by Kim Law
Rose’s eyes widened. “I love butterflies.”
“So do I. They’re going to be a surprise for my friend.”
“What’s your friend’s name?” Rose had given up on painting, and the roller now hung loosely at her side. Paint dripped, as much onto her jeans and shoes as on the tarp.
“Her name is Jill.”
“Jill,” Rose dragged the name out. “That’s soooo beautiful.” She looked at her dad. “Don’t you think that’s a beautiful name, Daddy?”
Waylon nodded with grave seriousness. “Very beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Rose.”
Dimples appeared on the younger Peterson, and Heather instantly fell in love. “My dad buys me flower roses sometimes,” she informed Heather. “But he says they’re not as pretty as me.”
“I’m sure he’s right. Because I’ve never seen a flower rose as pretty as you.”
The dimples grew deeper, and Rose turned back to painting. “I wish I could see your friend get married. I bet her dress will be very pretty.”
Rose’s words were followed by a longing sigh, and Heather stood from her stooped position.
“It definitely will be.” She made sure not to let her coat part along her thighs as she took a couple of steps away from the spray of paint droplets. “I helped her pick it out. It’s white and flowy and makes her look like an angel,” Heather shared. “And it has the prettiest sparkly belt I’ve ever seen.”
Rose sighed once again. She continued painting the wall, and again, Heather felt Waylon’s eyes on her. She really needed to get out of there. This wasn’t the Waylon she thought she knew, and the longer she stuck around, the more he changed right in front of her.
She looked over to tell him that she was definitely leaving, but he’d gone back to painting. So she watched the duo work. Rose was making more of a mess than anything, yet she was giving it her all. Whereas Waylon . . . Heather held in her own sigh. Waylon’s arm extended upward with repetitive, strong strokes, and with every reach, she caught a wink of tanned flesh just above the waistband of his jeans. The denim bore a bit of pink itself, and his snug T-shirt accentuated the muscles in his shoulders and back with every move.
Dang. She’d really wanted that casual sex.
“Did you ever get married, Miss Heather?”
Heather jerked her gaze off Waylon and back to his daughter. “I sure haven’t.”
“Cause if you did, I bet your dress would be pretty, too.”
“Oh, it would be,” Heather told her. She filled her voice with wonder. “And that’s because my dress would have ruffles on it. Row after row of pretty, fluffy ruffles. And they would float way out behind me”—she waved her hands out behind her—“and there would be so many of them that fairies would have to come to the wedding and carry the ends of my dress.”
Rose giggled at the description, and Waylon caught her eye. “Ever come close?”
Heather stalled, caught off guard at the sudden memories that flooded her, and he followed up his question before she could form a reply.
“When?” he asked.
She licked her lips. How had he known?
She recinched the belt around her waist. “In college.”
At least, the first time had been while she was in college.
Rose dropped the paint roller at her feet, and her eyes went as round as saucers. “You almost got married?” she asked in a hushed tone. “Did you have a ring?”
Heather nodded. “I did have a ring.”
“I love rings.” The little girl dug into the front pocket of her jeans and produced two toy rings. “Daddy got me this one,” she announced as she held up the silver circle with a pink stone in the center of it. “And Papa got me this one.” The other one was purple and the “stone” was a small daisy. “But I can’t marry my daddy or my papa because they’re my daddy and my papa,” Rose explained. “I’ve got to wait until I find a boyfriend.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that.” Waylon moved to his daughter’s side and picked up the discarded roller. “You have to be a kid first,” he told Rose, and Rose rolled her eyes as if she were already way beyond her years.
“Daddy, you’re so silly. I’m going to get a boyfriend when I go to the big school next year.” She picked up Heather’s hand and peered at her fingers. “Where’s your ring? Is it beautiful?”
A lump threatened to stick in Heather’s throat, but she pushed past it. Her exes didn’t deserve her regret. “It was beautiful,” she told Rose. “But I gave it away when we broke up.”
A look of pure horror covered the child’s face. “I’m never gonna give my rings away.” She shot her dad a hard look. “You can’t break up with me, Daddy. Ever. I want to keep my rings.”
“And you will, Rosebud.” Waylon blew his daughter a kiss, immediately turning her scowl to a smile, and Heather decided it was time to go.
“I’m going to get out of here.” She motioned toward the door without looking in the direction she pointed. “You two will get more done if I go.”
“You really don’t have to.” Waylon was quick to respond.
“I think I do.” She gave no other explanation, afraid of what else she might say if she tried to explain. This man was supposed to be an easygoing, laid-back cowboy who flirted with everyone, probably slept with a fair number of them, and made a pastime of conning people out of their money. Yet he was currently barefoot, had pink splatters of paint both on his feet and in his hair . . . and he’d clearly bought a house for his young daughter.
Waylon wiped his hands on the back of his jeans. “Then I’ll walk you out.” He looked at Rose. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“But, Dad.”
“Here,” he repeated.
Heather held out her hand to the girl. “It was very nice to meet you, Miss Rose.”
The girl gifted her with dimples again, and primly shook her hand. “And it was nice to meet you, Miss Heather.”
Heather stepped from the room, not stopping until she reached the front door, and once there, turned to offer a quick good-bye. Only, Waylon captured the strap of her belt between two fingers. “Can I come see you after I take Rose back tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” He tugged lightly on the belt. “You came by here. Dressed like this.” His voice lowered. “I could even bring dessert.”
She fought the whimper that tried to escape. This was not how the night was supposed to have gone. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her insides quivered. “I shouldn’t have . . .” Her voice started to shake as well. “I shouldn’t be . . .”
“Hey.” Waylon dropped her belt and snagged her fingers. She was embarrassed to her core. “Let me come by,” he urged softly. His fingers were warm around hers, and his eyes grew serious. “Just to talk.”
“There’s no need to talk.”
“Why not?”
Because she hadn’t known he had a daughter!
She didn’t say that, though. She didn’t say anything, because she wasn’t sure what any of this meant. How was she supposed to put the Waylon she’d shown up here to have sex with in the same space as this Waylon? It didn’t compute.
“Don’t come over,” she finally made herself say. “If you still want to talk later, we’ll do it next week.”
His look of disappointment surprised her, but he nodded in agreement.
She turned away and shut down her racing thoughts, and moved toward her car as quickly as her heels would allow. She didn’t quite manage the barrier of a car door, though, before Waylon’s voice called out.
“Thank you for coming over tonight,” he said, and Heather made the mistake of glancing back.
Rose had squeezed in beside her dad, her arm wrapped around his thigh. “Thank you for coming over tonight,” she mimicked. Then both father and daughter lifted an arm and waved.
Heather returned the wave, unable to squeeze a single syllable past her throat, and slipped into the front seat. Sh
e didn’t look over at them again as she started the engine, nor when she put the car in gear. And she very likely left a path of rubber lining the street as she squealed away.
Chapter Six
“Trust your friends. Even with the scary stuff.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #19
“I tried to seduce him.” Heather had called an emergency meeting at her house, sending out text messages well before the sun had come up Sunday morning, and though she’d allowed them to wait until dawn to show up, neither Jill nor Trenton had been pleased with the summons.
Her words, however, had them looking up from their coffee cups.
“You tried to seduce who?” Jill asked, while Trenton said, “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?”
“I tried to stay away from him,” Heather argued. But she hadn’t. Not really. If she had, then her trench coat would never have come into play.
Jill still seemed confused—she’d barely gotten halfway into her first cup of coffee—but Heather watched as she sorted through her thoughts, and she could see when the pieces started to click.
Jill bolted upright in her chair. “Do you mean Waylon? You tried to seduce Waylon?”
“Of course she means Waylon. Where have you been?”
“She’s been neck-deep in wedding details,” Heather replied. “With cameras following her every move.”
Jill pointed at Heather. “Yes. That. Cameras, wedding, renovations, ranch stuff. Retakes. Good grief, this having-your-own-show thing is exhausting.”
“But you’re still glad you did it?” Heather’s concern for her friend momentarily overrode her own issues.
“Oh, goodness yes.” Jill nodded. “I love it. But I’m sorry I’ve missed whatever has been going on with you.” She looked from Trenton then back to Heather. “What has been going on with you?”
“Nothing has been going on,” Heather answered. “Not really. Just Trenton worrying that I’d do something stupid since your fiancé’s new employee looks exactly like my idea of a dream man in a cowboy hat.”
Jill’s eyes continued to clear. “Crap. Of course he’s your type. Why didn’t that occur to me?”
“And she apparently did do something stupid,” Trenton added with a smirk. “Otherwise we’d all still be asleep right now.”
“But I didn’t,” Heather corrected. “Well, I didn’t go all the way stupid. I tried. But I . . . it didn’t happen the way I’d planned.” A child had thrown a wrench in her plans, and she still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “And anyway,” she continued, “I’m blaming Jill for my actions.”
Jill—who’d begun slumping over her coffee again—sat upright once more. “What did I do?”
“You did Cal in the barn.”
Jill’s mouth fell open at the announcement, and Trenton’s smirk shifted from Heather to Jill. “You did Cal in the barn?”
“It’s our barn,” Jill defended.
“But you did him in the middle of the day,” Heather exclaimed. She flapped her hands toward her friend. “And you weren’t quiet about it at all.”
“Well, I didn’t know you were listening!” Jill fired back. “And anyway, why were you listening?”
“Because Waylon dragged me up to his apartment when we heard Cal unzip his jeans.”
“Wait!” Trenton held up both hands, but Jill spoke before she could continue.
“I was the one who unzipped his jeans.”
“Whatever.” Heather blew out a breath. “I still didn’t need to hear it.”
“And I wish you hadn’t.”
“Hold on,” Trenton tried again. She rose from the kitchen table. “Let me get this straight.” She pointed at Jill. “You banged Cal in the barn.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re correct,” Trenton continued. “It’s your barn. You can ride your fiancé every which way to Sunday in there if you want to.”
Jill gave a knowing nod, and Trenton’s trigger finger adjusted its aim for Heather.
“And you hung around and listened to it? In Waylon’s apartment?”
“I couldn’t help it.”
“Right. Because he dragged you up there.”
“He did.” Heather rose along with Trenton. “We were heading to see the horses, and then we heard groaning . . . and then the zipper.”
Jill dropped her head into her hands.
“And what? You were so overcome with lust that you turned on the man and attacked him while Jill and Cal were going at it downstairs?”
“No!” Heather crossed to the living room. She’d clearly gone about starting this conversation all wrong, but she hadn’t known how else to do it other than just to blurt things out. She turned back to her friends. “Waylon’s apartment isn’t where I tried to seduce him. We only ate ice cream in there. While we waited on”—she nodded toward Jill—“them. And anyway, I wasn’t there for very long because Cal was rather . . . fast.”
Jill groaned into her hands. “He’s not always that fast.”
“Well, I would hope not,” Heather replied. “Otherwise . . . Jilly. Honey.”
Jill’s head jerked up. “He’s no—”
“Stop,” Trenton interrupted. “Cal’s staying power isn’t the issue here. It’s that Heather tried to seduce Waylon.”
“Right,” Jill agreed. “I know that. I’m just saying that—”
“And if I’m reading her correctly right now”—Trenton spoke over their friend as she kept a shrewd eye cast on Heather—“then she’s not yet convinced that she doesn’t need to . . . try . . . again.”
Jill’s head swiveled to Heather.
“I’m not saying that,” Heather argued. But she wasn’t certain she wasn’t saying it, either.
“Ah, dang it.” Jill stood as well. “I see what you mean.” She moved so she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Trenton, and the two of them faced Heather as one.
“I think we need details,” Trenton declared. “Because if you were only in his apartment until Cal got off—”
“I got off, too,” Jill objected.
“—then when, exactly, did you try to seduce him?”
“And how?” Jill added.
“And why didn’t it work?”
Both of them looked as curious as they did worried, and the humiliation of the previous evening returned. “I tried last night,” Heather muttered. She still couldn’t believe she’d gone over there like that. “He’d mentioned that he was moving into his new house this weekend, so I went over to . . . see him.” She pointed without looking, arm outstretched, toward the coat that now hung by the front door. Then to the red heels sitting directly below it. “Wearing those.”
Jill and Trenton took in the articles of clothing, and the small house grew unusually quiet. A songbird tweeted from outside as the sun continued to climb—while Heather’s mortification level rose right along with it.
“And you wore only those?” Trenton finally asked.
Heather nodded, her humiliation complete. It was just like her. See a man, like a man. Stoop to a new low because of a man.
“Oh, sweetie.” Jill rushed to her side, and within seconds the three of them were sitting together in the living room. Heather and Jill took the couch, while Trenton perched on a stool she’d pulled over from beside the fireplace. “Okay,” Jill said. “Start from the beginning. We’re here for you. We’ll talk you through this.”
“Better yet, we’ll talk some sense into you,” Trenton interjected. And Heather prayed that was true. Because she needed some sense talked into her. Or maybe knocked into her.
She took a deep breath and began. “The minutes in his apartment had been . . . electrically charged, you might say, and though nothing happened while I was there, it was clear that he wanted it to. That I wanted it to. The man is”—she puffed out a breath—“hot.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Jill agreed. “But back up a bit. What’s gone on between you two before this?”
“Like I said. Pretty much nothing. W
e’ve talked a few times,” Heather confessed, glancing at Trenton with guilt. “We’re both out at the ranch, so we’ve seen each other. And he’s flirted.”
“And I’m guessing that you’ve flirted right back?” Trenton accused, and Heather reluctantly nodded. Her friends knew her well.
“But I really don’t mean to,” she stressed. “It just seems to happen.”
“Which is exactly why I told you to stay away from him.” Trenton’s tone softened to concern. “Heather. Honey . . .”
“I know,” Heather whispered. “But I’m not falling for him. I swear to you. I only went over there for sex. I mean, why can’t I have sex if I want to? Other women do it all the time. Casual sex, casual dating”—she shot Trenton a look—“fuck buddies they call up whenever they want to.”
“Hey,” Trenton protested. “It’s not like I have them lined up just waiting for my call.”
“Well, it’s not like you have to do without, either.” Heather turned her gaze back to Jill. “And you. Rolling around in the barn in the middle of the day.”
“It was actually against the door.”
“I know!” Heather shouted in frustration. She could still hear that door rattling in her head. “I was there, remember? It’s a wonder the thing is still standing.”
Jill cringed in mock apology.
“Your point is valid,” Trenton said to Heather. “You’re a grown woman. You should be able to have sex if you want to. And I’m all for women taking sexual liberties. Sleep with all the men you want. Big men, little men, white men, black men. Heck, I say try out a woman if that’s your thing.” She reached over and took Heather’s hand. “But our point is that none of that is you.”
“And that’s okay.” Jill laid her hand on top of theirs. “Not all women are cut out to handle that type of relationship.”
“But I miss sex.” Heather pleaded with her eyes, but even she knew that she was saying more than that she missed the physical act. She missed having a man care for her. Touch her.
She missed being in love.
She only wanted what her parents had had. Was that so much to ask?
“And anyway,” she went on, “me showing up at his house in a trench coat and stripper heels wasn’t even the worst part of it.”
