When Snow Falls (18 page)

“And Noah. He’d be hurt, too. Maybe he doesn’t want to sleep with Baxter, but he loves him.”

“They’d both lose.”

“Baxter’s dated his share of girls,” Eve pointed out, hoping to disprove their suspicions.

“That doesn’t mean anything. A lot of gay guys date or sleep with women, or have at some stage in their lives.”

Eve felt her discomfort grow. “I hope you’re wrong. Baxter doesn’t have a chance with Noah. Noah’s as straight as a guy can be.”

Callie leaned over to drink her smoothie. “You see what’s at stake.”

“God…” She let out her breath slowly. “I guess that would explain why Bax hasn’t ever had a serious girlfriend.”

“Or left Whiskey Creek, even though his business is in San Francisco.”

“Maybe Noah’s the reason he’s been such a bear on this cruise, too.”

“Noah’s been on a roll, hooking up with one woman after another.”

“While Baxter has to sit there and watch.” Eve doubted they would’ve noticed this if they hadn’t spent a week together in such close quarters. At home, they were too wrapped up in their own lives to be aware of something that well hidden, but on a cruise ship, there were only so many places to get a break from one another.

“I have the impression that Noah senses things aren’t quite as they should be,” Callie mused. “The way he’s been acting with women…it’s not like him to be so indiscriminate. In fact, he’s always been too picky.”

“Maybe they do love each other and are fighting it.” Eve was determined to consider all options. “If Bax is gay, Noah could be, too. Maybe he’s not as straight as we think. How would anyone know?”

“We wouldn’t. Not until they were ready to tell us. We just have to pray that whatever happens doesn’t rip our friendship apart.”

“No kidding.” And she’d thought watching Joe date her best friend would be hard. “We’re
all
jinxed when it comes to love,” she grumbled.

“Except Gail,” Callie reminded her.

“How many people can expect to get that lucky?”

Callie shrugged. “Maybe lightning will strike twice.”

* * *

It just wasn’t the same. Cheyenne knelt in Joe’s living room, sorting through the ornaments he’d hauled out of the attic. She wanted to see what Christmas decorations he had that might match the new ones they’d bought at the hardware store on the way over. The process was going well; she thought he’d have a nice-looking tree when they were done, despite the challenges she’d created in picking the one she had. But she could definitely tell that the excitement she’d felt in his presence only a week ago—the night they’d played cards together—was gone.

Her fears had been confirmed. Sleeping with Dylan had changed her. Maybe it had even
ruined
her.

“You going totally with gold and white?”

“What?” She turned to look up at him. He was as attractive as ever, standing there in his well-worn jeans and crew-neck sweater. She could still admire his physical attributes. They just didn’t do the same thing to her they’d done before—which was crazy. He had a perfect, all-American athlete kind of face. No scars. No long hair. No chip on his shoulder except, perhaps, whatever resentments remained from his failed marriage. He didn’t walk around with the “I could do some serious damage” air Dylan exuded. Not only did he have all of that going for him, but Cheyenne had wanted a relationship with Joe for half her life.

How could it be that he’d finally,
finally
asked her out and she’d…lost interest?

It couldn’t be, she decided. She wouldn’t let it. She knew he was a dependable, good-hearted guy. She was going to trust her head and not her heart—or whatever other part of her body might be making its wishes known.

“Are you sticking with gold and white?” he repeated. “Or would this work?” He held out a red-and-white-striped ornament that clashed terribly with everything else she’d selected.

“I’d like to be polite and say it would be fine, but…” She shook her head. “Sorry.”

He chuckled at her honesty. “Now you know why I needed you.”

“Your girls could’ve helped you do this. Maybe they would even have preferred it.”

“I’m trying to impress them. They called me Scrooge last time they were here. Said if I’m going to have any Christmas spirit at all, they’d have to get the decorations out and put them up for me.”

“And this will prove them wrong?”

“I’m hoping. I’m also hoping it’ll demonstrate my good taste.”

She pointedly eyed the ugly ornament he’d pulled out from the pile of other, far better possibilities, and they both laughed.

“At least I can put the angel on top.” He dragged over a stepladder that wouldn’t have been nearly tall enough had she used it. “Makes me good for something.”

“You’re good for a lot more than that.”

When he smiled, she began to feel a bit better. Joe reminded her so much of Gail. How could she not enjoy every minute of his company?

She could and she would. He might not be
the
man she should marry, but he was the
type
of man. And if she didn’t date the right type of man, she’d fall in love with the
wrong
type.

Thank God she’d caught herself before walking into a disaster. There was no telling what being with Dylan would’ve led to.

Briefly, she touched her stomach and hoped it hadn’t already led to trouble.

“Nice,” he said when they were finished and he turned on the tree lights.

She stood back to admire their work. “Not bad.”

“Considering what we started with.”

For some reason, she thought of Dylan’s tree. He needed help decorating, too. It was completely bare. No angel. No ornaments or tinsel or lights. For a second, she wondered why he’d even bothered to put it up.

Maybe one of his brothers did.

On second thought, she doubted it. Most likely Dylan had dragged that tree inside for their sakes. They were getting too old to care about that sort of thing, but catering to Christmas was probably a habit by now, seeing as he was the only Santa they’d had for the past fifteen years.

“Ready to go to the Victorian Christmas celebration?” Joe asked.

“I am.” Scolding herself for thinking of Dylan yet again, she finished putting the extra ornaments away and accepted Joe’s hand.

20

T
he tree in the park was lit by thousands of tiny lights and the choir members positioned beside it, dressed in Victorian garb, carried candles. Against the backdrop of winter’s early dark, the lights and candles made a beautiful sight as the choir sang the traditional carols. Until that moment, when she stood listening to an a cappella rendition of
“God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,”
Cheyenne hadn’t thought much about the meaning of Christmas. She’d merely been going through the motions, putting up decorations because it was expected, especially at the inn. But tonight she felt the Christmas spirit.

She had a lot to be grateful for, she realized as she looked out at the faces of those who’d gathered to celebrate. She’d found a home and people she loved here in Whiskey Creek. Joe was part of her community and her circle of friends. She had so many fond memories of him from high school, not only of the times he’d stood up for her but many others—watching him play football, spying on him when she went to Gail’s, giggling when he caught them and chased them down. He’d been the perfect big brother and that made him the perfect teenage crush. That meant he’d also provided hours of pleasurable fantasy. But somehow the sexual element of those dreams had been lost. Right now she felt nothing more than friendship for Joe.

Friendship was a start, she told herself. Maybe they could build on that foundation. She certainly didn’t want to give up too soon. Any girl would be lucky to be involved with him; he wasn’t someone to be passed over lightly.

The choir director, in top hat and tails, asked the audience to join in on the final number. She sang “Silent Night” along with Joe and the others, but her mind wandered. And, of course, it went right back where she didn’t want it to go—Dylan.

She didn’t have many memories of him from high school. She hadn’t been around him all that much. To some extent, she’d purposely kept her distance. He’d been such a troublemaker. And the good people of Whiskey Creek made a big deal of showing their disapproval when it came to troublemakers. He’d started acting out
after
his mother died and his father crawled into a bottle, and that should’ve triggered more understanding. It probably would have, if he hadn’t been so darn unfriendly, rejecting both pity and help, so prickly and angry all around.

Then his father had stabbed that guy and Dylan’s world had gone from bad to worse. Yet, somehow, he’d gotten through it. Maybe he hadn’t done a
perfect
job of behaving and demanding that his brothers behave, but he’d taken on a monumental task. Not many others would have attempted, at such a young age, to raise four siblings. But if he hadn’t accepted the responsibility, his brothers would’ve been split up and parceled out to foster homes.

Cheyenne admired Dylan for keeping his family together. She wondered why more people couldn’t see past the typical signs of rebellion, couldn’t figure out how special he must be to have pulled it off.

Maybe the people of Whiskey Creek were still a little nervous about the Amos boys because they hadn’t quite been tamed.

“Should we get some cider?” Joe asked

“Sounds good.”

He took her elbow to help her avoid colliding with a teenager who darted away from his friend. Those who’d been listening to the carols were wandering off, moving in the direction of the food and craft vendors. As they followed, Cheyenne adjusted her beanie to keep her hair out of her eyes and blew on her hands. Her fingerless gloves made a nice fashion statement, but she was beginning to wish they were more practical than cute. The temperature seemed to be dropping fast. The weather report said they should expect more snow before Christmas. She wouldn’t be surprised if it started tonight.

“You cold?” Joe paused to chafe her hands. It was a gallant thing to do. But then he kissed her knuckles, and that was a little too intimate for her comfort, especially in public.

She was just trying to decide out how to pull away while making it look natural when a patch of black leather caught her eye. Startled by the realization that she recognized the jacket and the man wearing it, she glanced over to see a pair of familiar dark eyes in a face that could suddenly have been hewn from stone.

* * *

For a second, Dylan couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t been happy when Cheyenne canceled their date, but he’d told himself not to overreact. She spooked easily. He felt confident that, with time and effort, he’d be able to win her back. Because of her past, she wanted a secure future even more than most people did, so he figured he’d do what he could to prove himself reliable.

He’d even been thinking of buying her a Christmas present. He doubted she’d ever been given much. Presley had told them stories of Christmases past that had made his heart ache for what their lives must have been like—the strange men who came around when they were children, the lack of a home, the embarrassment of having a mother like Anita, the hunger and the desperation. Not to mention the way she treated them, as if they were a burden to her. He wanted to give Cheyenne something unexpected and extravagant, something she’d never even dare to want. So, much to his brother’s irritation, he’d been dragging his feet every time they passed booths that featured the types of things a woman might like. He’d been particularly tempted by a pair of emerald earrings.

But seeing her with Joe let him know that her call telling him she couldn’t see him tonight had a deeper reason. She hadn’t gotten scared. She’d sampled what he had to offer, found it lacking and chosen someone else—Joe, the one person he had no chance of competing against.

As their eyes met, her lips parted slightly. Obviously, she hadn’t expected to run into him. But then his brothers clued in to the fact that she was with another man and rallied around, heading him off as if they feared he might confront her or Joe. Or maybe they were just trying to ease an awkward situation. In any case, Joe didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He greeted Dylan the second he saw him, like he always did.

Dylan swallowed hard. He couldn’t muster a return smile. At the moment, the acting that required was beyond him. But he managed to dip his head before his brothers more or less escorted him away.

Aaron had something to say. Dylan could sense it. He kept looking over but, fortunately, remained silent. He seemed to know better than to express whatever he was thinking. They all did. Dylan didn’t want sympathy, theirs least of all. He’d never been able to show them any weakness. It would only frighten them, make them worry that he’d give way to his own pain like their father had.

Falling silent, they picked up the pace, moving past the displays, which now seemed corny with all the costumes and glittery decorations. Apparently, his brothers had lost interest in A Victorian Christmas, too. Dylan wasn’t sure why he’d come in the first place. He’d let his brothers talk him into it because he hadn’t wanted to sit home alone and brood.

“Let’s go get drunk,” Aaron suggested with a “screw her” air.

“There are plenty of women at Sexy Sadie’s.” Mack added this, for Dylan’s ears only. It was the closest anyone came to outright telling him to forget her. Mack had always been able to get away with more than the others. When they were little, and they wanted something they thought he’d refuse them, they’d send Mack to ask for it.

And Mack was right. There were plenty of other women. So why hadn’t he listened to his instincts, which had told him all along that making a play for Cheyenne would be reaching too far above him? Until recently, she’d always treated him as if he was no one she’d ever consider.

But now that he’d been with her, he couldn’t seem to settle for anyone else.

* * *

Cheyenne felt a measure of relief as Joe drove off. The Christmas spirit she’d been feeling had faded the instant she bumped into Dylan. For the rest of the evening, the look on his face had haunted her, making it impossible for her to enjoy herself and awkward when it came time to say good-night to Joe. He’d walked her to the door and leaned in as if he might kiss her, but she’d given him a fleeting smile along with her thanks and fled inside.

Thank God he was gone. Now maybe she’d have a few minutes to try to sort out why she felt so sick inside. If Joe was really the better choice, why was her heart being so rebellious? Why, when he’d invited her over for Christmas dinner, had she told him she wasn’t sure she could make it?

With a sigh, she dropped her purse on the kitchen table and sank into a chair. The house was dark and quiet. Presley didn’t usually go to bed so early. But Cheyenne figured she had to be sleeping—until she realized she hadn’t seen her sister’s Mustang in the drive. She’d been too preoccupied with her own problems for that detail to register as soon as it should have.

A peek outside confirmed it. No Mustang.

Had Presley gone? Why would she do such a thing after assuring Cheyenne that she’d be home to look after Anita?

Afraid she’d done just that, and more than a little apprehensive about the reason, Cheyenne poked her head inside her sister’s room. “Presley?” she murmured, hoping to find her in bed, despite the missing car. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d left her car somewhere and hitched a ride home to avoid a DUI.

There was no answer. Leaving the door open to use the light from the hall to see the shapes of furniture and other obstacles, Cheyenne waded through the clothes on the floor to the bed.

“Presley?” She patted the blankets, searching for something warm and solid.

The bed was empty. After flipping on the light, she saw her sister’s comforter balled up in the middle; there was no one inside it.

Once again weaving through the mess on the floor, she hurried to check on their mother.

Anita’s room was just as quiet, just as still. But it smelled terrible. Much worse than normal.

A chill ran up Cheyenne’s spine when she called her mother’s name and got no response. Thanks to the powerful opiates she was being given to handle the pain, she often slept too deeply to answer. Cheyenne wasn’t sure why it disturbed her so much tonight except that…the smell wasn’t right.

Holding her breath, she listened for the sound of Anita breathing.

Silence…

“Mom?” she whispered.

Again, no answer.

She stood in the dark for several long seconds, waiting, listening, gathering her nerve. Some small animal scampered over the roof—probably a squirrel or a raccoon—but she heard nothing other than that.

Anita was dead. Cheyenne knew it before she moved any closer. She just couldn’t seem to figure out how to feel about it. Her mother’s passing wasn’t the immediate release she’d expected.

The sick feeling that’d sat in the bottom of her stomach since she’d seen Dylan grew much worse, along with a general sense of revulsion. Where was Presley? Why hadn’t her sister called? Cheyenne had carried her cell phone all night, just in case.

The answer became apparent when she turned on the light.

* * *

The voice that woke him was reedy.

“What?”
Dylan said into his phone. Impatient and unhappy about being awakened, he was letting it show, so it didn’t surprise him when the line went dead. Since that was what he’d intended, he told himself he didn’t care. He knew who’d just tried to reach him and he had absolutely no reason to call her back.

Except…she hadn’t sounded like herself. Was something wrong?

“Doesn’t matter. Not my problem,” he grumbled, and chucked the phone onto the floor.

He lay there for several minutes, staring at the ceiling and refusing to call her back. Cheyenne had made her choice. She’d chosen Joe. Although what had happened between them had felt serious, special, she’d never taken it that way.

But the memory of her voice got under his skin, made him wonder why she’d sounded so panicked, so flustered, so faint....

With a curse, he got up and retrieved his cell. It didn’t matter how hard he fought the impulse. It wouldn’t go away.

She’d better have a good reason for bugging him, he thought as he dialed. But if she did, he didn’t get to learn what it was. She didn’t answer. After several rings, his call transferred to voice mail.

I’m sorry, I’m not available right now…

What the hell was going on?

He hung up, but when he tried to call her two more times without any luck, he couldn’t pass off what he’d heard as inconsequential. What if something terrible had happened? Angry and disappointed though he was, he knew her mother was dying of cancer. So he shook off the last vestiges of sleep, pulled on a pair of sweats, a heavy coat with no shirt and some tennis shoes and hurried out.

Thanks to his motorcycle, he reached Cheyenne’s place in a matter of minutes.

Her Oldsmobile sat in the drive, but that didn’t mean anything. She’d been out with Joe. Was she home? She had to be if she’d called
him.
But no one answered his knock. And when he went back to calling her cell, that didn’t do any good, either. Her voice mail picked up again and again.

“Cheyenne?” He pounded on her door. “You in there? It’s Dylan. Open up.”

Pressing his ear to the wood, he listened for sounds from inside but heard nothing.

“
Cheyenne?
Where are you?” He might’ve called for Presley, too, but her car wasn’t in the drive. He guessed she was at work.

After crossing to the living room window, he peered in—and was shocked to see Cheyenne. She was sitting at the kitchen table, holding her head in her hands.

He banged on the window, but she didn’t move, didn’t turn, didn’t answer.

Heart pounding, he jogged around the house. He knew the back door was flimsier than the front. It was locked, too, but he didn’t ask Cheyenne to open it. He kicked it in. Only then did she lift her head long enough for him to see the tears streaming down her face.

* * *

The hospice worker had told Cheyenne to contact Anita’s doctor when Anita died. Together they’d gone over the proper procedure. They’d even talked about how to determine whether or not she was really dead, as if someone had to be told that having no pulse meant her heart had quit pumping.