Softhearted (Deep in the Heart Book 2)

by Kim Law

  “I really do like your place.” Waylon scanned the room as if he hadn’t been sitting in it all evening, and she risked a glance to find him looking at anything but her.

  “Thanks. Jill, Trenton, and I renovated it.” She could hear the breathlessness in her voice. “It was the first house we did.”

  “Is that so?”

  He looked around for a moment longer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and his movements seeming as uncomfortable as she felt, before he finally brought his gaze back to hers. And when he did, Heather saw for the first time what she hadn’t realized she’d been looking for all evening. He wanted to kiss her.

  “I knew you were good at your job,” he continued. He threaded two fingers between hers. “Maybe I’ll still ask you to help out at my place.”

  “And maybe I’ll think about helping out.” She wasn’t ready for him to go yet. She glanced at his mouth. But she also didn’t think it wise to let him stay.

  So she opened the door.

  “You sure you’re not scared of ghosts now?” As they’d watched that week’s episode, Waylon had not bought into the idea of the past owner still “living” in the house Cal’s team had renovated. Heather had no doubts of the woman’s existence, though. She hadn’t seen Mrs. Wainwright for herself, but Jill had sworn the woman had been over there.

  Just as she’d sworn Mrs. Wainwright had gotten her own happily ever after.

  “Maybe I am scared.” Waylon’s eyes glowed with anticipation. “Walk me to my truck?”

  She nodded. “I think I might need to.”

  They moved silently through the night, the moon having risen to cast a soft glow over the land, and she thought of the flowers she’d been planting when Waylon had shown up. She’d taken the afternoon off to come home and set them out, knowing Waylon would be looking for her before the day’s end. And though her grumpiness when he’d arrived hadn’t been faked, it also hadn’t been due entirely to her monthly cycle. At least, not in the way he’d believed. There had certainly been cramps. There always were. But her mood had also been affected by the fact that she’d gotten her period to begin with—even though she’d known she would.

  Because the idea of having Waylon’s baby . . .

  She shoved the thought away. It had been ridiculous to go there.

  “I’m kind of impressed,” she broke the silence as they approached his truck. “We had a whole night of conversation, and we didn’t once have to resort to a game of two-questions.”

  Waylon put his back to the truck door. “Don’t knock two-questions.” He pulled her in front of him and propped his forearms on her shoulders. “It’s a great icebreaker.”

  “Yeah? Is that your normal pickup line?”

  “My tried and true.”

  He winked then, and she smiled at his wink.

  She put her hands to the side of his waist, hooking her fingers through his belt loops, but then she caught a glimpse of something . . . odd . . . sitting on the front seat of his truck. She leaned to the side, trying to make it out—while Waylon’s arms lowered and clasped around the small of her back.

  Then her mouth dropped open when she recognized what it was.

  “Is that another present?” This one clearly wasn’t a box of chocolates. It was a small gift bag with tissue paper sticking out the top. “Why do you—”

  She stopped speaking at the grimace that tightened Waylon’s mouth.

  “Who’s it for?” She pulled back, but his hands stayed firm around her.

  “Nobody.” He spoke through a stiff jaw.

  Doubt crept in. “What is it, then? You got another woman you need to check on?”

  “No other woman, and you know that. I told you how long it’s been for me.”

  He had told her. And she’d believed him.

  She still believed him.

  Yet something was clearly going on with him. She tried to look around him again, but his arm tensed, stopping her movement, and this time when she lifted her face to his, she detected an entirely different emotion.

  Was that embarrassment?

  She eyed his shoulder, imagining she could see through it to the front seat of his truck. What was she missing here?

  “What’s in the bag, Waylon?”

  “Can’t you just forget you saw that?”

  “I don’t think I can.” She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as she thought through the moment, and she fought the urge not to let this bother her. But the more he tried not to show her what was in the bag, the more she wanted to know what it was. “Can I ask another question then?”

  One thing had been plaguing her for the last few days, and it reared its head again in that moment.

  “Sure.” He remained looking uncomfortable.

  She didn’t take her eyes off his. “I know it’s been a while for you, but before that . . . before me, just how many women were there?” She had to force herself to sound normal. “And I mean serious relationships. You mentioned that you’d once slept with a lot of women. So how many of ‘a lot’ were something real?”

  She knew she sounded jealous, and she had no right to be. They weren’t dating. This wasn’t a thing. Saturday afternoon had just been a moment. And one that probably shouldn’t be repeated.

  But she couldn’t help but want to kn—

  “I’ve had none,” Waylon said, and her jaw went slack.

  None? How was that even possible?

  “But I’d have liked for there to be.”

  At his soft admission, she heard the vulnerability. He really did want something serious? Nerves began to tingle inside her. “You’d have to date to make that happen, though, wouldn’t you?”

  “Something like that.”

  And he hadn’t dated anyone in years.

  She began to wonder if that lack of dating was due purely to his being a single father, or was there more to it? The tension remained in him, both in the arms that held her and in the angle of his jaw, but suddenly he peered down at her.

  “Want to date me, Heather?”

  Her breath caught at the question. She sidestepped by nodding toward his front seat. “What’s in the bag?”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s not anything you want to see.”

  Determination stared back at her when she made no response, and finally he sighed. And he closed his eyes.

  “Please don’t . . .” He quit talking and shook his head, then he settled her back a couple of feet and opened his truck door.

  After retrieving the small gift, he handed it over, a blank expression now covering his face, and she immediately ripped the tissue paper from the bag. It was too dark to make out what lay inside, so she reached in and pulled out something soft.

  Then she stared down at the tiny bib with the words “Mommy loves me” written on the front. And her mind went blank.

  “Go out with me, Heather.”

  Goose bumps lit down her body. “I . . .”

  “Just say yes.” His tone wasn’t soft, but she heard the need in his words. Then he touched a finger beneath her chin and brought her gaze to his. “You know you want to, and you know I’m going to keep asking.”

  “But why?” She gripped the bib in both hands.

  “Why do I want to date you?” He looked as uncertain as she. “Other than that it just feels right? That it feels like what we should be doing?”

  “But dating always ends so badly for me.”

  He closed his hands around hers. “I promise I’m not bad for you.”

  She’d told him about her exes while they’d watched Sleepless in Seattle. The college boyfriend who’d broken their engagement after he and her roommate had gotten married—and had used her wedding savings to fund his and his new bride’s honeymoon. The fiancé who came after that, who’d disappeared the day of their engagement party—along with the money he’d embezzled from his company the previous six months.

  That one had
not only made the news, but had resulted in her being interrogated, as if she’d had something to do with it.

  And then there had been Danny Shaver, right here from Red Oak Falls. Danny hadn’t attempted to take anyone’s money or marry her friends. Nor had he been a flat-out criminal. He’d merely had an issue with sex. They’d dated for nine months, and all the while he’d been sleeping with at least ten other women, both local and living in the cities where his job took him. Yet he’d sworn to her from early on that she was his one true love.

  She hadn’t gotten engaged to Danny, at least. She had that going for her.

  But that had been her only advantage. Everyone had given her the poor-Heather look, accompanied by reminders that they’d warned her about him all along. It had been the same look she’d gotten the previous two times. Along with the when-will-she-learn whispers.

  She clearly wouldn’t learn, and that was the problem. No matter how careful she might think she was being, she always chose a guy who had a moral or two that had taken a sabbatical.

  And then she fell for him, hook, line, and sinker.

  “I want to get to know you, Heather,” Waylon said now, apparently giving up on waiting for a reply. “That’s what it boils down to.” He dipped his head to look at her. “I like you. I think you like me. I enjoy being with you . . .”

  He paused, eyeing her, and she added petulantly, “I enjoy being with you.”

  He flashed his dimples. “And I want to be with you more. That’s all I’m asking. Let’s see if this is anything. Can’t that be enough for now?”

  She so wanted to believe in Waylon.

  “Maybe,” she finally answered. Then Chris, Dustin, and Danny flashed through her mind again. “But I don’t want to go public.”

  Incredulity creased Waylon’s brow. “What are you suggesting? That I just be a booty call?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just”—she stared at him, wishing she could make him understand—“yes. Okay? Let’s go out. Let’s date. I want to date you. But all I’m asking is that we keep it to ourselves for just a little while. You’ve got to understand. When dating fails for me, it fails spectacularly. And I so hate the looks I get when that happens.” She ground out the last part. She hated to feel so stupid.

  Just because she wanted love.

  “Okay,” Waylon said without her having to explain further. He squeezed her fingers. “Not public. For now.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gave a small smile that matched her own. “But we’re starting tomorrow. Be ready at six o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Six? I’ll barely have time to shower after I get in from work.”

  And she had no idea what she would wear. Did she even have date clothes?

  “Then shower quickly,” Waylon told her. He leaned in then, and before she recognized his intent, his mouth was on hers.

  He kissed her there in front of her home, his hands still holding hers and his mouth torching her with its touch. And Heather tried her best not to let herself start to fall. But she knew it was a lost cause. The man had not only brought her an I-got-my-period box of chocolates . . . but he’d brought her an I’m-pregnant gift as well. So yeah, it was too late to put the brakes on now. She’d already dived headfirst off the cliff.

  He ended the kiss, pulling back and flashing a silent promise in his dark eyes, then he drove away in his truck.

  Heather stood alone in her front yard, and she looked down at the bib still clutched in her grip. But instead of continuing to think about Waylon, she let her mind go to her parents. Her mother had been absolutely crazy for her dad. One hundred percent over the moon in love with the man since the moment they’d first met.

  And her dad had loved her mother just as ferociously.

  At the same time . . . her dad had not been perfect.

  Did that mean their love hadn’t been perfect as well?

  She lifted the bib and studied the tiny stitching that made up the lettering. And she thought of the box of chocolates. Maybe perfection wasn’t what she was supposed to be looking for after all. Maybe all she needed was perfect for her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The girth of your hips isn’t as important as the smile on your face.”

  —Blu Johnson, life lesson #33

  They’d gone out four times now. Before that afternoon’s horseback ride. Every night except the two when Waylon had had Rose, and then on Tuesday night, when they’d attended the viewing party separately. Waylon had even stopped by her house on his way home from returning Rose Sunday night. Just to give her a kiss.

  A very long kiss.

  Heather sighed to herself. The man was doing it right.

  The first date had been dinner at his house. Charlie had disappeared for the evening, and food had been waiting when they’d arrived. Waylon had brought in an eggplant parmesan from a local Italian restaurant, a salad, and a bottle of red wine—and though she’d still been borderline grumpy from cramps, the mixture of wine, good food, and better company had easily turned things around.

  The next night they’d driven to San Marcos to take in a movie. Though Jill’s wedding was fast barreling toward her, Heather had once again tossed her worries over eating too many extra calories. A movie date required buttered popcorn, as far as she could tell. And with Waylon either feeding it to her or trying to sneak licks of the butter from her fingers, she hadn’t been about to pass it up.

  Dates three and four had been at her house and his, respectively. Three had been him bringing her a new shrub to replace the one she’d landed in the first night he’d shown up. He’d also picked up hyacinth bulbs, along with a truck bed full of mulch, and together they’d worked in her yard until well after dark. Four had been at his house the night before, where both she and Charlie had helped rip up the existing flooring that was too damaged to keep.

  The night didn’t sound romantic, but it had been Heather’s idea, and they’d all had a terrific time. Plus, it had given her an opportunity to get to know Charlie better. As far as she was aware, there’d been no additional communication between him and Aunt Blu, but she’d been thinking about it all the same. Blu got lonely. Heather understood that. And everyone deserved to find love if they wanted it. The problem in Heather’s mind was that she didn’t know if Charlie Peterson wanted it.

  He did strike her as a good guy, and he was actually a lot like Waylon. They both had fun personalities, and their senses of humor could be hilarious.

  Also, they both seemed lonely.

  Another perk of the three of them spending the evening together was that it had allowed her to pick up on a subtle “dance” between father and son. As if neither wanted to be the one to show his hand first. Only, she had yet to figure out what hands they each were holding.

  She dug her heels into Ollie’s sides as she rode, pushing the horse to go faster, and as she leaned in closer, she momentarily closed her eyes. Hooves pounded underneath her, and she imagined her mother’s comforting touch reaching down from above.

  After several minutes at a fast pace, she eased up and sat straighter in the seat, and as she and horse both began to catch their breaths, Waylon and Beau trotted up next to them.

  “I get the feeling you’d be just as happy today if I weren’t here,” Waylon teased, and Heather grinned over at him. She enjoyed his company, that was for sure, but he wasn’t far off at the moment. She’d gone without riding for too long.

  “You brought the food,” she pointed out. “I would have been hungrier if you weren’t here.”

  His laugh rumbled through her belly. “And you downed that sandwich as if the size of your hips had never been in question.”

  She made a face at him. “The size of my hips is always in question.”

  “The only questionable thing I see is when I’ll get the opportunity to see them again.” He winked with the audacious words, and Heather pulled Ollie to a stop.

  �
�Your winking outs you every time, you know?”

  He bellowed another laugh. “Are you saying you don’t believe that I want to see your hips?”

  They were back within sight of the barn, but Heather had no desire to hurry an end to their time together. She’d cut work a little short that day due to the producers wanting to bring some bigwigs out to see the work being done, and as soon as Waylon had been able to get away, they’d set out exploring the ranch. “I’m saying,” she told him, “that I flat out offered to show you my hips back at the spring earlier. And if I’m remembering correctly, you changed the subject.”

  She danced Ollie around him and Beau, circling man and beast, and enjoyed watching him as he turned his head along with her movements and watched her.

  “I did change the subject,” he admitted.

  “Care to explain why?” She kept circling.

  Though it had been clear during their first few dates that extracurricular activities would have been somewhat messy, Heather had informed him the night before that that was no longer the case. There had been plenty of kissing each time they’d gotten together—including today—and a hefty amount of petting and just making out in general. Yet she’d come right out and offered sex not an hour before, even letting him know she had condoms on her person. And he’d passed.

  He grabbed Ollie’s bridle to halt her movements, and eased Beau up beside her. He sat facing one direction and she the other, and he leaned in to nibble at her neck.

  “I absolutely want to see your hips again.” His husky voice fired tingles over her body. “And your breasts,” he continued. His lips nipped at her ear. “And I really, really want to slide deep inside you again.”

  She shivered at the words.

  “But”—he continued, his hot breath still at her ear, his whiskers tickling her just below—“I’m not going to do that tonight, either.”

  She scowled. “Why not?”

  She’d never had so much trouble getting a man to take her clothes off.

  “Because we rushed it before,” he said matter-of-factly. He began circling her as she and Ollie had done to him. “And I don’t want you thinking this is just about sex.”