“What does that mean?” she asked.
Jumping to her feet, Presley threw the remote on the couch. “Nothing. I have to go.”
“Before we finish Alaska State Troopers?”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“But you love this show.”
“It’s getting late.”
“Pres!”
Her sister must’ve heard the serious note in her voice because she stopped and turned. She’d also hunched in on herself as though she was expecting the worst, which set off another alarm in Cheyenne’s head.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. What makes you ask that?”
Her behavior. “You haven’t heard from that private investigator again, have you?”
“No.”
“What was his name? Something like Couch…or Crouch?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t even remember.”
“You have his card.”
“I tossed that. No point in keeping it. Mom won’t be around long enough to make right whatever she did wrong—or to be punished for some old mistake.”
They’d had to increase the dosages on Anita’s meds again. She’d been unconscious for the past few hours. “That’s true, but…shouldn’t we at least see what it’s about?”
“We’d be foolish to dig up the past.”
“You’re convinced it’s bad?”
“What else could it be? Has there ever been a surprise like that you thought was good?”
No. Definitely not.
Cheyenne shrugged, effectively ending the conversation, and Presley disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned twenty minutes later, she had on thick eyeliner, deep red lipstick and a low-cut blouse with a pair of tight-fitting jeans that left no detail to the imagination. There’d once been a time when Presley was chubby. But those days were gone. If anything, she bordered on too thin. Cheyenne knew her drug use had a lot to do with that.
“Are you going back to the Amoses’? Or somewhere else?” Cheyenne tried to make her tone more conversational than parental, but she knew how the question sounded.
“Does it matter?” she asked, obviously irritated.
“I’d like to know where to look for you if you don’t come home.”
She gave a dramatic sigh. “I might stop by to see what the Amos guys have going. Don’t know if I’ll stay.”
Her sister’s perfume was so strong it burned Cheyenne’s nostrils. “Will you be stopping by alone?”
“No. Carolyn from work’s planning to hang out with me. We might also go to the Devil’s Lair in Jackson.”
So she’d have company. That was good news, at least.
Cheyenne turned off the TV. “I worry about you, Presley,” she said. “You’re two years older than I am. Don’t you think it’s time to settle down?”
“Don’t start,” she snapped, and hurried out the door.
Silence fell like an anvil once the door banged shut. Cheyenne told herself she should use this opportunity to get some sleep. She hadn’t slept well last night. She’d been too busy wrestling with her conscience over Joe. But she was too listless to go to bed this early.
Leaving the TV off—it was no longer capable of holding her attention—she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of the wine Joe had left behind. If only her friends weren’t gone. She could’ve had one or more of them over. Eve often came by to keep her company on the long nights she had to babysit her mother. Sophia and Riley were in town, but Sophia had a husband and a daughter, and Riley had his son, Jacob. She couldn’t imagine that the two of them would want to come over and hang with her, not when they had to be at the inn first thing in the morning.
She eyed the phone. She wanted to call Joe, ask him what had gone wrong at the tree farm, why that guy had upset him. Was it related to his divorce as she’d guessed?
Regardless, she had no business breaking down whatever barrier had sprung up between them. That barrier was keeping her safe from herself.
You ever want me to show you what it’s like to have a man in your bed, you know where to find me.
Dylan’s words ran through her mind, as they had several times since the park. She had no intention of taking him up on his offer, but she had to admit she was curious about what it would be like to finally sleep with a man. She was also beginning to wonder if she was waiting for something that was never going to happen....
Maybe holding off was an excuse not to take the risks that came with getting that close to another human being. Maybe she was so fearful of being categorized as a whore, like her mother, that she was determined to remain above any and all accusation, so determined she wasn’t leading a normal life.
Or she was as damaged as her sister and was simply reacting to it differently.
That could be it, she thought, but at least her response to what she and Presley had been through wouldn’t lead to rehab or leave her open to an STD. Her sister didn’t even know if she’d slept with Dylan!
Cheyenne shook her head at the craziness of that. But then her gaze drifted to her cell phone and she decided to go ahead and make a call. She wasn’t sure where it would lead. It would probably be a terrible mistake. But at least diverting herself in this way would insure that she kept her distance from Joe.
* * *
Cheyenne had expected to hear a lot of noise in the background. Music, possibly some raucous laughter. But that wasn’t the case. When Dylan answered, she could hear him perfectly. A dog barked. Probably one of the two he had with him most of the time. That was it.
She almost hung up as soon as he said hello. But she knew caller ID had already recorded her number. Chickening out would be more embarrassing than saying what she’d devised as her excuse.
“Dylan?”
He went silent, as if the sound of her voice took him completely off guard. The fact that she’d called him surprised her, too.
“It’s—” she drew a steadying breath “—it’s Cheyenne. Christensen.”
“I only know one Cheyenne, Cheyenne Christensen. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but…” This wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d intended. It was one thing to try to keep her mind off Joe; it was another entirely to contact a virtual stranger just because she’d run into him at the park and thought he might be able to ease her loneliness.
“I don’t mind,” he said, putting the onus of the conversation back on her.