possessed him to come over last night, and invite her to join him today, had fizzled. After that ambiguous “mistake” comment, he’d scarcely said a word to her, and she’d instinctively known not to push him.
“It’s fortunate that he’s backing off,” she told herself. “You don’t want to be the kind of friend who’d sneak around on Eve.” No one had come through for her like Eve and the Harmons.
She checked her phone. Afraid she might accidentally dial one of her friends, who would then be able to overhear her and Joe, she’d turned it off when she left the house earlier. But, hoping for some contact from Eve to bolster her resolve, she powered it up again.
As she’d expected, Eve had sent her a series of text messages.
Layover in Minneapolis two hours long. Argh! Going to grab a bite with the gang.
Ted is in rare form. Kept us entertained on the plane. Baxter is sulking—who knows why. Callie and Kyle are sitting together—another clue that things between them might be more serious than they’re letting on. Noah spent the flight completely zonked out. Can’t believe I chose him for my seat partner. Sure feels strange leaving you behind. Everyone says so. We should have done more to get you on this trip!
How’s your mom?
Fine, Cheyenne texted back. We’re both fine. But she wasn’t entirely sure. Anita wasn’t long for this earth. And being the object of Joe’s attention, even for such a short period, had made the yearning she felt for him that much more poignant.
What would it be like to feel his bare skin against hers? She’d never experienced that kind of sensation, but she’d dreamed of it often enough. And he was always the man in her dreams.
Gently banging her head against the steering wheel, she groaned, then forced herself to sit up and act like an adult. She’d get through this the way she survived everything else—by taking it one day at a time.
She started to drive home but when she reached Whiskey Creek and the road leading to the dilapidated string of homes tucked away by the river, she couldn’t make herself turn. If she went back, Presley would come up with some excuse to take off, and Cheyenne would once again be left alone with Anita.
She needed a longer break. So she crept down Sutter Street at ten miles per hour, trying to enjoy the Christmas decorations strung on the historic buildings and converted Victorians. As in so many other gold-mining towns of the 1800s, the storefronts of Whiskey Creek had a quaint charm, with multipaned windows, antique lettering, old-fashioned streetlights hung with wreaths—at least in December—and Western boardwalks.
When she passed the huge, decorated tree in the park, where the city council had recently erected a giant statue of a man panning for gold, she stopped and got out.
She was staring up at the angel poised at the very top, her thoughts a million miles away—on Eve and Joe, on the P.I. Presley had mentioned to her mother, on the renovations that were to begin tomorrow—when a voice intruded.
“Enjoying the fresh air?”
The question came from behind her and had a sardonic edge.
When she turned, she saw a man leaning up against the cinder-block building that housed the public restrooms. With his face cast in the shadow of the overhang, she couldn’t immediately tell who he was. It took her a second to identify the voice, but her memory eventually came up with a name.
She was looking at one of the Amos boys. Dylan, the oldest. “It’s a bit chilly.” She assumed the conversation would end there. Presley knew the Amoses; she didn’t. But he spoke again.
“Who let you out of the house?”
“Excuse me?”
Propping one foot against the wall behind him, he lit a cigarette, which illuminated his face. “Presley said you never go anywhere.”
“That’s not true.”
He paused before taking another drag. “She also said you’re too uptight to have any fun.”
“Why would she tell you that?” Cheyenne
“It’s fortunate that he’s backing off,” she told herself. “You don’t want to be the kind of friend who’d sneak around on Eve.” No one had come through for her like Eve and the Harmons.
She checked her phone. Afraid she might accidentally dial one of her friends, who would then be able to overhear her and Joe, she’d turned it off when she left the house earlier. But, hoping for some contact from Eve to bolster her resolve, she powered it up again.
As she’d expected, Eve had sent her a series of text messages.
Layover in Minneapolis two hours long. Argh! Going to grab a bite with the gang.
Ted is in rare form. Kept us entertained on the plane. Baxter is sulking—who knows why. Callie and Kyle are sitting together—another clue that things between them might be more serious than they’re letting on. Noah spent the flight completely zonked out. Can’t believe I chose him for my seat partner. Sure feels strange leaving you behind. Everyone says so. We should have done more to get you on this trip!
How’s your mom?
Fine, Cheyenne texted back. We’re both fine. But she wasn’t entirely sure. Anita wasn’t long for this earth. And being the object of Joe’s attention, even for such a short period, had made the yearning she felt for him that much more poignant.
What would it be like to feel his bare skin against hers? She’d never experienced that kind of sensation, but she’d dreamed of it often enough. And he was always the man in her dreams.
Gently banging her head against the steering wheel, she groaned, then forced herself to sit up and act like an adult. She’d get through this the way she survived everything else—by taking it one day at a time.
She started to drive home but when she reached Whiskey Creek and the road leading to the dilapidated string of homes tucked away by the river, she couldn’t make herself turn. If she went back, Presley would come up with some excuse to take off, and Cheyenne would once again be left alone with Anita.
She needed a longer break. So she crept down Sutter Street at ten miles per hour, trying to enjoy the Christmas decorations strung on the historic buildings and converted Victorians. As in so many other gold-mining towns of the 1800s, the storefronts of Whiskey Creek had a quaint charm, with multipaned windows, antique lettering, old-fashioned streetlights hung with wreaths—at least in December—and Western boardwalks.
When she passed the huge, decorated tree in the park, where the city council had recently erected a giant statue of a man panning for gold, she stopped and got out.
She was staring up at the angel poised at the very top, her thoughts a million miles away—on Eve and Joe, on the P.I. Presley had mentioned to her mother, on the renovations that were to begin tomorrow—when a voice intruded.
“Enjoying the fresh air?”
The question came from behind her and had a sardonic edge.
When she turned, she saw a man leaning up against the cinder-block building that housed the public restrooms. With his face cast in the shadow of the overhang, she couldn’t immediately tell who he was. It took her a second to identify the voice, but her memory eventually came up with a name.
She was looking at one of the Amos boys. Dylan, the oldest. “It’s a bit chilly.” She assumed the conversation would end there. Presley knew the Amoses; she didn’t. But he spoke again.
“Who let you out of the house?”
“Excuse me?”
Propping one foot against the wall behind him, he lit a cigarette, which illuminated his face. “Presley said you never go anywhere.”
“That’s not true.”
He paused before taking another drag. “She also said you’re too uptight to have any fun.”
“Why would she tell you that?” Cheyenne
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