by Becky McGraw
“Heather, you drown in there?” he asked with a laugh. A soft sob came from the shower stall, and he walked to the shower door. “Dinner’s ready,” he said, grabbing the handle of the door, but not opening it. When she still didn’t respond, he slid it open, because he was damned worried. His heart dropped to his toes when he found her head bent over her knees, hugging them while she shivered in the corner, dark wet strands of her long hair covering her arms.
“Aww, baby…” Not caring that he would get wet too, Zack stepped into the shower stall to bend down and grab her arm. She stood when he tugged, shoved her hair back with her arm, but wouldn’t look at him. Her face was turned toward the wall, but he could clearly see her beautiful face was ravaged by the cryfest she’d evidently been having in there.
Water streamed into his eyes, his shirt stuck to his skin, and his bandage sagged as he shut off the spray then stepped back to pull her out of the shower with him. She covered herself and shivered while he walked to the cabinet for a towel. Walking back to her, he shook it out and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Lift your arms, angel,” he said.
Heather shook her head, took the ends of the towel and finished wrapping it around herself, then pushed past him. Zack followed her to her bedroom, but she closed the door in his face, so he just stood there. He’d give her fifteen minutes to get dressed and come out. Then he was going in there to get her, he thought, as he finally walked back to the sofa. He wasn’t letting her hide anymore. She was going to tell him what the hell happened to her.
He sat back on the couch and watched the time tick by on the clock at the corner of the television screen. At fourteen minutes, her bedroom door opened again and her face placid, her hair still wet, she walked into the living room wearing a soft oversized t-shirt that almost touched her knees. More clothes than he’d ever seen her wear.
Without a word, she sat beside him on the sofa and picked up her fork and knife. Zack grabbed her wrist, and she tensed. “Have the beer first, because we’re going to talk while we eat,” he said gruffly. Picking up the remote, he pointed it toward the TV and turned it off.
“I don’t want to talk,” she said, her voice raw.
“Well, that’s too damned bad, I do. You’re going to tell me what’s wrong with you.” He picked up his own beer and guzzled down a good portion of it. He sat the can back down to stare at the burnt steak on his plate.
Heather evidently realized his dilemma, because instead of cutting her own steak, she leaned over his plate and cut his steak up into bite-sized chunks. “It’s tough as a boot. Don’t choke,” she said, as she cut up her own.
Zack watched as she swirled the peas on her plate into her mashed potatoes and bit back a laugh. “They’re better that way, don’t you think? It’s the only way I could eat them as a kid,” he informed, as he swirled his peas into his potatoes too.
“Yeah, alone they’re pretty nasty,” Heather agreed, casting him a glance, the corner of her mouth trying to tick up into a smile.
So was your stepfather evidently. I’d like to swirl that bastard into a vat of hot potatoes, or acid. Zack grabbed his can of beer and finished it. Peas and potatoes were the last thing he wanted to talk about with the woman sitting beside him. There was no easy way to start the conversation he wanted to have with her, so he jumped in with both feet. “So, your stepfather tried to rape you. When was that?” he asked, picking up his fork.
Heather choked, beat on her chest with her fist, glared at him, then picked up her beer to down half of it. She sat the can back on the table. “None of your damned business,” she growled, then scooped up another bite to shove in her mouth.
“It is my damned business,” he said calmly. “You’re my sister’s best friend, and someone I’d like to get to know better. I want to have sex with you, Heather, and until you deal with this, it can’t happen. You’re letting that bastard win by closing yourself off.”
She choked again, beat her chest then swallowed to drag in a deep breath. Turning her knees toward him, she growled, “Not happening, cowboy.”
“Why not?” Zack asked, dragging his eyes back to his plate, pretending to fork up more potatoes.
“Because I am never having sex with anyone. I don’t need a man to satisfy my needs,” she announced, then turned back toward her plate. “Battery-operated boyfriends are a lot safer. I don’t have to worry about diseases, and I don’t have to tell them they were good when I’m done.”
It was Zack’s turn to choke on the bite he’d just shoved into his mouth. She laughed as he fought to chew and swallow it. “What the fuck?” he shouted, throwing his fork down on his plate to spin toward her.
Heather’s lips wobbled, before laughter bubbled up into her throat. The shocked look on Zack Taylor’s face was about the funniest thing she’d ever seen. His flapping jaw dragged that laughter past her lips. The flush on his cheeks, was the last straw. She threw her head back against the sofa, and laughed until her stomach hurt. Mr. Rose-colored-cowboy had probably never even heard of a battery-operated boyfriend, much less seen one in action.
“So does that mean you’re a virgin?” he asked, his voice disbelieving.
Heather stopped laughing, sucked in a sharp breath and sat back up. “Why would the fact I chose an appliance to satisfy me mean I’m a virgin?” Fear coursed through her, because this man had gotten as close to the truth about things as anyone. She’d allowed him to get that close, and needed to back him off. She shoved her plate away, and stood. “Maybe men are too needy, and I don’t have time for that. You’re a prime example.”
“You’ve never had sex before, so how would you know?” he asked calmly.
Heather’s fists curled at her sides. “You’re assuming things again, cowboy. But my sexual status is no concern of yours,” she said, turning to stride to her bedroom and slam the door, then lean against it to get herself under control.
She thought she was hearing things when his soft voice filtered through the door. “You can’t run forever, sweet thing. You’re going to have to deal with things, and I’m here when you want to talk.”
No, she couldn’t run forever. That’s why she went to the library the other day. It wasn’t to get health information to help Zack. It was to see if her stepfather was still alive. To see if the knife she put in his side that night twelve years ago had killed him. To know once and for all if she was a wanted woman. It had taken her twelve years to work up the courage to do that and the only damned thing she’d found out was the phone was in her mother’s name now, and they lived at a different address in Tulsa. She thought maybe they’d divorced so she tried his name, but there were at least five hundred Jack Thomas’s in the phone book, almost as many obituaries for the same name. One thing she did see was his name was not listed on the roster for the Tulsa Police Department anymore.
He was either dead, or no longer a cop.
Dredging up those old ghosts had to be why she was having these meltdowns. Over the years since she left Tulsa, Heather had toughened herself up to the point where nothing bothered her, but suddenly after she made that trip to the library, she was an emotional mess.
The best thing she could do was forget again. Shore up those walls that had protected her so long, and not let a nosy cowboy get further under her skin. Staying off the grid wasn’t all that bad. She didn’t need to be Haley Morgan again…she wasn’t that girl anymore anyway.
Heather Morrison was stronger, tougher and could take care of her damned self. She didn’t need a man in her life, and just as soon as she could get the one on the other side of the door out, things would get back to normal. With a huffed breath, she pushed off of the door and turned off the light, before collapsing on the bed. Sleep came when she curled into a ball, and forced it to take her. Away from thoughts of her stepfather, and the handsome cowboy who had somehow taken up residence in her head.
Her legs were trapped. Haley couldn’t move, and fought for all she was worth to free her legs, but couldn’t. Her arms were pinned
down too, and something heavy on top of her made it hard to breathe. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was covered with a wide palm that smelled like gunpowder, and whiskey.
It had to be her stepdad. Jack said he was going to the shooting range earlier, and she was glad he was gone. Her mother went shopping, and was meeting a friend, probably another man, for drinks after. That gave Haley a minute to take a nap without worrying. To catch up on some of the sleep she couldn’t get at night.
But he was back. And from the smell of liquor on his breath, he was wasted. It was so strong, she felt like if she breathed in much more of it, she’d be drunk too.
Think Haley, think. Do something. Don’t let this bastard do this to you!
But he was so damned big. Six and a half feet tall and nearly three hundred pounds.
Jack reached between their bodies to unzip his pants, and she felt the sweaty warmth of dick against her thigh. Why had she taken her damned pants off when she went to bed? She never did that! Haley arched her back, fought him hard. She bit his hand, he pressed it down harder against her mouth, and she tasted blood in her mouth. Putting his mouth beside her ear, he growled, “Be still, bitch—I’ll be done quick. My gun is on the nightstand and I left one bullet with your name on it in the chamber. Don’t scream—it isn’t like this is something you haven’t done for every boy at school, is it?” He slid his hand off of her face. “It’s my turn.”
Haley’s body shook violently, but she didn’t scream. Because she didn’t want to die. She might anyway she was so scared, or maybe he’d use that bullet to kill her anyway so she didn’t tell.
Jack lifted his hips a little, just enough for her to get her left arm free. Crawling her fingers toward the edge of the bed, she let him rip her shirt open and put his nasty mouth on her breast. A few more inches, she thought, then bit down on her lip to stifle a scream when he bit her nipple and sucked hard. Her fingers reached over the side of the mattress, and she could just feel the wooden handle.
Oh, God—please let him lift up again, she prayed, waiting while he pinched her other nipple, before licking his way up her body to her mouth. She gagged when his breath filled her mouth, and his saliva wet her lips. He covered her mouth with his, shifted his weight to knee her legs apart. Before he settled his weight back on her, Haley scooted to the left. He moved his weight back on top of her, pinning her again. She felt the pressure of him at the crotch of her panties, and her heart took a sick lurch along with her stomach. Running her fingers along the mattress again, she found the wooden handle, but this time, her palm closed around it. And just in time too. Jack reached between them again to shove her panties aside and position himself there. His hips shot forward just as her arm arced upward to bury the knife into his side.
“Nooooo!” she screamed, scrambling to sit up, her heart beating out of control. A door banged against the wall, a shadowed man appeared at the side of her bed and she screamed again. The bed dipped, then she was held again, tight, too tight. She fought for all she was worth. He grunted when her fist clipped his chin, and that spurred her on.
He trapped her arms, held her tighter, and whispered in her ear, “Shh…it’s okay, angel. I’m not going to let anybody hurt you.” His deep voice soothed her for some reason, and so did the rocking. “Nobody is ever going to hurt you again.”
He held her tightly and rocked her, holding her head to his chest. His heart beat in long slow thuds under her ear comforting her. Heather relaxed on a long shuddering sigh, and then the tears started. He scooted them to the headboard of the bed then began humming to her, before he started singing. Cowboys and Angels. After a minute, Heather’s voice was weak, but she hummed along, and finally the clouds in her brain cleared.
Zack Taylor was holding her, singing to her, what happened just now hadn’t been real. She’d had a nightmare. Something that hadn’t happened in a very long time. Heather put her hand on his chest, and pushed, but he held her to him.
“Let me help you, angel…tell me what happened.”
“You can’t help me,” she mumbled against his skin, giving up on getting away, because she didn’t really want to anyway. Zack smelled like cotton candy, and that comforted her more. The last memory she had of her real father was when he took her to the county fair when she was five, and bought her some. This was the first time she’d felt safe since then.
“That might be true, but I can listen. I think if you get it all out that will help you.”
“You get your shrink degree at rodeo clown school?” she asked, and he laughed, but something broke loose inside of her. Maybe he was right. Strangely, Zack did seem to be a good listener, and the way things had been going lately, she was willing to try anything. “My stepfather tried to rape me when I was fifteen.”
The air was thick between them for two long minutes, before Zack asked, “Did he succeed?”
“No…I told you he tried.” Heather swallowed hard. Admitting this was giving this man leverage against her, but now that she started, she couldn’t stop. “I put the butcher knife I kept by my bed into his side.” Dead silence. He said nothing, so she continued, “I think I might have killed him. He was a cop, had his gun on the nightstand, so I didn’t check. I just got the hell out of there.”
“He deserved to die,” Zack said angrily. “I’d have used the knife in more creative places though. Sliced his damned balls off and let him bleed to death.”
Heather would have too if she had the chance. That Zack wasn’t judging her, wasn’t saying you could have brought this on yourself was surprising to her. “I was just thankful to get away from him. I ran like hell and didn’t look back.”
“Had he tried it on you before? Is that why you had the knife?” Zack asked, his voice calm, but not disguising his anger.
Heather sighed, and swallowed down the bile that surged up to her throat. “He’d been trying for six months. Making comments, accidentally brushing up against me, or walking in on me in the bathroom, if I forgot to lock the door.”
“Did you tell your mother?” Zack asked.
“Oh yeah, I told her,” Heather replied with a harsh laugh. “She told me I was sick and imagining things because my mind was always in the gutter. Told me maybe I shouldn’t dress like I did and I wouldn’t have those problems.” Heather hesitated, thought about it. “Funny thing is, I never bought clothes. I wore her castoffs. She was a shopaholic, a hoarder and an alcoholic. You could barely walk into her room there were so many clothes on the floor.”
Zack squeezed her, kissed her hair, and butterflies fluttered in Heather’s chest. “I’m so sorry you went through that, angel.” And his voice said that was true. No disgust or judgment. Just sympathy—empathy. Maybe she’d misjudged Zack Taylor too. He was right, he was a good listener, didn’t seem to be throwing blame her way at all. And he was being so damned sweet.
I want to have sex with you, Heather, and until you deal with this, it can’t happen. You’re letting that bastard win by closing yourself off.
Was that why he was being so sweet to her? “What’s your angle, cowboy? Are you doing this to have sex with me? Heather asked bluntly.
His body tensed. “Doing what?” he asked sounding surprised.
“Being nice to me, listening to me,” she replied.
“No, ma’am. I’m just trying to help you…sex isn’t even on the table yet. You have a lot of baggage to unpack, baby. That’s what I want to help you do,” he replied, and those butterflies became stronger inside her.
“You’re a real cowboy aren’t you?” Heather asked, placing her hand over his heart.
Regardless of his penchant for judging, being an ass sometimes, a true heart beat there. A gentleman’s heart with compassion she never expected him to possess. The legendary cowboy’s heart. During her years with the rodeo, none of the cowboys she’d met possessed those qualities spoken only in fairytales. Loyalty, compassion and fierce protectiveness. An unwavering sense of right and wrong. But this man, the last man on earth she expected
to have those virtues, had them in spades.
He snorted. “A bullrider is about as real as we come, sweet thing.”
Heather smiled against his skin. She was getting used to his nicknames, although she’d always hated it when men used them with her. Angel..sweet thing. Coming from Zack Taylor, she kind of liked them. They sounded like terms of endearment, not a put down. That was weird too considering the insulting things he continually said to her. But Zack swore he didn’t think she was a whore and Heather didn’t know why, but she believed him.
Letting go of some of the things she’d kept to herself for so long did make her feel a little better, lighter inside. Maybe it was time to let go of more baggage, find out what it was like to be with a real man. If there was any man she would ever be able to trust enough to have sex with, it would be this one. At twenty-seven years old, it was way past time, and she thought she was ready now.
“Well, Mr. Bullrider, I think you were right. I’m ready to move past this. I’m not letting Jack Thomas win,” she said, placing a soft kiss on his chest, which dragged a moan from Zack.
Chapter Eight
Zack’s heart mule-kicked in his chest when Heather’s fingers walked up his chest to rub his shoulder. She turned to raise up to kiss his throat, and drew his heart there. “What’re you doing?” he asked, his voice tight, his heart pounding in his throat.
“Trying to have sex with you, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” she replied in between tiny kisses up his throat to his ear.
His fingers dug into her arms. “You don’t have to do this, sweet thing.” This woman had been through a lot. Too much. She needed to process what she’d just unveiled, and frankly, so did he. There was no way he was going to have sex with her right now. She was too raw and vulnerable. “Just let me hold you, angel. There’s time for that later, if you still want it. Let’s get some sleep.”