by Kim Law
And that had bothered him far more than he liked.
Then he realized that Heather wasn’t who his dad was looking at. It was the woman standing at her side. And if Waylon was reading Blu Johnson’s return look correctly, she may just be as intrigued by his dad as Charlie was of her.
Waylon turned back to the table. “Dad—”
But his dad was up and out of his seat, one hand outstretched.
“Charlie Peterson,” he announced as Blu came forward and slipped her fingers into his.
Heather glanced quickly at Waylon, surprise in her eyes.
“Blu Johnson.” Blu kept her hand in Charlie’s for a beat too long. “And you must be Waylon’s dad.”
Charlie laughed heartily, because there was absolutely no denying the family resemblance. Then he pulled up another chair so the two women could join them and motioned for the server to bring additional coffees. Blu made herself at home, talking as she settled in, explaining who she was and that she owned an all-girls foster home, but Heather hung back. Her gaze traveled to his father for an extended moment before swinging back to Waylon’s.
“Where’s Rose?” she finally spoke as she lowered into the faded, green plastic chair.
“Who is Rose?” Blu echoed. She wore an expression that was a mixture of politeness, general interest, and genuine intrigue.
“She’s my daughter.” Waylon watched as the older woman’s face registered shock.
A hand went to her chest. “I didn’t realize . . .”
She trailed off as she turned to Heather.
“I met her last weekend,” Heather shared without making direct eye contact, and though Waylon knew she had to be thinking about just how she’d met his daughter, he was impressed to see no hint of pink touching her cheeks.
“She’s with me only on weekends for now.” Waylon pulled Blu’s attention back from Heather. He also used the moment to point out his daughter and her new friend on the other side of the street. “But I’m hopeful that’ll soon change.”
Blu glanced at Heather again, as if Heather held answers Waylon hadn’t been willing to share, but instead of continuing down the path of his single parenthood, Heather adeptly turned the subject to his dad. The four of them talked for several minutes, his dad relaying stories about his years working as both a ranch hand and a ranch manager, even bringing the focus around to the spread where Waylon had spent the first seven years of his life. Rose’s great-grandparents’ ranch.
“Waylon was born on that piece of land,” Waylon’s dad proclaimed. He braced his elbows on the table and leaned in as if telling a secret. “We didn’t even make it out of the drive before his head appeared. When my boy decides he’s ready to do something, there ain’t nothing standing in his way.”
“Is that right?”
Waylon thought of his and Heather’s first conversation, when he’d told her that when he set his mind to something, he tended to get it.
She shifted her gaze to his, as if thinking the same thing.
Blu and his father talked for several more minutes, about nothing in particular, but then Blu braced her own elbows on the table and leaned in, same as his dad. “So how long are you in town for, Mr. Peterson?”
Waylon choked on his coffee at the sound of the not-so-subtle flirting, and tried his best not to compare how Blu had just called his father Mr. Peterson in the same way that Heather called him that. He looked at Heather to see if she’d picked up on what was going on right beside them, and found her eyes now on Blu. And tiny wrinkles creasing her forehead.
Yep. She’d picked up on it.
“Call me Charlie,” his dad replied, his voice lowering an octave, and Waylon watched in horror as Blu tried it out.
“Charlie.” She said the word softly. As if seeing how it felt on her tongue. “Are you here just for the weekend, Charlie?”
Waylon kicked Heather under the table with the toe of his boot, and as his dad explained that he was there for “a good long time,” Waylon nodded toward the ice cream stand over by the park.
“Dessert?” His voice was tight with hurry.
“I don’t—”
She’d been about to comment on the fact that she didn’t need the extra calories, he had no doubt, but when Blu giggled at whatever his father said next, Heather’s chair was shoved back even faster than his own. He refrained from taking her hand as they hurried across the street, but he did make certain to remain close. It had been barely twenty-four hours since he’d last talked to her, and whether they were just friends or not, it felt as if it had been a month.
He glanced back as they stepped onto the sidewalk, and saw that the other two hadn’t even realized they were now alone. Or maybe they’d yet to figure out they hadn’t been alone in the first place.
When Heather’s gaze followed his, he said, “We seem to have a thing for sharing ice cream whenever two people are . . . you know.”
Her gaze shot back to his. “Is that what—”
She fired another look at the table they’d vacated.
“But Aunt Blu doesn’t do that,” she murmured. She continued to watch. “In the sixteen years I’ve known her, I’ve never once seen Blu’s head turn for another person.”
Waylon had heard the same about the woman. Before tragedy struck, Blu Johnson had once had her own family. A husband, three daughters. All taken out together in a single car accident. A few years later, she’d opened her door to girls who had no home, and from what he understood, Blu’s commitment since then had been only to her girls.
Not that she was making a new commitment now, Waylon mused.
He looked back across the road. But her head certainly had been turned.
Whatever was happening over there, though, it was none of Waylon’s business. He knew that. But absurdly, the notion of his dad coming to town and suddenly being more interested in Blu than, say . . . in him . . . lodged a knot in his throat.
He and Heather turned to the ice cream window as one, both in their own thoughts and both silently agreeing to ignore whatever it was going on behind them, and Waylon noted that she didn’t even protest when he ordered two waffle cones, each with two scoops.
Chapter Eleven
“Don’t be afraid to ask for what you want.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #86
Heather still couldn’t believe Aunt Blu had been flirting with Waylon’s dad earlier that day.
Heck, she’d been equally floored just to find out Waylon’s dad was in town.
One glance, and there’d been no doubt, though. The man didn’t have the close-cropped beard like Waylon, and the copper had begun to fade, making its way toward white, but he’d definitely been Prince Harry, Sr. A spitting image of the younger Peterson.
Therefore, Heather couldn’t exactly blame Blu for being entranced. But still. It had been twenty years since she’d lost her family. Why start dating now?
She’d have to bring Jill and Trenton in on this turn of events. The three of them would be getting together at Aunt Blu’s the following day due to a new foster girl arriving. They liked to go over and help the girls acclimate. So she’d share the news then. Additionally, maybe by then she could figure out what she thought about the idea. She wasn’t sure whether she should be happy about this new development or not.
She glanced at Cal and Jill’s ranch house as she drove past. There was no sign of either of them at home, but there was a production van sitting in the driveway. No production people, though. She craned her neck to get a better view, but the house seemed locked up tight. Rarely did filming happen on a Saturday, but with the van there, something must be going on.
She kept driving, the silence of the land leaving her feeling more alone than usual, but she didn’t let herself falter from her mission. She’d made a decision earlier today. A big one.
After accepting ice cream from Waylon, they’d hung out at the park with Rose and her new friend. And though there hadn’t been a lot of conversation between her and Waylon—as if h
e’d still been a little sore over her turning him down the day before—she had learned that he planned to bring Charlie and Rose out for a horse ride the following day. And at the mention of “her favorite horses,” Rose had run over, and her enthusiasm had been contagious. Heather had listened to the girl telling anyone within earshot all about the last time she’d been on a horse, and the more Heather had listened, the more her own desire had grown.
She missed riding. And she wanted to ride.
So, she’d decided to take Waylon up on his offer.
She parked at the barn, and as she stepped from the vehicle, she looked toward the backyard. They’d begun on the fire pit that week, and the boulders for the waterfall had been positioned into place, and all in all, things were coming together.
Actually, all in all, things were looking rather terrific. And that was her doing.
There’d been no additional setbacks, they were progressing on schedule and remained on target to complete on time, and at breakfast the morning before, Jill and Trenton had not only gushed about how great it was coming together, but they’d pointed out that her confidence in the project seemed to be soaring, as well.
Heather kept her pride in check, though. She wouldn’t go so far as to say “soaring.” They were still weeks from finishing. Anything could still go wrong.
But she did walk a little straighter these days.
She wasn’t half-bad at this. After getting past her initial nerves, the ability to toss out answers or to improvise at the first inkling of a hurdle had come easily. As well as simply seeing the big picture and understanding what elements to add to the design to improve upon it.
Nonetheless, along with her fledgling sense of success, she’d begun to worry over a larger issue. That being, what would come after this job wrapped up. She’d written her position into the show with this project in mind, but the reality was that she hadn’t looked too far down the road.
And now that she was looking?
Well, she didn’t see a huge call for major landscape design in Red Oak Falls.
Maybe if Building a Life eventually got larger?
She turned for the barn. The show might expand down the road. She could possibly talk the producers into seeking out the occasional project that centered more around a backyard than the house reno. That could be fun. But being a regular part of things only to handle general landscaping for weekly renovations wasn’t what she wanted.
Entering the barn, she paused a few feet in, her ears picking up on something odd, before it occurred to her that the oddness was the relative silence. Two of the horses weren’t in the barn. Moving deeper inside, she confirmed that the remaining horse was Ollie, and wondered if Jill and Cal were shooting on the others somewhere. That would explain the production van.
Or heck, possibly the van was simply parked for the weekend and Jill and Cal had gone out for a romantic ride around the property. They could be on the ranch at that very moment, christening the land, same as they’d done the barn.
She made a face at the thought.
Note to self. Steer clear of any sightings of horses.
She could definitely do that.
Going into the tack room, she grabbed a saddle and headed back to Ollie’s stall. She wouldn’t make a big deal of this, it was just a horse ride on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. One which would allow her space to think through options for what came next. But halfway to Ollie, her feet stalled. Because it was not just a horse ride on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. And she couldn’t fool herself into believing it was.
It was her. Getting on a horse. And willingly ushering old memories in.
Although she didn’t necessarily want to let the past return, she also knew she couldn’t avoid it if she mounted a horse.
Ollie poked his head over the door and neighed at her.
“I’ll be there in a minute, boy.” Heather offered a shaky smile. “Just as soon as I catch my breath again.”
A vision of her mother appeared suddenly. Her mother standing in their greenhouse, her dark hair knotted on the top of her head and a trowel poking out of her back pocket. She’d been explaining to Heather the process for creating the hybrid tree sitting on her workbench. The tree had been a surprise for her father’s birthday—Heather had been six at the time—and her dad had gushed upon receiving it.
The tree had also burned in the fire. It had been planted just to the left of the barn.
Heather forced out a breath and tucked the memory into a new box. One she might want to revisit someday. This one was a good memory. Maybe she’d soon pull others out like it and add them to the box as well.
After dragging in one more breath and letting it out slowly, she made her way to Ollie’s side. She readied the horse, her focus only on the moment at hand, and used a mounting stool to swing onto his back. And then she was riding again.
She turned for the doors. It would be a beautiful horse ride today. On a glorious Saturday afternoon.
Sunlight was the first thing to register as she and Ollie stepped from the darker interior, and Heather lifted her face to soak it in. Peace settled inside her, while at the same time, her heart continued to thunder. The quiet of the land now provided comfort. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew her mother was with her. In fact, she’d almost swear it had been her mother’s idea to come out to the ranch to begin with. Rose might have been the instigator, but Ellen Lindsay had been the voice in Heather’s ear.
It had been like that a lot lately. Though she’d long been a daddy’s girl, her mother was the one either one step ahead of her or just behind her lately. Always there, always beckoning—and sometimes pushing. Her mother was why Heather was doing Jill’s backyard, after all. Why she was finally allowing herself to remember more than the bad.
“I miss you, Mom,” she said to the clouds, then she squeezed her thighs and set Ollie into a trot.
They moved across the open land, every hundred feet kicking it up another notch, and as the wind caught in her hair, Heather began to laugh with a joy she hadn’t felt in years. She’d missed this. Missed enjoying the beauty of the land. Being with horses.
“I miss you, too, Acer.” Acer had been her horse. The one who’d escaped the fire. As a teen, she’d imagined he’d found a magical place after he’d disappeared, one where he could run and roam free.
But deep down, she’d always assumed it had been something quite the opposite.
There’d been no sightings of an injured horse in the area, but then, she also wasn’t sure Aunt Blu would have let that information pass on to her if there had been. Not at that time. She’d had too rough a first year. So, when she heard a soft whiny behind her now—one that sounded exactly as Acer’s had—she didn’t turn. Because for some reason, it made sense that her horse would be with her today as well. Even if only in her mind.
But when she heard what sounded like a brief stampede, she did look back. And she almost lost her grip when the noise spooked Ollie.
“Woah!” She tried to calm the horse as he shot forward, but there was no stopping him. Just as there were no other horses anywhere around.
She looked from side to side as Ollie pounded over the land, searching for the source of the noise, but she saw nothing except a soft breeze whispering across the dried brush.
“Mom?” she asked shakily. And then a lone gallop sounded in the distance. It was probably either Beau or Apollo, but a tear slipped from the corner of her eye just the same. As if it really had been her mother reaching out to her.
Ollie continued to run. His panic subsided, but as his enjoyment of the moment took over, Heather leaned into the movement and let him have the lead. She had no specific place to go, and no hurry to get there. So Ollie—and her mother—could take her wherever they deemed best.
And where they sent her was to the spring she’d heard was on the property.
She pulled back on the reins as the small pool of water came into sight, and she breathed in the smell of freshwater. The spring was con
nected to one of the many streams winding through the town. It was surrounded by tall oaks and pines and mostly shaded at that time of day, the sun having long since passed over. That’s why she didn’t notice the lone horse off to the side at first. But then she realized it was Beau.
She pointed Ollie in the other horse’s direction, while searching the area for either Jill or Cal. Or a camera crew. And as she dismounted, her concern billowed into fear. She pulled out her cell phone.
Only, the water moved before she could punch Jill’s number . . . and then Waylon burst up from beneath.
And he had no clothes on.
Heather’s eyes bugged while Waylon froze, his hands in the middle of raking his hair back.
“What are you,” she began, but couldn’t seem to get either her mouth or her eyes to function properly. She kept looking at him.
At all of him.
Or at all of him that was currently out of the water. Because thankfully, that was only from the waist up.
But still . . . waist up was staggeringly awe-inspiring.
She blinked and tried again. “Why . . .”
But her lips ended up moving silently once more, as if she were a fish out of water.
“How . . .” Her voice trickled to a whisper that time. Then finally her brain engaged, and she whirled, turning her back to Waylon.
She stared in the direction she’d come, her mouth dry and her eyes forgetting to blink, and when the sound of swishing water came from behind her, it was as if she’d been prodded with a live wire.
“Why are you naked?” she shrieked. “Why are you here?”
“I had to kill a hog.” His voice was as calm as hers was shrill. “And I decided to wash the blood off me before going home.”
Kill a hog?
And how was he going to get home? His truck wasn’t even there.
She almost looked back, confused and simply . . . flabbergasted by the whole thing, but she caught herself in time. It registered that the water had quit moving, so that meant Waylon was likely now standing on the bank. In all his glory. Then her gaze landed on his wet clothing, spread out to dry, on a rock not far from her feet. His boots and hat sat innocently beside them.
