Chapter Twelve
“Naked experiences can sometimes be the best—whether physical or emotional. Enjoy them fully and for what they are . . . but don’t forget to put your clothes back on when finished.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #70
“I slept with him.”
Jill and Trenton, who’d both started up the steps to Aunt Blu’s front porch, froze at Heather’s words. Then both of them were staring at her.
“You slept with him?” Trenton questioned, and Heather nodded.
“But I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t—” Trenton bit off her words, and her hands turned to fists. “I swear, I’m going to kill him.”
She started back toward her truck, and Heather had to run after her to catch up. “No, you’re not! He didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her younger foster sister glared down at her, fury on her face. Trenton wasn’t especially tall, but at five feet two, Heather looked up to most people. “You don’t think him sleeping with you when you didn’t want to was wrong?” Trenton asked.
“But I did want to.”
Trenton took a step back, confusion now mixing with the anger. “Yet you didn’t mean to?”
Heather groaned. She messed this conversation up, same as she had the last time. “I don’t mean that. He didn’t do anything wrong. I was an active participant. I just meant that sex hadn’t been on my mind before it happened.”
Which was a bold-faced lie. But she could say that it hadn’t been her intent when she’d gotten on the horse.
“Do you want to start all over with your story?” A muscle twitched in Trenton’s jaw, as if she was consciously working to loosen it. One thing that could immediately set Trenton off was if she thought a woman had been victimized.
“Can I ask something first?” Jill slipped the question in, and they both turned to look at her. Jill remained where she’d been on the steps.
“What?” Trenton said, and Jill looked over at Heather.
“How was it?”
“Jill!”
“What?” Jill turned to Trenton. “You know we have to ask. Look at her.” She flung an arm out toward Heather. “She might have screwed up how she started this story, but she’s standing there with need written all over her, Trenton. She needs us. She needs to talk about it. Hell, she’s going to chew her bottom lip off if she doesn’t get to spill her guts. So we can point out all the reasons she shouldn’t be doing it afterward, but right now, what’s done is done. And she needs to share what she did.”
Heather hadn’t really thought too much about that part of it. She’d been more fixated on admitting to her friends what she had done. But she absolutely needed to talk about it. Because it had been good.
Fast, but still good.
“Fine,” Trenton grumbled. “How was it?”
Heather let herself smile for the first time since climbing back onto Ollie the day before. “Where should I begin?” She knew the color of her cheeks gave away everything. “With the fact that what instigated it was seeing him naked?”
Jill eyed her carefully.
“Or should I begin with the fact that he was naked . . . in water?”
Even Trenton paused at that.
“Naked?” Jill gulped.
“And what was that like?” Trenton added, and the three of them laughed together for what seemed like the first time in weeks. It was good being able to just be “girls” with her friends.
“What was that like?” Heather repeated. She set the square cookie tin she’d brought with her on the steps then waved both hands in front of her face as if fanning herself. “Honey, I should have been charged a cover for what I got to see. I mean”—she pictured the man as he’d first come up out of the water—“that man is ripped.”
He’d also had a handful of small scars along one side of his ribs, as well as a small round one on his left hip. All of which she hadn’t asked about.
“What was he doing in water?” Trenton clearly needed more details to paint the picture.
“And what water?”
Heather grinned at Jill’s question. “Water that’s on your property,” she answered, and without anyone suggesting it, all three of them moved to the steps and sat side by side. They crouched in closer so if anyone opened the door behind them, they could talk without being overheard.
“There’s a spring out on the south pasture,” Heather explained. “You know, where the stream connects up with the ranch?”
Jill nodded, and Heather continued. “And I had no clue that Waylon was even on the property.”
“What were you doing out there?” Trenton asked.
“I wanted to ride a horse.”
Both women took her hand at the soft admission.
“It’s been a long time,” Heather went on. “And just being around them so much again”—she shrugged—“I don’t know. It’s kind of bringing everything back up. My parents’ deaths. Riding with Mom.”
“I’m sorry.” Jill patted Heather’s hand.
“Don’t be sorry. I think it’s time. I mean, there were horses out here when we lived with Aunt Blu. It’s not like I haven’t been on one since. But I sometimes think I shut down too much back then.” She looked from friend to friend, letting herself picture the house she’d lived in for the first fourteen years of her life. She hadn’t seen that house since the night of the fire. “My parents were dead. One horse died with them. My horse disappeared into nothing. And I had to figure out a new life for myself.”
She paused as she thought about the fact that she was still figuring out a new life.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, “that for some reason, I feel my mom reaching out to me lately. In a way I never have before.”
“What about your dad?” Trenton asked, worry clear in her eyes. “I know you’ve said you were always a daddy’s girl, but even back then, what little you talked about things, you never talked about him.”
Heather studied her friend. Was that true?
“I was a daddy’s girl,” she insisted. “I hung on his every word, and I have so many early memories of tagging along with him, either at the house or around town. Even sitting at his desk as he taught classes. And that’s not to take anything away from my mom. We had our things, too. Plenty of them,” she defended, even though no one said otherwise.
“You loved them both,” Jill acknowledged. “We know that. We’re not suggesting differently. But Trenton is right. You’ve never talked much about your dad, and we’ve always wondered why.”
Heather leaned against the step behind her. “You’ve talked about me like that?”
They both nodded, but Trenton was the one to answer. “Of course we have. Because we love you. And we worry about you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
They patted her hands.
“But we can if we want to.” Jill’s words broke the tense moment, and Trenton nudged her chin toward Heather. “So back to Waylon and his naked body.”
Heather chuckled, the noise free and light. “I swear, Tree, I think you need to get laid as badly as I did.”
Trenton snorted. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that. It’s not been three years for me, but even at three months, a girl gets an itch.”
They all laughed together, then Jill and Trenton joined Heather by taking up her same position of elbows on the step behind them, and as one, they lifted their faces to the blue of the sky. The day was beautiful, with just the right amount of wind dancing along the air. Heather was going to miss moments like this. They’d already started to be fewer and farther between, what with Jill’s engagement and the constant flutter of activity surrounding the new television show, but as a group, the three of them subconsciously seemed to be trying to hold on as long as they could.
Without saying anything, Heather held one hand out in front of her. Trenton laid hers over Heather’s, and then Jill finished the stack.
Heather looked from foster sister to foster sister. “Friends forever?”
“And ever and ever,” Trenton added.
As one, they dipped their hands as a football team might do in a huddle and declared, “Friends forever.”
It was a move from their early years, when it had been only the three of them at Bluebonnet Farms. They’d formed a club called The Three, and though each of them had spent years apart after they’d turned eighteen, each trying her best to do her own thing, they’d all come back to Red Oak Falls—and to Aunt Blu—within a week of each other.
Jill and Trenton turned her way as she recounted her time with Waylon, and once she finished, Jill asked, “Is this a one-time thing?” Her tone was grave.
Given how she’d simply climbed on Ollie and left within minutes of finishing, Heather wasn’t sure if Waylon would want it to be anything more.
“I know it should be.”
It would certainly keep the risk to her heart at a minimum.
Waylon came across as a good guy. She’d lied when she’d told him she wouldn’t listen to her heart. Her heart had already spoken, and it said good guy. But he also had a history of cheating people. Of gambling being a big part of his life. And heart or not, that didn’t bode well for her.
She nodded, her heart cracking with each up-and-down of her chin. “It was a one-time thing.”
All three of them sat with expressions of loss, then Trenton said, “Will you promise to tell us what happens next?”
“No matter what it is?”
Heather nodded once more, understanding why they doubted her. She could give them that promise, though. Because there wouldn’t be the kind of next they were talking about. “I expect to talk to him Tuesday. We uhmmm”—she squeezed her eyes closed, not wanting to say the words out loud—“forgot to use protection.”
Her friends didn’t say a word. They didn’t move or make a sound of any kind.
So Heather eventually reopened her eyes and peeked at them. “It’s fine,” she assured them, despite their matching looks of incredulity. “I’m supposed to start my period on Tuesday.”
“And you’re regular,” Jill stated, as if needing to hear it herself. “You always have been, right?”
“Practically to the hour.” Which meant, she’d know exactly when she could get pregnant. If the moment ever arose that she wanted to.
She caught the way Trenton was looking at her now, and knew her foster sister wasn’t only thinking about unplanned pregnancies. There was more reason than one to use a condom.
“It’s fine,” Heather assured again. But she didn’t go into the reasons she wasn’t worried about diseases. Because she’d believed Waylon when he’d told her he hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. And she wanted to hold that one to herself.
“Then update us after you talk to him,” Trenton finally spoke, and Heather nodded in agreement.
“I will. Definitely.”
They rose to go in, but Heather remembered the other two things she was supposed to tell them. “There are just a couple more things . . .”
“Good Lord.” Trenton hung her head as the three of them once again stopped on the steps. “Please tell us you didn’t already run off and marry the guy.”
Heather smirked. “No. I didn’t already run off and marry the guy.”
“Are you going to?” Jill looked as worried as Trenton.
“No. And I don’t even want to.” Mostly.
Jill nodded, the move slow and deliberate, her look saying that she wasn’t quite convinced of Heather’s words. “Then what is it?”
Heather lifted the silver tin she’d brought with her. “I made him cookies.”
“Heather.” Trenton gave a look.
“I know,” Heather stressed the word. “I slept with the guy one time, and I went home and baked for him. It was stupid. But look”—she waved the tin under Trenton’s nose—“I didn’t give them to him. I didn’t even let myself come up with an excuse to seek him out in order to give them to him.”
And she’d wanted to. Badly.
Trenton took the cookies from Heather. “At least that’s something,” she mumbled. She pried at the lid. “What kind did you make?”
Heather crinkled her nose as she answered. “Snickerdoodles.”
“Why do you say it like that?” Jill peeked into the now-open box and reached in for one. “What’s wrong with snickerdoodles?”
Heather didn’t look at either of them as she answered. “Snickerdoodles are his favorite.”
“Of course they are.” Trenton dropped her cookie back into the tin. “Well, at least you didn’t take them to him.”
“True.” Jill took a bite of her cookie. “And the other thing you need to admit to?”
That’s when Heather flicked a quick glance at the still-closed door, making sure Aunt Blu hadn’t come out to see what was taking them so long.
“You know that Waylon’s dad is in town.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. She’d assumed everyone knew that Waylon’s dad was in town by that point.
They both nodded. “And?”
“And he looks like an older version of Waylon,” Heather explained. She swallowed as she stared at Blu’s front door. “And apparently, I’m not the only person around here who likes redheaded men.”
When both her friends only continued looking at her in bewilderment, Heather indicated the front door, and they turned as if expecting to find the explanation there.
“Just spit it out,” Jill finally said. “We have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“What I’m talking about is that if Aunt Blu were still of a certain age . . . then it might be her in need of ‘protection’ right now.”
It took a couple more seconds, but what she was saying finally registered.
“No.” Trenton shook her head. “You’re wrong. Aunt Blu doesn’t date.”
“I know she doesn’t. And I have no idea if this will turn into anything more than just a conversation on the street.” Heather grabbed one of the cookies from the tin and took a bite of it. “But you guys didn’t see her yesterday. Or him. I don’t even know exactly what that was going on out there, but it was definitely flirting.” She stared at the other two. “And giggling.”
Trenton frowned. Then she looked at the front door. “I’ll talk to her.”
“I’ll do it with you,” Jill added.
Heather wasn’t positive they needed to get involved. At least not yet. Nothing had really happened with Waylon’s dad, and anyway, Aunt Blu had a right to speak in any way and with anyone she wanted.
But there was also no way Heather was going to miss out on the conversation.
They headed inside, determination running through each of them, only they stopped as they reached the hallway that led into the den. They could hear a creak of movement on the second floor, as if the new girl had arrived already and was spending time getting herself settled. But Aunt Blu was also having a moment. She sat in her favorite recliner just inside the room, with photo albums stacked on her lap. The top one lay open, and as Blu traced a single finger over one of the pictures staring up at her, Heather instinctively understood that her foster mother was looking at her late husband.
She swallowed. She’d never seen Aunt Blu look so lost.
“Let’s hold off on talking to her,” Jill suggested. “It might not just be Heather who’s reached a tipping point in her life.”