Authors: Beth D. Carter
For the next two days, Heather didn't leave her room except to go to the bathroom and to find something to eat. But she always went when no one else was in the house or when Mabel was in the old man's room.
She spent all the time in her bed with the covers pulled up to her chin as she stared into space and, for the first time, analyzed the rape. She had been a virgin and had liked the kissing part, but hadn't the experience to notice when the kissing had turned into deeper intentions. Before she knew what was happening, she lay beneath a boy, screaming in terror and humiliation. Heather could still feel his hands holding her down, the fear and the pain. The memories were sharp and clear even after twenty years.
For years she ignored everyone, until one day, when she was eighteen, she noticed an older man staring at her at the mall. He had walked up to her and held out a piece of paper, disappearing into the crowd. The note had said he found her sexy, and if she wanted to earn a little money, she should call him. She wasn't stupid; she realized what the note implied. But it made her realize that she had her own type of power. From that day on she saw herself differently, not as a victim or a shadow, but as a woman who could exact her own revenge against the male population.
So she had used that knowledge to her advantage and had discovered that sex really wasn't that bad or as painful the second time around.
But with Tristan sex was something amazing. She had touched heights she'd never really felt before. He had managed to erase the shame she had always associated with the act. He looked at her differently. He made her look at herself differently. So many people expected her to be strong, to be a fighter, but the truth was she was just surviving.
At that moment, sunlight broke through the clouds hovering in the sky and streamed through her window. The brightness hit her face, causing her to blink, and for a second she thought she saw a flash of silver in the sunshine before she closed her eyes against the brilliance.
The warmth felt good against her face. It helped chase away her cold memories. She started thinking of the past few weeks, the happiness she had started to feel. No matter what, Heather would always be grateful she'd had the chance to be here.
Tristan left her alone.
He realized Heather had gone through some intense emotions the past couple of days and probably needed some time and space to analyze it all. She wasn't the type of person who talked about her feelings, at least not easily, and he felt honored that she trusted him enough to be so open. It gave him hope.
Maybe it wasn't so crazy to think that she could fall for him.
Without seeing her, however, the days were long and tedious. He missed her at night. His arms felt empty and his bed cold. He walked into Mabel's kitchen each morning, but Heather never showed. He knew it was different than when she'd first arrived and refused to come down. That Heather and the present one were two totally different people.
That Heather had been a spoiled, selfish brat. This Heather, his Heather, was an emotionally crippled woman who needed some time to heal. However, he could only be patient for so long, and tomorrow he planned to invade her sanctuary and make sure she was okay.
He knew he freaked her out with his declaration of love, but he wasn't scared of it. And he was determined to make sure she wasn't either.
That night Lincoln Hart died in his sleep.
Mabel discovered him when she came in the morning to check on him, and she called Tristan immediately.
Heather stood in her bedroom doorway, crying, watching as the paramedics came to take her grandfather's lifeless body away. She regretted that she never got the chance to thank him, to let him know how her stay had changed everything for her.
The days that followed were mostly a blur as Mabel, in her efficient way, made all the funeral arrangements. Heather did what she could to help but found staying out of the way helped most of all.
People from all over the parish came to pay their respects, bringing food and drink, staying until late hours of the night to visit and reminisce. Heather found it comforting to talk to people who had known her grandparents. She liked hearing the stories. Now, it would be the only way to learn anything about him. It saddened her a bit that she'd wasted so much time with him when she had first arrived.
She saw Tristan throughout the days, but for the most part, he didn't look at her. She didn't blame him. He interacted with the neighbors and friends, taking their sympathy and sharing in their stories. This was what Hart Ranch was truly about. She saw that now. Community, togetherness, people caring about each other. It lifted her heart, knowing that the land would be well taken care of.
They buried her grandfather next to her grandmother, in the small parish cemetery in the nearby town of Mer Rouge. The sermon was thankfully short, and afterward Heather stood next to the beautiful dark casket draped in white roses.
"Ms. Hart?"
Heather turned around and saw a sturdy man dressed in black. He looked to be in his mid-to-late sixties, with silver hair and a heavily tanned face. “I'm Clevant Grand, Lincoln's lawyer. We talked before, when he requested you come for a visit."
"Yes,” she said. “I remember.” She had known this moment was coming and had dreaded it.
"Can we talk?"
"Would you like to come back to the ranch?"
He nodded. “I'll meet you there."
Heather stood in the den, staring out the window. Her black dress felt uncomfortable, like a glove that had been put on wrong.
Mr. Grand walked into the room and shut the door behind him. Heather turned and watched as he loosened his tie.
"Do you mind?” he asked with a gesture to the minibar in the room.
She shook her head.
"Lincoln was a friend, as well as my client,” he said with a sigh as he poured himself a tumbler of scotch. “I'm going to miss him.” He downed the drink before placing the glass aside. “It's all yours, Ms. Hart. But then again, I guess you're not surprised. You were his granddaughter, after all—"
"I'd like to give it to Tristan."
The lawyer blinked. “Excuse me?"
"Can you do a transfer of ownership? I don't know the legal name for it, but I would like the deed to the ranch and all the holdings turned over to Tristan Rogers."
It took a moment for Mr. Grand's mouth to close before he shook his head to clear it. “Ms. Hart, do you know the net value of this ranch? Or how much your grandfather was worth? You're a rich woman."
"I was a rich woman when he was alive, Mr. Grand. Now I'm an intruder in a place I don't really belong. My grandfather tried to make me feel like a part of this land, but it was an experiment that failed. Tristan should have been named successor."
"But you're his granddaughter. You're a Hart."
"It's just a name, Mr. Grand. A thousand other people have the same."
The lawyer's eyebrows drew together in confusion. Heather didn't have the heart to explain her comment.
"It'll take some time for me to draft up the papers, clear the title."
"That's fine.” She felt the tears welling, and she wanted to escape before they fell. She didn't want anyone seeing her heart shattering. “Well, then, that's just great. I, uh, have to go. I'll be leaving tomorrow, so I have to pack."
"Leaving? Where are you going?"
She fell silent for a moment and just stared at him because she would never, ever, tell him that of all the possible destinations, here is where she wanted to stay.
Instead, she smiled and said, “I have your number so I'll let you know my address so you can, you know, send the papers."
She hurried out of the den, her heels making loud staccato raps on the hardwood floor as she escaped up the stairs and into her room. She barely had the door closed before the tears burst forth, unable to be contained any longer.
She left early the next morning without telling anyone good-bye. Perhaps it was cowardly of her, but she hadn't the strength to say farewell. Her little SUV chugged its way down the road, and she refused to look in the rearview mirror.
She headed south, having picked Baton Rouge as her destination. She didn't want to go back to Los Angeles, back to a city that held so many bad memories. She wanted to start over, to be someone new. Someone who could be happy.
Lincoln Hart had been true to his word and had made sure that a thousand dollars had ended up in her bank account. She used the money frugally, setting herself up in a small apartment. She found a job as an aerobics instructor at a local gym. And when the papers came in the mail from Mr. Grand, Heather had no trouble signing everything over to Tristan. It was the only thing she could give him to acknowledge how much he meant to her. And as soon as she signed her name, the band around her heart eased. Life flowed back into her, and the pain of losing him lessened just a tiny bit.
It didn't really surprise her to see Tristan's truck at her apartment complex several days later. She'd figured it was only a matter of time until he came to confront her. She didn't say a word as she walked to her door, Tristan following on her heels.
As soon as he came inside, he halted and glanced around at the empty apartment. She could imagine what he was thinking. The only money she had spent was to buy a secondhand mattress, some sheets from the thrift center, and a wobbly bar stool so she could sit at the counter when she ate. But she didn't mind the starkness; it made her feel clean and humble.
When she turned the dead bolt on the door, he spun to face her.
"What's the meaning of this?” Tristan demanded as he held up the papers.
"I thought that was obvious. I'm giving you the ranch."
"Why? You inherited it—"
"The old man was right. You love that land, Tristan; it should have been yours."
"Heather, I don't understand. I can help you work the ranch, to run it correctly. Come back home."
"I can't. Don't you understand? Leaving it behind is the only punishment I have for my sin."
"What sin? Being raped isn't a sin, Heather!"
"I'm not talking about the rape, Tristan. I'm talking about the consequences."
"Consequences?” And then she saw it dawn on him. He blinked. “You got pregnant."
Heather nodded. “My father blamed me, my mother tried to defend me, and I thought if I had an abortion, it would make my father stay. But he didn't, so I murdered my child for nothing."
She could see the news staggered him.
"Oh my God, Heather."
"How can I possibly find happiness, Tristan, when I'm such a horrible person?"
He immediately reached out and pulled her into his arms. “If you were a horrible person, Heather, you wouldn't be suffering over twenty years from a mistake made through the eyes of a child. And that's what you were, an innocent child who needed protecting. And instead everyone abandoned you."
"The only atonement I can give is through you, Tristan."
He pulled back to look down at her. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?"
She sighed and gave him a small smile. “When I signed those papers, I felt a burden lift from my soul because for the first time, I did the right thing. I've hated myself for so long that I didn't even recognize when I stopped, but I understand it all now. I get it."
He brushed the hair off her cheek. “What do you get?"
"The bitterness was a poison. And you and the ranch were the antidote. I think the old man knew it, that's why he invited me there."
Silence descended over them. She stared at him, and he at her.
"Don't leave me, Heather."
Her breath hitched in her throat. “What?"
"I meant what I said. I love you. I'm not running from that. I refuse to let you run from it, either."
"How can you love me?” The words came out in a broken cry, and it stunned her a little to realize that question had been burning inside for a long, long time.
"Because I remember a little girl who once asked me who saves the clown, and the answer is you. I've waited years for you, and you're more beautiful, more courageous, and stronger than any person I know. How could I not love you?"
Tears overflowed, cascading down her face. Heather threw her arms around his neck, and their mouths met in fierce need. He cradled her face with his hands, deepening the kiss, turning it from tender to scorching in seconds. Their tongues met, dueled, meshed.
He bent and lifted her up in his arms, carrying her into the tiny bedroom and settling her on the mattress that was on the floor. Clothes disappeared in moments, moved aside in quick motions to bring skin together.
They teased, they touched, the fire igniting white-hot. Heather let her legs fall open, and immediately Tristan surged in. Both moaned, and Heather pushed up to meet his thrust. Their mouths met again, kissing, licking, as they moved.
He held her hips as he penetrated deep, in and out, over and over.
"You're so fucking tight,” he whispered, slipping a hand between their bodies to rub against her clit. His forehead rested on her shoulder.
"Tristan!” she cried out in pleasure. “Harder! Please!"
Obeying, he used his free hand to lever himself up, making his cock sink even farther. He pulled out and then plunged back in, ramming hard into her tight sheath. Sweat slicked off him onto her body, lubricating their skin. She licked the salty moisture from his arm, his chest, giving as good as she got. She felt an orgasm rising, singing through her body, and she didn't hold it back. It crashed over her, stars bursting behind her closed eyes.
Panting, she didn't protest when Tristan pulled out and flipped her over, pulling her up on her knees. She propped herself on her elbows, then looked over her shoulder as he positioned himself behind her.
He plunged in, drilling down deep, using her hips as leverage to ram inside her. Heather pushed against him, meeting every thrust, his testicles slapping against her ass. She stretched out her knees farther, causing her to bend lower, giving him a better angle and allowing her to reach underneath. As he pushed, she gave his sac a gentle tug.