When Snow Falls (24 page)

Ted rocked back in his seat. “Maybe she’s not that serious about Dylan. Maybe she just wanted to get laid.”

The guilt Eve had been feeling reasserted itself. Initially, she’d kept Cheyenne’s business a secret. But the more worried she became about Dylan and the relationship that was taking shape at home, with only Riley there to look out for Chey, the less inclined she was to keep it to herself. Despite what she’d said to Cheyenne, it was more natural to share this information, since they all divulged the intimate details of their lives—most of the time, anyway. “Maybe I could believe that if it was a one-time hookup. But it’s evolving into more,” she insisted. “They’ve been sleeping together all week.”

“The last thing Cheyenne needs is to go through anything remotely similar to what I’ve been through.” Kyle added this. Although he was only married a year, his marriage had been painful from the start. He’d been manipulated into saying “I do,” and had never really loved his ex.

“We don’t
know
it’ll end badly,” Noah said.

Eve leaned forward. “You think that if Cheyenne dates someone who parties like Dylan, it could end any other way? That she won’t mind when he breaks some guy’s arm because he made the wrong comment to one of his brothers at a bar?”

“Consider this.” Callie spoke mostly to the boys. “Would you want your daughter dating someone like Dylan?”

They glanced at one another as if that drove the point home.

Eve shoved her cup away. “We left her on her own during the most vulnerable period of her life.”

Baxter grimaced. “She’s not a child, Eve,” he said, but he didn’t speak with much authority. She could tell he felt badly, too.

“She might not be a child, but she
is
going through hell right now and grasping for an anchor. Anyone would grasp for
something
to hang on to if they were in her situation.”

“Too bad we couldn’t count on Sophia to look out for her while we were gone,” Ted grumbled.

“You don’t even want Sophia coming to Friday coffee,” Callie pointed out.

“But if she has to come, she can at least do her part for the group.”

Eve lowered her voice as several other vacationers filed past. “Sophia’s got her own problems. Did you see that bruise under her eye before we left?”

“What bruise?” Noah asked.

“The one she was trying to cover up with makeup.”

“She must’ve done a good job of it.” This came from Ted. “I didn’t notice.”

“Because you won’t even look at her. And you don’t
want
to notice.”

“Her injuries don’t always coincide with her big-shot husband being in town,” Baxter said.

“How would we know? He doesn’t check in with us, and there’s a lot she won’t say. We haven’t been all that nice to her.”

“We can’t be too bad. She keeps showing up, doesn’t she?” Ted again.

Callie used a napkin to clean up some drops of cream. “She’s lonely.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for her after what she’s done?” he responded.

“Let’s not get into that,” Eve said.

Noah jumped in next. “I agree. We’ve been trying to figure out whether or not Skip is abusive for a long time. The thought of it makes me want to break his smug-ass jaw. But unless she speaks up, there’s no way to know. And as far as Cheyenne goes, moaning about what we should’ve done isn’t going to help. We’re here, and she’s in Whiskey Creek. What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Eve said. “Not until we get home.”

“And then?” Baxter asked.

Callie leaned to the side so a waiter bussing tables could remove their empty cups. “We have to stage an intervention. It might make her mad at first, but…we have to do what we can to protect her.”

Eve liked this idea. At least it was proactive—if they weren’t too late. “Maybe we can get Dylan to see that he has nothing to offer her. If he really cares about Chey, that should be enough to make him leave her alone.”

Baxter cocked his head to one side. “Okay…and who’s going to risk life and limb by telling him to stay away from her?”

“I’ll do it,” Eve said before anyone else could speak.

“Good.” Ted’s cup, which he’d refused to relinquish to the young man cleaning the table, clinked on its saucer. “I don’t think he’ll hit a girl.”

Ted’s grin told them he was joking, but Eve didn’t find his remark funny. “Somebody’s got to do
something.
”

“Let’s just hope we help more than we hurt,” Baxter said.

“You don’t think it’s worth a try?” Eve suddenly sounded unsure.

“Actually, I do. No hell is worse than falling in love with the wrong person.”

If Callie hadn’t said anything about Baxter’s possible interest in Noah, Eve would’ve dismissed this comment without a second thought. Baxter could be so negative they sometimes affectionately called him Eeyore. But even while she was consumed with Cheyenne’s problems, the sour note of desperation and disillusion in his voice struck her as potentially revealing.

“What do you know about love?” Noah scoffed, barking out a laugh. “I’ve never even seen you date the same girl twice!”

It seemed to Eve that Baxter blanched at this comment. A poignant empathy thrummed in her chest, tempting her to reach out to him. But she knew he wouldn’t appreciate that gesture, so she kept her hands to herself while he mustered a tight smile.

“Maybe I’ve never met the right girl.”

Was that because she didn’t exist?

26

C
old and windy, Phoenix wasn’t the same city Presley remembered from years before. Anita had brought them here during the height of summer. When the temperature had been 116 degrees. Just sitting in a car with no air-conditioning, even after dark, made their bodies run with sweat. Presley would never forget how hard it had seemed just to
breathe.
She’d also never forget Anita leaving them alone shortly after they arrived, telling them she was going off to buy groceries. They’d begged to go along—she couldn’t be trusted to come back in the time promised—but were dropped off at the edge of a wide expanse of desert and told to wait in the shade of a dilapidated chicken coop. There, stomachs aching with hunger, they counted fire ants and watched a spider spin a web between two warped boards on the abandoned coop.

After a while, they scavenged for any type of fruit-bearing tree, hoping to get lucky enough to find a pomegranate tree, because Anita had said she’d found one on her first trip to Arizona. But the earth was so scorched it didn’t seem to produce anything more than scrub brush. They didn’t dare approach the house that sat off in the shimmering, hazy distance. They knew what Anita would do to them if they got her into trouble by involving other people.

When Anita finally returned more than seven hours later, she had no groceries. She did, however, reek of alcohol and threaten to knock their teeth down their throats if they didn’t stop nagging her for something to eat.

Chey was the one who made that day, and all the others like it, bearable. But Presley didn’t want to think about her sister. Life was life. There wasn’t anything she could do to change it.

The semi driver—Axle, which had to be a nickname but she hadn’t cared enough to ask—had provided her with a meal and money to catch a city bus to Sunnyslope, where they’d once lived with a gruff old man in a single-wide trailer. She could see the sun-bleached sign for Palo Verde Mobile Home Park in the distance. That was where she’d first tried meth, and it was the reason she’d come back here. She needed a supplier and this was the type of neighborhood where she’d be likely to find one.

If only her sudden nostalgia for Whiskey Creek wasn’t making her so damned heartsick. She stood on the corner of Nineteenth Avenue and Cactus Road, breathing in the exhaust of the bus as it pulled away and staring down the dystopian-looking street of strip clubs, sex shops and XXX video stores, all of which looked abandoned this time of day.

Her family had left this behind when they moved to California. At that point, their lives had changed dramatically for the better, and until this moment, Presley had forgotten just how much her situation had improved in the passing years.

“Hey!”

Startled by the intrusion into her thoughts, Presley blinked and focused on a tall, dark figure standing in the entry of a convenience store. “You a hooker, honey? You looking for a date?”

She could hardly see the man for the glare. But when she hesitated, he came out of the shadows. With short-cropped hair, a clean shave and a wedding ring on his left hand, he appeared surprisingly respectable for this side of town—except for the smarmy smile.

“I could show you a good time,” he offered.

Stepping back, she glanced up at the name of the store: Mel’s Quickie Grocery. It hadn’t been around when she lived here, but the businesses on this street frequently changed hands. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Just waiting for some girl to come by—like a…a spider hoping to catch a fly?”

He chuckled softly. “Not quite. My friend owns this place. He supplies me with…certain commodities I enjoy. I spotted you as I was coming out and thought you looked like the type who might enjoy them, too.”

This caught her interest, as he’d probably expected. “What kind of commodities?”

“Speed? Crank? What’s your drug of choice? I can get it.”

At this point, she’d take anything. “I’m not picky.”

“Then I won’t even have to go back inside.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What, exactly, do you want in return?”

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. At least not these days. I enjoy a little BDSM. You?”

Pain, especially voluntary pain, wasn’t her thing. But he was offering her what she’d come for, and she wasn’t sure she’d find a better opportunity. “I’m not into anything
too
controlling,” she said to see how he’d respond.

He adjusted his smile in an all-too-obvious attempt to look more sincere. “Fine. A
light
bondage session, then.”

An image of Aaron came to mind. He never hurt her, not physically. He made love gently, sweetly, which would come as a surprise to those in Whiskey Creek who liked to think the worst of him. Already, she missed him, wanted to be with him.

But a girl didn’t always get what she wanted. Presley had learned that lesson at an early age.

“I’ll need some cash. I’m new in town, and I have to find a place to stay.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from in his jacket and passed her one. “I might be able to help you out with that, too. My girls make good money, and I keep them safe.”

So
that
was it. But as long as she got by, did it really matter? “Then our arrangement is more of an audition?”

He lit her cigarette. “I was just looking for a good time, but…who knows where the relationship might go from there?”

She covered her stomach with one hand. “I need an abortion.”

“Hazard of the trade,” he said without batting an eye. “I can arrange it.”

Except this wasn’t the type of unwanted pregnancy he assumed it was. She loved the baby’s father. It wouldn’t be easy to go through with the procedure. Her stomach tightened protectively at the mere thought of it.

If only she had another choice. If only Aaron cared about her. Just a little. She was thirty-three. If she wasn’t going to have a child now, when would she start?

Probably never. No one knew better than she did how unlovable she was. It was too much to hope for, too much to expect that Aaron would want to be a father to their child.

The stranger motioned to a Lexus sedan that looked as respectable as he did. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“If you suspect you might not have been born to Anita, what about Presley? Do you think Anita could’ve stolen Presley, too?” Dylan had to admit that Christmas Eve wasn’t the best time to talk about this, but he’d been burning with curiosity ever since Cheyenne had first shared her doubts. And they had plenty of time and privacy tonight. Since all the restaurants were closed, he’d made a salad and grilled a couple of steaks for dinner. Now they were enjoying a glass of wine, curled up together on her couch. He’d wanted to take Cheyenne to his house for the evening; he thought the presence of his brothers and all the activity might take her mind off her troubles. But she couldn’t stop hoping that Presley would walk through the door, relieve her worries and possibly refute what she believed about Anita’s death. That hope kept her anchored to her own house.

“She’s most likely Anita’s biological child,” she said after a few seconds of deliberation.

“Why do you think so? She doesn’t look anything like her. No more than you.”

She slid her hand under his shirt but the movement was more about comfort and contact than desire. “There was always a certain affinity between them. One that came naturally. One we just didn’t have.”

He smoothed the hair out her face. “In other words, Presley was Anita’s favorite.”

“By a long shot. And I couldn’t blame her. Presley was far more flexible and forgiving. I don’t know why I couldn’t be the same. I’ve often felt guilty about the resentment inside me, but…I haven’t been able to overcome it. I think it’s because she never felt a moment’s guilt over how she behaved. If she’d remained healthy, nothing would’ve changed.”

“Do you know anything about Presley’s father?”

She leaned forward for a sip of her wine before putting it back on the coffee table. “No more than I know about my own.”

“Where did Anita typically meet men?”

“Besides bars? Begging in the streets. At Laundromats. Homeless shelters. Hanging out around sex shops or those peep-show places. Rest stops. Drunk tanks.” She twisted her head to smile ruefully at him. “All the places one usually hopes to find love.”

He laughed. “God, what a life. How many cities did you live in growing up?”

She settled against his chest. “Too many to count. We never stayed in one place for long.”

“Because your mother couldn’t find work?”

“She did odd jobs here and there, but they never lasted. She couldn’t get along with her bosses for more than a few weeks or months. Or she abused the system—called in sick too often, stole from the till, handled her personal business on company time. More often she wasn’t even looking for gainful employment. She was just hoping for a handout or a quick…
transaction
so she could get by and keep moving.”

How had Cheyenne and Presley coped with such a mother? He’d heard rumors about Anita, of course, ever since they’d come to town. But he hadn’t really clued in to what might be going on in their lives, not until recent years when he’d started noticing the pretty blonde next door who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Soon after, he learned quite a bit about Cheyenne, thanks to Presley and the things she said during her many visits to his house. “What was she looking for?”

“I wish I could tell you.” There was a shrug in her voice. “The grass was always greener somewhere else. She felt the next place would be easier. I quit trying to figure it out once I realized that even she didn’t know what she was looking for.”

“
Was
the grass ever any greener?”

“Not until we moved here. We were in New Mexico before. It was terrible for us there. Then Phoenix for a brief time, and that was even worse. Whiskey Creek felt like home to me from the very beginning. But she probably wouldn’t have settled down, if not for being diagnosed with cancer.”

“She could’ve moved after she went into remission.”

“Presley and I were out of high school by then, and she knew we wouldn’t go with her. We were both too happy to have finally put down roots.”

“She didn’t want to go without you?”

“I think that having us made her feel grounded, needed, connected. And she was older by then, had lost some of the compulsion to keep moving.”

“She’s never had anyone besides the two of you?”

“No. She didn’t come from the best family.” She stared up at him. “Can I ask
you
a question?”

He gave her a half smile. “Does this count toward the seventeen?”

“It should. It’s a hard one.”

She’d been answering some pretty hard questions herself. And after all, turnabout was fair play. “Shoot.”

“How do you feel about your father?”

He’d known this would be coming sooner or later. Of course she’d be curious. Anyone would. “That’s complicated.”

“I think I might understand why.”

For a brief moment, Dylan felt the urge to light up but pushed the desire away and finished his wine. “He still writes us regularly.”

“I wondered. What does he say?”

“That he screwed up. That he’s sorry. That he loves us.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I guess. People make mistakes. But…he gets out in less than two years. I don’t want to reestablish a relationship because then my house would be the first one he comes to, and I’m not sure I can trust him not to climb right back into a bottle.”

“Doesn’t he own the house and the business?”

“Not anymore. He sold them to me a few years ago. In return I put some money on his books, which makes prison life a lot easier.”

“So you’ve corresponded.”

“Not very often. And not anymore.”

“Do you think you’ll ever write him again?”

“Sometimes I consider it.” Her hair slipped through his fingers. “There’s something between us, whether I want it or not. And he owes it to my brothers to try to be some kind of father. They’re his responsibility, not mine.” Even though he’d done his best to carry them in his father’s absence.

Sympathy softened her expression. “I’m so sorry for what happened. It wasn’t fair to you or your brothers.”

It wasn’t the unfairness of life that bothered Dylan. He’d come to terms with that. He just wished certain things could be relegated to the past and left there. But no. He’d have to deal with his father again in two years. “I guess you have to learn to roll over the bumps.”

She smiled. “That’s a good way to put it. I certainly never thought my life with Anita and Presley would end like this. Anita seemed too tough to
ever
die. And Presley…I always hoped she’d realize her strengths and make the most of them.”

“Do you blame Aaron that she didn’t?” She’d indicated as much when he’d approached her in the park. It was partly why she’d resented
him.
At least she’d given him that impression.

“Not really. I wished she’d find someone who had his life figured out, so he could help her. But…now that I’ve seen her with Aaron, I know your brother isn’t the cause of her problems any more than she’s the cause of his. They identify with each other. That’s what draws them together.”

“You told me you think Presley’s in love with Aaron.”

“She might be, but they’re both so broken....” She grew pensive again. Another sip of her wine and a shift in attitude signaled a change of subject. “I don’t believe Chief Stacy will really do much to look for Presley, do you?”

“He said he’d put out an APB.” Dylan wanted to comfort her where he could, but he was hardly convinced that the chief of police felt any need to gather the troops. Stacy said someone who was grieving could do just about anything, even miss Christmas. But at least they’d done their best to get him involved.

“Will that be enough?”

“We have to hope it will.” After visiting Stacy’s house, they’d gone out looking again, hoping to spot Presley’s car, but found nothing.

Several seconds passed. Then she said, “What if I have another mother out there…somewhere? What if all this—” she waved a hand around the room “—was never meant to be?”