by Kim Law
“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 wa
lking 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.
Chapter Five
“Be careful playing make-believe in real life.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #82
“What are you doing?” Heather hissed out the second Waylon closed the door behind them.
“I’m getting us out of there!”
“But we could have just snuck out the way we came in.” She pointed toward the front of the barn, and Waylon jerked his gaze around to see what she was talking about. Because his brain clearly hadn’t quite caught up with his heart rate. And that’s when he realized his mistake.
“Ah, crap,” he muttered.
“What?”
But it was too late. She’d seen it, too. Since the apartment was on the second floor, when she’d jabbed a finger toward what would have been open barn doors—had they’d still been down below—she’d instead been pointing at his open bedroom door. With the unmade bed sitting just inside the small room.
