days after me—though in a hospital—and we lived there for another seven years on her grandparents’ ranch. The friendship that started in those early years, though”—he almost choked up as he thought about how he’d been unable to help his friend in the last months of her life—“it remained solid until the end.”
Even with all their mistakes.
“That’s really special,” Heather said softly. She’d slowed her intake and now watched him more carefully.
“She was special,” he admitted. “We did everything together.”
“You must have loved her a lot.”
He wished it could’ve been as easy as Heather made it sound. “Nikki’s the only person I’ve ever truly loved. But if you’re thinking we were ‘in love’ . . .” He shook his head. Nikki hadn’t wanted that. No matter how much he had. “No.”
Heather moved to the swing hanging from a tree in her front yard, and when she motioned for him to join her, he did. Then he shared more about Rose’s mother.
“Nikki was a shining star,” he told her. He wasn’t sure how else to explain it. “She loved living. She loved experiencing things. After we graduated high school, she couldn’t wait to get out of town. She wanted faster, better, bigger. She wanted more. She’d dreamed of moving to Vegas for years, so I went with her.”
“At eighteen?”
He plucked out a piece of the chocolate. “We were legal adults, so yeah.” He didn’t point out that he’d have been living on his own even if he hadn’t moved to Vegas. “At eighteen.”
“And you said you dealt cards?”
“I did. I had to pick up odd jobs for the first couple of years. I couldn’t get hired in a casino for a while. But Nikki immediately became a showgirl.” He smiled at the memory of her coming home telling him they’d offered her the job. That had been the reason she’d wanted Vegas in the first place. She’d been athletic her entire life, and she’d always longed to play sports. Volleyball, softball, track. She’d even have tried out for football if anyone had let her.
Her parents had insisted she take dance, though. And only dance. They’d put her in classes before she’d started elementary school, but as soon as she’d gotten the chance, she’d “shown them.” She’d moved to Vegas . . . and she’d danced. Just as they’d always wanted her to do.
Of course, she’d also gotten involved in some bad situations. If she thought it, she tried it.
And Nikki had been open to plenty of ideas.
Waylon told Heather about all of it. He had no reason not to. “And though, as a child, Nikki had always done as her parents insisted,” he continued, “she’d resented their actions from day one. There was always animosity there.”
“Between Nikki and her parents?”
“Right.” He didn’t point out that they’d blamed him for that animosity. He’d always been around, so he’d been the scapegoat. Because it couldn’t possibly be the fault of the Jameses.
He wrapped an arm around Heather’s shoulders as he continued talking, the orange scent he’d forever associate with her drifting up, and she leaned into his chest. “Neither of us were angels, that’s for sure. Either before Vegas or after. We hung with the wrong crowds, we got into trouble here and there. And once we were on our own, we lived together to save on costs. That made us even closer.”
Heather only played with the chocolates now, moving them around in the box. “So that’s when you two . . .”
“It eventually turned to that, yes.” He and Nikki hadn’t slept together at first. Nor had they planned to. “We both went out with others regularly. Nothing but hookups, mostly. But if we weren’t with someone else, then sometimes . . .” He ended with a shrug. It may never have been a great love between them, but being with Nikki had often felt right.
“And you said the pregnancy hadn’t been planned?”
He let out a lone chuckle. “Definitely not planned. She’d been a full-on addict at that point.”
Heather’s shock was evident. “Drugs?”
He nodded. “That’s how she died. Accidental overdose. She did stop using during the pregnancy, though.” He’d insisted. “But only for the length of the pregnancy.”
Of course, her temporary abstinence had been a lot better than the alternative she’d first suggested. Thank goodness he still had Rose.
“What happened after she got pregnant?” Heather turned toward him, and his arm dropped from around her shoulders. She took his hand. “You didn’t marry her?”
“I asked her.” And he’d honestly wanted to. He’d wanted her to be the one.
It hurt that she’d never fully understood him. He hadn’t needed the partying, the wildness. He’d gotten into it because he’d felt “lost.” It had been his way of being seen. But inside, that had never been him. He’d have been truly happy settling down with Nikki. The two of them and Rose.
“So, she didn’t want to marry you?”
He looked down at the woman who held his hand in hers. “She didn’t want to marry anyone. She wanted to perform, to party.” He wished all that he wasn’t saying about Nikki could somehow come through. “She loved the Vegas lifestyle. I did talk her into moving off the strip after Rose was born, though. To try a ‘family’ thing.”
He’d done and offered every possible thing he could think of, but nothing had been enough. He and Rose hadn’t been what Nikki wanted.
“She did love Rose, though.” He didn’t want Heather to think differently. “And she wasn’t a bad mom. Drugs just have a way of getting in the way. But after a year of ‘playing house,’ as she put it, she couldn’t do it anymore. She’d already gone back to dancing months before, and she was beginning to resent me for keeping her from the life she desired. So, she moved out. Rose and I took care of each other from that point on, but Nikki still saw her on occasion. Only, she was never . . .”
He let his words trail off, uncertain how to explain it. Nikki had loved their daughter, but she’d simply never been able to be the mother Rose needed.
“That’s okay.” Heather cupped his cheek, her voice softening. “I get it. Not everyone is cut out to be a parent. I’ve met a lot of girls over the years, most of them while they were staying with Aunt Blu. And no matter how little it makes sense to some of us, there are simply some people in this world that seem to be missing”—she wore a perplexed expression—“a parenting gene, I suppose.”
It did seem like she got it. “Your parents were good ones?”
“Yes. They were.” Her smile was faint. “I was one of the lucky ones.”
Waylon found it ironic that she’d lost both parents in a fire at a young age, yet she considered herself one of the lucky ones.
He covered the hand on his cheek. “You’d make a good parent, too.”
“I’d like to think so.”
“Ever thought about it?” He pulled her fingers to his lips. “Trying to get pregnant for real?”
She stared at him, straight on and unblinking. “With whom, exactly?” Her tone matched her blank expression. “One of my exes? Or maybe from a sperm bank and do it on my own?”
He was pretty sure he’d just stepped onto a land mine. “So your exes were not Prince Charmings?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Want to talk about it?” He’d like to talk about it. He’d been curious since she’d first brought them up.
She glanced around instead of answering, her eyes widening as if just realizing it had grown dark, then she checked her watch. “Maybe another time. I have Texas Dream Home recording, and I’d rather watch that right now than think about my past.” She nodded toward the house. “Want to watch it with me?”
“Absolutely.” There was little he wanted more.
He rose, keeping her hand in his and pulling her up behind him, and together, they moved to the house. Before they could step inside, however, she stopped and put her back to the door.
“You aren’t scared of ghosts, are you?”
At her question, he peered over her head and took in the cherry-red door that led into her home. “You’re not saying that you have a ghost in there?”
Her grin reached her eyes. “I am not saying that.” She tucked a hand behind her and pushed the door open. “But I do suspect you’re about to see one on TV.”
They’d ended up not only watching that week’s episode of Texas Dream Home, but also Sleepless in Seattle. They’d pulled up his streaming account on her TV, and he’d offered to let her choose. So she’d gone old school. And romantic.
Surprisingly, Waylon had admitted to having seen the movie before. Then he’d quoted several lines as they’d watched, impersonating each actor. He’d had her rolling with laughter a number of times, adding a level of fun to the evening that she hadn’t expected. Waylon was a fun date. If dating was what they were doing.
She hid a yawn behind her hand, and cringed when she caught him watching.
“Sorry,” she offered. “I don’t mean to be a wet blanket, but I’m going to have to call it a night.”
“No need to apologize.” He closed the photo album he’d been perusing. It was one from when her parents had still been alive. “I’m just glad you haven’t spent the last few hours biting my head off like when I first arrived.”
She smirked at his lame attempt at humor, then found herself smiling along with him. This had been a nice night.
“Take the rest of the cookies,” she offered as they both stood up from the couch. He’d found the remainder of the snickerdoodles from her Sunday morning bake-off, and though she’d refused to admit the truth, he’d correctly guessed that she’d been thinking of him when she’d made them.
“Given that you’ve sat here and almost polished off that whole box of chocolates yourself”—he shot his own smirk—“I think I will take the cookies. If only to save you from not fitting into your bridesmaid dress.”
“Ha, ha.” She gave him a flat look. “You’re a riot and a hoot.”
He reached for her hand. “I also look quite dapper in a suit.” He looked down at her, and the humor faded from his eyes. “Just a tidbit of info,” he told her, “in case you were considering taking a date to the wedding.”
No reply came. They hadn’t talked about what they’d done out at the ranch the Saturday before, and though they’d sat side by side for the last several hours—and had touched more than once—there’d been no implication this was anything more than a “checkup” to ensure she hadn’t gotten pregnant.
Yet he wanted to be her date to Jill’s wedding?
Instead of responding, she led the way to her door. Only, once there, she didn’t know what to do. Or say. So she just stood there.
“I really do like your place.” Waylon scanned the room as if he hadn’t been sitting in it all evening, and she risked a glance to find him looking at anything but her.
“Thanks. Jill, Trenton, and I renovated it.” She could hear the breathlessness in her voice. “It was the first house we did.”
“Is that so?”
He looked around for a moment longer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and his movements seeming as uncomfortable as she felt, before he finally brought his gaze back to hers. And when he did, Heather saw for the first time what she hadn’t realized she’d been looking for all evening. He wanted to kiss her.
“I knew you were good at your job,” he continued. He threaded two fingers between hers. “Maybe I’ll still ask you to help out at my place.”
“And maybe I’ll think about helping out.” She wasn’t ready for him to go yet. She glanced at his mouth. But she also didn’t think it wise to let him stay.
So she opened the door.
“You sure you’re not scared of ghosts now?” As they’d watched that week’s episode, Waylon had not bought into the idea of the past owner still “living” in the house Cal’s team had renovated. Heather had no doubts of the woman’s existence, though. She hadn’t seen Mrs. Wainwright for herself, but Jill had sworn the woman had been over there.
Just as she’d sworn Mrs. Wainwright had gotten her own happily ever after.
“Maybe I am scared.” Waylon’s eyes glowed with anticipation. “Walk me to my truck?”
She nodded. “I think I might need to.”
They moved silently through the night, the moon having risen to cast a soft glow over the land, and she thought of the flowers she’d been planting when Waylon had shown up. She’d taken the afternoon off to come home and set them out, knowing Waylon would be looking for her before the day’s end. And though her grumpiness when he’d arrived hadn’t been faked, it also hadn’t been due entirely to her monthly cycle. At least, not in the way he’d believed. There had certainly been cramps. There always were. But her mood had also been affected by the fact that she’d gotten her period to begin with—even though she’d known she would.
Because the idea of having Waylon’s baby . . .
She shoved the thought away. It had been ridiculous to go there.
“I’m kind of impressed,” she broke the silence as they approached his truck. “We had a whole night of conversation, and we didn’t once have to resort to a game of two-questions.”
Waylon put his back to the truck door. “Don’t knock two-questions.” He pulled her in front of him and propped his forearms on her shoulders. “It’s a great icebreaker.”
“Yeah? Is that your normal pickup line?”
“My tried and true.”
He winked then, and she smiled at his wink.
She put her hands to the side of his waist, hooking her fingers through his belt loops, but then she caught a glimpse of something . . . odd . . . sitting on the front seat of his truck. She leaned to the side, trying to make it out—while Waylon’s arms lowered and clasped around the small of her back.
Then her mouth dropped open when she recognized what it was.
“Is that another present?” This one clearly wasn’t a box of chocolates. It was a small gift bag with tissue paper sticking out the top. “Why do you—”
She stopped speaking at the grimace that tightened Waylon’s mouth.
“Who’s it for?” She pulled back, but his hands stayed firm around her.
“Nobody.” He spoke through a stiff jaw.
Doubt crept in. “What is it, then? You got another woman you need to check on?”
“No other woman, and you know that. I told you how long it’s been for me.”
He had told her. And she’d believed him.
She still believed him.
Yet something was clearly going on with him. She tried to look around him again, but his arm tensed, stopping her movement, and this time when she lifted her face to his, she detected an entirely different emotion.
Was that embarrassment?
She eyed his shoulder, imagining she could see through it to the front seat of his truck. What was she missing here?
“What’s in the bag, Waylon?”
“Can’t you just forget you saw that?”
“I don’t think I can.” She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as she thought through the moment, and she fought the urge not to let this bother her. But the more he tried not to show her what was in the bag, the more she wanted to know what it was. “Can I ask another question then?”
One thing had been plaguing her for the last few days, and it reared its head again in that moment.
“Sure.” He remained looking uncomfortable.
She didn’t take her eyes off his. “I know it’s been a while for you, but before that . . . before me, just how many women were there?” She had to force herself to sound normal. “And I mean serious relationships. You mentioned that you’d once slept with a lot of women. So how many of ‘a lot’ were something real?”
She knew she sounded jealous, and she had no right to be. They weren’t dating. This wasn’t a thing. Saturday afternoon had just been a moment. And one that probably shouldn’t be repeated.
But she couldn’t help but want to kn—
“I’ve had none,” Waylon said, and her jaw went slack.
None? How was that even possible?
“But I’d have liked for there to be.”
At his soft admission, she heard the vulnerability. He really did want something serious? Nerves began to tingle inside her. “You’d have to date to make that happen, though, wouldn’t you?”
“Something like that.”
And he hadn’t dated anyone in years.
She began to wonder if that lack of dating was due purely to his being a single father, or was there more to it? The tension remained in him, both in the arms that held her and in the angle of his jaw, but suddenly he peered down at her.
“Want to date me, Heather?”
Her breath caught at the question. She sidestepped by nodding toward his front seat. “What’s in the bag?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s not anything you want to see.”
Determination stared back at her when she made no response, and finally he sighed. And he closed his eyes.
“Please don’t . . .” He quit talking and shook his head, then he settled her back a couple of feet and opened his truck door.
After retrieving the small gift, he handed it over, a blank expression now covering his face, and she immediately ripped the tissue paper from the bag. It was too dark to make out what lay inside, so she reached in and pulled out something soft.
Then she stared down at the tiny bib with the words “Mommy loves me” written on the front. And her mind went blank.
“Go out with me, Heather.”
Goose bumps lit down her body. “I . . .”
“Just say yes.” His tone wasn’t soft, but she heard the need in his words. Then he touched a finger beneath her chin and brought her gaze to his. “You know you want to, and you know I’m going to keep asking.”
“But why?” She gripped the bib in both hands.
“Why do I want to date you?” He looked as uncertain as she. “Other than that it just feels right? That it feels like what we should be doing?”
“But dating always ends so badly for me.”
He closed his hands around hers. “I promise I’m not bad for you.”
She’d told him about her exes while they’d watched Sleepless in Seattle. The college boyfriend who’d broken their engagement after he and her roommate had gotten married—and had used her wedding savings to fund his and his new bride’s honeymoon. The fiancé who came after that, who’d disappeared the day of their engagement party—along with the money he’d embezzled from his company the previous six months.
That one had not only made the news, but had resulted in her being interrogated, as if she’d had something to do with it.
And then there had been Danny Shaver, right here from Red Oak Falls. Danny hadn’t attempted to take anyone’s money or marry her friends. Nor had he been a flat-out criminal. He’d merely had an issue with sex. They’d dated for nine months, and all the while he’d been sleeping with at least ten other women, both local and living in the cities where his job took him. Yet he’d sworn to her from early on that she was his one true love.
She hadn’t gotten engaged to Danny, at least. She had that going for her.
But that had been her only advantage. Everyone had given her the poor-Heather look, accompanied by reminders that they’d warned her about him all along. It had been the same look she’d gotten the previous two times. Along with the when-will-she-learn whispers.
She clearly wouldn’t learn, and that was the problem. No matter how careful she might think she was being, she always chose a guy who had a moral or two that had taken a sabbatical.
And then she fell for him, hook, line, and sinker.
“I want to get to know you, Heather,” Waylon said now, apparently giving up on waiting for a reply. “That’s what it boils down to.” He dipped his head to look at her. “I like you. I think you like me. I enjoy being with you . . .”
He paused, eyeing her, and she added petulantly, “I enjoy being with you.”
He flashed his dimples. “And I want to be with you more. That’s all I’m asking. Let’s see if this is anything. Can’t that be enough for now?”
She so wanted to believe in Waylon.
“Maybe,” she finally answered. Then Chris, Dustin, and Danny flashed through her mind again. “But I don’t want to go public.”
Incredulity creased Waylon’s brow. “What are you suggesting? That I just be a booty call?”
“No.” She shook her head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just”—she stared at him, wishing she could make him understand—“yes. Okay? Let’s go out. Let’s date. I want to date you. But all I’m asking is that we keep it to ourselves for just a little while. You’ve got to understand. When dating fails for me, it fails spectacularly. And I so hate the looks I get when that happens.” She ground out the last part. She hated to feel so stupid.
Just because she wanted love.
“Okay,” Waylon said without her having to explain further. He squeezed her fingers. “Not public. For now.”
“Thank you.”
He gave a small smile that matched her own. “But we’re starting tomorrow. Be ready at six o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”
Her eyes went wide. “Six? I’ll barely have time to shower after I get in from work.”
And she had no idea what she would wear. Did she even have date clothes?
“Then shower quickly,” Waylon told her. He leaned in then, and before she recognized his intent, his mouth was on hers.
He kissed her there in front of her home, his hands still holding hers and his mouth torching her with its touch. And Heather tried her best not to let herself start to fall. But she knew it was a lost cause. The man had not only brought her an I-got-my-period box of chocolates . . . but he’d brought her an I’m-pregnant gift as well. So yeah, it was too late to put the brakes on now. She’d already dived headfirst off the cliff.
He ended the kiss, pulling back and flashing a silent promise in his dark eyes, then he drove away in his truck.
Heather stood alone in her front yard, and she looked down at the bib still clutched in her grip. But instead of continuing to think about Waylon, she let her mind go to her parents. Her mother had been absolutely crazy for her dad. One hundred percent over the moon in love with the man since the moment they’d first met.
And her dad had loved her mother just as ferociously.
At the same time . . . her dad had not been perfect.
Did that mean their love hadn’t been perfect as well?
She lifted the bib and studied the tiny stitching that made up the lettering. And she thought of the box of chocolates. Maybe perfection wasn’t what she was supposed to be looking for after all. Maybe all she needed was perfect for her.