Chapter Fourteen
“The girth of your hips isn’t as important as the smile on your face.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #33
They’d gone out four times now. Before that afternoon’s horseback ride. Every night except the two when Waylon had had Rose, and then on Tuesday night, when they’d attended the viewing party separately. Waylon had even stopped by her house on his way home from returning Rose Sunday night. Just to give her a kiss.
A very long kiss.
Heather sighed to herself. The man was doing it right.
The first date had been dinner at his house. Charlie had disappeared for the evening, and food had been waiting when they’d arrived. Waylon had brought in an eggplant parmesan from a local Italian restaurant, a salad, and a bottle of red wine—and though she’d still been borderline grumpy from cramps, the mixture of wine, good food, and better company had easily turned things around.
The next night they’d driven to San Marcos to take in a movie. Though Jill’s wedding was fast barreling toward her, Heather had once again tossed her worries over eating too many extra calories. A movie date required buttered popcorn, as far as she could tell. And with Waylon either feeding it to her or trying to sneak licks of the butter from her fingers, she hadn’t been about to pass it up.
Dates three and four had been at her house and his, respectively. Three had been him bringing her a new shrub to replace the one she’d landed in the first night he’d shown up. He’d also picked up hyacinth bulbs, along with a truck bed full of mulch, and together they’d worked in her yard until well after dark. Four had been at his house the night before, where both she and Charlie had helped rip up the existing flooring that was too damaged to keep.
The night didn’t sound romantic, but it had been Heather’s idea, and they’d all had a terrific time. Plus, it had given her an opportunity to get to know Charlie better. As far as she was aware, there’d been no additional communication between him and Aunt Blu, but she’d been thinking about it all the same. Blu got lonely. Heather understood that. And everyone deserved to find love if they wanted it. The problem in Heather’s mind was that she didn’t know if Charlie Peterson wanted it.
He did strike her as a good guy, and he was actually a lot like Waylon. They both had fun personalities, and their senses of humor could be hilarious.
Also, they both seemed lonely.
Another perk of the three of them spending the evening together was that it had allowed her to pick up on a subtle “dance” between father and son. As if neither wanted to be the one to show his hand first. Only, she had yet to figure out what hands they each were holding.
She dug her heels into Ollie’s sides as she rode, pushing the horse to go faster, and as she leaned in closer, she momentarily closed her eyes. Hooves pounded underneath her, and she imagined her mother’s comforting touch reaching down from above.
After several minutes at a fast pace, she eased up and sat straighter in the seat, and as she and horse both began to catch their breaths, Waylon and Beau trotted up next to them.
“I get the feeling you’d be just as happy today if I weren’t here,” Waylon teased, and Heather grinned over at him. She enjoyed his company, that was for sure, but he wasn’t far off at the moment. She’d gone without riding for too long.
“You brought the food,” she pointed out. “I would have been hungrier if you weren’t here.”
His laugh rumbled through her belly. “And you downed that sandwich as if the size of your hips had never been in question.”
She made a face at him. “The size of my hips is always in question.”
“The only questionable thing I see is when I’ll get the opportunity to see them again.” He winked with the audacious words, and Heather pulled Ollie to a stop.
“Your winking outs you every time, you know?”
He bellowed another laugh. “Are you saying you don’t believe that I want to see your hips?”
They were back within sight of the barn, but Heather had no desire to hurry an end to their time together. She’d cut work a little short that day due to the producers wanting to bring some bigwigs out to see the work being done, and as soon as Waylon had been able to get away, they’d set out exploring the ranch. “I’m saying,” she told him, “that I flat out offered to show you my hips back at the spring earlier. And if I’m remembering correctly, you changed the subject.”
She danced Ollie around him and Beau, circling man and beast, and enjoyed watching him as he turned his head along with her movements and watched her.
“I did change the subject,” he admitted.
“Care to explain why?” She kept circling.
Though it had been clear during their first few dates that extracurricular activities would have been somewhat messy, Heather had informed him the night before that that was no longer the case. There had been plenty of kissing each time they’d gotten together—including today—and a hefty amount of petting and just making out in general. Yet she’d come right out and offered sex not an hour before, even letting him know she had condoms on her person. And he’d passed.
He grabbed Ollie’s bridle to halt her movements, and eased Beau up beside her. He sat facing one direction and she the other, and he leaned in to nibble at her neck.
“I absolutely want to see your hips again.” His husky voice fired tingles over her body. “And your breasts,” he continued. His lips nipped at her ear. “And I really, really want to slide deep inside you again.”
She shivered at the words.
“But”—he continued, his hot breath still at her ear, his whiskers tickling her just below—“I’m not going to do that tonight, either.”
She scowled. “Why not?”
She’d never had so much trouble getting a man to take her clothes off.
“Because we rushed it before,” he said matter-of-factly. He began circling her as she and Ollie had done to him. “And I don’t want you thinking this is just about sex.”
“I don’t think that.”
He grabbed her bridle and leaned in once more, but this time instead of going for her neck, he put his face inches from hers. “This is me wooing you, Heather Lindsay.” Sincerity shone back at her. “This is me romancing you.”
Her heart flipped. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be the romantic here.”
“Yeah, well”—he kissed the tip of her nose—“you don’t own the license to romance.” He tilted his head, and this time kissed her tenderly on the mouth. And when he pulled back, it wasn’t only desire she saw, but raw honesty. “I don’t want you just having fun with me.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I want you falling hard for me.”
“Waylon . . .” She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Was he falling just as hard for her?
He kissed the tip of her nose again before turning his horse for the barn, and Heather was left either to go with him or stay there looking after him. So she instructed Ollie to follow. And as she and Waylon entered the paddock together, she caught Jill watching from the covered patio of the house.
“We’re no longer alone.” Waylon spoke under his breath. “I just hope Trenton isn’t waiting in the barn with a gun.”
Heather grinned. She knew that Trenton would like to be waiting in the barn with a gun.
“Are they okay with this?” Waylon asked. He watched her as they rode. “With us dating?”
“How do you know I told them?”
His smirk was telling.
“Fine. I told them. And they’re not exactly happy about it, okay?” She thought about the three-way phone conversation they’d had after Waylon had driven away last Tuesday night. “They always have my back, though. They support me. Whatever I need to do.”
They also picked her up when she fell.
“They’re good friends,” Waylon offered.
“There are none better.”
They led the animals into the barn, and after finishing the rubdown tasks and putting out feed, Waylon walked her to her car. The sun had fully set, but the landscape lights that had already been installed in the backyard had been left on. Heather considered running down to turn everything off. Instead, she just stood there and took it all in. Waylon did the same.
In the dark, and with no furniture, the area was still mostly shadows and shapes, but she knew what the final picture would look like. It became clearer every day.
She’d tweaked her original designs. Nothing major, but she’d added in extra curves with some of the wooden structures and changed up a handful of textures. She’d also made the last-minute decision to install a rustic zigzag fence running along two sides. It would blend beautifully with the barn and surroundings, while adding a nice punch as a backdrop for the wedding.
“It’s going to be quite impressive,” Waylon spoke at her side. “Certainly tops anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks.” She snuggled into him when he dropped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m pretty proud of it myself.”
“As you should be.”
He turned her to him, his other arm closing around her, and she lifted her face to his. “I had a good time tonight.”
Waylon’s hands caressed her back. “I have a good time with you every night.”
They kissed, and she let her fingers trail over his torso. The man had lit a fire inside her that she didn’t want to tamp down. She slid her palm lower, not stopping until she covered his erection, and groaned when he pulsed under her hand.
“Waylon.”
“I know” was his reply, but he didn’t take things any farther. Nor did he pull back. His mouth just kept driving her to the brink.
Her hands moved to the patch of scars she’d noticed the day they’d made love, and she thought about his limp. In five dates, there’d been no mention of either of those things. Which she found odd. For two people who’d started out their relationship doing so much talking, they’d gone strangely quiet for the last week and a half.
“What happened here?” she whispered. She slid the pad of her thumb over the puckered scar four inches above his waist. “I noticed these before. When we were . . . naked.”
One side of his mouth hitched up. “I’m surprised you noticed anything when we were . . . naked. Things happened somewhat”—he fake-grimaced—“fast.”
She laughed at the memory. “It definitely was speedy. Not that I’m complaining,” she hurriedly added at his crumpled expression. “I’m sure it wasn’t as fast as Jill and Cal were that day in the barn.”
Waylon gripped her chin and brought her mouth to his, his hard touch a promise. “Just to be safe,” he growled out as he pulled back, “I’ll make sure the next time is a lot longer.”
“Just make the next time soon.” She once again slid her hand lower. “Please.”
“Heather.” He captured her hand, but he didn’t pull it away. “Romancing,” he reminded. “Wooing you, remember?”
She smiled and captured her lip. She really did like the idea of that. “I remember.”
“Then let me do this.” His mouth brushed hers once again. “But yes”—he ground her hand into his erection—“soon. I promise.”
She thought she might have nodded agreement as he separated them, but agreement was the last thing she wanted to give.
Waylon clasped both her hands in his then, and he looked down at her with solid intent. “I pick up Rose tomorrow,” he told her, “and she, Dad, and I have plans for the circus tomorrow night.” He kissed her knuckles. “But I want you to go out with me Saturday night. You, me, and Rose.” His gaze burned steady on hers. “Let’s go to the park. They’re showing Snow White as this month’s movie, and Rose is looking forward to seeing it.”
Heather’s breath caught at the idea of it. She’d love to experience a movie in the park with them. She’d love to be a part of his time with Rose.
But nerves had her stalling. There were just so many unanswered questions.
“People would see,” she said instead of bringing up any of those questions. “They’d know we’re on a date.”
“Yes. They would.” He pressed a kiss to each palm. “But would that really be so bad?”
She swallowed as she fought through her nerves. If this thing between them was ever going to go anywhere, she eventually had to take a leap of faith. Things had to turn out right for her at some point, didn’t they?
But was it with Waylon with whom they’d turn out right?
The sound of hooves passed in the distance, and Heather dropped her forehead to Waylon’s chest. Was her mom telling her that she could trust in him?
“Did you hear that?” she whispered.
“Hear what?”
She turned her head and pressed her cheek over his heart. “Never mind.” It was easier not to attempt to explain it. “And no, the park with you and Rose would not be so bad. It wouldn’t be bad at all.”
She might have insisted she meet them at the park instead of letting him pick her up, but Waylon finally had Heather exactly where he wanted her. She sat with her back a little too straight and doing her best to put too much distance between them, but he had her on a blanket while his daughter played nearby with three new friends and he stretched out at her side. And if that didn’t look like two people out on a date, then he didn’t know what did.
He picked up the pink rose he’d previously plucked from the bouquet his daughter had insisted they buy for her—a bouquet containing one rose of every color available—and reached up to tap its petals on the underside of Heather’s nose.
She gave him the same long-suffering sigh she’d handed out the last time he’d done that.
He grinned. “You’re not eating your food.”
Her plate sat in front of her, still half-loaded with all of Rose’s favorites. Rose had helped him pull everything together for the picnic; therefore it was a tad carb heavy. He’d noted over the past weeks that Heather tended to steer clear of carbs more often than not, so he’d also made sure to bring along plenty of fruit. And she’d eaten mostly fruit.
“I’m full,” she told him.
“You’re worrying about your hips,” he replied in the same monotone.
She graced him with her sigh once more, and again he smiled. This was fun.
“Hey, Heather.” Marci Hammery, a woman Waylon had seen around town, neared their blanket. “Waylon.”
“Hey, Marci,” they replied together.
She addressed Heather. “Did I see a mention of the calendars at the end of this week’s episode?”
Waylon watched as the women talked.
“You did. It was in the preview for next week. They filmed a segment on them, and we’re hoping it’ll bring in additional money for the school.” Heather’s face brightened. “I’ve been told they’ll be mentioning your photography business as well.”
“Really?” Marci’s hand went to her throat. She glanced over at Waylon and smiled, as if to include him in the conversation. “That’s fantastic. Both for the school”—she laughed lightly—“and for me.”
“Let’s hope it increases business all the way around.”
The two talked for several more minutes, and though Waylon couldn’t have made it any clearer that he was there with Heather, while she was otherwise occupied, two other women passed close by their blanket and gave him “the look.” Only “the look” had recently changed from hey-baby-take-me-to-bed-and-then-do-it-again-a-second-time to hey-single-dad-are-you-looking-for-a-wife. The new look could be as disconcerting as the old. Especially when he was on a date with another woman.
After Marci left, Heather picked at her broccoli salad and explained that Bluebonnet Construction had done a calendar earlier in the year as a fund-raiser for a local elementary school. The school’s playground equipment had gotten destroyed in a storm, and there’d been no budget to replace it.
“It ended up being a lot of fun,” Heather told him. “We featured some of the more unique she-sheds we’ve built over the years, and both the school and other she-shed owners have already reached out to ask if we’ll be doing it again next year.”
“Quite philanthropic,” he said.
“We’ve contributed in other ways over the years, too. We always enjoy it. It’s a little different now that the companies have combined and we have to swing most things past the producers, but I’m hoping we can do additional projects like that.” She picked up a strawberry and brought it to her mouth. “And don’t think I didn’t see those two women,” she murmured before sinking her teeth into the fruit.
He tried his best to hide his smile. “What women?”
“You know exactly what women. As I’m also sure you’re aware how their message has now changed.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” He pasted on his best innocent expression. “What message is this you speak of?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even. You’re not stupid, and neither am I.”
“But I do believe you’re jealous.”
“What do I have to be jealous about?”
He’d give her credit. She almost sold the look. But he still saw the green of jealousy ringing her glorious eyes. He grabbed a handful of the quilt they sat on and tugged, knocking her off balance and into him. “Not a damned thing,” he said with a heated growl.
“Waylon . . .” She pushed off him. She’d been trying to avoid him touching her in public all afternoon.
“Heather,” he mimicked. He popped a grape in her mouth. “You’re out here having a picnic with me and Rose, and I’m spread out before you like I’m your dessert. You think everyone hasn’t figured it out yet?”
“What I think is that you could be a bit more subtle.” She tried to be serious, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she liked his attention.
He tugged on the quilt again, a little easier this time, and inched her closer. Then he leaned up and loudly whispered, “I don’t want to be subtle. I want the world to know you’re my girlfriend.”
Happiness mixed in with her long-suffering sigh. “Is that what I am?”
“Is that what you want to be?”
She nodded, giving up on the pretense of being annoyed with him, and to keep from pulling her down on the blanket with him, he shoved another grape into her mouth. Then he grabbed her plate and settled it on her lap. “Eat up, woman. You’re going to hurt my little girl’s feelings. She helped make her favorite macaroni and cheese, just for you.”
Heather’s gaze shot to Rose, who was currently running in circles to show off the fairy wings Heather had brought for her, then she scooped up a large bite of the pasta. The fork disappeared between her lips, and Waylon found himself unable to take his eyes off her mouth. She chewed rather sensuously.
She went for another bite, and right before wrapping her lips around her fork a second time, she mumbled, “I might as well give up on watching my hips.”
Waylon felt movement below the belt. “Not a problem. I watch your hips enough for both of us.”
That had her looking down at him again. Then she took another bite. And another. And each time the tines of the fork slipped between her lips, her chewing got a tiny bit sexier.
Waylon finally pulled his eyes from her mouth—it was either that or risk embarrassing both of them—but he couldn’t help the occasional glance in her direction. Finally, he decided to find something other than her mouth to think about. “So, have you given any thought to taking a date to the wedding?”
She paused with the fork in the air.
“It is only two weeks away,” he added.
After a slow chew and then an even more mesmerizing swallow, she licked the remains of cheese from her lips. “You’re quite demanding as a boyfriend, aren’t you?”
He loved the sound of that. “I’m about to be even more demanding.”
He could tell from her half smile that she understood his meaning. He might have spent the last eleven days doing his level best at romancing this woman, but even he had his limits.
She carefully set her plate beside her. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Mr. Peterson.”
“Oh, I guarantee you I mean them.”
He dragged the flowers over and positioned them in front of his jeans. It had been only two days since they’d taken the horses out, but yesterday alone, one or the other of them had found an excuse to be in the barn together no less than five times. A couple of the instances, someone else had already been in there, so they’d made up a topic of conversation. But the other times . . .
He groaned under his breath as he thought about those other times. Just before he’d had to leave to go pick up Rose, he’d almost suggested they pull a Cal and Jill and do it up against the bathroom door.
He wanted their next time together to be more special than a quickie, though. He wanted to do everything he could to let her know she was special to him.
“I sit here minding my own business,” she said, plucking at the petals of the pink rose now lying forlornly by itself, “yet I find myself terribly curious to know exactly what it is you’re thinking.” She picked up the juice packet Rose had insisted she drink, and sucked on the straw.
“And I find myself highly regretting the smooth moves I’ve been working so diligently to display over the last two weeks.”
She smiled at him then. A real, beautiful, sincere smile that possessed no pretense or double-entendre. And he saw that his patience was being heavily rewarded. “Don’t ever regret romancing a woman,” she told him, her tone soft and tender. “It’s the best part of falling for someone.”
Oh, damn. He was going to need a larger bouquet of roses.
“If I were to ask you to be my date for the wedding”—she dipped her lashes as if about to request something far more enticing than a night out in the middle of a crowd—“would you do something for me?”
He immediately nodded. “Name it, and it’s done.”
“Would you tell me more about your childhood?”
He mentally faltered at her request. They’d spent the better part of five evenings together now, and plenty of additional hours in and around those nights either talking at the ranch or on the phone after his dad had retired to his room. Yet throughout that time, neither had brought up their childhoods. And it wasn’t as if Waylon had been hiding from the discussion. It just wasn’t a subject he made a habit of talking about.
With Heather, though, he found that he wanted to tell her. She had the desire to know more about him, and that made him ecstatic. Because that could only be a positive when it came to their relationship.
Her request also gave him hope that she might soon be willing to talk about her own past. About her parents’ deaths. And he was pretty sure she needed to talk about that.
“Are you asking me to be your date?” He spoke in a way that left no doubt that he would take the conversation as another step forward, and she immediately nodded.
“I’m asking.”
Adrenaline coursed through him. “Then I’m telling.” He swooped up and planted a loud, amorous kiss on her parted lips, then dropped back to the ground with a smile. “What do you want to know?”
Bright spots of pink landed on her cheeks. “You are a bad boy, Mr. Peterson.”
God, he could fall in love with this woman. “Like all the rumors you’ve heard?”
“Possibly worse than the rumors I’ve heard.”
She shot him a mock perturbed look, and he rolled to his back with a laugh. He’d warned her. His record was quite stellar once he decided he wanted something.
“So, you’ve never mentioned your mother.” She finally steered the conversation to his childhood, and he stared up at her. “I assume she was around?” she asked.
“Was and still is. In a roundabout way.” He propped himself back up on his elbow and plucked a chicken strip from her plate. “Her name is Joan, she’s fifty, an accountant in an insurance company, and she followed my stepfather to Nashville nine years ago so he could chase his dream of being a country music star.”
The info seemed to shock Heather, and she slowly put down her juice. “Wait a minute. Nine years ago?” Her brow crinkled. “So then, you’ve lived in Nashville?”
“No. I moved in with Nikki’s parents the last two years of high school.”
Heather’s brows shot up. “You lived with Nikki during high school?”
“I did.” He grinned. “That was the only time—until Vegas—that she openly defied her parents. She told them they could either let me live there until I graduated, or she would move to Nashville with me.”
“She was ballsy.”
He chuckled and pushed on up to a sitting position. “You don’t know the half of it.” He reached for a soda. “And yes, before you ask about the other part of what I told you, Mom’s husband is a wannabe country music star, and from what I can tell, he’s pretty much in the same place now as he was nine years ago. With Mom still supporting him.”
“Well, doesn’t he sound like a winner?”
He acknowledged her remark with a tip of his hat. “My thoughts exactly.”
“So, do you see her often?”
“I’ve seen her twice in the last four years. Three months after Rose was born, when she and Boyd came to Vegas. She’d used all her vacation time going to gigs with Boyd, or they would have made it out sooner. And then Rose and I went to Nashville two years later. We’re due for a trip soon.”
Heather blinked. “And that’s it?”
“That’s it. I talk to her every couple of weeks, though. We stay in touch.” He’d never understood why his mother’s lack of attention didn’t bother him more. She’d done her part after his dad had left, he supposed. She was a good enough mother, she just had other interests now.
“So then . . . your dad.”
Waylon worked to maintain his relaxed posture, and picked at the chicken finger he had yet to finish. “What about him?”
His dad was harder to talk about, no matter that he was living with him now.
Or possibly, the fact that the two of them were living together made it even more difficult. Because everything was going well. He should have nothing at all to complain about. Only, every nuance about their arrangement felt just a hair off-kilter. As if the two weeks they’d lived under the same roof had consisted more of “pretending” to be improving their relationship rather than actually doing anything to truly grow it.
“When did they divorce?” Heather watched him in the same hesitant way that she asked the question.
“When I was seven.”
“When you moved from Nikki’s grandparents’ ranch?” She was sharp. He’d known she’d pick up on that.
He intended to confirm her question orally, but only managed a nod.
“And what happened after that?”
The way she continued tiptoeing with her questions told him that she’d picked up on the underlying tension between them. He shrugged, knowing his condensed version wouldn’t suffice. “Dad and Mom divorced, Dad found another job, and Dad didn’t take me with him.”
She held up a hand. “Slow down. Why change jobs?”
“Who knows? Greener pastures, I guess.”
Lack of understanding pinched her features. “But why not stay where he’d been working? Did a divorce have to change his job?”
“Who knows, Heather,” he repeated, because he truly didn’t know. He’d never asked.
“Okay.” She backed off. “I’ll let it go. But what did you mean by he didn’t take you with him?”
“Just what I said.” He forced himself to maintain eye contact. “He didn’t take me with him.”
As he said the words, it occurred to him that Nikki was the only person with whom he’d ever shared the story of his parents. And Heather had every right to know. So he tamped down his defensiveness, and he started at the beginning.
“Mom was an okay parent,” he shared. “Nothing special, nothing bad. But she also probably would have been happy never having a kid. I was an accident, and I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason they married in the first place.”
“You and Rose were both ‘accidents’?”
“We were.” He hated thinking of his daughter that way, but the fact was, she hadn’t been planned. “The difference is that Rose has a parent who knows his life wouldn’t be as good without her in it.”
The pain in Heather’s eyes matched that in his soul. “Rose is a very lucky girl,” she said softly, and she reached out a hand to take his.
“I like to think so.”
Of course, he’d also lost custody of his daughter. Which meant that he very well might not be so great for her.
At the same time, he was also now trying to take her from two people who could provide far more for her than he’d ever be able to. And two people he knew she was happy with. That knowledge often kept him awake at nights, and what he typically wound back to was a single question. Was he fighting for custody for Rose’s benefit, or was he doing it for himself?
Was he the best thing for his daughter?
“Waylon?” Heather’s gentle voice brought him back from thoughts of his impending custody battle.
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, back to my story.” Back to thinking about how he would do better for his daughter than his dad had done for him. “There was nothing ‘wrong’ with Mom. She provided a good home, and I never wanted for the basics. And my stepdad didn’t beat me nor get up in my business, so that was a plus. But even as a kid, I often felt like I played second fiddle.” He paused before admitting, “Nor was I a priority for my dad.” And this part, he’d never even said to Nikki. “No matter how much I tried to be.”
He looked for Rose then, needing not to be looking at Heather, and watched as she played with several girls. Rose would never be left feeling as if she wasn’t the most important thing in his life. Whether he had custody of her or not.
“I begged him to take me with him,” he continued after a minute. He suddenly wanted to get the story out, and he wanted Heather to understand him. “And I mean, begged,” he added. A seven-year-old boy could cry. He knew.
He rubbed his hand over his once-broken leg.
“But he said no. Said I needed to stay with Mom.”
Heather had grown quiet, and though he still didn’t look at her, she kept her hand wrapped tightly around his. “I’m sorry,” she said now. “That must have been difficult.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. He didn’t tell her that he’d also overheard his mother offering to let his father take him. After Waylon had spent an entire afternoon trying to hide his tears.
His dad hadn’t wanted him, though. More important things to do, Waylon supposed.
He shared with Heather that from that point on, he’d started acting out. Doing little things to get attention, until the little things eventually evolved into big things.
“I’m not trying to blame others,” he went on. “At least, not completely. I’m just saying that there’s a lot of anger that courses through a person when their entire world gets upended.” He placed his other hand over hers. “As I’m sure you’re well aware.”
They both fell silent before Heather said, “Have you talked to your dad about all of that?”
Waylon jerked his gaze to hers. “No. I haven’t.” Surprise colored his words. “And I don’t intend to.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t quite the way you remember it?” she offered. “Maybe you need closure to move past it?”
“It was exactly the way I remember it, and I have moved past it. I’d moved past it by the next summer.” And he wasn’t about to tell his dad that he needed to “talk about his feelings.” “I spent summers helping out on whatever ranch Dad was working at, and I spent school years with my mom.”
He’d also spent summers honing poker skills from the ranch hands working with his dad.
“So you’ve always had a relationship with your father, then?”
Waylon eyed her. “Sure.”
“It was just strained?”
Strained. He almost laughed at the simplicity of the word. But it was certainly accurate.
“Exactly. But it’s better now.” He was ready to wrap up the conversation. “Since Rose was born, it’s been better. Both of us seemed to change without having to work at it. And then last spring”—he thought about waking up in the hospital and his father being there—“I wouldn’t be where I am now without his help. He helped me through my injury. Through the PT.” He needed to tell her about his injury. About why he’d gotten injured in the first place. “And he loaned me the money for the down payment on my house.”
Heather watched him carefully. “The house you need in order to get Rose back?”
“Yes.” He found his daughter in the crowd once again, then he thought about having that conversation with his dad. The one Heather had suggested. If he did, though, his question to his father wouldn’t be why he’d taken another job after the divorce. Ranchers often moved around. Waylon knew that.
What he’d want to know was why he wouldn’t take Waylon with him when he had left.
And if his dad had any clue just how badly that had hurt.
“The house I need in order to get Rose back,” he repeated Heather’s words, his voice drifting into the family-filled night surrounding them, and he admitted to himself that what he really wanted to hear from his dad was that he’d messed up. That he should have taken him. That he regretted how things had turned out.
But that conversation hadn’t happened over the last twenty years, and Waylon had no reason to believe it ever would.