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Her name is Cheyenne. But who is she?

After growing up in cheap motels, moving from town to town with her sister and mother, Cheyenne Christensen is grateful to be on her own. She’s grateful, too, for the friends she found once her family settled in California. But she’s troubled by the mystery of her earliest memories, most of which feature a smiling blonde woman. A woman who isn’t her mother.

Although Cheyenne has repeatedly asked for explanations, the people who could help aren’t talking. Cheyenne is set on finding answers, but without so much as a birth certificate, it won’t be easy.

Things get even more complicated when her closest friend is attracted to the man Cheyenne has secretly loved for years. For Eve’s sake, she decides to step aside—which lands her right in the arms of Dylan Amos, oldest and baddest of the hell-raising Amos brothers. He’s the kind of guy she’s sworn to avoid. She can’t afford to make a mistake, not when she finally has a chance to learn who she really is and change her life for the better. But…maybe there’s more to Dylan than she thought. Maybe letting him go would be a bigger mistake.

Praise for Brenda Novak

“Whenever I see a new Brenda Novak book, I buy it and read it, pronto. I can always count on her for a solid, exciting story, full of adventure and romance.”

—Linda Lael Miller, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Any book by Brenda Novak is a must-buy for me.”

—Reader to Reader Reviews

“Brenda Novak’s seamless plotting, emotional intensity and true-to-life characters who jump off the page make her books completely satisfying. Novak is simply a great storyteller.”

—Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author

“Novak’s smooth plotting makes for a great read.”

—Publishers Weekly on Dead Right

“Well-written, nicely paced, filled with appealing characters and laced with a few surprises.”

—Library Journal on Dead Right

“I suggest Brenda Novak be added to your ‘to buy’ list today. You won’t be disappointed.”

—Romance Readers Connection

“A novel that can’t be missed…this is hands-down a must-read.”

—The Romanceaholic on Inside

“In Close is intense and sensual and chock-full of emotional torment. The array of transgressions and suspects and small-town secrets makes for a riveting read.”

—USA TODAY

“Strongly defined characters, sizzling sexual tension and a tautly constructed plot…blend brilliantly together in Novak’s exceptionally intense, powerfully emotional novel.”

—Booklist on Every Waking Moment

“Novak’s fans will easily recognize her unforgettable style and characterization.”

—Wordweaving

“Brenda Novak has always been an author I look for on the book shelves… Her characters are realistic, charming and have a life of their own. Don’t miss out!”

—Huntress Book Reviews

When Snow Falls

Brenda Novak

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Stephanie Novembri.

Thank you for all the volunteer hours you’ve put in on my annual online auction for diabetes research.

You came into my life at a time when I really needed some help—and you’ve been there for me ever since.

Dear Reader,

Who can resist a story about a woman who isn’t sure her mother is really her mother? When I started this book, I couldn’t stop thinking about that situation, how it would make my heroine feel—and what she might do to find the truth. It kept me eager to write each day.

Cheyenne has always had her doubts about Anita, has always wondered why certain troubling memories surfaced again and again, especially when it snowed. But given her childhood, she has to wonder if maybe she created a pleasant fantasy in order to cope with reality. Because of her sister, and the duty she feels to the woman who raised her, she vacillates between aggressively exploring her past and shying away from it, especially now that she’s established herself in Whiskey Creek and is happier than she’s ever been. Part of her doesn’t want to rock the boat—but the questions that have gnawed at her for years just won’t go away. And if she’s ever to answer them, she has to act soon. Anita is dying of cancer. If she doesn’t tell what she knows before the end, it may be too late.

That right there was enough to keep my attention—but then Dylan Amos walked onto the scene and added a few complications of his own. I hope you’ll enjoy reading all the intrigue as much as I enjoyed writing it!

I’d like to thank Marcy Mostats-Passuello, whose name appears as a character in this book, for her generous support of the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

Because Dylan is one of my favorite heroes (and he has four sexy brothers who will appear in future books), I’ve had a fabulous Amos Auto Body T-shirt (black with white imprint) designed for those who might like one. You can purchase it and other Whiskey Creek items at www.brendanovak.com. There, you can also find more information about my books and my annual online auction for diabetes research, which happens every May. So far we’ve raised more than $1.6 million!

Brenda Novak

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

1

It didn’t snow in Whiskey Creek often. But when it did, it took Cheyenne Christensen back to another time and place. Not one filled with picture-perfect memories of warm holidays, gaily wrapped packages and hot apple cider, like the Christmases her friends enjoyed. No, this kind of weather made her feel sick inside, as if something dark and terrible had happened on just such a night.

She wished she could remember exactly what. For years she’d racked her brain, trying to make sense of her earliest memories, to conjure up the woman with the smiling face and pretty blond hair who featured in so many of them. Was she an aunt? A teacher? A family friend?

Surely it wasn’t her mother! Cheyenne already had a mother who insisted there’d been no one in her life meeting that description.

That didn’t mean it was true, however. Anita had never been particularly reliable—in any regard.

“Chey, where are you? I need my pain meds.”

Real mother or not, the woman who’d raised her was awake. Again. It was getting harder and harder for Anita to rest.

Trying to shake off the stubborn melancholy that had crept over her when the snow began to fall, Cheyenne turned away from the window. The three-bedroom hovel she shared with her mother and sister wasn’t anything to be proud of. She’d put up a Christmas tree and lights, and kept the place clean, but their house was easily the most humble abode in Amador County.

Still, it was better than the beater cars and fleabag motel rooms she’d lived in growing up. At least it provided some stability.

“Be right there!” She hurried to the cupboard to get the morphine. After more than a decade, her mother’s cancer was back. Cheyenne hated to see anyone suffer. But if Anita hadn’t gotten sick fifteen years ago, they might never have settled down, and coming to Whiskey Creek was the best thing that had ever happened to Cheyenne. As guilty as it made her feel, she would always be grateful for the diagnosis that stopped all the shiftless rambling and finally enabled her and her sister to enroll in school. She just wished the cancer that had started in Anita’s ovaries had stayed in remission instead of reappearing in her pancreas.

“What are you doing out there while I’m lying in here, suffering?” her mother demanded as soon as Cheyenne walked into the room. “You don’t really care about me. You never have.”

Fearing there might be some truth in those words, which sounded slurred because she wasn’t wearing her dentures, Chey refused to meet her mother’s gaze. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be a good daughter,” she said, but even she believed it was duty, not love, that motivated her. She held too much against Anita, had longed to escape her for so many years she couldn’t remember when she’d first started feeling that way.

Anita preferred her sister, anyway. She’d made that clear all along. Fortunately, Cheyenne didn’t have a problem with it. Presley was older by two years. She came first and would always be number one with Anita.

“I did my best by you,” her mother said, suddenly defensive.

Here we go again. She brought a spoonful of morphine to her mother’s lips. “That might be true,” she conceded. But it was also true that Anita’s best fell far short of ideal. Until they came to Whiskey Creek, she and Presley had been dragged through almost every state in the western half of the country. They’d gone hungry and cold and been left alone in cars or with strangers for indefinite periods of time. They’d even been forced to beg on street corners or at the entrances to malls when their mother deemed it necessary.

“You never cut me any slack,” Anita complained, snorting as she attempted to shift positions.

Determined to preserve the peace, Cheyenne changed the subject. “Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich or some soup?”

Her mother waved dismissively. “I can’t eat right now.”

Cheyenne helped her get comfortable and smoothed the bedding. “The meds will make you sick if you don’t get something in your stomach. Remember what happened last night.”

“I’m sick, anyway. I can hardly keep anything down. And I don’t want to put my dentures in. The damn things don’t fit right. Where’s your sister?”

“You know where Presley is. She works at the casino.”

“She never comes around anymore.”

That had to be the painkiller talking. Not only did Presley live with them, she watched Anita during the day so Cheyenne could work at the bed-and-breakfast owned by her best friend’s family—and as long as Presley didn’t have the money to buy dope, she helped out on weekends, too. “She left a couple of hours ago.” Already it seemed like an eternity to Cheyenne, and evidently Anita felt the same way.

Growing more agitated, her mother shook her head. “No.”

“No what?”

“I haven’t seen her in ages. She’s abandoned me. I’m surprised you’re the one who stayed.”

It wasn’t so unusual that Chey would be the daughter to come through for her in difficult times. She’d always been the most responsible in the family. She almost said so, but what was the point? Her mother would believe what she wanted. “She’ll be here again in the morning.” And as soon as she got home, she’d crash in her bed....

“Can you call her?”

“I’m here to take care of whatever you need. Why bother her?”

“Because I want to talk to her, that’s why!”

Chey knew she couldn’t deal with her mother if she was going to be difficult again. “Calm down, okay?”

“I’m not acting up!” She struggled to sit but couldn’t manage it. “Who the hell do you think you are? Where do you think you’d be without me, anyway?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” She had a feeling she’d be someplace better. But that was the suspicion talking. She normally didn’t say such things. Today, the words rushed out before Cheyenne could stop them. Then they hung in the air like a foul stench.

Her mother blinked at her. Her eyes, though rheumy with sickness, could still turn mean. But she’d lost the power she’d once wielded. She could no longer frighten Cheyenne.

Thank God.

Anita must’ve realized it wouldn’t do her any good to rail, because she didn’t let her temper boil over. Her voice became whiny. “You can treat me like this when I’m about to die?”

There was nothing more the doctors could do. They’d prescribed liquid morphine for the pain and Ativan to ease the anxiety, and released Anita so she could spend her last weeks at home. Pancreatic cancer typically moved fast. But Cheyenne didn’t think Anita had arrived at her final moments quite yet. “Let’s not despair too soon.”

“You won’t shed a tear when I’m gone.”

Hoping to distract her, Cheyenne turned on the TV. “I’ll heat some soup while you watch Jeopardy!”

Anita caught her before she could walk out. “I’ve always loved you. I could’ve abandoned you, but I didn’t. I kept you with me every step of the way, even though it wasn’t always easy to feed and clothe you.”

Cheyenne pivoted to confront her. “Who was the blonde woman? Someone you used to leave me with?”

Anita grimaced. “What blonde woman?”

“I’ve told you about her before. I can remember someone with blue eyes and platinum-blond hair. I was with her, wearing a princess dress, and there were presents all around as if it was my birthday.”

A strange expression came over Anita’s sallow face, one that led Cheyenne to believe she might finally receive an explanation. Her mother knew something. But then a hint of the malevolence Anita had just masked sparkled in her eyes. “Why do you keep asking about that stuff? I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about.”

* * *

Presley Christensen sat in the parking lot of the Rain Dance Casino, smoking a cigarette in her 1967 Mustang. It was cold outside, too cold to have the window cracked open, especially when the heater was busted, but if she wanted to smoke she had little choice. It was against California state law to light up in a public building, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stand outside.

Crossing her ankles beneath the steering wheel, she took a long, calming drag. As a card dealer, she was entitled to a fifteen-minute break every hour, which sounded like a lot but wasn’t, not when she was on her feet for the rest of her shift. She had three hours to go and already her back ached. She wished she could earn a living some other way, but there weren’t many options available to someone without so much as a high school diploma. She was lucky to have her GED and a job.

“Excuse me.”

A man rapped on her window, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Where had he come from? She hadn’t seen anyone approaching....

She locked the door to be certain he couldn’t get in and spoke to him through the gap in her window. “What do you want?”

Several years ago, a woman had been abducted from a casino northeast of Sacramento. Presley hadn’t heard of anything like that happening where she lived, but it was nearly three in the morning, and she was out in the dark alone with a stranger. One who’d been drinking for all she knew.

He lifted his hands in a calming gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Eugene Crouch, a private investigator.” He used a penlight to illuminate the ID he flashed at her. “Are you Presley?”

She wasn’t sure whether to answer him. She was afraid the P.I. claim was designed to lower her guard. Her first name was, after all, sewn onto her blouse. “What if I am?” she asked skeptically.

“I’m looking for someone you might know.”

“Who?”

“Anita Christensen.”

She practically dropped her cigarette. As it was, some ash fell into her lap and she had to brush it away before it could burn a hole in her uniform. What did this man want with her mother?

Considering the way Anita had lived her life, he couldn’t have any good reason to be looking for her. As the black-sheep daughter of a hard-bitten, broken woman who’d had six kids by as many men, she wasn’t likely to inherit money. And, like her own mother, Anita had never been accepted by her extended family, so Presley doubted this man was here to help some long-lost friend or relative reconnect....

Maybe she’d stolen a watch from someone who’d paid her for sex and the police had issued a warrant for her arrest. Or worse. She’d once crashed into a man on a bicycle and driven away from the scene of the accident. She’d been drinking and shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. Presley was surprised she’d suffered no repercussions for that. But it’d happened in Arizona and they’d crossed into New Mexico right after.

Presley had shoved that incident into the back of her mind—until now.

This could also be about welfare fraud or tax evasion, she supposed. Anita had done anything she could to get by.

“Say that name again?” She took another drag on her cigarette while trying to decide how to answer.

“Anita Christensen. Used to be Karen Bateman. Went by the name of Laura Dumas before that.”

Presley had a vague recollection of being told her last name was Bateman—maybe when she was eight or nine. But she’d never heard of Dumas. That one must’ve been before she was old enough to remember. “None of those names are familiar to me.” She’d been trained to protect her mother, to assist in whatever con Anita was running. If she didn’t, they’d go hungry. Or she and her sister would be abandoned. She was too old for those threats to have the same effect, but old habits and loyalties were hard to break.

“You’re sure?” he pressed, obviously disappointed. “You’re listed as a reference on a credit card application from years back, in New Mexico. She claimed you were her daughter.”

She’d only been sixteen when they were in New Mexico. How had he been able to trace her from there?

“I’ve never lived in New Mexico.” Presley felt no remorse for lying, just an odd sense of panic that this might spill over onto her. Right or wrong, she’d done what her mother had taught her to do.

“Christensen might not be an unusual name, but Presley is,” he persisted. “As a first name, I mean.”

“Maybe this Anita person liked Elvis as much as my own mother did.”

Presley considered herself a pro when it came to misinformation, but he seemed stubbornly unconvinced. “She may have assumed yet another identity,” he said. “Would you mind taking a look at her picture?”

“Sorry.” She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “My break’s over. I’ve got to get to work.”

Except she didn’t dare open the door with him standing there, and he wasn’t backing off. She hesitated with her hand on the latch, and that was all the opportunity he needed.

“It’ll only take a second.” He pulled out an old mug shot, which he illuminated with the penlight like he had his ID. “She’s the one on the right.”

Presley was too nervous to really look. She knew who she’d see, but with her mother sick and about to die she figured it didn’t matter anymore. Whatever Anita had done wrong, cancer was punishment enough. “Never seen her before in my life,” she said as her eyes flicked over it.

He held up another picture. “Do you recognize either of these two?”

She nearly told him he had to leave or she was going to call the police on her cell phone, but clamped her lips shut. She did recognize one of the two subjects of that photograph. Chey was in it as a very young girl. And something about her struck Presley as odd. Although Anita had looked as Presley would’ve expected—significantly younger but still unkempt—Chey didn’t. Her hair was curled into pretty ringlets tied with a ribbon, and she was wearing a fancy dress with black patent leather shoes.

When had this picture been taken? And why wasn’t she in it? She couldn’t remember a single time their mother had bothered to curl their hair. They’d been lucky to have a comb to straighten out the snarls after several days without a bath.

Not only that, but…who was the third person—the pretty blonde woman?

“Ms. Christensen?” the man prompted.

What did this picture mean?

The possibilities terrified Presley. Anita was about to die. She couldn’t lose Chey, too. “I don’t recognize them, either.”

* * *

Cheyenne woke to the sound of voices. Her sister was home and, apparently, her mother had survived the night. Chey couldn’t say she was glad; she couldn’t in all conscience say she wasn’t, either. It was just another day.

A glance at the digital alarm clock told her she didn’t have to be up for another hour. She rolled over to go back to sleep, but the wary tone of her mother’s voice aroused her curiosity.

“Did he say what his name was?”

“One sec.” Presley. “I got his card.” There was a brief pause. “Eugene Crouch.”

“He’s a private investigator?”

“That’s what he told me, and that’s what’s written here. Do you have any idea what he wanted?”

“None.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“I guess he could, but I don’t know why he pestered you in the first place.”

Although Presley lowered her voice, Cheyenne could still hear. “He’s been searching for you a long time, Mom. You have to have some idea.”

“I don’t, unless it’s an unpaid speeding ticket.”

“Do they go to such great lengths to track people down for that?”

“They put out arrest warrants, don’t they? Anyway, whatever he wants, it’s too late. Feel free to invite him to my funeral.”

“Don’t talk like that! You know it upsets me.”

Chey tightened her grip on the blankets. That was precisely why Anita did it. To get a reaction. To be reassured.

“You and Chey are the only family I have,” Presley said.

“You need to prepare yourself, honey. I won’t last much longer.”

“I can’t go on without you. I can’t cope as it is.” Presley sounded as if she might be crying. Cheyenne felt bad for her, but she felt even worse about the fact that she experienced no grief—that she was merely waiting for release from the responsibilities that imprisoned her.

Was there something wrong with her? Was she as bad, as ungrateful, as her mother claimed?

“Come here,” Anita cooed.

As she pictured Presley falling into their mother’s arms, Chey covered her eyes with her hand. She was glad her mother and sister had each other. Maybe Anita deserved more love than Cheyenne could give her. Despite all the differences between her and Presley, Cheyenne cared deeply for her older sibling. Growing up, Presley had been her only friend, her only ally, especially when Anita went on one of her frightening tirades. For whatever reason, their mother’s anger had always been more focused on Chey. Once or twice, Anita had become so violent that Presley had been forced to step in.

“So…what should I tell that P.I. if he comes back?” Presley asked.

“What you told him already.”

“I don’t know if he’ll buy it a second time. He knows we’re related or he wouldn’t have approached me. He said you used my name as a reference on a credit card application in New Mexico.” Cheyenne heard Presley go on to say that she’d been working at the Sunny Day Convenience store back then and had used that as a reference for her next job. She thought that was how this Crouch had been able to trace her. But then she must’ve turned in a different direction or buried her face in the blankets because Cheyenne could no longer decipher her words.

Hoping to catch the last of the conversation, she sat up, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Presley?” she called out. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” her sister responded. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Who’s Eugene Crouch?”

“None of your damn business, little Miss Know-It-All,” her mother snapped. “I’m still kickin’. Until I’m six feet under, I’ll handle my own affairs!”

Dropping onto her pillow, Cheyenne counted to ten instead of thinking the same old terrible thoughts about her mother. Where was her control? Her pity?

Meanwhile, Presley spoke up, which siphoned off some of the tension. They’d always acted as buffers for each other, especially with Anita.

“Just some guy I met at work, Chey,” she called back.

Her sister had plenty of scary stories about the gamblers who frequented the Indian casino. They could get drunk and far too friendly. Or violent. Presley dated bikers, many of whom were ex-cons, so she had more than a few scary stories about them, too. Cheyenne worried about her safety. What they’d endured as children had affected them so differently. Chey wanted to cling to everything that society deemed normal and admirable. She wanted to forget the past and pretend she was no different from the group of friends who’d provided so much love and support since she started high school.

Presley, on the other hand, didn’t resent Anita or how they were raised. She lived fast and loose, a lot like their mother had once lived. The sad part was, Presley was capable of so much more.

“You said it was a private investigator,” Cheyenne said.

“So?” Presley responded.

“Why would he be looking for Mom?”

“I figured it was better not to ask.”

She had a point. Whatever this man wanted was sure to involve a fair amount of humiliation. Anita had long been an embarrassment to Cheyenne. And that made her feel even more guilt. What kind of child was so ashamed of her own parent?

Maybe it was better if they never found out why that man had come to the casino.

2

“Do you think I should ask him?”

Sitting in the passenger seat of her friend’s Prius, Cheyenne pulled her gaze away from Joe DeMarco. Together with his father, he owned the only service station in town. He was facing away from them, standing in one of the auto repair bays, while her best friend, Eve Harmon, got back behind the wheel. They hadn’t really needed gas, but they left the Gold Nugget B and B in the hands of Cheyenne’s kitchen helper to come here as often as possible, hoping to bump into him.

“Of course you should.” Cheyenne forced a smile. It wasn’t easy to encourage Eve to ask Joe out. Joe might be a relatively recent infatuation for Eve, but Chey had had a crush on him since forever. Not that she’d ever told anyone. She was fairly certain it was the best-kept secret in town.

Fingering the thick, knitted scarf tied around her neck, Eve worried her lip. “I don’t know....”

“What do you have to lose?” Chey asked.

“Face, I guess. I want him to ask me.”

“I once heard Gail say he wasn’t interested in a stepparent situation for his girls.”

“He only has them every other weekend. And I’d be a great stepmom!”

“That’s true, but he’s always seen us as his little sister’s friends. Maybe he feels he’s too old for us. For you,” she quickly amended.

Fortunately, Eve didn’t seem to catch the slip. “He’s nice, but…sort of preoccupied when I’m around. I can’t really get his attention.”

As Chey watched, Joe turned, saw her sitting in the car and waved. Instantly, her cheeks flushed hot. That was all it took—a wave. He’d had that effect on her ever since Anita had first carted them into town in her old Skylark. She’d never forget how hungry she and Presley had been that day. While her mother counted out the change they’d scrounged up to buy gas, she’d left Presley, who wanted to stay in the car, and went to the minimart. They didn’t have the money for food. She’d just wanted to look, to imagine what it would be like if she could indulge in one of the many treats displayed on those shelves.

When it was time to leave, Anita had called her twice. Chey remembered because her mother had then shouted for her to “get her ass moving” and thumped her on the head.

Stomach growling, Cheyenne had dragged herself from the Hostess aisle to the door, where Joe had caught up with her long enough to hand her two packages of the Twinkies she’d been eyeing. Embarrassed because she knew they looked as poor as they were, she’d tried to give them back, but he’d insisted the snacks were past their sale date and he was about to toss them.

It wasn’t until she was back inside the car, groaning in pleasure and devouring those Twinkies with Presley, that she’d taken a closer look at the wrappers. The expiration dates hadn’t passed. Neither one was even close.

Cheyenne was pretty sure she’d been in love with Joe ever since that day. Or maybe it was a couple of weeks later, when she first saw him at school. He was a handsome, popular senior, she a lowly freshman, when he’d noticed some kid making fun of her ill-fitting dress. He’d immediately walked over and sent that boy running. Then he’d grinned at her as if he somehow saw the sensitive girl, who’d already been through far too much, beneath the ratty hair and secondhand clothes.

“How’d he treat you at the Chamber of Commerce mixer last night?” she asked, picking at her nails so she wouldn’t be tempted to look at him again. It had broken her heart when he’d married right out of high school. But then he’d divorced and returned to Whiskey Creek and, at twenty-six, she’d been granted a second chance—not that anything had happened in the five years since.

Eve slid the receipt for the gas purchase into her purse. “He said hello. That was about it.”

Cheyenne hated that she was secretly pleased by this report. She wanted Eve to be happy more than anyone else in the world, even if it meant she couldn’t have Joe. Eve was like a sister to her, one she could both love and admire. Eve’s family, the Harmons, had taken Cheyenne in at various points during the past seventeen years. They’d given her a job in the kitchen of the family inn, trained her to cook and let her take over when their other cook moved away. She owed them so much.

Suppressing a twinge of conscience, she attempted to make a joke about the situation. “He should be grateful for your patronage. You come here more than anyone else. He probably wonders what you do with all those bags of chips you buy. He’d be able to tell if you were eating them.”

Eve laughed but sobered immediately. “Do you think I’m being too obvious?”

That was hard to tell. Joe was always friendly. He just never called or did anything else to show special interest—in either one of them.

Cheyenne drew a bolstering breath. “Why don’t you see if Gail will give him a nudge?”

His sister was part of their clique, a clique that had been friends since grade school—except for her, of course. She was fourteen when they moved to town. Presley had been sixteen.

“Gail would love to see Joe marry again,” she added. “Especially someone who’ll treat him better than his ex.” Gail had no doubt been too caught up in her own life to notice that Eve suddenly had a thing for her big brother. A year ago, she’d married a famous movie star who’d been a PR client and had her hands full coping with all the changes that required.

“She and Simon are in L.A. He’s working on a movie.”

“That doesn’t mean she never talks to Joe.”

With a frown, Eve started the car. “No, but…I’m not ready to go that far yet.”

Now that Eve had aborted her mission to invite Joe to dinner, Cheyenne could relax for the moment. “So you’re not going to ask him out?”

“Not right now. Maybe I’ll work up the courage later.”

Cheyenne nodded. She needed to forget about Joe, finally get it through her head—and her heart—that there was no chance he’d ever return her interest. As long as Eve wanted him, it didn’t matter even if he did.

* * *

“What are you doing here? It’s too cold to be sitting outside.”

Cheyenne turned to see Eve, who’d been as busy as she had since their trip to the gas station, weaving carefully through the headstones of the old cemetery next to the inn. “Just thinking.”

It was the slowest part of the day, between the morning rush when they prepared a fancy breakfast for the inn’s guests and cleaned the rooms, and three o’clock, the time new patrons began to trickle in. She would’ve run home to check on her mother. She normally did. But this afternoon she couldn’t bring herself to make the effort. Presley was there; she’d call if Anita’s situation worsened.

Eve’s footsteps crunched in the patchy snow. Since her boots were more for looks than bad weather, she watched where she was going until she got close enough to avoid ruining the pretty black suede. Then her eyes cut to the words carved in the closest headstone—also the oldest and largest—as if they made her uncomfortable.

They probably did. They made everyone uncomfortable.

Here lies our little angel, brutally murdered at six years. May God strike down the killer who took her from us, and send him into the fiery pits of hell. Mary Margaret Hatfield, daughter of Harriett and John Hatfield, 1865–1871

“Are you feeling bad that we’re planning to capitalize on the mystery of her murder?” Adjusting the scarf around her neck, Eve perched on the garden bench next to Chey.

Eve didn’t have to say who she was. “Maybe a little.” Not only had Mary been born in the home that was now Eve’s parents’ B and B, she’d died there. Her murder had taken place well over a century ago, but just about everyone in town knew the terrible details. She’d been found in the basement, strangled. There’d been no indication as to who’d killed her.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do it.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Cheyenne responded. “You and your parents will lose the inn if we don’t do something.” If that happened, Chey would be without a job, too, but she could probably get on somewhere else. It was Eve’s situation that concerned her. The Gold Nugget meant so much to the Harmon family. Over the years, especially during the past twelve months, they’d dumped everything they had into the business.

Eve hugged herself for added warmth. “I know. I keep telling myself that publicizing a haunting isn’t a big deal. It’s such an old crime. It just adds atmosphere, right? But…we’re talking about a girl who died a violent death. Her ghost really could be lingering here.”

Cheyenne straightened in surprise. “I thought you didn’t believe in things like that. I thought you said every rattle and creak could be explained as the settling of an old house.”

“Since I’m so often at the inn alone, it’s easier to believe that. There’s no point in scaring myself to death. But—” Eve met her eyes “—a lot of people do believe in the paranormal.”

Chey frowned at the sea of headstones surrounding her. For the most part they were organized in neat rows, but crookedness in certain spots suggested a random beginning. “Do you remember, shortly after we moved here, when my mother got mad because I stayed with you part of the time and with Gail part of the time and I didn’t come home for a couple of days? She tied me to that tree.” Cheyenne pointed to the big oak in the corner, which was located close to another bench.

Eve grimaced. “How could I forget? You spent the entire night out here. When my father found you the next morning, he was furious that she could do such a thing to her own child. But…your mother pretty much wrote the book on how to be a terrible parent.”

After that incident, Cheyenne had gone to live with the Harmons for three months—until her mother’s cancer took a turn for the worse. Because she hated feeling like a burden on people who shouldn’t have to take care of her, and because Presley wanted her to come home, she’d eventually gone back. “At first I was terrified to be trapped in the dark, so close to Mary’s grave.”

The memories of that warm, summer night often lingered on the fringes of her mind. They were partly what drew her out here.

“But after a couple of hours,” she went on, “I felt this strange sort of peace, as if she was with me and didn’t want me to be frightened. I even started talking to her.” Uncomfortable admitting this, since she’d never told Eve before, she laughed to make herself sound a little less crazy. “I know it was all my imagination, but I’ve never been frightened of her since.”

“You don’t feel like you’re betraying a friend by using her death or her ghost or whatever in our marketing ideas?”

Cheyenne shook her head. “We could never squelch the rumors, anyway. A good ghost story gets handed down generation after generation.”

“But we’ll be playing into it,” Eve argued. “And do you really think we have to go so far as to change the name?”

Cheyenne studied the Victorian-style building just beyond the black-iron filigree fence that surrounded the cemetery. All the Christmas garland and lights made the inn look magical, but underneath the decorations it needed caulking and paint and some dry-rot repair. New plumbing, too. “Saving the inn will require a total makeover, Eve. The place should get a new name to go with it. That feels like a clean start. And I like calling it Little Mary’s. Adding ‘Gold Country’s Only Haunted Bed-and-Breakfast,’ softens the darkness of it.”

“My parents don’t agree.” Eve kicked at the snow.

“Things are different than when they were in charge.”

“You mean the Russos hadn’t opened A Room with a View,” she grumbled. “Still…” She sighed. “I can’t help feeling bad about using what happened to Mary to book rooms.”

“We’re trying to save her home.” An idea occurred to Chey that brought her to her feet. “Hey, maybe we can save the inn and do her a favor at the same time.”

Eve’s eyebrows slid up. “What are you talking about?”

“What if we get Unsolved Mysteries or one of those shows to come out here and do a segment on Mary’s murder, see if they can convince forensic profilers and detectives to take a look at the scene and try to solve the case?”

Eve blew on her hands, then rubbed them together. “How would we even reach the right people?”

“Are you kidding? One of our best friends owns a PR company. If Gail can’t get in touch with the producer, I bet her movie-star husband has contacts who could. Simon might even be willing to do a guest spot on the show, to mention that this inn is in his wife’s hometown. We’d be a shoe-in if Simon’s name was attached.”

“I don’t want to impose on him, Chey. He already sent us those movie props for our new haunted house theme—not that we’ll be able to use them now that we’re going with a restoration.”

“He won’t mind,” she said. “It wouldn’t take more than an hour of his time. Just a quick cameo appearance. Come on. Getting the B and B on a show like that would be great PR for our grand reopening. We’d blow the competition away. It might also bring Mary some peace.” She bent closer to Eve. “Think about it. What if we finally solve the mystery?”

Grooves of concern appeared in Eve’s normally smooth forehead. “That would be great, but does it mean we hold off on the renovations until these forensic people have a look?” Now that her parents had retired and left her in charge, her first consideration was, and had to be, how to cover the mortgage payments, especially now that her parents had done all they could to help financially. “Because I can’t really do that,” she added. “Riley’s about the only one, besides you, who isn’t going on the cruise on Sunday and part of the reason he’s staying is to start the improvements so we can reopen in January.”

Eve and five other friends were taking a ten-day Caribbean cruise for the holidays. They were leaving this weekend and wouldn’t get back until the day after Christmas.

“We won’t have to change the schedule,” Cheyenne said. “We’re not renovating the basement.” No one had ever changed anything down there, which gave her hope that, one way or another, the mystery could be solved.

The darkening sky threatened another storm. Eve stood as she glanced up. “It’s a long shot that they’d be able to tell anything after a century and a half.”

“A long shot is better than no shot at all. Even if they don’t end up solving the crime, we’d get the PR. It’s a national show. You can’t buy publicity like that.”

Linking her arm through Chey’s, Eve pulled her toward the shelter of the inn. “Okay, fine. We’ll see what we can do to get their interest, but not until after I’m back and the holidays are over.”

“That should work,” Cheyenne said as they walked. “But why aren’t you more excited? It’s exactly what we need to get the word out.”

“You’re right. I’m just…stressed. It’s a great idea. Gail’s going to be mad she didn’t come up with it first.” Eve gave her a conspirator’s smile, but it disappeared almost immediately. “How’s your mother doing?”

Cheyenne didn’t want to dwell on the cantankerous woman who awaited her at the end of each day. She had only a couple of hours until she was off work, hours that would pass far too soon. Then Presley would head over to the casino and she’d be in for another endless night with Anita. “She’s hanging in there.”

“How much longer do you think she’ll last?”

“Who knows? The doctor says it could be a few days or a few weeks.”

Eve stopped, jerking Cheyenne to a stop with her. “Maybe I should cancel my trip. I’ve been thinking of doing that, anyway.”

“No.” Cheyenne wasn’t willing to let Eve miss the cruise she’d scrimped and saved for, the vacation she’d talked about for twenty-four months.

“But what if your mother dies while we’re gone? You’d have to deal with that all by yourself.” She lowered her voice even though there wasn’t anyone around to overhear. “Lord knows Presley’s not much support.”

“Presley does what she can. And your folks are here. I’m sure they’d offer me whatever I need.” The cold was beginning to seep into Cheyenne’s bones. Suddenly anxious to get inside, she tugged Eve to get her moving again. “Anyway, I don’t think any of our friends particularly want to go to Anita’s funeral.”

“We’re all too angry at her to like her very much,” she admitted. “But we want to be there for you.”

“You are. Always.”

“I can’t believe the cancer came back, and that she went downhill so fast.”

“It’s bad timing, what with Christmas and all. But you can’t miss the cruise. There’s no canceling at this late date. You wouldn’t be able to get a refund.”

Eve made a sound of impatience. “I had no business spending that money in the first place. If I’d had any idea we wouldn’t recover after A Room with a View opened…”

Chey held the gate as they passed through. “I know. But look at it this way. The money’s spent. We have a plan for rescuing the inn. And Anita will probably survive until the new year. She may have her faults, but she’s tough. No one could argue with that.”

Once they reached the welcome mat, Eve stomped the dampness from her boots. “I wish you were going with us.”

So did Cheyenne. But she hadn’t even made an effort. She’d known from the onset, when the idea had first been proposed during one of their Friday morning get-togethers at the coffee shop, that she’d never be able to afford the trip. The Harmons paid her what they could, but she didn’t make a lot. And either her mother or her sister always needed financial help. “I don’t have a birth certificate, remember? I can’t get a passport without one.”

“We could’ve gotten a copy of your birth certificate somehow.”

“Not if my mother can’t remember where I was born!”

A roll of the eyes told Chey what Eve thought of that. What mother didn’t have this information? “There has to be another way to find it. We just need to do the research.”

Cheyenne knew it would be a lot harder to come up with than Eve imagined. There weren’t even many pictures of her and Presley as children. For several years they’d lived out of a car, which made it impossible to collect much memorabilia. Even Presley’s birth certificate had fallen by the wayside when, shortly after Anita was diagnosed with cancer for the first time, they’d come back to the motel where they’d been staying to find the manager had thrown all their stuff away because Anita hadn’t been able to come up with the payment.

Cheyenne had shared that incident with Eve and the others. But she hadn’t told them about the blonde woman in her dreams, how any type of snowfall made her feel bereft, or the suspicions that went along with her earliest memories. Intimating that her mother might’ve kidnapped her would be a very serious accusation. And she wasn’t sure she could trust that the images in her mind were accurate. She needed some sort of proof before she went that far.

“I’ll be fine here,” she said. “I’m overseeing the renovations for you.”

“My folks could’ve done that. They’re not leaving to visit my aunt until February.”

Cheyenne slipped into the warmth of the inn and was immediately enveloped by the scent of the expensive pine-and-mulberry potpourri they purchased to impress their guests. “This way they won’t have to,” she said, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy to face Christmas with all her friends gone, her mother dying and the inn closed for remodeling.

3

Presley sat next to her mother’s bed, chain-smoking while watching her sleep. Part of her felt guilty about spewing carcinogens into the air Anita was breathing. She knew Chey would have sent her to the porch if she were home. But it was cold outside, and Presley didn’t see how a little secondhand smoke could make any difference now.

The small TV on the dresser droned on in the background. They were supposed to be watching The Bold and the Beautiful. It was their favorite soap; they’d followed it for years. But her mother was so drugged she could hardly keep her eyes open. She drifted in and out of consciousness, scarcely aware that Presley was in the room.

Once again, the morphine on the nightstand drew Presley’s attention. She’d already taken a swallow of it, but she was tempted to drink more—or head over to the blue shack down the hill where she could buy crystal meth. She had to be careful not to take too much of her mother’s supply. The state would provide only a limited amount. The hospice nurse, who came in every Monday, kept a close eye on it, and so did Cheyenne.

Anita moaned, shifting as if she couldn’t get comfortable, and opened her eyes. Then she saw Presley and made an attempt to rally. “What’s happening…on our show?”

She recognized the voices of the actors, knew what she was supposed to be doing even though she’d been asleep for twenty minutes or more.

“Nothing new,” Presley replied to cover for the fact that she hadn’t really been watching, either.

“Have they shown Thomas?”

He was Anita’s favorite. She’d loved that bit about the ecstasy-induced weekend with Brooke and whether or not he’d slept with his stepmother. “Not today.” That she’d noticed, anyway.

“What’s happening with Ridge?”

“He was kissing his ex-wife before the last commercial.” Presley had seen that much, but even if she hadn’t, Ridge cheating with his ex was a safe bet. The writers had kept that love triangle going for several seasons.

“If he doesn’t choose between Brooke and Taylor soon, I’ll miss it.” Her eyes drifted shut. Presley assumed she’d fallen back asleep, but she spoke a few seconds later. “You’d better quit smoking, or you’ll wind up like me.”

Presley wanted to quit. She remembered how yellow her mother’s teeth had been before she lost them to poor hygiene. But now was not the time to fight that battle. She needed all the help she could get just to survive each day. “I will. Later.”

“Right.” Her mother coughed as she tried to laugh.

“Mom?”

Anita took a deep breath. It was getting harder and harder for her to speak. Sometimes she didn’t have the energy for it at all. “What?”

Presley used the remote to turn down the television. “Chey’s not home.”

“I didn’t ask if she was.”

“I wanted you to know she wasn’t.”

Her mother’s eyes showed a heightened alertness. She’d noticed the change in Presley’s tone. Sometimes they told each other more than they ever admitted to Chey. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to ask you again about Eugene Crouch.”

“Don’t.” Her mother smoothed her thin gray hair. “It’s better if you…leave that alone.”

“Why? He had a picture.”

A grimace added more wrinkles to Anita’s heavily lined face. “So?”

“So?” Presley repeated. “Aren’t you curious where he got it? Who was in it?”

She coughed again. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to…hear anything about it.”

“Because you already know.”

With a grimace, Anita motioned to the TV. “Turn that back up.”

Presley didn’t comply. She bent over Anita to convince her that she wanted the truth. “What happened, Mom? Who was the blonde woman in the picture? Is she the one Chey keeps asking about?”

Her mother waved her off. “Stop. Just trust me.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

Her face flushed with the first color Presley had seen in several days. Maybe she realized she hadn’t earned much trust, even from the daughter who loved her. “I’m trying to…do you a favor,” she said, finally meeting Presley’s gaze. “Don’t ruin it. It’s…the last gift I have to give you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does! Why make you…carry the secret after I’m gone? It will…only tear you up inside.” She lowered her voice. “Or cost you…the one person you’ve always been able to count on.”

The sickening feeling that’d crept over Presley when she’d seen that photo of Cheyenne as a little girl, all dolled up, returned. “She doesn’t really belong to us, does she,” she said, clutching her hands in the bedding.

Anita’s breath rattled as she dragged it in and out of her lungs. “You knew that. You might…deny it, but in your heart…you knew all along.”

“No.” Presley shook her head. “We don’t look alike because we come from different fathers. That’s what you said!”

“That’s what you wanted to believe!”

She was right. As much as Presley would rather have denied it, she’d had her doubts. She’d just been unwilling to face them. She’d heard Cheyenne ask about the blonde woman, had listened to her sister describe with longing the many toys she’d once had, the pretty clothes and the full belly, and she’d purposely pretended she remembered no time when they weren’t a family. She’d even told Chey, on a number of occasions, that those images had to be from a dream.

“Oh, God,” she muttered, and sank down into her chair.

It required considerable effort, but Anita managed to sit up on her own. “Presley, you wanted a sister so bad. I couldn’t have another child, but you needed someone, someone besides me. I couldn’t be there all the time. I had to make sure we had food to eat and somewhere to sleep. I— It was just the two of us, and every day you begged me for a playmate.”

Anita’s actions hadn’t been entirely altruistic. She’d used her children as much as anything else. But Presley didn’t make an issue of it. She was too preoccupied, too frightened by what she was learning. Covering her mouth, she spoke through her fingers. “So what did you do?”

“I got what you needed, that’s what.”

The drugs Presley had taken made her feel as if her mother’s voice was growing loud and then dim. Was this really happening?

Yes. She was pretty sure it was. She’d suspected for a long time. But now that she was confronted with the reality, she didn’t know how to react. Was she supposed to be grateful to her mother?

She would’ve been miserable growing up alone. Cheyenne had provided the companionship that’d made life bearable. Together they’d weathered so much, stood against the world, especially when Anita took up with a man and her daughters became less important to her. Or when Anita went on a drunken binge. Cheyenne had been there to provide love and comfort.

“But…what about her?” Presley wasn’t sure how she managed to speak. It felt as if someone had put a clamp on her tongue.

“What about her?” Anita’s eyes snapped with the instant anger that was so typical of her. “She’s fine. I took care of her just like I took care of you, didn’t I? Why does she deserve party dresses and birthday presents? Why does she deserve to have life any better than you or me?”

Because Anita had stolen her from the family she would’ve had, and who could say what they would’ve been able to give her. Didn’t she see the injustice in that? “You told her you have no idea who the blonde woman is or why she keeps remembering all those things,” she whispered. “She’s asked at least a hundred times.”

“Well, now that you know, we’ll see if you tell her anything different,” she responded, and with a bitter laugh that said she didn’t think Presley would, she fell back on the pillows.

* * *

Presley was gone when Cheyenne returned home from work, which surprised her. With Anita in such bad shape, Presley usually waited for Chey to arrive so that someone would be with Anita at all times.

Cheyenne would’ve asked her mother why her sister had left early, but Anita seemed to be in a drugged stupor. As Chey stood at her bedroom door, looking in, she realized that what she’d told Eve wasn’t true. No way could Anita make it until after the cruise. The cancer had progressed too far. She’d already been reduced to a bag of bones beneath waxy skin. She’d grown so small and feeble compared to the woman Cheyenne used to fear, it was a wonder she was still breathing.

Maybe that was why Presley had gone. Watching Anita die a little more each day wasn’t easy.

Grateful that her mother was sleeping so she could have dinner and unwind, she headed into the kitchen, where she’d left her purse when she came in. She could smell the pine of the Christmas tree and the cinnamon candles she liked to burn, but those scents hardly cloaked the stale, antiseptic stench of her mother’s sickness.

Briefly closing her eyes, Cheyenne drew a deep breath, trying to block out anything unpleasant, and went to the refrigerator. She’d made some beef stew before bed last night, to get a jump on the day.

Presley didn’t seem to have eaten any, which worried Cheyenne. Her sister was getting far too thin....

Reminding herself not to dwell on the negative, she spent the time waiting for her stew to heat looking through pictures on the iPhone the Harmons had given her for her birthday in May. She had snapshots of her friends—Riley, Gail, Simon, Callie, Ted, Noah, Baxter, Kyle, Sophia and several others who joined them, although less frequently, on Friday mornings at Black Gold Coffee. They were all going on the cruise, except Gail and Simon, of course, who were in Hollywood, Sophia, who had a daughter as well as a husband, and Riley, who was raising a son and planned to spend the holidays remodeling the B and B. Cheyenne was disappointed to be missing the big trip. The Caribbean sounded like a marvelous place to go. But taking a cruise wasn’t something she’d ever expected to be able to do, anyway.

With a faint smile for the fun Eve and the rest of her friends would have, she thumbed farther back in her album to find the picture she’d been looking for.

There it was—Joe, with his arm around his sister. Cheyenne had taken that photograph at a barbecue last summer. Sometimes he came to the events Gail attended when she was home, but Gail wasn’t home all that often. She’d been living in L.A. for more than a decade, ever since she started Big Hit Public Relations. And now that she was married to Simon, she’d likely return even less.

The stew bubbled on the stove, but Cheyenne didn’t remove it. She was too taken with Joe’s image, although she’d seen this picture a million times. He looked good in his swim trunks, his broad chest and muscular arms bronzed from the sun, his wet hair tossed back off his face. Her heart beat faster as she stared at the contours of his strong jaw, the laugh lines bracketing his mouth and the intelligence shining through his blue eyes. In the past year or so, his hair had begun to recede a little at the temples, but Cheyenne didn’t mind. She’d never seen anyone she thought was more handsome.

“Presley?”

Her mother was awake and calling for her sister. Cheyenne set her phone aside and turned off the burner. “Presley’s gone to work,” she called back. “I’m in the middle of making dinner. I’ll bring you a bowl of stew in a minute.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She was never hungry anymore. But she had to eat or she’d lose what little strength she still had. “You should try to get a few bites down.”

“Did Presley say anything to you when she left?” Anita wanted to know.

Because it was difficult for her mother to make herself heard, Cheyenne hurried to her bedroom to answer. “About what?”

Anita studied her before relaxing. “Nothing.”

Cheyenne considered asking why Presley had left early but guessed, from her mother’s questions, that she wouldn’t know. What did it matter? Nothing had happened. “So…will you try to eat?”

“If you want,” she relented, a shrug in her voice.

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

Her cell phone, which she’d put on the counter, rang while she was on her way to the kitchen. Glancing at the display, she could see it was Eve and wasn’t surprised. She’d left The Gold Nugget only an hour ago, but Eve called her more than anyone else.

“You’d better not have canceled your cruise,” Cheyenne said as soon as she picked up.

“No, although I should,” Eve responded with a note of chagrin.

“There’s no point. You can’t stop what’s going to happen.”

“But I could help you through it.”

“You’ve already done everything you can. What’s up?”

Eve’s voice filled with breathless excitement. “I did it.”

Cheyenne had opened the cupboard and was reaching for two bowls, but she dropped her hand. What was Eve talking about? “Did what?”

“I asked him out!”

Cheyenne froze. “You mean Joe?”

“Who else, silly? I just…worked up the nerve, called him at the station and said, ‘I’d really like to get to know you better. Is there any chance you’d be interested in having dinner with me tomorrow?’”

Gripping the edge of the counter, Chey managed a strangled “And what did he say?”

“Yes!” It sounded as if she was jumping up and down. “He was so nice about it. He didn’t make me feel uncomfortable at all.”

Of course not. Joe was good at making other people feel accepted, regardless of the situation. He’d looked after Cheyenne as a sort of unofficial big brother ever since she’d moved to town, hadn’t he? Not once had he treated her as if she was insignificant, like so many of the other popular guys had at first. Although Cheyenne was eventually accepted by the “in” crowd, she felt that Eve had so much more to offer. She came from a highly regarded family. She was beautiful in the classic sense with a slender figure, dramatic widow’s peak and shiny dark hair. And she was such a nice person. Chey couldn’t imagine anyone not loving Eve.

“That—” Chey had to clear her throat “—that’s so exciting. Where will you take him?”

“I think we’ll drive to Jackson and have dinner at the Old Milano Hotel.”

“The one famous for its prime rib?”

“That’s it.”

Slumping onto the counter, Cheyenne rested her forehead in her hands. “That’ll be romantic.”

“Are you bringing me that soup today or tomorrow?” her mother interrupted, calling from her room.

Cheyenne covered the phone. “Give me a minute!”

“I might not have a minute!”

“Is that Anita?” Eve asked.

After making a sound of exasperation, Cheyenne laughed. “Yeah. Pleasant as always.”

“I don’t know how you do it. I’ll let you go, but…what do you think I should wear?”

Cheyenne knew Eve’s wardrobe as well as her own. They were the same size and often shared clothes. Until Cheyenne became an adult and had her own money, she was the only one who’d benefited from the arrangement. But that was slowly changing. Now it was Chey’s turn to give back. Eve had plenty of cute things, but she loved the new dress Cheyenne had found in San Francisco during her last visit. “I’ve got that pretty Caren Templet I got on sale, if you want to wear it. It would go perfectly with your leopard-print shoes and the black jacket with the fake fur.”

“You’d let me borrow that?” Eve said. “You haven’t even worn it yourself. The tags are still on the sleeve!”

“I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

“Exactly.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Her mother was making a fuss. She had to get going. “This is a special occasion.” She fought the lump rising in her throat. “Wear it. You’ll be stunning.”

“That is so sweet. Thank you, Chey. You are the best friend anyone could ever have.”

In reality, it was the other way around. If not for Eve, Cheyenne would’ve run away while in high school—or started using, like Presley. The Harmons had tried to befriend Presley, too, but she was already set on her course, had chosen other friends who weren’t a very positive influence on her. Cheyenne owed Eve and her family everything. And it wasn’t as if Joe had been hers to begin with. “I’ll bring it to the inn tomorrow.”

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Eve asked with a fresh burst of enthusiasm.

A tear rolled down Cheyenne’s cheek. Angry that she could feel sorry for herself when Eve had such an opportunity, she set her jaw, wiped away the dampness and blinked faster to staunch the flow of more tears. “He won’t be able to resist you,” she said, and believed it with all her heart.

4

Friday morning at the coffee shop was usually Cheyenne’s favorite part of the week. She loved sitting around the table with a cappuccino, catching up with her friends. But there was so much on her mind—starting with her mother’s worsening health, the fact that Presley was acting strange and was probably on drugs again, and the knowledge that she’d be without the friends who sustained her through the biggest holiday of the year. Then there was Eve’s impending date with Joe, which, she was sad to acknowledge, upset her more than everything else. With all of that, she couldn’t enjoy herself, even though they had a great turnout today.

Riley Stinson had shown up with his thirteen-year-old son, Jacob, who’d been born the year they graduated from high school. Riley assured Eve that he was ready to begin the remodel on Monday. Sophia Knox, now DeBussi, had joined them. But thanks to her past and her arrogant husband, who always seemed to be working out of town, she wasn’t particularly liked or trusted. Chey thought Sophia came only to see Ted. They’d once been an item, and it was obvious that there were still feelings between them, but at this point those feelings were mostly negative, especially on Ted’s side. He seemed annoyed that he had to put up with her butting into his group of friends and rarely spoke to her. This added a level of tension that hadn’t existed before, but Sophia had been coming to coffee for over a year. They’d grown used to her presence even if they didn’t quite welcome it.

Then there was Callie Vanetta, who owned her own photography studio on Sutter Street, and Kyle Houseman, who’d recently been through an acrimonious divorce. Callie and Kyle had become extremely close of late. Cheyenne sensed it and wondered if they were sleeping together, but they certainly didn’t let on if they were. Noah Rackham, a professional cyclist whose twin brother had been killed when the mineshaft caved in on graduation night—Cheyenne would never forget the moment she’d heard that terrible news—and Baxter North, Noah’s best friend, rounded out the group. Without Gail, there were nine. Most were talking and laughing, but today Eve didn’t seem to be enjoying herself any more than Cheyenne was. Although she’d come to the coffeehouse walking on air, thanks to her date with Joe, her mood had wilted as soon as the elegant European couple who owned A Room with a View B and B strode in and sat across from their table.

“Ignore them,” Callie admonished when she noticed Eve’s preoccupation.

Eve lowered her voice. “I can’t. They’ve single-handedly destroyed my family’s business.”

“It’s not illegal to give you some competition,” Baxter pointed out. He’d grown up next door to Noah, and they’d spent most of their time together, but they were nothing alike. In keeping with his profession, Noah was athletic, perfectly toned and always tan. He rode outside nearly every day, including the winter. Baxter, a stockbroker who commuted to San Francisco three or four days a week, was handsome, too, but in a suave, cultured way.

“They’ve been doing more than that,” Eve muttered. “They’ve been trying to drive me out of business. That’s unethical, even if it isn’t illegal.”

Cheyenne knew how close they’d come. She wasn’t sure the Harmons would be able to hang on to the inn, despite the remodel and the name change and the plans they’d developed to promote Little Mary’s as a haunted house. “They’ve been undercutting our rates by so much they can’t possibly be making any money,” she explained. “They’re taking a loss every day—a significant one, considering how much they’ve thrown into restoring that place. They’re just hoping to outlast us.”

“At which point they’ll be the only B and B in town and will recoup their losses,” Eve said bitterly. “You wait and see.”

“Except they won’t succeed in forcing you to close your doors.” Riley handed his son some money so he could go to the counter and buy one of the giant muffins Black Gold was known for. “You’re about to give people a good reason to stay at your place, even if it costs a little extra.”

“What?” Eve asked dryly. “A scare?”

“A piece of Whiskey Creek history.” Ted pushed his to-go cup aside. “Maybe it’ll help that I’ve decided to tackle Mary Hatfield’s murder as the basis for a new book.”

“Really?” Noah flipped his hair out of his face as he leaned forward. “You’re moving away from fiction?”

“I’ll keep up with my current contracts. The thrillers are my bread and butter. But in my spare time I’d like to research what happened to Mary. See if there’s a story there. I’ve always been curious about it. If I can find enough information to proceed, maybe it’ll bring some notoriety to the inn.”

“You’d better work fast,” Eve said.

He reached over to cover her hand with his. “You’re making lots of great changes. Have some faith.”

“Everything will work out.” Callie tucked her shiny blond hair behind one ear. “But even if it doesn’t, you’ve done all you can. We’re leaving on Sunday. Don’t let the Russos ruin your trip.”

Eve flattened her hands on the table. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve tried to talk to them, but they won’t listen, let alone show any sympathy.”

“It’s business,” Noah said. “You can’t take it personally.”

That was easy for Noah to say, Cheyenne thought. His future didn’t depend on the bed-and-breakfast.

“There are human beings behind businesses. Eve has always believed that running The Gold Nugget would be her future.”

Everyone glanced at one another as if they were shocked it was Sophia who’d contributed this. She and her husband were the wealthiest people in town—not counting Simon, who’d married Gail a year ago. One would think if anyone was going to weigh in on the side of ruthless business practices, it would be Sophia, who’d chosen to break Ted’s heart and marry for money.

“The problem will still be here when you get back,” Riley said, reiterating Callie’s sentiment. “Tackle it then. For now, the inn is my baby. You have better things to think about.”

He was referring to the cruise, of course. But that wasn’t where Eve’s mind went. Cheyenne could tell by the smile that broke out across her face. “I do have better things to think about,” she agreed. “One of them is dinner with Joe DeMarco.”

Cheyenne nearly dropped her cappuccino. Eve had sworn her to secrecy. She’d said she didn’t want anyone to know how she felt about Joe, not until she’d had the chance to see if he returned her interest. Did his agreement to have dinner mean that?

“So…is this a date?” Callie was instantly intrigued; they all were.

Blushing slightly, Eve rolled back the foil lid of her orange juice. “It is.”

Baxter crossed one leg over the other. Although he usually worked at home on Fridays, he was dressed in one of his hand-tailored suits, signifying he had business in San Francisco. “Since when have you been seeing Joe?”

“Tonight will be our first evening out. But…I’ve had my eye on him for ages.”

Cheyenne couldn’t look up. She didn’t want to meet anyone’s gaze, didn’t want her friends to realize that she felt as if she’d just been kicked in the stomach. Eve hadn’t had her eye on Joe nearly as long as Cheyenne had. But she couldn’t say so. Eve’s announcement made Joe hers, whether he felt the same or not.

“He needs to start seeing someone.” Callie put her plastic spoon into an empty yogurt container. “How long has it been since his divorce?”

Noah answered. “I was getting back from my first race in Europe when I heard, so it would have to be four, five years ago.”

“The divorce was hard on him,” Baxter commented.

Riley’s chair scraped the wood floor as he made room for his son, who’d returned with his muffin. “What his ex-wife did would’ve been hard on anybody.”

“I think he’s seen a few women over the past couple of years, but no one from around here,” Ted volunteered.

“And no one who’s as perfect for him as I am,” Eve joked.

When everyone chuckled, Cheyenne tried to laugh, too, but couldn’t manage much more than a pained smile. She wanted to say she had to check on her mother so she could slip out. But she’d driven over with Eve.

Forcing herself to sit quietly, she pretended the same happy interest the others exhibited as Sophia said how delighted Gail would be, and Ted teased that it was about time the reluctant-to-commit Eve settled on someone. It’d been three years since her last relationship.

Soon talk of Eve and Joe died down, but the next subject didn’t make Chey feel much better. Ted told everyone about the tourist information he’d found online. Callie went over what to pack for the cruise. And Eve asked whether or not to buy traveler’s checks—all for a trip Cheyenne couldn’t take.

When they finally began to disperse, Cheyenne breathed a sigh of relief. Callie had to open her photography studio by ten. Baxter had a long drive to reach his office in San Francisco. Ted was behind on his deadline. They all had work to do. Since this was the last day The Gold Nugget would be open until after the first of the year—not to mention the last day it would operate under its current name—Chey was just as eager to start her day. She couldn’t expect her short-order cook to wrap up breakfast alone.

But just as she slid out of the booth, Noah clasped her arm. “What will you do while we’re gone?” he asked.

She could tell by his sympathetic expression that he felt bad she wasn’t able to join them, so she mustered yet another smile—and prayed it was more convincing than the ones that had come before. “The same. Taking care of my mother.”

But with the way things were going she’d probably be burying Anita instead. And to make her Christmas even merrier, she’d most likely have to drag her sister back to rehab.

* * *

It was pathetic to drive past Eve’s house so many times. Especially because she’d left her mother alone in order to do it. But Cheyenne couldn’t seem to stop herself. She had to know what time Eve got home, had to see if Joe kissed her at the door…or was invited inside.

Eve lived on her parents’ property, but she had her own small bungalow in back, which afforded her enough privacy to be able to entertain a lover. As long as Joe parked his car off the premises, her aging parents would never notice if their daughter had overnight company. When they weren’t traveling in the motor home they’d bought when their financial situation still looked good, they went to bed early and, for the most part, let Eve visit them at the main house instead of trudging back to her place.

The fact that Eve would, no doubt, provide a detailed recap of the evening added to the guilt that troubled Cheyenne. They shared everything. But Cheyenne wasn’t planning to ask about Joe. She hoped Eve would be so caught up in getting ready for the cruise that they wouldn’t have to talk about him. She couldn’t continue to pretend approval and support when each word Eve said cut like broken glass.

Besides, she didn’t want to see the man she loved through Eve’s eyes. She wanted to see him through her own. She’d memorized every encounter they’d ever had, every nuance of his expression, tone and body language. She was hoping that would help her determine whether or not he was excited about Eve or merely being polite. He was nice enough to accept a dinner invitation from just about any woman.

Cheyenne should know how kind he was. He’d always made her feel good, despite the unkempt way she’d looked when they first met or the number of guys in Whiskey Creek who wouldn’t date her in the early years. Although Chey had never slept with anyone—Joe was the only man she’d ever dreamed of touching in that way—Presley and Anita had gone to bed with any man who showed interest. The Christensens were barely one step above J. T. Amos’s clan, who were always fighting and going to jail or getting busted for dealing drugs. At least the people in Whiskey Creek had learned to differentiate between her and the rest of her family.

She’d been listening to the car radio to pass the time, but the noise made her nervous. Turning it off, she pulled down the tree-lined dirt road that led to the neighbors’ farm and stopped just beyond Eve’s house. From there she’d be able to tell when a car arrived. If she got out and stood hidden in the shrubs, she might even be able to ascertain what went on at the door.

Five minutes passed before she decided she couldn’t invade her friend’s privacy out of her own jealousy. Why would she betray the one person who’d brought some legitimacy to her life? Who’d convinced her that she could rise above her situation? Who’d made her whole in a way she’d never been whole before?

With a curse for her own weakness, she started up the Oldsmobile she’d bought from Henry Statham over in Jackson last Christmas and swung it around. But before she could drive out of the lane and onto the paved road, headlights appeared. A vehicle was cresting the hill.

Afraid it might be Joe and Eve and that they’d see her, Cheyenne backed up and switched off the car again. She had to remain hidden by the trees. The Olds was too distinctive; she couldn’t hope to drive by them and escape notice.

Sure enough, Chey recognized Joe’s white truck as it turned into Eve’s driveway, but she’d expected as much. Whiskey Creek was a small town of only two thousand. Not many people lived out here, in the country. With the older Harmons and their farmer neighbors asleep, it almost had to be Eve.

Curving her nails into her palms, Chey watched as the headlights went off. But when Joe and Eve climbed out, she made herself look away. What happened next was none of her business. She had no right to be sitting here, spying like some sort of obsessed weirdo. What kind of friend was she? Eve would make Joe a wonderful girlfriend, lover—even wife. He deserved the best, didn’t he?

She waited until they both went inside. Then, sick at heart because of what that might mean, she drove home. She needed some silence, some space.

Unfortunately, her mother called her the second she opened the door.

“Cheyenne? Is that you?”

“It’s me,” she called back, but hesitated in the small entry. She wasn’t sure she could make herself continue into the house. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to see the reality of her mother’s condition, didn’t want to think about what was coming or when it might happen, didn’t want to take stock of the painkiller and know her sister had stolen more.

“I spilled my sippy cup,” Anita complained. “I need another bath.”

Chey gripped her purse tighter. “No problem. I’ll bring a wet washcloth.”

“That won’t be enough. It was juice. I’m sticky all over. And the bedding…it has to be changed.”

Squeezing her eyes closed, Cheyenne pressed her free hand to her face. Bathing Anita was so difficult. It took all her strength, despite her mother’s dramatic weight loss. And now there’d be two baths in one night?

She imagined Eve lying beneath Joe, imagined how he might be touching her, kissing her, and nearly crumpled to her knees. She’d fantasized about Joe ever since she’d met him, but much more since his divorce. It was her only guilty pleasure.

But now…she couldn’t even have that, not if he got together with Eve.

“Are you coming?”

The impatience in Anita’s voice grated on Chey’s nerves. What if she walked back to her car, got in and simply drove off?

Determined to do just that, she whirled around and ran to the street. She’d escape her mother at last—on her own terms—and go find the blonde woman.

She had her keys in her hand and was opening her car door before the rational part of her mind regained control. What was she thinking? She didn’t even know where to start looking. She had no name, couldn’t associate the blonde woman with any particular city or place. She’d gone to the police before—not here but in New Mexico after she’d turned fourteen. She’d told them she thought she’d been abducted, but they’d insisted she didn’t match anyone who’d been reported missing and sent her home. What made her think she’d get a different reception now?

Besides, she couldn’t go anywhere. What would happen to Presley? Who would take care of Anita while Presley had to work? Who would handle their mother’s funeral and burial when the time came?

Not Presley. She wasn’t capable of holding herself together long enough.

And who would help Eve save the inn?

Hanging her head, Cheyenne stood in the cold, the wind whipping at her hair while she stared at her feet. Not only did she have responsibilities here in Whiskey Creek, she had friends. She couldn’t let them down just because Eve was dating the man she loved. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she did.

With a deep breath, she locked up her car and returned to the house.

“Coming,” she called to her mother the moment she walked in, but as she hurried past the full-length mirror hanging on Presley’s door, she stopped dead in her tracks. In the dim light streaming into the hallway from her own bedroom, she looked so much like the willowy blonde woman in her dreams she almost thought her reflection belonged to someone else.

5

Joe was the last person Cheyenne wanted to see. Whether he was aware of her aborted attempt to spy on him last night or not, she was embarrassed about her behavior, afraid that he’d see through her, and she didn’t want to cope with finding him wearing a big, fat, satisfied smile. She was having a hard enough time soldiering on without knowing whether he’d slept with her best friend. She wanted to close her eyes to the whole affair and concentrate on what she had to do to fulfill her obligations today and in the days to come.

But when they nearly collided as she pushed her cart around a corner and down an aisle at Nature’s Way, a local, family-owned grocery store between Whiskey Creek and Jackson, she couldn’t turn and run in the other direction. That would make her envy and upset even more apparent. So she dredged up a smile and said hello before trying to circumvent him.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he asked, catching her by the elbow.

With an effort, she kept her expression innocent and friendly. “No fire. I’m just…” She struggled to invent an excuse for why she couldn’t take a second to talk to him on a Saturday morning. Obviously, she wasn’t working. And Presley was home with Anita or she wouldn’t be out. “You know…busy. Always busy.”

He studied her before responding. “Eve said the B and B’s closed today.”

“It is. But we’ll reopen after New Year’s. I’m overseeing some remodeling while she’s on the cruise.” The changes and repairs wouldn’t start until Monday. Maybe Eve had told him that, too, but Chey was grappling to fill the silence with something unrelated to the turmoil churning inside her.

“Too bad you can’t go with her. I’m sure you could use a vacation.” His voice was concerned. “How’s your mother?”

Miserable. Fading. Cheyenne wanted to tell him how much more complicated it was to watch someone die whom you resented. How guilt played a bigger role than sadness. How she sometimes longed for a release despite knowing that wishing her mother gone made her a terrible person.

But she hadn’t shared those realities with Eve or Presley or anyone. She was afraid of what they said about her, afraid she was even worse than Anita.

I’ve always loved you. Had she really?

“She’s hanging in there.”

He was studying her so intently, almost as if he was trying to peek beneath the polite mask she wore.

“It’s got to be tough.” His hand still rested on her arm. She knew he was just being sympathetic. He’d always known when she was having a difficult time. He could sense it, seemed to pay attention to more than most people noticed or cared about. Unfortunately, his touch made her yearn for contact of a different sort.

“Everyone has problems,” she insisted as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. But tears welled up, calling her a liar and embarrassing her so badly she jerked away and hurried around him.

* * *

“It was fun! He’s really easy to talk to, Chey. And so smart. And kind. And—” Eve twirled, sighing wistfully “—handsome. God, is he handsome. Those blue eyes held me riveted the entire night.”

Cheyenne was sitting on Eve’s bed while Eve packed for the cruise. At her friend’s request, she’d come over to say goodbye before the trip. She’d also brought a bikini and some costume jewelry Eve wanted to borrow. But the conversation had quickly turned to Eve’s date with Joe, as Cheyenne feared it would. That was all Eve could think about.

“I saw him at the grocery store this morning.” She wasn’t sure why she volunteered that. It was irrelevant, a moment she preferred to forget since it had ended so awkwardly. And yet that brief encounter, the memory of his hand clutching her arm and the caring expression on his face, had been on her mind all day.

Eve’s eyes lit with excitement. “Really? Did he say anything?”

“About you?”

“Or last night…”

Cheyenne fiddled with the strap of her purse. “No. I doubt he realizes I’m aware the two of you went out. And I didn’t think you’d want me to bring it up. But…you’re right, he’s a great guy. You two are perfect for each other.” Hadn’t she said so before? “How’d he like the dress?”

“He said I looked great.”

Chey had seen that for herself. “Do you want to wear it on the cruise?”

“No, I’ve got plenty of clothes for the trip. Go ahead and take it home so you have it while I’m gone.”

“How many outfits are you packing?”

Holding a pair of shorts that was supposed to go into her suitcase, Eve sank onto the bed. “I was hoping he’d kiss me. I almost leaned in to make sure he did, but chickened out at the last second.” She slanted a devilish grin at Cheyenne. “Maybe I should’ve gone for it.”

Eve hadn’t heard, let alone responded, to her question about the number of outfits. It had merely been Cheyenne’s attempt to divert her, anyway. Chey didn’t want to talk about this. It told her that Eve liked Joe more than ever and that last night had gone well. Maybe they hadn’t slept together, but Eve was bent on seeing him again, and Cheyenne couldn’t imagine any man rejecting a woman as beautiful, caring, sophisticated and intelligent as Eve.

“Wait for him to make a move. He will when he’s ready.” Was that her true opinion? Or only what served her best?

“Why is it always up to the guy?” Eve demanded. “What if I want to kiss him?” Her voice warmed. “What if I’d like to do even more?”

Cheyenne wished she could look away from her friend’s face, but she was afraid that might reveal how she felt. “Then…I guess you could let him know—if you want to take that risk.”

Eve’s scowl said she wasn’t particularly pleased with Chey’s response. “Do you think it would be a risk? Do you think he’d hesitate? I’ll bet he hasn’t been with a woman in ages. I can’t name one he’s dated since his divorce.”

“He doesn’t date women from Whiskey Creek. It’s too uncomfortable when things don’t work out. That’s the danger of seeing someone in your hometown, right? You run into them, and keep running into them, long afterward.” The same was true for falling in love with someone who didn’t love you back, she thought.

“I get that, but he has to miss sex.” She sighed. “I know I do. My last experience was with that guy I met because he stayed at the inn, who wound up being married.”

Cheyenne remembered what a smooth liar he’d been. He’d had a woman with him the first time he’d stayed, but he’d convinced Eve she was only his girlfriend and said they’d broken up. That part turned out to be true—but he still had a wife. “I have no idea how he’d respond if you tried to kiss him. I don’t know anything about his private life.”

Eve wasn’t really listening. She was too consumed by her own thoughts. “I almost wish I wasn’t leaving town. I mean…there’s your mother’s health. I should be here in case…you know, the worst happens. And now I’ve started a relationship with Joe that I have to walk away from for two whole weeks.” She pinched her bottom lip. “I should’ve held off until after the cruise to ask him out.”

“You were thinking if he turned you down, it would be easier to recover if you were gone, remember?”

She chuckled. “I remember. I should’ve had more confidence. If only I’d waited…”

“He won’t forget you that soon.” Cheyenne got off the bed to take the shorts and fold them herself. “Did he ask what you’re doing tonight?”

She hated herself for prying. She’d promised not to make matters worse by digging for information, especially information that would upset her, but she couldn’t help this one question. If last night had been so amazing, Joe could’ve invited Eve one more time before she left.

“He didn’t, but he talked about how much work it is to get ready for such a long trip, as if he was expecting me to be busy.”

“Anyone would expect that,” Cheyenne concurred, but she wasn’t convinced that two people who were really excited about each other would put off getting together just because of packing, especially when Eve had had all day.

Still, she had to admit there were a lot of reasons Joe could’ve decided not to ask Eve out. Maybe he had to work.

As Cheyenne put the shorts in the suitcase and began folding items Eve had yet to gather up. Eve stood and embraced her. “I’m going to miss you. You’ll be okay while I’m gone, won’t you? I hate that I’m leaving you in the lurch.”

“You’re not leaving me in the lurch. We’ve both known this was coming for months and months.”

“True, but…”

Cheyenne collected the dress she’d lent Eve. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.” Part of her felt she’d be better off. She couldn’t handle what was happening between Eve and Joe while she felt so vulnerable because of her mother and sister. Two weeks of not having to pretend would give her a chance to get her feet underneath her again. “I’m happy for you. You deserve a vacation.”

“You deserve one, too.”

“I’ll take one someday.”

“We’ll track down your birth certificate and go to Europe together,” Eve promised.

“That’d be fun.” She draped the dress over one arm so she could fish her keys from the side pocket of her big bag. “I should head home. Presley has a date tonight.”

Eve frowned. “Why does she get to go out while you take care of Anita? You’re always stuck at home.”

“Someone offered to take Presley to a movie.” She wiggled her eyebrows for comedic effect. “I can’t say the same.”

“I can guarantee it’s no one she should be with,” Eve said.

That was probably true. But Cheyenne couldn’t tell her sister whom to date. It was hard enough encouraging her to stay clean and sober, not to mention employed. “Have a wonderful time,” she said, and took the gift she’d bought Eve out of the main compartment of her purse.

“What’s this?”

“A send-off.”

“Oh, my gosh! How sweet! Can I open it?”

“Of course. But don’t be fooled by the fancy wrapping. It’s just self-tanner,” she said with a laugh. “You’ll need it if you plan on wearing that bikini.”

“Sad but true.” Eve gave Cheyenne another brief hug. “Thank you. As usual, you’ve come up with the perfect gift.”

Cheyenne was almost out of the bedroom when Eve called her back. “Chey?”

“Hmm?” she said, turning.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. You realize that, don’t you?”

For the first time in several days, Cheyenne felt good, or at least better. This was Eve. She could give up the man she loved for Eve, couldn’t she?

Of course. She’d do anything....

“I know.” With a smile and a wave she went home, telling herself that Joe was just one guy among many. Someday she’d find someone else who made her feel the way he did. She had to. Because she couldn’t, wouldn’t, put him before her best friend.

6

“How’d it go last night?”

Joe looked up from the basketball game he’d been watching since he got home from work. His father had asked him about his date with Eve Harmon twice already—earlier today, when they were at the station. Joe had brushed aside the subject both times and didn’t have much to add now. “Fine.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? It was fine?”

He returned his attention to the TV. “What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know… A little excitement maybe? Eve seems like a nice girl.”

She was a nice girl. Joe couldn’t argue with that.

“Do you think you’ll go out with her again?” A cabinet banged shut as Martin started dinner. When they were home together, they took turns doing the cooking. They had a few part-time employees at Whiskey Creek Gas-N-Go who helped out on nights and weekends. Since the station opened at six and closed at midnight seven days a week, they couldn’t man it every hour.

“Joe?” his father prompted when he didn’t answer.

Apparently, Martin wasn’t going to let this go. Using the remote, Joe lowered the volume on the Kings and Lakers. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Why not?” his father countered.

“You know how I feel about getting involved with someone from Whiskey Creek. I made that mistake when I got married.” He ran into Suzie’s family all over town—her parents, aunts, uncles, cousins. These people, whom he’d once loved as much as his own relatives, no longer spoke to him. They blamed him for the divorce and God knew what else, even though it was Suzie who’d cheated, Suzie who’d tried to pass off another man’s child as one of his.

Sometimes he wished he could tell the Petrovicks what Suzie had been like as a wife. He wanted to see the shock on their faces, especially her stodgy old father’s.

But he’d never say a word. Not even to Gail or Martin. He’d destroyed the results of the DNA test as soon as he received them in the mail. He’d never told Suzie that he knew. Summer meant as much to him as Josephine. If the truth got out, he stood to lose far more than he already had.

The lid to the trash can closed with a thump. “Then why’d you go out with her in the first place?”

Because she’d taken him off guard when she called and he hadn’t wanted to embarrass her. And, ideals or no, he needed some kind of diversion. Lately, he’d been so damn lonely, so dissatisfied. That didn’t exactly put him in a strength position when it came to turning down invitations.

“It was just dinner, Dad, not a date.” Eve had talked too much and tried too hard, and then she’d nearly tackled him at the door as he tried to leave. But he’d known he wasn’t interested in her when he said yes. That made the discomfort his fault.

“Right,” Martin said with a skeptical cackle.

Swallowing a frustrated sigh—he really didn’t want to be grilled about this—Joe turned up the volume. “It’s true. You’re making too big a deal out of it.”

His father raised his voice to compete with the sudden roar of the Laker fans. “You’re saying she just wants to be friends.”

He slouched lower so he could lean his head against the back of the couch. “Yeah.”

“That’s why she stops by to get gas almost every single day and spends fifteen minutes hanging around the minimart hoping to run into you.”

The frequency of Eve’s trips had given her away. Joe had guessed, long before she’d asked him out. She’d been hinting that she liked him for the past several months. But he couldn’t see himself in a romantic relationship with her, couldn’t see her as anything other than the chubby little girl with pigtails who’d played Barbies with Gail. “Give it a rest, okay?” he grumbled.

“You got to date somebody.”

“Who says?” Finally goaded into dealing with this, he hit the mute button. “You don’t date. You’ve lived without a partner for years.”

“Because I had you and Gail to worry about, and now I’m too old and ornery to get along with anyone.”

He hadn’t brought a woman home since Linda left him for her high school sweetheart. Joe had been thirteen when his mother walked out, Gail eight. They’d hardly seen her since. She was still with the same man and by all indications happy, but she wasn’t one who liked to look back.

“You don’t want to be alone for the rest of your life,” Martin said.

“How can you be so sure?” The first few years after his divorce, being alone hadn’t been so bad. It beat the hell out of trying to live with someone as high-strung and volatile as Suzie. He never wanted to go through any of that again. The fighting. The shock of some of the things she said. The betrayal he’d felt when he’d learned about her affair with their next-door neighbor. The sickness that had swamped him when he found out she’d brought the man he’d considered a friend, the man he’d been barbecuing burgers for on Saturdays, into his bed. The sense of failure that’d dragged him down when she finally kicked him out because he was only staying for the sake of the girls. The loss of no longer waking up in the same house as his children. It had been hell.

But his fear of getting involved in another bad relationship was quickly being offset by the downside of his current situation. He was tired of living with his father and sleeping alone. He hadn’t had sex with anyone since Deborah Hinz, the woman who’d come from Sacramento to sell him energy-conversation lighting for the exterior of the station eighteen months ago. Even that hadn’t been as enjoyable as it should’ve been. He’d thought there might be some potential there when she’d asked to meet him at a bar not far from where she lived. But when he woke up and realized he’d drunk too much and gone home with her, he beat a hasty retreat. Then he bought the lights she’d been hoping to sell him, even though his father insisted they could find them cheaper, to make up for not wanting to see her again.

“I just need to go to Sacramento or the Bay area more often,” he said, and hoped he was right, that getting out and meeting new people would fill the void.

His father’s voice was barely audible; he’d stuck his head into the refrigerator to get something out. “How will you meet someone in Sac or anywhere else? At a nightclub?”

“I guess I could join a church group, but doing it for the wrong reasons seems a bit deceptive, don’t you think?” The Lakers scored from at least five feet behind the three-point line. “Nice shot,” he muttered, and rewound the DVR so he could take another look at that bucket.

“You don’t need to leave Whiskey Creek,” his father said. “There are plenty of nice women right here.”

Martin didn’t want to lose both of his kids to other locations. “Like who?”

“Eve Harmon! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

He glanced over to see his father salting two pieces of fish, which he could smell from where he sat in the living room. “You want me to date one of Gail’s friends?”

“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.

He could tell that she hadn’t been wearing a bra when she came to the door. She’d gone and put one on right away. But the gentle sway of her breasts as she moved in those first few seconds had reminded him that it had been a long time since he’d felt a woman’s soft body beneath his, especially a woman he wanted to make love to.

Those weren’t the kinds of thoughts he’d been anticipating in conjunction with his little sister’s unfortunate friend. When he let his father goad him into visiting her, he’d figured it was better than staying home or going to Sexy Sadie’s and milling around with the same old crowd.

Or…maybe he’d been lying to himself from the beginning. Maybe seeing Cheyenne as a desirable woman instead of a pity project was what he’d been hoping to avoid by keeping his distance from her in the first place.

A honk broke into his thoughts. Riley Stinson sat in his beat-up Explorer, idling at the light next to him.

Joe rolled down the passenger window. Riley was another of his sister’s friends, but Joe liked him as much as Gail did. Although most of Joe’s buddies from high school had moved on, as he’d originally done, the people in her group were still as tight as family.

“I don’t usually see you out so late,” Riley called above the rumble of their engines.

“Just checking to make sure the station’s locked up.” Joe wasn’t sure why he lied. He supposed he felt a little funny about seeing Cheyenne after going to dinner with Eve last night. Also, he knew that Cheyenne would appreciate the discretion.

“Everything okay?”

Someone had broken in after-hours about three years ago and looted the minimart. Whoever it was had taken all the alcohol, cigarettes and condoms. But there hadn’t been any trouble since. “Fine,” Joe replied. He had driven past the station, but only because, in a town this size, it was unavoidable. “What about you? What’re you up to?”

“Heading home.”

“From…”

“My folks.” He covered a yawn. “I fell asleep there a couple hours ago.”

“Where’s Jacob?” Riley had gotten a girl by the name of Phoenix pregnant while in high school. She’d always been a little different, definitely offbeat, but no one could’ve guessed she was capable of murder. She ran down the next girl he showed interest in and went to prison before the baby was even born. Riley and his parents had had Jacob since birth, when the authorities had shuttled the infant out to them.

That story had been the talk of the town back in the day. It was the most sensational thing to ever happen in Whiskey Creek—except for the cave-in at the old mine, which had killed Noah Rackham’s twin brother right about the same time.

“I let him sleep over. I have to repair a roof first thing in the morning.”

“Doesn’t he usually go along and help if he’s on break?”

Riley, a contractor, was already teaching Jacob how to build and fix houses. As Jacob grew older, the two acted more like good buddies than father and son.

“I told him he could spend the day with Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow.”

“They getting ready for Christmas?”

Riley grinned. “He has cooking, decorating and going shopping to look forward to.”

Joe could tell Riley was glad to be off the hook. “How does Jacob feel about that?”

“He wanted to come with me, but I told him it would make Grandma happy to have him stay. The bells and whistles of the holidays are very important to my mom.” His tone suggested he didn’t quite understand, which made Joe smile. He didn’t see the point in some of the tacky decorations he saw, either. Putting up a tree just meant it had to be taken down. But he knew that was being too practical and was willing to do whatever it took to keep his girls happy.

The light had turned green twice already, but there wasn’t anyone behind them so they didn’t feel any pressure to drive on.

“How’s Gail?” Riley asked.

“Happy. Busy doing Simon’s PR and managing the other publicists at her firm. They have a star-studded list now.”

“Simon’s got another new movie coming out, I hear.”

Joe checked his rearview mirror again. Still clear. “Another blockbuster. This June.”

“I’ve been meaning to call Gail. I want to tell her I got a Christmas card from Phoenix.”

Leaning forward, Joe turned off his stereo. “Does she write you often?”

“She sends letters to Jacob all the time but I don’t pass them on. There’s no way I want to nurture that relationship. I rarely hear from her myelf, though.”

“Why do you think she sent the card?”

Suddenly pensive, he frowned and tapped his steering wheel. “She gets out this summer.”

Another car came motoring up from behind, forcing them to move on.

“Good luck with that,” Joe called.

“Thanks. I might need it,” Riley said with a wave.

* * *

A noise alerted Cheyenne to the fact that she was no longer alone. Presley came stumbling into the kitchen, squinted at the clock, then groaned. She acted as if it was far too early to face the day, but it was eleven-thirty. “Where are you going?” she mumbled through a yawn.

Cheyenne had been up, doing some cleaning, since six. “A friend wants my help picking out a Christmas tree,” she said as she rinsed her coffee cup.

Her sister started for the fridge, then stopped and winced as if that much movement hurt her aching head. “What friend?”

“Does it matter?” Cheyenne took two ibuprofen tablets from the cupboard and handed them over.

Presley wrinkled her nose. “This the best you can do?”

She wasn’t getting anything stronger. Not from Cheyenne. “That’s it.”

Obviously exasperated, her sister popped them in her mouth, pulled the orange juice from the fridge and drank out of the jug.

Cheyenne scowled at her. “Seriously? You can’t get a cup?”

“Too late now,” she said as she put the juice back. “And do you have to talk so loud? What’s wrong with you today?”

The keys to the Olds were lying next to her purse. Cheyenne grabbed both. “Nothing.”

“Something has you bugged. You’re in a shitty mood.”

Because Cheyenne had been up most of the night, trying to talk herself into canceling. A loyal best friend would’ve refused to go anywhere with Joe. But she kept telling herself that nothing was going to happen. She’d pay off her poker debt while Eve was gone, so Eve would never even know about it, and that would be the end of it. What was so bad about buying and decorating a tree with a friend’s big brother?

“I’m in a hurry,” she said. Joe had called to say he’d pick her up at noon, but she’d insisted on dropping her car just outside of town. From there, they’d go to Jackson. Most of her friends were away. They’d had to be up long before dawn to get to the airport by eight. But still… No way did she want anyone she knew to see them together.

“What’s the rush?” Presley rubbed her temples. “Christmas is two weeks away.”

Cheyenne didn’t answer. She was too busy pulling on her coat and scarf.

“And I thought all your friends went to the Caribbean,” Presley added, slouching against the counter.

“Not all of them,” Cheyenne said.

“Who’s left?”

Anxious to get out of the house, Cheyenne didn’t even glance at her. “Riley’s still here.”

“You’re getting a tree with Riley? That’s what has you so worked up?”

“Nothing has me worked up.” Realizing that she’d forgotten to note the amount of morphine she’d given their mother in the log, she searched for a pen and wrote down the information. “How was your date last night?”

Presley scowled. “I’ve had better.”

“What movie did you see?”

“We skipped the movie.”

“So what did you do?”

“He took me back to his place.”

Tossing the pen aside, Cheyenne whirled to face her. “That’s it? You had sex?”

She shrugged. “He wasn’t a total cheapskate.”

“Meaning he provided the drugs and alcohol.”

No response.

“Why do you settle for so little?” Cheyenne knew the intensity of her words and expression would bother Presley, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted her sister to be happy and that didn’t seem possible if her sister continued down the same road as Anita.

“You have fun your way. I’ll have fun mine,” she said, shuffling back to bed.

Cheyenne watched her go, then checked the clock. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late.

She felt a hint of misgiving as she reached for the door handle. She even pulled her cell phone from her purse and stared down at Joe’s number.

Call him. She could tell him no, put an end to whatever they’d started last night.

Her finger hovered over the button. But she’d been waiting for the chance to spend time with him for far too long.

“Today and the next Saturday with his girls. That’s all,” she promised Eve, and walked out.

8

Cheyenne had the creamiest-looking skin Joe had ever seen. He’d noticed before, of course, but as they wandered through the Christmas-tree lot in Jackson, with the cold adding a tinge of pink to her cheeks, he realized she was even prettier than he’d given her credit for. She was interesting, too. She saw the world so differently from the women he’d dated in the past.

“What about this one?” he asked. They’d finally arrived at the corner of the lot where St. Nick’s displayed their best and most expensive trees. Joe had been searching for this section all along. He knew finding it would make the decision an easy one. But Cheyenne wasn’t convinced. She scrunched up her nose as she inspected the ten-foot-high blue spruce with the $150 price tag.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “It’s perfect.”

“That’s just it,” she said with a sigh. “It’s too perfect.”

This surprised him. “How can a Christmas tree be too perfect?”

“Anyone with enough money can buy a tree like this. An expensive artificial tree would be, technically, even more perfect—no branch out of place and that sort of thing. The challenge is to take something that has serious flaws and make it beautiful.” She turned in a slow circle, inspecting the options around them before pointing at a specimen that had been shoved off to the side. “What about that one?”

He couldn’t believe it. She’d chosen the ugliest tree he’d ever seen. Whoever owned the lot obviously agreed with him because it bore a clearance tag that read, Only $35!

To humor her, he went over and tried to stand it up straight. “You’re kidding. Look, it has a broken branch.”

She didn’t move on as he expected. “I can see that.”

“What about all the gaps and holes along the bottom, where it should be the fullest?”

“We can use garland and decorations to fill that in.”

Was she trying to help him save money? Show him how thrifty she could be? “Why mess with it? What you’d save on the tree itself, you’d spend on decorations.”

“Maybe. But bringing out this tree’s true beauty would be a worthy challenge. Then it wouldn’t have been chopped down for nothing.”

A lot of trees were going to be wasted. He couldn’t save them all. But he supposed it was refreshing that she wasn’t demanding the best money could buy. She saw value in a tree that had been tossed aside and rejected by everyone else who’d already come through.

“Now I understand why you picked the tree you did for your own house,” he joked.

She gave him a guilty-as-charged expression. “It would’ve been wasted, too.”

“I see.” He wondered how his girls would react. At eight and ten, they were still pretty young. Maybe they wouldn’t notice the tree’s imperfections. “You think you can make it look decent?”

“With enough lights and ornaments, we can make any tree look decent.”

This woman was quirky. Of course, her background and situation would make her a bit different, but he’d never thought he’d like those differences as much as he did. Suzie had known nothing but safety, security, love and praise. She’d been so terribly spoiled that she couldn’t settle for the attention of just one man; she’d had to have the attention of every man in their social circle.

Cheyenne, by contrast, had no compulsion to be the center of attention. She’d grown up living on the fringe, saw beauty in the unconventional.

“Or…maybe you’ll like that other tree better,” she said, suddenly second-guessing herself. “Get the nice one, if it suits you.”

He glanced between the two options. He’d automatically chosen the expensive, seemingly perfect Christmas tree when he’d fallen in love with Suzie. He’d been young, too young to marry, but he’d never questioned that she’d be a wonderful wife. Maybe it was time to try a tree that hadn’t been placed in the best corner of the lot, one that’d had to struggle just to survive.

It was an interesting thought. One worth considering. “I’m fine with this one,” he said, and motioned to the employee who’d been trailing them through the lot. “We’ll take it.”

The young man’s eyebrows went up. “Seriously? Dude, we were about to throw that tree out.”

“Now you don’t have to,” Joe said.

With a shrug, the guy waved to a coworker wearing a Santa hat and, together, they muscled it off the lot and into the bed of Joe’s truck. Joe was just paying the thirty-five dollars when he turned to say something to Cheyenne and spotted a man standing in line he’d hoped never to see again.

* * *

“Hey, that you, big guy?”

A jolt of alarm shot through Cheyenne when someone recognized Joe. She assumed the person lived in Whiskey Creek, which meant Eve might hear about them being together. But when she looked at the handsome, blond-haired man who’d come up behind them, she realized she’d never seen him before. At that point, she would’ve relaxed—if Joe hadn’t stiffened.

“Lance.” He gave a slight tilt of his head, but there was no warm smile, no pleasure Cheyenne could detect in meeting this person.

The man seemed oblivious to Joe’s negative reaction. Or he was too interested in whatever he could learn to let the lack of welcome bother him.

“I can’t believe it!” He slapped Joe on the back. “It’s been years, buddy! What are you doing here? You can’t be living in Jackson....”

Joe accepted his change and shoved it in his pocket without counting it. “No, Whiskey Creek,” he responded, and stepped out of the way so they wouldn’t hold up the line that had formed.

When Cheyenne moved with him, Lance’s eyes cut to her. “This your new wife?”

“Actually—”

The cashier interrupted. “That’ll be eighty-five dollars,” he said, waiting for Lance to pay.

Lance handed him some cash but never took his eyes off Joe. “Last I heard, you were still single.”

“That hasn’t changed.” Joe didn’t explain what Cheyenne was to him, but he performed a perfunctory introduction. “Chey, this is Lance Phillips. He was my—” he seemed to be picking his words carefully “—neighbor when I lived in Sac.”

“Nice to meet you,” she murmured.

As Lance shook her hand, Cheyenne got the impression he was sizing her up, wondering if she and Joe were romantically involved. Deciding whether or not he found her attractive enough to be considered a good catch. “They call you Chey?”

“Yes. It’s short for Cheyenne, Cheyenne Christensen.”

“My pleasure.” His gaze lingered on her, then shifted back to Joe. “How are your girls?”

A muscle twitched in Joe’s cheek. “You’re asking me? You probably see them more often than I do these days.”

Lance blinked several times, obviously taken aback. “Not anymore. Suzie didn’t tell you? We moved here shortly after you, er, left.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Who’s we?”

“What do you mean?” He laughed awkwardly. “Me, Maddy and the kids, of course.”

“So Maddy stuck with you.”

The cashier handed Lance his change.

“Yes,” Lance said, losing some of his false cheer. “Things got a little rough, as you know, but then we found out she was expecting and decided we had too many reasons to hang on to our marriage. That child turned out to be the little girl she always wanted,” he added, attempting another smile.

“A girl,” Joe repeated.

“Yes.”

A strained silence followed. It felt to Cheyenne as if Joe had just suffered a blow of some sort. She’d watched him for too many years not to recognize when he was upset. Something about this conversation, this person, was all wrong. Maybe they’d once been neighbors, but Joe had no liking or respect for Lance. Was he one of the men rumored to have slept with Suzie? Gail had mentioned infidelity, and Cheyenne couldn’t imagine anything else making Joe act like this.

“Congratulations,” Joe finally said, the word so dry Cheyenne wondered how it hadn’t turned to dust in his mouth.

“We named her Madeline, after her mother. She’s been a real blessing.” Lance talked fast, as if doing so might carry him into friendlier territory. “Came at the perfect time.”

“For you, maybe. I don’t see how a pregnancy forcing Maddy to give you another chance could’ve been a blessing to her.”

All pretense of camaraderie disappeared. “I’ve apologized, Joe.” Lance shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans and hunched forward in his wool pea coat. “I don’t know what more I can do.”

“You can quit pretending we’re friends,” Joe said, and guided Cheyenne away.

Cheyenne could hear Joe’s labored breathing as he marched to his truck. With his hands curved into fists, he walked so quickly she could barely keep up.

“Why do you hate that guy so much?” she asked once they’d both climbed inside the cab. Although she had her suspicions, she had no idea if she was right.

He gazed at her, but she was fairly certain he wasn’t seeing her. His mind was somewhere far away. When he came back to himself, he seemed almost startled to realize she was in the truck with him.

“I’m taking you home,” he said. “This was a mistake.”

* * *

Presley stared down at Eugene Crouch’s business card. All his information was there—his name, the name of his agency, his P.I. license number and his email address. She could contact him easily, right now while her mother slept, with a phone call or an email, and put an end to the mystery of the blonde woman.

She owed her sister the chance to assume her rightful identity, didn’t she? The chance to have the respectable family she’d always longed for. Those ringlets in Cheyenne’s hair, the expensive party dress and the pretty shoes suggested she’d come from a very different situation than the one in which she’d been raised, a far superior situation—

“Presley?” Anita called. “Where are you? Aren’t you going to turn on our show?”

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