Softhearted (Deep in the Heart Book 2) Read online

  He took another step in Heather’s direction, and again, she matched his move.

  They stood six feet apart, each facing the other, and he had the thought that if he could get her pointed toward the stairs to his apartment, he’d back her right up them.

  “Do I make you nervous, Heather?”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  He took one more step toward her . . . and she took one more step back.

  “Then why do you move every time I do?”

  “Why are you moving at all?” she rebutted.

  He grinned. “Would you believe me if I said I can’t help myself?”

  Unlike before, she didn’t voice her answer. She simply shook her head. But she also seemed to be waiting for his next move. Not leaving. Not telling him to back off. She just waited. As if feeling the same pull of attraction that he was—and equally unable to resist.

  He stayed in the same spot, though. Not making any moves. Because he didn’t want to send her running, but also because he had no idea what to do to get her to stay.

  After a moment, she ended the game for both of them. She glanced beyond him, to the tack room in the back. “Do you want me to turn off the light before I go?”

  “What if I don’t want you to go?”

  Her gaze quickly jerked back to his, and he had the urge to shrug. To blow the moment off and pretend the words hadn’t come from his mouth. But he did want her to stay. And it wasn’t only that he didn’t want to be alone again just yet.

  “Join me for dinner?” He lifted the plates in his hands, and did his best to keep his tone light. “I understand the brisket is to die for.”

  A faint smile touched her lips. “The brisket is definitely to die for. But I’ve already eaten.”

  “Have you had dessert?”

  His desperation for her attention astounded him, but when her gaze dropped to the plates, he could sense her yearning for whatever lay hidden beneath the foil.

  “Stay,” he urged. “By the weight of these plates, I have more than enough for two.” He nodded toward the stairs that led to the apartment. “I could even offer you coffee or a glass of tea.”

  Heather didn’t immediately reply. She let her gaze travel in the direction he’d indicated instead, moving up the narrow staircase before taking in the enclosed space with the single window overlooking the interior of the barn. His temporary quarters sat to the left at the top of the stairs, while the barn’s open loft was accessed on the right. A small security light burned from a post opposite the apartment’s only door, and Waylon watched as she took it all in. And though he was perfectly willing to share nothing more than dessert, he also knew that one hint from her and he’d offer more.

  He’d beg for it if he thought it would get him anywhere.

  “I . . . ummm . . .” She swallowed instead of finishing her sentence. Then she blew out a breath and returned her gaze to his. A tight smile appeared on her face. “No cake.” She eyed the plates in his hands. “Unfortunately.”

  He glanced down in confusion. “Is it bad cake?”

  “God, no.” Her laugh arrowed straight to his groin. “Aunt Blu’s orange chiffon cake is the stuff heaven is made of.” She tossed another glance at his apartment, as if to casually check it out, but Waylon watched as her gaze lingered there. Then her front teeth bit down on her bottom lip. “But . . . ummm”—she swallowed again, and when she finally dragged her gaze back to his, her eyes had glazed over—“my hips.”

  He looked at her hips. “What about them?”

  She jolted as he stared, and a look of horror registered on her face. “Ah geez.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I so didn’t mean to say that.”

  Waylon grinned. “You mean, you didn’t intend for me to check out your hips?”

  “No.” She glared at him through her fingers. “I did not intend for you to check out my hips.”

  He checked them out again.

  “Stop it.” She flapped both hands at him.

  “But I don’t see anything wrong with them.”

  “There’s nothing—” She bit off her words and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m talking about the cake going straight to my hips. Unneeded calories, Mr. Peterson. Surely you’ve been around women enough to understand how that works? Especially on a short”—she looked down at herself and mumbled—“curvy woman.”

  Waylon’s grin grew wider. “I certainly enjoy looking at hips.” He eyed the body part in question once again, this time tilting his head as if to get a better view. “And especially on short, curvy women.”

  “Stop it,” Heather spoke, barely moving her lips. She began backing toward the front of the barn, not stopping until she reached the doors. “And do not look at my hips again.”

  “No need to,” he deadpanned. “They’re already burned into my retinas.”

  She glared at him one last time before turning to locate the already-open doors, but just before she slipped through them, Waylon called out. “I’ll save a piece of cake in case you change your mind.”

  She looked back.

  “I’ll also offer to help burn off those unneeded calories.”

  His voice deepened more than he’d intended, his suggestion abundantly clear, but she gave no reply. Instead, they stood facing each other once again, the shadows in the barn lengthening around them while Waylon silently begged her to change her mind. She intrigued him, she turned him the hell on, and she made him want to forget his troubles. At least for the night.

  She apparently didn’t feel the same, though, because in the next instant, Waylon found himself looking at nothing but the dark night. While one of the horses snorted behind him.

  He turned to find both animals, heads hanging low over the yoked openings of their stalls, looking as poleaxed as he felt. “I know, boys.” Waylon started for the stairs. He didn’t bother with either the light or the open barn doors. “It was the highlight of my night, too.”

  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 pi
ctured 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.