Chapter Four
“Never allow the seeds of fear to be planted so densely that nothing else has the space to grow.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #47
Waylon stood on the porch that ran the length of the small stone house, key in hand, and fought to keep the pride that threatened to overwhelm him in check. Yes, this small home was now his. Yes, it had the potential to change his life for good—and he’d do absolutely everything in his power to ensure that it would do just that. And yes, he loved the eighty-year-old run-down cottage in a way he’d never thought possible.
But dang, he absolutely hated the fact he’d had to borrow money from his father to make it happen.
A car passed on the street behind him, slowing, no doubt, to get a good look at the newbie to the neighborhood, and he shrugged off the demons of his past and slid his key into the front door. His father was a good man. Waylon wouldn’t dispute that. The man had proven himself over the last four years—and especially within the last six months—and he continued to insist he wanted to do more. And more would be terrific. Waylon’s hope was that their relationship would only continue to improve.
At the same time, it was hard to put too much stock in someone who’d already chosen a different life over sharing one with Waylon once before. And his father had found it far too easy to do.
Waylon pushed open the wooden door, a creak accompanying the motion, and let the emptiness of the home fill him. The house had sat unlived in for several years, and though the foundation was stable and the bones were good, it did need a lot of work. Work he was more than willing to put in. But work that wouldn’t happen overnight.
He entered the small foyer that widened into the living room, and immediately started opening windows to air out the place. Truth be told, he should probably handle quite a few of the renovations before moving in. But that simply wasn’t going to happen. It was Wednesday afternoon now, and though no furniture would be delivered until that weekend, he would be staying in the place starting tonight. He had a bedroll in his truck, and he didn’t need more than that. This was his home, and he’d live in it even if it were falling down around him.
His footsteps echoed as he moved from one room to the next, the hardwood under his feet in rough shape, but at least a portion of it salvageable. He caught himself reaching out to touch the walls as he passed through each of the doorways. The arched entries were one of the features he’d loved most about the house, as well as the stone that covered the exterior.
There were three bedrooms, none of which were terribly large, a small bathroom with the original pedestal sink and claw-foot tub, and a U-shaped eat-in kitchen that also had the original fixtures and cabinetry. And they were in rough shape. The cabinets had been painted a coral color at some point in the past, and the eat-in area had been papered in an enormous flower pattern with the occasional bird sprinkled throughout. It was atrocious.
But it was his.
He tugged at the corners of the wallpaper that had come loose in every room, and eyed the handful of fallen pieces long ago chewed on by mice. Before closing on the house, he’d had an inspection done of the electrical, which he’d been surprised to learn had been upgraded in the last couple of decades. It was in decent shape, as was the plumbing. The roof, though, was another matter. He stared at the largest of the yellowed water stains in the master bedroom, and made a mental note to begin looking for a roofer the following day.
Then it occurred to him that he could call the Bluebonnet crew and let them handle it. Or better yet, ask for Heather specifically. It would give him an excuse to have her around.
And he had recently discovered that she was more than capable of doing the job.
In the hope of getting a few additional glimpses of her, he’d borrowed the Texas Dream Home preview DVD from Cal. And glimpses he’d gotten. In fact, in the video, she’d come across as involved—and as capable—in the construction aspect of the business as both Jill and Trenton. Landscape design was definitely only the tip of the iceberg for this lady.
But even though he’d love a convenient reason to be near her, he’d have to come up with another way to make it happen. Because he wanted to fix up his house by himself.
He returned to the second-largest bedroom and stopped in the doorway, envisioning the final result. This would be the room he redid first. He’d strip the wallpaper, starting tonight, and have any holes patched and the room ready to paint by the weekend. He’d already picked out the paint and curtains, and the floors would wait until he could do the entire house.
The third bedroom would be offered to his father. Waylon moved to the embarrassingly small space and peered in, and though the grown-up in him hated the idea of having nothing more to offer the person who’d given him life, the child in him enjoyed it a bit too much. Latent anger wasn’t good for the soul, he knew. It could eat at a person. Or cause a person to be petty and take pleasure in offering tiny spaces to grown men.
At least he intended to make the offer. He didn’t have to do that.
But then, he had taken the man’s money. Wasn’t it the least he could do?
He moved back outside and sat on the concrete steps centering the front of the house, then he pulled out his cell and retrieved his dad’s number. It was late enough that work should be finished for the day.
“Waylon,” his dad greeted him. Charlie Peterson was fifty-one, and would be a cowboy till the day he died.
“Hi, Dad. How are you?”
“Doing good. Just finished doctoring the last of the calves, and looking forward to a beer before turning in. Gonna be an early one tonight.”
His dad had recently lost the job he’d held for the last several years, thanks to helping Waylon out with his physical therapy, but had picked up summer work in South Texas to tide him over. “The job still ending soon?”
“Got another week here.”
“You still thinking of heading out this way?” Waylon hedged. They’d talked about that possibility when Waylon had first taken the job with Cal. Either as a temporary or permanent situation.
“If that’s still okay with you . . .”
Waylon argued with himself for only a few seconds. It would be harder to continue working on their relationship if the other man was never around.
“I could use you at the ranch,” Waylon finally offered. He’d talked about it with Cal. “Part time at this point, but we’ll be bringing in several trailers of livestock soon. Branding will have to be done, immunizations, castrations.”
“I’m your man for that.”
“And you wouldn’t have to worry about rent . . . if you didn’t want to. You could stay with me. I’ve got an extra room.” He stood and paced across the porch, hurrying to continue before his dad could reply. “I closed on it today, Dad.” He faced the house, and the pride that had been swirling all afternoon took hold. “It’s mine. And I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you for the loan.”
“It’s just money. Wasn’t doing me any good sitting in the bank.”
Still, Waylon knew had circumstances been reversed, he wouldn’t necessarily have done the same. “That may be, but I’ll pay you back.” He did have more pressing expenses to see to first, though. “Just as soon as I can.”
“There’s no hurry. It made me happy to give it to you.” There was a short pause as his dad cleared his throat. “And even though I did, that doesn’t mean you have to . . .”
His dad’s words faded into an uncomfortable silence, and Waylon knew he was referring to the offer of letting him live there. Waylon could picture his dad standing in the spartan bunkhouse where he currently worked, few personal belongings scattered around him and likely little expression on his face. There would be hope simmering in his eyes, though. It was a look Waylon had seen often in the last few months. And suddenly, the idea of having his dad live with him no longer felt like a “have to” situation so much as one decided upon of free will. An offer extended because that’s what Waylon wanted to happen.
“I do have to, Dad.” Waylon nodded, knowing exactly where he’d be if his father hadn’t been there. “You lost your job because of me. You’re currently broke because of me.”
“None of that was your fault.”
They had a difference of opinion on that one. “Nevertheless, none of it was something you had to do.” He leaned against the post and dropped his head back to the peeling paint. “And I am grateful for it. All of it. Even if I haven’t always made that very clear.”
“I know you are. I’ve never thought otherwise. And if you’re certain about the room . . .”
“I’m certain about the room.”
“Then I accept.”
His dad went quiet again, the silence not wholly uncomfortable, and Waylon waited. Knowing where the conversation would go next. It was the subject in the forefront of both their minds.
“You got a court date yet?” his dad finally asked.
Waylon swallowed. “Second week in November. Heard from my lawyer last week.”
You’ve got to walk the line, his lawyer had insisted. No screwing up. No slipups.
No screwing up, Waylon had replied. No slipups. You’ve got my word on that.
If ever being good enough mattered, it was now.
And they will be proved wrong, Waylon had insisted. They’ve got little more than the word of a couple of thugs.
A couple of thugs whom you’ve spent a lot of time with.
His lawyer hadn’t been wrong about that. He had spent a lot of time with them. Too much. And it worried the hell out of him.
“I’ll be there in court with you,” his dad told him now, and Waylon stared at the ceiling of the porch, suddenly wanting to smash the dated light fixture into next week.
He opened his mouth to tell his dad that he didn’t have to bother. That he could handle it on his own. But those weren’t the words that came out. Nor was that what he truly wanted.
“I’d like it if you were.”
She shouldn’t have signed up to do this.
They were only one week into the backyard project, and Heather had already decided she’d made a grave mistake. She was not cut out to design landscapes. At least not for something this grand in size.
“Hey, Heather.”
She looked up from the sketches she’d been reviewing to find Troy Marcum knee-deep in the hole they’d been readying for the koi pond. “What do you need?” she asked.
“You sure this is the filtration system you want to use?”
She wasn’t sure of anything at the moment. She rose and made her way over to him, careful not to get tangled in any of the power cords or miscellaneous equipment littering the area, then had to raise her voice to be heard over the Skilsaw that fired to life. “What’s the problem with it?”
“I’m not sure it’s powerful enough.”
“But we’re putting one on each end,” she yelled back.
They were constructing an oversized pond that would cinch in the middle before opening back up on either side. It would also wind throughout other sections of the hardscaped areas as a small stream, as well as lead into a waterfall that tumbled over stacked boulders on the far end. The whole thing would be magnificent when finished. Assuming they could figure out how to do it right.
“But even with two,” Troy replied, suddenly yelling into silence, “I don’t think they’ll be enough.” He adjusted his volume. “Not for the water capacity this thing is going to hold.”
A camera moved in closer, and Heather felt her posture stiffen. Why did they always like to catch the screwups on film?
“Let me get in there with you.” She hopped into the deepest part of the hole, examining the specs on the attached sticker and doing her best to ignore the boom mic hanging over them. She silently prayed that she hadn’t messed up yet again. She’d already had to send back a shipment of the wrong pavers, had forgotten to line up the guy to set the propane tank for the gas grill and fireplace, and had gone home at the end of each very long day wanting to do nothing but cry.
She hadn’t cried, though. Not once. Because it took more than a few setbacks to bring a Bluebonnet to tears. She was tough, dammit, and tough girls didn’t cry. But she’d also held the tears at bay for fear that her eyes would still be puffy the following day. No one needed to see that on camera.
The saw started up again as she pulled a sheet of paper from the back of her notepad. She ran her finger down the printed list of supplies and compared the filters on the list with what she’d ordered. And there it was.
“You’re right.” How had she managed to order the wrong one? “Are they both this size?”
Troy nodded, and she wanted to kick herself. She’d spent two weeks trailing one of the state’s best pond guys to make sure she understood the needs and maintenance required for something of this size. And to ensure that she planned accordingly. Then she’d hired the guy as a consultant to help finalize her design, as well as go over her final list of supplies before she’d placed any orders. Yet somehow, she’d still messed up. How was that even possible?
“So what do you want me to do?” Troy asked.
She wanted him to turn back time for her so she could go back to just building she-sheds. Life had been much simpler when the biggest concern she, Jill, and Trenton had was that everyone in town thought they were only capable of building retreats for women.
Instead of saying any of that, she allowed herself to be helped out of the hole. “Check to see what you can do to help Sarah on the gazebo.” Sarah was the one wielding the saw. After having once lived at Bluebonnet Farms herself, she’d been with the company for several years and had turned into one of their most valuable employees. When the two companies had combined over the summer, Sarah had upped her game and Jill had promoted her. “The day’s almost over,” Heather added, and silence once again filled the air. “Finish up with her, and I’ll get a rush delivery on a replacement for next week.”
“Works for me.” Troy loped off toward Sarah, casting a glance at the two additional women Heather had working on the roof for the covered seating area, while Heather returned to her sketches.
In the middle of the pond would stand Jill’s she-shed. It would be in the shape of a gazebo, with windows lining the top half of the walls and cedar lining the bottom, and it would initially house butterflies that would be released as Jill and Cal were pronounced man and wife. Surrounding the gazebo would be rich foliage that complemented the Texas landscape and stone walking paths that would lead to each of the three custom bridges. Cal was in charge of building the bridges, one of which would be where he and Jill exchanged vows, and the water surrounding it all would be filled with koi fish, water hyacinth, and water lilies.
With the hardscaped sections on either side of the pond and the natural shade from the existing trees, the area would be perfect for either entertaining or relaxing. And week-one issues notwithstanding, they were off to a decent start. They had the entire area for the pavers dug up, the gazebo half completed, and the electricity had been run.
The rattle of a trailer pulled her attention, and she looked up to see Waylon’s truck rolling up the driveway. It pulled a massive gooseneck trailer, and Cal’s truck—similarly equipped—followed Waylon’s. Jill’s blue pickup brought up the rear, and a camera crew had positioned itself at the barn, ready to record it all.
Seemed the cattle had arrived.
Heather hadn’t caught sight of Waylon all week—other than a couple of glances when one or the other of them had been coming or going. He’d been as busy as she had. With the cameras now rolling, the pressure had ramped up for Waylon and Cal to get the ranch fully operational.
Setting her notepad to the side, Heather stood once again but remained where she was. She didn’t want to be too obvious, but she did want a better look. Before the trucks made it as far as the barn, though, Sarah appeared at her side.
Heather glanced over. “Need a break?” She smiled knowingly with her question.
“I need to watch cowboys at work,” Sarah muttered.
Heather chuckled softly and shot a quick peek at the camera positioned on the two of them. They both wore mic packs, and Heather didn’t doubt for a second that if they stood there overtly ogling the men, the producers wouldn’t hesitate to use the footage. So, though Sarah might voice her lecherous thoughts out loud, Heather intended to keep hers to herself. And as Waylon’s truck came to a stop in front of the barn and the long-legged cowboy climbed from the front seat, she discovered that she had all sorts of lecherous thoughts.
Cal parked behind Waylon, and Dill came out of the barn with Beau and Apollo, saddled and ready to go. Apollo was Cal’s horse. He’d been purchased and brought to the farm earlier in the week.
Dill handed the animals off to the two men before climbing into the cab of Waylon’s truck, and in a blink, Waylon was up and sitting tall in the saddle.
“Damn,” Sarah muttered.
Heather’s mouth went dry. “Uh-huh.”
She’d seen him on a horse a couple of times now, but there was something about seeing him get on the horse that turned her crank even more.
“He is one very good-looking man,” Sarah observed.
Too good, Heather added silently. He made her think all kinds of naughty thoughts.
And dang but it irked her that he’d put no effort into seeking her out that week. For a man who’d promised his flirtatious ways weren’t going to stop, they’d sure stopped in a fast hurry.
“I still can’t get over how much he looks like Prince Harry.” The words came from neither Heather nor Sarah, and Heather turned to find that the two women who’d been working on the seating area, Gina and Ashley, had decided to join them.
So much for not seeming too obvious.
“But Prince Harry in a cowboy hat,” Ashley, the second woman, said, and Heather wanted to shout “See!” Because that’s exactly what she’d thought. How was a woman supposed to resist that?
“I’d do Prince Harry in a cowboy hat,” Gina murmured, and the way she followed the words by licking her lips had Heather cringing. But the sentiment was accurate.
“I’d do Prince Harry out of a cowboy hat,” Ashley added, never taking her eyes from the man in question.
“And I’d do with some actual help back here,” Troy shouted out to them.
Sarah waved her hand at the man without looking back. “Don’t worry about us. We’re just taking a quick break.”
Troy mumbled something about women being way worse than men, but none of the women seemed to care. They were too fixated on Waylon, whose horse had reared up before he’d taken off. Cal followed a few paces behind them, and Heather watched as Waylon pulled his hat off and waved it for the cameras.
Damn, but she wanted to do Prince Harry both in and out of a cowboy hat.
She wanted to wear his hat while she did him.
And really, why couldn’t she do that? Other women did things like that all the time. Sleeping with a guy didn’t mean she had to fall in love with him.
“I seriously never knew I had a thing for gingers.” Sarah chewed on the pad of her thumb as she continued to watch the men work. The entire group had relocated away from the barn, but a holding pen had been erected within sight of the house where the cattle would be unloaded. From what Heather understood, this would be only the first load of livestock brought to the ranch, but Cal intended to ramp up slowly.
They watched the activity at the top of the hill a few minutes longer before Heather reluctantly called a stop to their break. The day was fast getting away from them, and she needed to keep things on track. But as the others got back to work, she couldn’t help but take one last peek back. And what she witnessed almost managed to do what all her screwups that week had not. Bring a tear to her eye.
Because Cal was simply the best . . . and her friend deserved every bit of that.
He’d finished herding the animals and turned his horse toward Jill, and when he reached her side, he held a hand down to help her up. She settled in behind him, her arms snug around his waist, and as if he couldn’t pull in another breath without it, he turned and planted the sweetest kiss on Jill’s cheek.
Heather sighed as she watched them ride off together. She knew they’d been playing to the cameras, but she also knew that what Jill and Cal felt for each other was real.
Being aware of that made Heather determined to put even more effort into their backyard, so after making a quick call to line up the new filters, she got back to work. She joined Sarah and Troy, and the three of them worked seamlessly for the remainder of the afternoon. When Troy mentioned that he had to leave a few minutes early to pick up his nephews, Heather cut all of them loose. Everyone had worked hard all week. She might as well show her appreciation by giving them an early start to their weekends.
As the last of their vehicles pulled away, she gathered the few tools still scattered about. She climbed onto the backhoe to ensure the parking brake was engaged, and as she turned to jump down, Waylon waited below her, his hand outstretched.
“Need some help?” he offered.
She eyed his long fingers. Her subconscious dared her to slip her hand in his—just this one time . . . what could it possibly hurt?—but she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ve been getting on and off these bad boys by myself for a while now.”
She hopped down, landing within inches of him, and he flashed his pearly whites. “And, if I may say so, you look mighty fine doing it.” He flicked a quick glance at the machinery before adding, “I’d be willing to bet you’d look even better driving it.”
“You’d win that bet.”
Waylon burst out laughing at her response, and she bent to grab an empty water bottle that had ended up by the back tire. When she stood, they moved away together.
“So, how’s your week been?” Waylon asked.
“Busy. Productive.” She eyed one of the production crew as they loaded their equipment into a van. “As well as feeling like I’m under a microscope.”
Waylon followed her line of sight. “Tell me about it. I had no clue what I was really signing up for, but since Cal’s been hanging with me most of the week, so have the cameras.”
Comfortable silence fell as she grabbed a collapsible toolbox she’d missed before and Waylon rescued another wayward water bottle. She moved toward the reboxed filtration unit, but before she got to it, Waylon spoke from behind her. “I closed on my house.”
She whipped around in surprise. “You did?”
“Wednesday.” He nodded, and pride glowed back at her.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks. It’s in rough shape, but I like it.” He shrugged casually. “It fits me.”
“Where is it?”
He named a street that was filled with older homes but in a solid, established neighborhood, and Heather almost asked why he’d chosen that particular neighborhood. Most of the people who lived there had done so for years, and though Heather didn’t doubt the community would make him feel welcome, he didn’t exactly fall into their age group. She decided it was too personal a question, though, so she kept it to herself. The whys and the what-do-you-want-out-of-life type of small talk could easily slip into too-deep territory. Best to keep things light.
She turned back to pick up the box, but Waylon beat her to it. He scooped it up, hoisting it in one arm, and peeking up at her as he rose. “You want to come home with me and check it out?”
This time it wasn’t pride that glowed back at her.
She chuckled. “I don’t think so, Mr. Peterson.”
He growled under his breath at her use of his surname, and they ended up face-to-face again, her gazing up at him as if she’d never seen a cute guy before. “How about if I tell you that I’m considering hiring you for some work I need done around the place?”
“Then I’d tell you to give Jill a call. She handles our scheduling.”
Waylon shook his head. “I don’t want to give Jill a call. And I don’t want Jill coming over to my house to check things out.” He paused for a second before adding, “If I have anyone there, it’ll be you.”
Heather’s breath caught at his deepened voice. His teasing had quickly shifted to something much more earnest. And something she refused to consider. He was far too dangerous to her peace of mind. “As you can see from where we stand,” she said, forcing levity into her voice, “I would do you no good. I’m the outdoor person.”
“That’s not all you are.”
At her questioning look, he explained. “I caught the preview of Texas Dream Home. I had no idea you had so many skills.”
“Ah.” She’d wondered if he’d seen it. He followed her as she moved around the perimeter of the pond. “Skills. Yep, I have them. I am a Bluebonnet, after all. If we can’t do it”—she pumped her arms out at her sides, fists tucked in at her waist—“we keep trying until we can.”
“Nice motto.”
Heather peeked back at him. “It’s not really a motto, just something I sometimes say.”
She bounded down into the pond and made her way to the center island. Trenton and Jill had come by their construction skills a little easier than she, but at the same time, she’d always insisted on pulling her weight. It was her company, too, after all. Intrinsically, she may be better at designing both the insides and outsides of the properties, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do just as much as everyone else when she had to. Only, now they had plenty of people working for them—men included—so she no longer had to.
She tucked the toolbox inside the gazebo, and as she came back out, she looked across to where Waylon waited for her. He hadn’t replied to her last comment, and she found him studying her now, a healthy amount of curiosity on his face.
“I’m not that hard to figure out,” she told him. It seemed safer, somehow, to talk with the gulf of the pond between them.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Then explain it to me.”
She stared at him for a moment before answering. “It’s simple,” she finally said. “I’m a girl in a man’s world. And I like it here.”
“Ever wanted to be anything else?”
The question caught her off guard. Or more accurately, his precision caught her off guard.
“Haven’t we all?” she answered flippantly, before heading for the second filter. But again, Waylon beat her to it.
“I can get it,” she told him. “You’re already carrying one of them.”
“Sure you can.” He didn’t pick it up immediately. “Or you could let me do it.”
“Why?” And then she saw the intent in his eyes. “Because you’re the man?”
“That’s as good a reason as any.”
She blew out a breath. Men and their chivalry.
She kind of liked it.
“Fine.” She spoke with a bored tone, not wanting to give away that she found the offer sweet, and motioned with her now-empty hands. “Carry it. Have a good time. I’ll just be back here being the weak female trailing along behind you.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “And I’ll be the big strong man trying his best to show off.”
He didn’t need to try.
“They’re going in my car,” she told him. She kept any and all other thoughts to herself. “I ordered the wrong ones and have to send them back.”
In a single move, Waylon had the other box up so he held one in each arm, and Heather caught her gaze lingering on the way his shoulder muscles bunched with the movement. He turned for her car, and as she followed along behind him, she let her eyes lower to his rear. Because why not? The view was right there for the taking, and the man totally had the goods.
Even with his limp, he moved with more swag than most guys she’d ever run into.
As she kept an eye on his buttocks, wondering what had really caused his limp—because again, there was much speculation about that—she caught one lone camera still out at the farm. And it was pointed at her. She wiggled her fingers in a wave, hoping to mess up any potential clip of her butt-gazing. But then she decided to ignore its existence altogether. The show was about Cal and Jill. Not her and Waylon’s rear.
“So now that you’ve watched the preview,” she said from behind him, eyes still following every shift of his glutes, “are you intrigued? Will you be at the viewing party next week?” The Buffalo Nickel was hosting a viewing party for all four episodes.
Waylon turned to face her, but kept walking backward. “You asking me to go as your date?”
“No.”
When he merely hiked one brow a little higher than the other, she almost laughed. Because the man never stopped.
She crossed her arms over her chest instead. “Definitely not.”
“Definitely?”
“Not,” she repeated, and this time when his smile appeared, the corners of his mouth inched higher, giving her dimples and all.
Then he lowered his gaze and swept a path over her body.
Dang, the man had skills. “Will you please stop flirting with me?”
He drove her crazy. And though she tried to follow her question with a glare of frustration, she failed epically. It came out more like an absurdly fierce smile. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the creepy smile from spreading into a real one as he stared back. He didn’t say a word, but his look said everything.
“You’re incorrigible,” she told him, now half laughing, and more than half turned on. “I was just asking you a question. Making small talk. It’s called conversation.”
“Oh, I know what conversation is. And yes, I’ll be there”—he let his gaze dip over her body once again—“hoping to . . . converse with you some more.”
She rolled her eyes at him. Then, realizing they’d stopped walking at some point, she put her feet back in motion. Only, this time she took the lead.
He didn’t trail for long, though, and they soon walked side by side as they made their way up the slight incline toward the barn. When they were within feet of the car, Waylon looked over. “For the record, I’m still not going to stop flirting with you. I like it more every day.” He put the boxes in the back of her SUV. “I also like you more every day.”
“That’s a line if ever I’ve heard one.” She pushed the button to close the rear door. “And I can say that with confidence because you haven’t even seen me in days.”
“Yet my ‘like level’ has still increased.”
She shook her head at that. “You’re so full of it. And for the record, my ‘like level’ has not. I refuse to let myself like someone who might be too young for me.” She flashed him an accusing smirk. “I did notice that you skirted that question the other day, by the way.”
Waylon cocked his head as he studied her. “Are you telling me that if I share my age, then you’ll like me more?”
“I’m not saying . . .” She let her words trail off with a soft puff of air. Because this very much felt like a losing battle. “You’re skirting the question again.”
“Yes, I am. But that’s okay because I’m cute.” He smiled brilliantly at her, his dimples flashing deep, and for the first time in her life, she understood what it felt like to be on the receiving end of someone trying to use their dimples to charm. “Some would even say I’m irresistible,” he added. And he gave her the smile again. “What do you think, Heather?”
She thought she wanted to kiss the outlandish smile right off the man’s smug face. But she couldn’t very well tell him that.
“Don’t worry.” He winked at her. “I think you’re cute, too.” He dropped his gaze by about two feet. “Even if you do wear a bit of dessert on your hips.”
She gasped.
Then she shoved him.
The push forced him to dance a couple of feet backward in order not to land on his behind, but Heather didn’t care. She wished he’d gone down flat on his ass.
“I can’t believe you said that to me!” she sputtered out.
He captured her hand when she went for another shove, and that time it was her doing a dance to keep from losing her balance.
“And I can’t believe you’re so easy,” he taunted as she stumbled toward him. “Seriously, you’re fun.”
“Fun?” The man said the strangest things. “Why? Because you like to tease me?”
He kept her hand in his. “No. Because you like being teased.”
“I do not. And that doesn’t even make sense, anyway.” Using her free hand, she attempted to pry his fingers from hers, but she ended up with both of her hands trapped between both of his.
Not what she’d intended at all.
“Sure it does.” He scooted in closer. “Teasing is a form of flirting. Which you enjoy.” He separated their hands so that each of his now held one of hers. “And we’ve already established that I enjoy flirting with you.”
She swallowed. They were standing out in the open, holding hands, and staring at each other in a way that only people who intended to do something about it should be staring at each other.
“I caught you singing to Ollie again the other day, by the way.” His voice lowered to barely more than a whisper, and his breath was as warm as his hands. “I didn’t let you know I was in the barn, but I stayed and listened. It was the same song you sang that first night.”
Embarrassment had her dropping her gaze. She’d known she shouldn’t have eaten lunch in the barn that day.
He finally released one of her hands, but only to touch a finger under her chin, and at the contact, she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. What was it about this man? Did he bathe in pheromones?
“It’s an incredibly attractive quality, you know. Being romantic.”
She did not need to hear what he found attractive about her. “It’s not romanticism,” she denied. “I just like horses.”
Her mother had sung to their horses.
“You ever ride anymore?”
Heather’s breath caught at the way he’d phrased the question. Did she ride anymore?
Clearly, he did know how her parents had died.
The thought of him standing there looking down at her. Feeling sorry for her. Made her want to turn and run. She didn’t want to think about her parents’ deaths.
She didn’t want him thinking about their deaths.
But they had died. And she’d not only lost both of her parents due to the fire, but the family horses as well. And every good thing she’d ever shared with either her father or her mother.
“Not in a long time,” she finally forced out. It was either answer or risk his asking more.
Nerves skittered over the back of her neck as his hand tightened on hers.
“My mom and I would ride,” she blurted out. Her breathing grew heavier. He hadn’t asked who she’d ridden with, but she continued talking anyway. “Dad wasn’t as into them as we were, but we still went out pretty often. Aunt Blu had a couple of horses when I moved in with her, too.” Her words sped up as the fingers of Waylon’s free hand slipped down her arm. “I took them out a few times.” She no longer focused on him. “But mostly I preferred caring for them. Feeding them, watering them.”
Singing to them.
She pressed for stoic as those first months played through her mind. Going from her house, her world, her horses . . . to someone else’s world. Someone else’s horses.
Someone else’s mother.
“You’re welcome to ride Ollie or Beau any time you want to.” His tone gentled, and he recaptured her other hand. “In fact, I’d love to take you out right now if you’re interested. Show you the ranch. Let you enjoy time with the horses.” He winked. “Get you all alone.”
She suspected he was trying to bring the mood back up with his last comment, but it didn’t work. He’d made her think about her parents. That wasn’t always easy to come back from.
“Go for a ride with me, Heather.”
“I . . .” She hesitated because of how much she wanted to go. And not just to be with him. She longed to be on a horse again. It had been too long. And though she’d tried to forge ahead as a teen, to not let that one night define her, in the end, it had simply been easier not to ride horses. Not to pretend she wouldn’t think about that night every time she sat in a saddle.
She opened her mouth to tell him “no,” but the word wouldn’t come.
So she shook her head instead. No. She wasn’t ready for that.
He nodded, squeezed her hands one last time, and walked her to her car door. But as he opened the door for her, a whinny sounded from deep in the barn.
A slight smile touched Waylon’s mouth. “You can’t leave without telling them good-bye?”
He phrased it as a question, and her laughter came out sounding sad. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to lure me inside?”
“Hey.” He held his hands up. “It’s not me. That was Ollie calling out to you.”
“So it was.” And so she didn’t want to leave without telling the horses good-bye.
She closed her door and forced her parents back into the far reaches of her mind.
“Okay, but they’re going to be mad at me. I don’t have any treats for them.”
“They’ll get over it.” Together they headed for the barn. “Plus, I think Ollie has a crush on you. He’ll be happy just getting a smell of your hair.”
Heather glanced over, and found Waylon wincing in embarrassment.
When she didn’t look away, silently insisting he explain his words, he grudgingly admitted, “Your hair smells like oranges.”
She grinned. She’d suspected that was what he meant.
Her pulse danced a little faster. Both at the knowledge he’d noticed such a detail as well as that he hadn’t wanted her to know that he’d noticed. “Yes, it does,” she confirmed. “It’s my conditioner.”
“Whatever it is, I smell it every time I get near you.”
His words made her want him to get near her a little more often.
Pleasure flowed through her as they stepped through the open doors, and they were almost to Ollie’s stall before she realized they weren’t alone in the barn. Only, she wasn’t quite certain who—or what—she’d heard.
She stopped walking and looked back. Waylon’s office door stood open, but the room was empty, the wash area for the horses was dark, and no light came from under the small bathroom door. Also, nothing or no one was in any of the empty stalls.
And then she heard it again.
She pressed a hand to her mouth as the sound reached her ears for a third time and she recognized it for what it was. Pleasured groaning. Someone was making out in the barn.
Then Cal’s deep voice carried out from the half bath. He wanted Jill’s shirt off.
Heather squeezed her eyes closed tight. As if that would stop what was happening twenty feet away from her. Then she remembered that she wasn’t alone.
She jerked her gaze to Waylon’s, his frozen expression indicating that he’d figured the situation out as well, and when the sound of a zipper hit their ears, he clamped his fingers around her wrist and dragged her up the stairs to his apartment.