by Kim Law
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 tra
ck. 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.
