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Amused by his earnestness, she took his hand and squeezed it between her own. “I’m not worried about any of that. I’d trust you to take precautions.”
“Then what’s stopping us? Your folks?”
Her smile faded. “Daddy would probably shoot you if he knew we were even having this conversation. Mother…” She sighed. “She thinks we’ve already done it.”
That was the crux of Heather’s hesitation. Her mother. She didn’t want to validate Darcy’s low opinion of her.
Her relationship with her father was uncomplicated. He thought the sun rose and set on her. She was his pride and joy, his precious little girl. He would gladly die for her. She was confident of his unconditional love.
Her relationship with her mother wasn’t as clearly definable. Darcy had a volatile and unpredictable personality. She wasn’t as easy to love as her unflappable father. If Fergus was as constant as sunrise and sunset, Darcy was as changeable as the weather.
Some of Heather’s earliest memories were of Darcy dressing her up and taking her downtown. She would parade her up and down the sidewalk of Texas Street, in and out of shops, making sure that everyone saw them and stopped to speak. Darcy had always liked to show her off.
But once they returned home, her mother’s indulgent affection ceased. She withdrew the love she showered on Heather in public and began preparations for their next outing.
“Practice your piano, Heather. You won’t win any blue ribbons in the competition if you don’t practice.”
“Stand up straight, Heather. People will think you have no pride if you slouch.”
“Stop biting your nails, Heather. Your hands look horrible, and besides, it’s a terrible habit.”
“Wash your face again, Heather. I can still see blackheads around your nose.”
“Your jumps need work, Heather. You won’t get reelected cheerleader next year if you start shirking.”
Although Darcy professed to push her because she wanted her to be and to have the very best, Heather suspected that her accomplishments were more for her mother’s sake than for her own. She also suspected that underlying Darcy’s maternal love was a deep resentment that bordered on outright jealousy. It puzzled Heather. Mothers weren’t supposed to be jealous of their children. What had she done or failed to do to provoke this unnatural emotion?
As Heather matured, their tiffs had become more fre
quent and virulent. Darcy imagined that Heather was sexually misbehaving. She persistently made veiled accusations and sly innuendoes.
What a laugh, Heather thought scornfully.
Her mother was the one guilty of sexual misconduct. Everybody knew her reputation, even the kids at school, although no one had ever confronted Heather with it because they didn’t dare. She was too popular.
But the whispered rumors reached her. It was a struggle to ignore them, especially at home when her mother was being particularly nasty. Countless times she could have used the latest gossip about Darcy to shut her up. But she hadn’t and she wouldn’t because of Fergus. She wouldn’t do or say anything that might indirectly hurt her father or cause him embarrassment.
So when Darcy railed at her about her relationship with Tanner, and hounded her with questions about the depth of it, she withstood the inquisition in sullen silence.
Beyond petting, she hadn’t done anything shameful. The fundamental reason for her abstention was that she didn’t want to become like her mother. Obviously she had inherited Darcy’s robust sexuality, but she didn’t have to act on it. The last thing she wanted was a reputation for screwing around—like mother, like daughter. Nor would she betray her father’s love the way her mother did.
Tanner had been sitting quietly at her side, patiently giving her time to sort through her misgivings. “I feel everything you do, Tanner. Honestly,” she said. “Maybe not as urgently,” she added with a gentle smile. “But I love you enough to want to have sex with you.”
“When?” he asked thickly.
“When we feel the time and mood are right. Okay? Please don’t pressure me about it.”
His disappointment was plain, but he smiled and leaned forward to give her a tender kiss. “I’d better take you home before it gets any later. Your mother will have a shit fit if you’re thirty seconds late.”
They arrived punctually. Nevertheless, Darcy was waiting for them at the front door with a glare for Tanner and a lecture for Heather on how a girl couldn’t be too protective of her good name.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
Bowie Cato and Janellen Tackett faced each other across the desk in the cramped office at the shop. He was surprised to notice that her eyes were on a level with his. He hadn’t realized when they met the first time that she was almost as tall as he. She had looked so dainty, frail even, sitting behind that large desk, looking as nervous as a whore in church.
Now why would an analogy like that pop into his head when he was in the presence of a lady like her? As though he’d spoken his thoughts out loud, he hastened to make amends.
