Chapter Two
“Don’t be swayed by the wrong man in the right cowboy hat.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #14
What in the heck had that been in the barn the other night?
Heather had been asking herself that for three days, and she still had no answer. But as she sat on the plush velvet couch in Red Oak Falls’ most upscale bridal shop, she found herself once again returning to those handful of minutes after Waylon had caught her singing to his horse.
Had she seriously been flirting with him? Why? She knew better than to flirt with him!
And why did she find herself wanting to go back and flirt some more?
She fanned herself with the shop’s brochure. Good Lord, she’d even considered going up those steps with him. And not for Aunt Blu’s cake.
She thought about what he’d looked like. Prince Harry?
Hell, yeah. Though possibly even more built, and with dimples that could rival her own.
And then there was the cowboy hat. And honestly, who could resist a little flirting with Prince Harry in a cowboy hat? With dimples?
She fanned herself harder. She apparently couldn’t.
But hot looks or not, Waylon Peterson was not someone she’d been interested in before Monday night, and he wasn’t someone she was interested in after. And not only because she didn’t want to be just another woman fawning over the hunky newcomer.
No. Her real reservations came from the nonflirting, non-woman-chasing rumors surrounding him. The ones that involved poker.
Whether he merely enjoyed swindling people out of their money for the heck of it—or if he was a full-blown gambling addict and did it to pay off his losses—it didn’t matter to her. That type of person wasn’t someone she’d ever be okay with. No matter what he looked like.
Only . . . then she’d met him.
And she’d wanted him.
She tugged at the neckline of her shirt. He’d offered to share his dessert, and she hadn’t given the rumors one single thought. She’d simply looked up those stairs, and she pictured the bed she knew was up there. And she’d pictured him in that bed. With her.
Then she’d made him look at her hips.
Her face flamed at the memory. First of all, she didn’t do things like that—go up to a guy’s apartment just because he offered her “cake.” She rarely even had such thoughts.
Not that she was immune to sex. She happened to love sex.
I’m surprised you can even remember sex.
She smirked at the smart-ass thought her subconscious seemed to think was funny. Her memory could use a refresher, certainly, but it wasn’t as if she’d forgotten what it felt like to be with a man. To have one stretched out on top of her. And under her. And just generally wrapped around her.
She groaned under her breath. She really could do with that refresher.
She’d have to go without a personal reminder, though, whether it be from Waylon or from some other man. Because when it came right down to it, she wasn’t a casual-sex type of girl. She simply couldn’t figure out how to keep things light.
Nor can you choose a man who isn’t a first-class loser.
She smirked again.
“What’s with you lately?”
Heather quit fanning herself at Trenton’s words and shot her foster sister a quick look. “What do you mean, what’s with me?” Her words came out too fast. “Nothing’s with me.”
Trenton scowled. “Your cheeks are beet red.”
“So? It’s hot in here.” Heather fanned herself even harder as if to prove her point and returned her attention to the raised pedestal sitting ten feet in front of them. They were in the back half of the boutique, waiting on Jill to appear in her first dress—and they had cameras hovering all around them.
“You’ve been spaced out since we sat down.” Trenton’s words came out as an accusation, and Heather fired a glare at her.
“No, I haven’t.”
“In fact, you’ve been that way all week.” Trenton studied her as if peeling away a few layers to look deeper inside. “And if you haven’t been spacey,” she continued, her words now heavy with contemplation, “you’ve been biting someone’s head off. What’s going on with you? What did I miss?”
“You missed nothing. You’re imagining things.” Heather totally hadn’t been biting anyone’s head off. She’d just been a little unsettled since Monday night.
“Then what do you want to drink?”
Heather furrowed her brow at the unexpected question. “What are you talking about?”
“Penny asked you twice what you’d like to drink, and you didn’t hear a word she said.”
“Oh.” Heather looked around for Penny, the owner of the boutique, and added noncommittally, “I must have been thinking about something else.”
Trenton snorted. “You think?”
Heather ignored her. Instead, she found Penny maneuvering her way through the store, a nervous smile on the brunette’s face, carrying a tray of fruity-looking drinks in slim tallboys. There was also a camera trailing her every move.
“Penny’s nervous,” Heather muttered to herself, and wished she could do something to help. Not everyone could handle the looming equipment that came with being filmed for a television show, and with the small space being packed with cameras, sound guys, and a varied number of other production personnel, Heather understood how out of her element the other woman must feel.
A ding sounded from the back room, indicating that someone had come in the front door just as Penny made it to Heather and Trenton’s side.
“Thank you,” Heather smiled graciously as she accepted the drink. She also did her best to catch the other woman’s eye. She hoped to impart a bit of calmness with a quick look.
The show intended to capture the majority of the planning for Jill’s wedding, and since Jill had wanted local businesses included as much as possible, Happy Veil’s Bridal Boutique had signed a contract to be filmed. Which meant that not only did Penny and her staff have to get comfortable with the cameras in the space of one afternoon, but whatever alterations Jill’s dress needed would also have to be done in record time.
Heather took a sip of what appeared to be a raspberry lemonade as Penny moved off and immediately let out a sputtering cough. The drink had vodka in it!
Trenton snickered at her side, and Heather mumbled, “Could have warned a person.”
“Could have paid attention to begin with,” Trenton quipped back.
“And you could—”
“Girls,” Aunt Blu bit out under her breath as she joined them, a fake smile on her face. She’d been in the front of the store, looking through the jewelry and veil options, but now settled in between Heather and Trenton to wait for Jill. She carefully piled the veils she’d chosen onto the ottoman in front of them as she continued speaking through her smile. “Whatever has you two snapping at each other, you need to put a pin in it. This is Jill’s day.”
“Trenton started it,” Heather muttered under her breath, but Aunt Blu turned to stare at her instead of Trenton. “What?” Heather questioned.
“What are you? Seven years old, or something?”
“No.” Heather scowled. She took a gulp of her drink, and from behind Blu, Trenton’s hand reached around and jabbed Heather in the ribs. “But she’s still picking on me,” Heather added.
“And there are still cameras watching us,” Blu said behind the glass she now held. “Could you two please behave yourselves?”
Heather shot her foster sister a look, and then narrowed her eyes at Trenton’s triumphant smile. But before either of them could continue acting like misbehaving children, a gasp came from Aunt Blu. They both turned to find Jill standing in the middle of the pedestal, and a more perfectly romantic gown there could never have been.
Heather rose to her feet, her mouth opening in surprise. “Oh, Jill,” she whispered.
Jill’s eyes met hers. “I know.” She looked down at herself, a half smile curving her lips. “It’s gorgeous.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“But it’s not right for you,” Trenton chimed in.
Heather frowned at her other foster sister before turning back to Jill. The gown was strapless, outlining Jill’s toned shoulders to perfection, and the fitted, drop-waist bodice flowed seamlessly into continuous layers of organza ruffles. The whole thing made Jill look as if she were floating in a cloud.
“You don’t think?” Jill looked at Trenton. She fidgeted with the first layer of ruffles, and the edges of her mouth pulled down slightly.
“Since when do you do ruffles?” Trenton explained.
“This is one of our most sought-after gowns,” the attendant informed them. She moved in a half circle around Jill, fluffing out the six-foot train. “Women all over central Texas come to us for this dress.”
Trenton glanced over at Heather before adding, “Which is another reason it’s not for her.” She set her drink on the side table and rose, her tone growing more certain as she continued. “You’re not a clone, Jill. You’re one of a kind.”
Jill nodded—because she was. And even Heather had to agree with that.
“And you’ve never in your life been a ruffle girl,” Trenton added wryly.
“But you could do ruffles if you wanted to,” Heather inserted. They were in Texas, after all. Bigger was better. “Maybe this dress isn’t the dress for you, but it’s only the first one you’ve tried on. And this is your wedding, Jilly. Your special day. So you can do and be whoever you want for that day.”
“I kind of just want to be me,” Jill said, uncertainty filling her face. She looked down at the gown again, and fidgeted with the ruffles a bit more. She’d been both nervous and excited about doing this. Mostly because she’d had no real idea what style of gown she’d wanted. When she and Cal had run off to Vegas years before, they hadn’t done the whole wedding dress and tux thing, but this time she’d wanted to do it right.
She turned her gaze to Blu, who had yet to comment. Blu remained the only one of the three of them who was seated, and she took her time before answering. “It’s very lovely,” she finally told Jill. “You’re very lovely in it. And you definitely want to do white. It sets off your black hair.”
“But the ruffles are too much,” Jill said. “Right?”
Aunt Blu nodded, and Heather and Trenton lowered back to their seats. “Heather’s our ruffle girl.” Aunt Blu patted Heather’s knee with fondness. “We’ll leave the ruffles for when it’s her turn.”
Heather grunted under her breath. She doubted it would ever be her turn.
But she would look amazing in ruffles.
“Let’s get you into dress number two,” the attendant said.
The attendant led Jill back to the dressing room, and Heather took another gulp of her drink. As the cool liquid slid down her throat, she let her eyes roam over the dresses on display in the store. She could picture Jill in any number of them, but Trenton had a point. Jill wasn’t exactly a ruffle girl, even if she had grown up in Texas. She was more straight and to the point. And now Heather felt guilty, because she’d helped pick out quite a few of the dresses Jill would be trying on, and they likely all had ruffles.
She blew out a breath. She’d been thinking more of what she’d like as she’d helped than what would best flatter Jill.
“I’m going to look around at the dresses again,” she told the other two, but as soon as she stood, the bell in the back room sounded again, and she caught a glimpse of a man with dark-copper hair entering the store.
Her breath caught. Had Waylon come to the bridal shop?
Why would Waylon have come to the bridal shop?
But then the man stepped around a rack of dresses and turned toward her, and wide smiles broke out on both their faces.
“Len!” Heather squealed. She hurried to the huge man’s side, subconsciously noting that of course this wasn’t Waylon. Len’s body frame was much larger than the man who’d been flirting with her in the barn. She threw herself into Len’s arms.
Len had been one of the cameramen when they’d done Texas Dream Home, and given the amount of time he’d spent following Jill around, he’d become friends with all three of them.
“What in the world are you doing here?” Heather asked as he set her on her feet.
She patted his overgrown beard as if she’d missed it before stepping back so he could greet Trenton and Aunt Blu, who’d come up behind her.
“I heard that our Jilly was picking out a wedding dress today,” Len said when he got a chance to answer Heather’s question. He nodded hello to the closest cameraman as he moved farther into the room. “And given the help I assumed she had”—he shot down-the-nose looks at the three of them—“I knew she’d need a voice of reason tossed into the mix.”
Trenton huffed. “I’m her voice of reason.”
“Well, you’re certainly the closest she’s got.” He patted Heather’s shoulder as he spoke—as if to lessen the sting his words might leave—then he nodded respectfully at Blu. “And no offense, Miss Blu, but emotions can run high on a day like today. For everyone. I’ve seen it with all four of my sisters and all my sisters’ wedding parties.” He planted himself in the middle of the couch and crossed his burly arms over his chest. “So I decided that Jilly needed a man’s opinion.”
Heather and Trenton stared down at him in shock at the sudden change in plans—and seating arrangements—then cracked up when Penny stuck a girly drink in his hand.
“No laughing at the dude in the middle of the froufrou dresses,” Len admonished. He then angled his pinky out and tossed his head back for a long pull on the lemonade.
Aunt Blu gave an unheard-of-from-her roll of her eyes and sat down beside Len. “Scoot it over, Big Red. Emotions, my ass. You’re not the only voice of reason in this room today.”
“Is that so?” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth before jabbing a finger at the assortment of veils piled in front of them. “Any chance you happened to have anything to do with those?”
Aunt Blu huffed out her indignation. “Jill will be gorgeous in a veil.”
“Jill is gorgeous with all that black hair shining,” Len corrected her, and all three of them nodded in agreement. Jill’s hair was fantastic.
But still, brides needed veils.
Penny and another of her employees hurried over as Blu and Len continued their good-natured arguing, placing matching club chairs on either side of the couch, and Heather and Trenton barely had time to settle into their seats before Jill reappeared in gown number two.
“No,” Len said automatically, and there was another round of squealing and greetings.
“Len!” Jill pounced on the big man. Len didn’t live too far away. Only up in Waco. But given the amount of work filling the company’s calendar the last three months, a road trip to see their friend hadn’t been feasible.
Once they’d all settled back down, Jill didn’t even wait for a response from the rest of them. She simply agreed with Len. Though this dress was satin with ruching running the length of the gown, it also had ruffles. Its fitted silhouette outlined Jill’s body exquisitely, but ruffles covered the single shoulder strap and seemed intent on attacking her slender neck.
She tried on the third gown, and the deep V plunged with ruffles.
Number four had a billowing train of cascading ruffles that Heather thought was absolutely to die for. She kept her enthusiasm to herself.
And when Jill came out in the next dress, a sleeveless beaded bodice stopping at the waist and falling into a full ball-gown skirt of ruffled chiffon, Len cursed none too gentlemanly and rose from the couch. “Who in the hell picked these out?” He shot Heather a dark, accusing look. “Not everyone needs to look like they’re stepping out of a fairy tale. This one makes her look like she’s being swallowed from the ground up.”
He moved away from the couch as Heather attempted to argue that the timeless look of the chiffon would go well with an outdoor wedding, but Len pointed a finger at her.
“Don’t move,” he warned. He waved his finger around. “Any of you. It’s my turn now.”
The cameraman Len had greeted upon arrival followed the other man out of the room, camera rolling, while the sound guy, a lighting woman, and a producer hurried along behind them. Ten minutes later, all were back, and Len once again took center stage on the couch.
“Winner,” he said, long before Jill made an appearance.
Heather crossed her arms over her chest as Len had done when he’d first sat down, and stuck out her chin. But then she lowered her arms when Jill emerged from the back room.
“That,” Len began, “is why I’m here.”
Jill looked stunning. The dress was a V-necked chiffon with a crisscrossing bodice that stopped at the waist and flowed gently into a breezy skirt. It had the timelessness of the chiffon, the simple elegance that was Jill, and the beaded belt and shoulder straps added just the right amount of bling.
Penny and the attendant who’d been working with Jill hurried over with crystal bracelets and a matching headband, and another employee appeared and whipped Jill’s straight black hair into a rolled updo that hugged the back of her neck.
A cream and pink bouquet found its way into her hand, someone whisked all the veils out of the room, and at the sight of her friend, tears suddenly seeped from Heather’s eyes.
Jill’s eyes were wet as well. As were Aunt Blu’s and Trenton’s. Even Big Red got a little misty.
No one had to say anything, while Jill simply smiled with her tears.
“Done,” Jill finally spoke, and Len rose to take a bow.
Everyone in the room laughed at Len’s antics, and as he moved to Jill’s side and fawned over her a bit more, Heather found herself wandering through the rest of the store. She loved this boutique. She’d visited it the week Penny had opened its doors, and she was so happy that one of her friends would now get the chance to wear a beautiful creation from here.
She fingered the detail on the sleeve of a display dress and ignored the chatter of the handful of women who’d come in over the last few minutes. A soft ding sounded as she picked up a narrow tiara and held it above her head in front of a mirror. She cast a glance over to find a man and a little boy stepping through the front door. They moved to the counter that housed the costume jewelry, and she watched as the man helped his son pick out a present for his mother.
Joy filled the boy’s face as his small fingers touched the rhinestones of each and every bracelet on display, and Heather found herself thinking about her own dad. He’d taken her shopping for her mother like that when she was a kid.
In fact, he’d taken her to all kinds of places, just him and her. She’d been close to her mother as well. They’d had many similar interests. But she’d been a total daddy’s girl.
Dad and son moved to the register to pay for their purchase, and at the same time, Heather sensed someone at her side. She glanced over to find Len—who winked at her teasingly. His attention then settled on the man and his son, and he leaned in and whispered, “You’d look good with a little one like that.”
Heather didn’t reply. She couldn’t because a lump had lodged in her throat.
Len straightened and returned his voice to normal volume. “Too bad you think I’m too old for you. Maybe I’d give you one. At the least, we could have made that date we had far more interesting.”
She shot the man a droll look. “Don’t even. You know I’d bore you in ten minutes flat.”
They’d gone out one time while filming had been going on back in the spring, but it had been a friends-only evening. They’d set up a double date, using it to convince Jill to go out with a man who’d had his eye on her. A date that, Heather was proud to say, had been the catalyst for Cal finally making a move with Jill.
“I don’t know,” Len mused now. He flicked his blue gaze over Heather’s body, and wicked naughtiness filled his eyes. “I think I might be able to make it ten days if given the shot.”
The words made her blush. “Behave yourself. You know you just like to flirt.”
“Oh, I do enjoy flirting. But I’ve also been going through a bit of a dry spell lately.” He waggled his brows and stroked his ginger-colored beard. “And since I also know you have a thing for gingers . . .”
Before either of them could utter another word, a woman one rack over whipped around to stare at them. “Ohmygod.” The woman’s eyes went round. “If we’re going to talk about redheaded men, we have to talk about Waylon Peterson.” She looked around the store as if to take in all within earshot, and angled her chin higher so her voice would ring above the others. “Who’s met him? Who’s met Waylon Peterson?”
Len’s brow lifted in question, and Heather shook her head. Then a hand shot up on the opposite side of the room.
“I’ve met him,” the owner of the hand announced. “But not nearly as intimately as I’d like to . . . if you know what I mean.”
The first woman fired back, “Oh honey, everyone knows what you mean.”
“And everyone wants to have that same meeting,” someone else chimed in.
Laughter bounced through the room, and Heather lowered her gaze and maneuvered to a display of bridesmaid dresses. She had no wish to be in the middle of the gossip, and even less desire to be thinking about the man at the center of the conversation.
“Who’s making a move on him this week?” someone asked behind her. “Because you know you have to do it tonight if you want a chance at being this weekend’s fling.”
Heather flipped through the dresses as a chorus of “Mes” rang through the room, and barely held back a groan when Len reappeared at her side.
He leaned in close and whispered, “Have you met this Waylon?”
She didn’t answer. Just kept flipping. But her cheeks outed her. They turned pink once again.
“Really?” Len sounded intrigued as he straightened. “And he’s all that?”
“Oh, he’s all that, all right.” The mocking reply came from Trenton, who suddenly appeared on Heather’s other side. Heather glanced over, but Trenton continued speaking only to Len. “I haven’t met him personally, but I’ve seen him in passing enough times. I can see why the man’s got everyone’s motor running. What I can’t figure out, though, is when this one met him.” She cast her gaze toward Heather, the accusation clear.
“She met him Monday night,” Aunt Blu’s voice replied matter-of-factly, and Heather whirled to find her foster mother now standing behind her. Why was everyone crowding her?
And why were they talking about her as if she weren’t there?
“He came by after you left,” Aunt Blu explained. Trenton had left the cookout early, having had an exhausting weekend finishing up an overdue renovation. “He stopped by the house for a plate of food. Heather had gone for a walk earlier, but ten minutes after Waylon entered the barn, I saw Heather coming out.”
Trenton stared at Heather.
“Wait.” A nearby woman took a step toward them. “Are you saying that you were in the barn with him?”
Heather hadn’t said anything.
The woman put both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide, as if having great respect for Heather’s skills at capturing the man’s attention, and the lady who’d started the whole conversation loudly proclaimed, “That’s it. I’m finding him tonight. Then I’ll be this weekend’s date.”
She wove her way through the displays of dresses, shouting out to someone who was apparently in one of the dressing rooms. She didn’t make it out of earshot, though, before another voice rose from the crowd. “You’d better hope he wins at the tables this weekend, Kara. I hear he’s more ‘giving’ when he wins.”
Heather closed her eyes.
“And I hear the right woman can make him give all night long,” Kara called back.
Kara cackled with laughter before disappearing behind a dressing room door, and Heather tried her best to refocus on the rack of bridesmaid dresses. Jill had chosen the colors for the wedding party several weeks earlier, so now that the wedding dress had been decided on, Heather and Trenton simply had to settle on a style.
But try as she might, she couldn’t push Waylon from her mind. Was he seriously that big of a player?
“I’ll also offer to help burn off those unneeded calories.”
Yep. She’d say he was. He’d certainly been laying it on thick with her.
Rumors aside, she couldn’t help but wonder if he really did head off with a different woman every weekend. Everyone liked to presume that he did, yet she’d not heard anyone come right out and say, “I slept with Waylon this weekend.”
Mostly, though, she wanted to know because, for some reason, she’d had the urge to believe him when he’d implied it wasn’t true.
And what if I said the rumors weren’t true?
Would you want to know what I do with my weekends instead?
She hadn’t answered him at the time, but she had wanted to know. And she found herself wanting to know even more now.
Jill reappeared from the back of the store, once again wearing the jeans and company-logoed pullover she’d arrived in, and Len headed in her direction. The camera and equipment guys were all packing to leave, the gaggle of women who’d been carrying on about Waylon had calmed down, and Aunt Blu’s attention got snagged by a friend waving to her from outside the building.
And all too quickly, Heather found herself standing alone with Trenton. Who—Heather knew—would not let the fact that she’d met Waylon go undiscussed.
Anxiety twisted Heather’s gut as she edged around another rack of dresses. She simultaneously avoided Trenton while zeroing in on the gowns in mint green. Mint green was the color Jill had chosen. It would go perfectly with a backyard wedding.
“Did you hear that he’s buying a house?” A low voice spoke from a couple of displays over. “My cousin Cindy’s best friend’s sister is his real estate agent. She was supposed to keep it on the down-low, but she told her sister, and her sister told Cindy.”
Heather glanced in the direction of the latest conversation. Were they still talking about Waylon?
“Why would he buy a house?” another voice asked. “Doesn’t the apartment in the barn come with the job?”
Definitely Waylon.
“I have no idea,” the first woman continued. “But I hear he’s moving in soon.”
The two women moved off, still talking, and Heather pushed the man from her mind once again. She pulled a full-length, off-the-shoulder dress from the rack and thrust it into Trenton’s hands when her friend made yet another reappearance.
“You promised to tell me when you met him.” Trenton kept her words low enough to carry just between the two of them.
“It was no big deal.” Heather chose a tea-length style next. “And anyway, I’ve barely seen you this week.”
“You’ve had breakfast with me every morning.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
She had no real excuse, and she knew it. The three of them met every morning to go over work details for the coming day. And every day, she’d studiously avoided bringing up her run-in in the barn. Because she knew she’d get this reaction.
“So why did you go to the barn?” Trenton got right to the point.
“I didn’t go to the barn,” Heather corrected. “I went to the backyard. I have a big job starting next week, in case you’ve forgotten.” She shoved another dress at her foster sister, having no clue what that one looked like. “I’m a tad bit nervous about it, so I wandered around the area, thinking about any last-minute changes I might want to make to the plans.”
“And what? The plans are stored in the barn?”
“Stop it,” Heather hissed out. “Quit being a jerk. I was in the backyard—minding my own business—and I heard what I thought were horse hooves. So I was worried the horses had gotten out.”
She’d actually been quite concerned. She’d hurried back to the house for apples in case they were needed to lure the animals back inside, only . . . when she’d gotten to the barn, she’d found both horses locked up tight.
And no one around to have put them there.
“And anyway,” she continued, shoving the odd experience from her mind, “I didn’t expect him to show up at all. Cal had said earlier that he wouldn’t be back until Tuesday.”
Trenton eyed her as if looking for the lie in her words. “Whether you expected him or not, the fact remains that you met Waylon one night, and you’ve been out of sorts ever since.”
Heather didn’t look at her friend. “I am not out of sorts.”
Trenton reached out then, one hand touching Heather’s forearm, and Heather allowed herself to be turned. She faced her foster sister, but said “I’m fine” before Trenton could suggest otherwise.
“Are you really?” Trenton eyed her carefully. “Because you know how you can be.”
Heather nudged out her chin. “It’s been three years since I’ve been that way.”
“And three years before that. And again before that.”
Embarrassment stirred inside her. She couldn’t help it that she fell so fast. It was in her blood.
“I’ve learned my lesson,” she gritted out.
“Have you? Because I know he’s your type.” Trenton looped an arm through Heather’s and leaned in even closer. “I know you’re attracted to him even if you don’t want to admit it,” she said softly. “And I get that. I knew it would be that way the instant I got a good look at him. That’s why I made you promise to stay away from him, Heather. Because you can’t fall for him. And you know that.”
She pulled her arm away and returned to the dresses. “He can’t be all bad or Cal wouldn’t have hired him.”
Why was she defending the guy? She didn’t even know him.
Trenton sighed. “I’m not saying he’s all bad. But he does have some bad in him. He has to or there wouldn’t be so many matching stories about him conning people out of money. So many questions about who and how many he spends his time with. And you know your tendency with guys like that.”
Translation: You have blinders on when it comes to men predisposed to screw you over.
And yes, she knew that. She hated it, but she knew it. She was the worst judge of character in the history of mankind.
“Trust me.” Her voice dipped to a rasp that shocked her with its unsteadiness, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “I’m well aware that Waylon Peterson isn’t the man for me, okay? Yes, I met him. Yes, he’s good looking. Yes, he’s totally my type. Physically.”
And yes, she’d wanted to strip naked and race him up the stairs.
Because seriously, it had been three years since she’d done that with a man.
“But I’m fine,” she repeated. “I know better than to think warm fuzzies about a guy like that.”
Trenton studied her with the type of look Heather hated most. The poor-Heather look. “I know you know better,” she said carefully, “but I also know you have difficulty thinking any other way.”
Heather shook her head, repeating “I’m fine” one more time, but as she said it, she began to wonder if she really was. About anything.
Men? Lack of men? Her life in general?
And if she wasn’t, then what exactly was she supposed to do about it?