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“What’s so bad about that?”
He had to explain? “If things don’t work out, loyalty would force Gail to side with me, since I’m her brother, which could cost her one of her closest friends. That’s not fair.”
His father arranged the fish on the broiler and slid it into the oven. “You’re overthinking it.”
“How ironic.”
Apparently satisfied that he’d started dinner, Martin came to the living room doorway. “What’s ironic?”
Joe shot him a crooked grin. “Most dads tell their sons not to think with their dicks. Sounds like you’re saying just the opposite.”
“Most dads are talking to young boys. You’re thirty-six.”
“I left home once—and learned my lesson. Now you’re never getting rid of me.”
His father must’ve known he was only joking because he didn’t comment. He leaned against the wall, watching the game while they talked. “It’s time to get back in the saddle.”
“I’m not sure I’m willing to listen to your advice in this area, Dad.” He took a pull of his beer. “It’s a bit too much ‘do what I say and not what I do,’ don’t you think?”
When his father made no comment, Joe saluted him with the can. “You have nothing to say to that?”
“I guess you got me,” he replied, and went back into the kitchen.
With a chuckle, Joe shook his head. His father didn’t lose an argument very often. And he never acknowledged it when he did. “Listen, you can relax, okay? I’m fine. Quit worrying.”
“There has to be someone you find attractive,” his dad called back.
Cheyenne Christensen came to mind. But only because he hadn’t been able to forget her since he’d bumped into her at the grocery store earlier, he told himself. He’d known she was going through hell. It had to be hard watching a parent succumb to cancer. But she’d seemed more on edge than usual....
“You think Anita Christensen’s going to die soon?” he asked.
“Where’d that come from?” His father was digging around in the freezer. They were probably going to have frozen peas with the fish—a healthy enough choice but not a particularly exciting one. Predictable, boring, safe. That seemed to be the story of his life these days.
“I saw Cheyenne at Nature’s Way,” he explained. “When I picked up the milk and eggs.”
“What’d she have to say?”
Joe cursed when the Lakers went on a 6-0 run. “Not much. Just that she was fine.”
“So Anita’s hanging on.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Joe!” The surprise and reproof in his father’s voice demanded an explanation, if not a retraction.
“It doesn’t sound good to say it,” Joe admitted. “But Cheyenne and her sister would be better off.”
The stove ticked until a burner lit with the soft, distinctive poof of gas. Sure enough, Martin was putting some peas on to boil.
“Since when have you become so interested in the Christensen girls?” his father asked.
“I’m not,” Joe replied, but that wasn’t entirely true. Presley had never appealed to him. Physically, she was okay, even with all those tattoos. But she had a mouth more suited to a sailor and eyes that gazed out on the world with bitterness and suspicion. If there’d been a few warning signs he’d overlooked with Suzie, Presley came with neon flashers.
But there’d always been something about Cheyenne. His eyes followed her whenever they passed on the street. He couldn’t help turning around to catch a second glimpse of her when she came into the station. And this morning…he’d felt so protective when those tears welled up.
“Glad to hear it,” his father said. “Eve would be a much better bet.”
Joe propped his elbows on his knees. “What’s wrong with Cheyenne?”
“She’s had a hard life. If anyone has the right to carry excess baggage, it would be her. Just look at her sister.”
The way his father automatically dismissed Cheyenne bothered Joe. “She’s done well, considering what she’s been through. Like you said, it’s Presley who’s out of control. She propositioned me at the Sexy Sadie Saloon a few weeks ago.”
“How does a woman do that these days?”
“She said for twenty bucks she’d take me in the girls’ restroom and ‘blow my mind.’”
“I take it you declined.”
“I did—and that didn’t embarrass her in the slightest. She told me to go to hell and started scanning the bar for her next mark.”
“See what I mean?”
“Presley isn’t Chey,” Joe argued.
“Doesn’t matter. You marry the girl, you marry the family.”
He understood that concept only too well. But he was feeling contrary enough that his father’s disapproval pushed him further into Cheyenne’s camp. “It wouldn’t hurt to befriend her.”
“You’ve never paid much attention to her before.”
“She belongs to Gail’s group. And I’ve been busy.”
His father motioned at the clock. “You’re not busy tonight. Maybe after dinner you should take a bottle of wine and head over there.”
“Maybe I will.”
“She could probably use some company.”
“No doubt,” he said, rising to the challenge. But once he caught sight of his father’s grin, he realized that Martin had been manipulating him the whole time. “You think you’re so clever,” he complained.
“It’s not hard to lead someone right where they want to go,” he said with a laugh. Then he nearly drove Joe crazy whistling as he finished making dinner.
* * *
No one ever came to the house, unless it was one of J. T. Amos’s sons, looking for Presley. Sometimes Presley partied with them down at their place, which was a rambler along the river half a mile away. Since it was nearly eight o’clock on a Saturday night, Cheyenne felt confident it had to be one of them—confident enough that she wasn’t the least concerned about her appearance. She’d already scrubbed her face so she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She wasn’t wearing shoes, either—just a pair of holey jeans with a sweatshirt. She’d stand behind the door, tell Dylan, Aaron, Grady, Rodney or Mack that Presley was out for the evening, and be done with it.
But it wasn’t the Fearsome Five, as they were often called. Cheyenne couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw Joe standing on her rickety porch. She hadn’t even realized he knew where she lived.
“Hey.” He offered her a grin that made her stomach flip-flop. “Looks like you’re in for the night.”
She resisted the urge to raise a self-conscious hand to her messy bun. Did her hair look as bad as she thought it might? She could feel wet tendrils clinging to her face. “Yes. I, um, I’m not planning on going anywhere. I mean, I can’t. Presley’s out. I have to stay with my mother.”
“That’s what I figured.” He lifted the bottle he carried in one hand. “Would you like to have a drink with me while you do your caretaker thing?”
She blinked several times before finding her voice. “Did you come to talk about Eve?”
“Eve?” he repeated.
“She’s crazy about you, you know. I’m sure you’ve guessed what with all the trips we’ve made to the gas station.” She laughed, hoping to appear less off balance. “And…she’s so great. You wouldn’t want to lose out on someone like her.”
A strange expression flitted across his face. “Thanks for the encouragement. I think she’s nice, too. But I’m not here to talk about Eve.”
He didn’t indicate whether or not her words had surprised him. Of course they hadn’t. He couldn’t have missed the way Eve kept singling him out. She wasn’t nearly as good at hiding her feelings as Cheyenne was. She’d never had to hide anything because she’d never really feared anything. Besides, she’d asked him out. That made her interest quite obvious.
“Is this about…earlier, then? This morning? Because I’m okay.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to make you feel sorry for me. Again. That’s sort of the history of our relationship, isn’t it?” She managed a self-deprecating chuckle, but he didn’t join in.
“I feel bad about what you’re going through. That’s not the same as pity.” He lowered his voice as if confiding a great secret. “Having a drink with me isn’t any sort of betrayal, Chey.”
This was the first time he’d ever called her by the shortened version of her name but it seemed natural. No doubt he’d often heard Gail refer to her that way. “Right. Of course it isn’t. I didn’t mean to suggest it would be.”
“So…can I come in?”
She thought of her Charlie Brown Christmas tree. She’d taken all her good ornaments over to the inn—what few she owned. Would he find her place as pathetic as he did her situation?
Maybe. But she couldn’t be so rude as to turn him away. He meant too much to her. And the fact that he was seeing Eve shouldn’t stop them from being friends. He’d made that point already.
With a nod, she stepped aside and allowed him to enter. As he did, she breathed in the outdoorsy scent that clung to him. Normally, she could smell oil and gas from the station, too. But not tonight. He was freshly showered and wearing a sweater, jeans and boots, unlaced enough to make them comfortable and fashionable. He didn’t have the style her friend Baxter did—no one in Whiskey Creek had the style Baxter did—but Cheyenne liked the way Joe dressed. She liked everything about him.
That was the problem.
“Have a seat.” She gestured at the kitchen table. She was afraid he’d choose the spot with a hole under the cushion if she directed him to the couch. She hadn’t invested much money in household furnishings or the house itself. There didn’t seem to be any reason to. It was just a rental. She didn’t plan on staying after Anita died; she wasn’t even sure what she and Presley would bring with them when they moved. Presley might insist on keeping a few things, but as far as Cheyenne was concerned, there were too many bad memories attached to all of it.
She put a couple of cheap wineglasses on the table. “Go ahead and pour. I’ll be right back.”
After checking on her mother, who was—thank God—asleep, she put on a bra and returned to find Joe holding a glass of wine while standing in front of the Christmas tree.
“The one at The Gold Nugget is a lot prettier,” she said. “I promise.”
“At least you have a tree.”
“You don’t?”
“Not yet. My girls keep bugging me to put one up. Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“I thought decorating might cheer my mother up.”
“Does she still have the strength to come out here?”
“Every once in a while.” She’d hoped it would be comforting for Presley, too, who was having such a hard time coping with Anita’s decline.
He motioned to the empty fireplace. “Mind if I start a fire?”
“No.” She showed him the woodpile at one corner of the porch, then put on Enya’s Christmas CD while he coaxed a couple of logs to light.
“That’ll ease the chill a bit,” he said as he dusted off his hands.
She hadn’t realized it was cold. She was so nervous about other things, the temperature of the house hadn’t even made the list. “Feels good.”
“You look good,” he said. “Really pretty.”
Cheyenne’s heart skipped a beat. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No. I like you this way.”
When their eyes met, she was afraid he’d see how much his compliment pleased her, so she turned her attention to the glass of wine waiting for her on the table. “How’s Gail doing?” she asked as she walked over.
“Great. She’s happy.” He smiled distantly, as if picturing his sister, then sobered. “I hope to hell Simon continues to treat her right. You know the kind of temptations he faces in Hollywood. He could have his pick of women.”
“He’ll be true to her. He’s as much in love as she is. Besides, he’ll have you to answer to if he doesn’t.”
He grinned at her teasing. “Damn straight. That’s my little sister.”
She tried the wine and liked it. “Do you remember the boy you grabbed by the shirtfront and tossed to the ground when I was a freshman?”
“No.” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Why would I do that?”
“Because he was making fun of my dress.”
“Sounds like he deserved it.”
“It was a pretty ugly dress,” she admitted with a laugh. “Everything about me was ugly back then.”
A contemplative expression came over his face. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“Yeah, well, you’re like my big brother, too.”
He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “Is that how you see me?”
She didn’t know how to answer. Yes would be the safest way to go. But it was also a lie. So she did what she could to avoid a direct reply. “I mean, you’ve never looked at me very critically.”
“I can tell when someone’s attractive, Chey.”
Her mouth went dry. “Of course you can. T-take Eve, for instance. She’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
His eyes never left her face. “Why are we talking about Eve again?”
“She’s my best friend.”
“I know. And she likes me. I get that.” He changed the subject as he glanced away. “Do you have any playing cards?”
She had several packs. Before her mother had gotten too sick to manage a game, they’d often played hearts to distract her from the pain. “In the drawer.”
“Any chance I could challenge you to a game?”
“Which one?”
“Poker?” he suggested with a shrug.
How long did he plan to stay? “Sure. But…what will we bet?”
“I’ll wager dollars toward oil changes and car repairs. Considering what I found when you brought your Olds in last time, it could use some work.”
“It could. But what will I wager? I help run a B and B, so…cooking and cleaning?”
His smile shifted to one side. “I’ll settle for some Christmas cookies and tree decorating the next time my girls are in town.”
“Why settle? You could have cooking, cleaning and decorating.” She smacked the cards on the table. “If you win.”
“I plan on winning,” he confided. “But that would still be settling, since it isn’t what I’d ask for if I could have anything.”
This took Cheyenne by surprise. “What would you ask for?”
He glanced at the sprig of mistletoe Presley had tied to the light fixture over the table. “Peace on earth,” he said with a wink. “So deal.”
7
He was flirting with her. There was no question about that. Cheyenne just didn’t know why. Was he trying to cheer her up? Was he interested in becoming closer friends? Had he stopped by because he’d told his sister that she’d started crying in the grocery store and Gail had asked him to?
He didn’t reveal what he was thinking or feeling, but they talked and laughed and laughed and talked until it grew late. By the time he yawned and said he should go, Cheyenne had lost a lot in tree decorating and cookies, and he wasn’t willing to let her attempt to win it back. All she could do was claim that one day of her baking and tree trimming services was worth an eight-hundred-dollar credit.
“You must be one hell of a Christmas decorator,” he said.
“I am.” She waved toward her only example. “Don’t let that fool you.”
“I’ll suspend my disbelief, for now. You can prove yourself next Saturday.”
“That’s when your girls are coming?”
“That’s when. But we should pick up the tree tomorrow, before all the good ones are gone.”
“We?” She corked the wine bottle since he’d declined a refill.
“I don’t want to buy something you wouldn’t be interested in decorating.”
Eve would, no doubt, find this arrangement odd if she heard about it. That made Cheyenne hesitate. As much as she wanted to spend time with Joe, she had no business doing it. “I’m easy to please.”
“Then why don’t you ever date?”
She shuffled the cards. “Nice segue.”
“I thought so.”
“How do you know I don’t?”
“We live in Whiskey Creek, remember? If you were seeing someone, I’d know about it. Everyone would.”
That was true. So she began searching for excuses. “I’ve been too preoccupied.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
She tried not to laugh. “I was seeing John Kovinski there for a little bit.”
“Not Mr. Kovinski, the school principal…”
“’Fraid so.”
“When was this?”
She pretended she had to think about it, although the answer was on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t see any point in letting him know that she marked the events in her life by how they corresponded to his. “While you were married.” She forced herself to throw in, “I think,” even though she was as positive as she could get.
“That was five years ago!”
“I don’t get out much.”
“Not to mention he’s like…twice your age,” he added with a grimace. “Gail once dated a much older man, too. What’s the appeal?”
“Safety. Security. Companionship.”
“So no threat.”
She chuckled. “Maybe.”
“I must’ve missed the news that you were seeing him.”
Because the relationship hadn’t gone anywhere. They’d dated three times, and made out once. That wasn’t much for even the nosiest people in Whiskey Creek to gossip about.
Joe finished the last of the wine in his glass. “Who else have you dated?”
She put the cards back in the box. “I’ve been preoccupied, like I said. Who have you dated, Mr. DeMarco?”
“Too many girls to count,” he teased.
“Who’s there?” Her mother’s voice, cracked and pleading, came out of the bedroom. “I need my meds! Cheyenne? Presley? Bring me my morphine! Hurry!”
Joe jumped to his feet as if this sudden intrusion into their conversation had startled him. “She okay?”
The distress in her voice could be more than a little unnerving, especially for someone who wasn’t used to it. “Yeah. Don’t worry.”
“Is there anything I can help you do for her?”
“No, I’ve got it.” She took her mother’s painkiller from where she’d hidden it behind the refrigerator.
“That’s where you keep it?” he asked with a perplexed expression.
Because of Presley. But she didn’t want to go into that. “For the moment.”
“Okay.” He didn’t question her further. “I’ll put out the fire while you tend to her.”
She’d expected him to leave. She could only imagine how uncomfortable he felt now that Anita was awake. But her mother was so impatient she had to postpone their goodbye and he seemed willing to wait. “Calm down, Mom, I’m coming!” she called, grabbing a bottle of water in case Anita was thirsty.
“Where’s Presley?” her mother asked as soon as Cheyenne reached her bedside.
“On a date.”
“I heard two voices.”
Cheyenne ignored her obvious disappointment. “She’s not home.”
“Someone’s here!”
“I am,” Cheyenne insisted.
“Besides you.”
“No. No one.” She didn’t want her mother interacting with Joe. That he’d seen her situation at home was bad enough.
“I need to be moved. I can’t—” Anita gasped for breath “—if you could slide me over a bit and…turn me on my other side. My hip is aching.”
Cheyenne tried to do what she’d been asked, but her mother cried out. “You have to pick me up! You can’t shove me!” she shouted, then started moaning and weeping.
Afraid that Joe would hear, Cheyenne lowered her voice. “I wasn’t shoving. I was doing it the way I always do.” The only way she knew how. She wasn’t strong enough to lift Anita as easily as Anita wanted.
“Presley, come help your sister!” her mother called. “Hurry! She’s killing me!”
“Presley’s not home.”
“Yes, she is. I heard her. Presley?”
There was no doubt Anita was in pain. Cheyenne could see it in the hollowness of her eyes. But Cheyenne knew her mother was also being purposely difficult. She wanted Presley, and this gave her an excuse to demand her other daughter’s attention.
“Mom, please,” she said, but a sound at the door told her the noise had succeeded in drawing Joe to the room.
“What is it?” he asked.
Cheyenne could tell he wasn’t sure whether or not he could enter but wanted to help.
With a sigh, she tucked the tendrils of hair that’d fallen from her loose bun behind her ears. “My mom needs to be moved over and onto her right side.”
“I can do that.” He crossed to the bed and lifted her as though she weighed nothing.
Anita was so surprised to see a man in the house she didn’t complain. But she didn’t leave it at “thank you,” either. “Are you sleeping with my daughter?” she asked as he straightened the blankets. “Has someone finally taken her virginity? God, I hope you banged her good. She needs it. Maybe she won’t be so critical of the rest of us once she finds out what she’s been missing.”
Cheyenne’s face flushed hot but she ignored her mother’s vulgarity. “Thanks,” she told Joe. “I’m sure she’ll be fine from here on.”
Also ignoring what Anita had said, Joe mumbled a polite good-night and let Cheyenne walk him to the door. “That isn’t true, is it?” he asked when he’d stepped out on the porch.
“What?” Cheyenne said, but she knew. She just wasn’t sure how to respond.
“That you’ve never slept with anyone?”
She didn’t need his shock to tell her how unusual she was. These days, there weren’t many thirty-one-year-old virgins. Her lack of a sex life wasn’t a subject she wanted other people talking about. But she couldn’t hide who she really was, not from Joe. “Yes.”
“Why? Are you waiting or—” he rubbed his neck as if searching for the right words “—has something happened that’s made you unwilling to…be touched in that way?”
He obviously knew a great deal about her background. She probably had Gail to thank for that. Maybe Eve, too. There was no telling what they’d discussed at dinner last night. “A truck driver gave my mother twenty dollars to let him fondle me once.”
When Joe’s jaw tightened, she put up a hand. “But it stopped there and he isn’t the reason I’ve…held off. Growing up, I wanted sex to have some meaning. I’ve been waiting for the right time and place.” The right man.
“I see.” He nodded.
“Besides, we live in a small town.” She smiled, hoping to lighten the tone of the conversation. “I have a reputation to protect.”
“The threat of gossip doesn’t stop everybody.”
She wondered if he was alluding to her sister. “I guess it doesn’t.”
“Good night, Chey.”
He was halfway to his truck when she called after him. “Why’d you come, Joe?”
He slid his hands in his pockets as he pivoted to face her. It was so cold that she could see his breath misting in front of him, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “I could say my father suggested it.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He doesn’t think I get out enough.”
“But…”
“The truth has more to do with Eve.”
“Which means what?”
“I figured if she was going to make her move, I’d better be sure there isn’t something between you and me. Every once in a while, I’ve sort of wondered…what if?”
She hadn’t expected him to be so frank. Suddenly a bit weak in the knees, she grasped the pole that supported the porch. He was considering her now, of all times? Why couldn’t he have acted on that “what if?” a week ago? “And? What did you decide?”
“That we should see each other again.”
“I can’t,” she said. Not now that she knew he wasn’t merely being nice or looking for friendship.
He smiled. “You have to. You owe me, remember?”
* * *
Joe drove around town for fifteen minutes before finally turning toward home. He doubted his father would still be up. Martin was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy. So was he, since he had to work such long hours. But he’d felt so unsettled since leaving Cheyenne’s that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’d gone to her place expecting to feel what he’d felt when he was with Eve. Respect for her as a person. A certain amount of admiration for her pretty face. The hope that they could maintain a friendship. But ultimately nothing that moved him, nothing that made him regret not asking her out before. He’d convinced himself that the spark he felt whenever Cheyenne was around was no more than curiosity and sympathy for everything she’d had to endure.
But their time together hadn’t felt nearly as platonic as he’d envisioned.