“Thought I heard you.”
“Sorry. Was I louder than usual?”
“No, I wanted to catch you before you left.” She squinted at the clock on the wall. “Wow, it’s after noon?”
Cheyenne swallowed the last of her frosted wheat cereal. “Yeah. I’m not going to work today. I’ve got some errands to run before Christmas.”
A strange expression came over Presley’s face. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Feeling awkward and immediately aware of the secret she was keeping—also known as Dylan—Cheyenne set down her spoon.
“What’s going on with you these days?” Presley asked.
She drew her eyebrows together to add another degree of believability to her act. “Nothing. Why?”
“You’ve been different since your friends left. Everything okay?”
Breathing a sigh of relief, she got up and put her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. For a second, she’d worried that her sister was going to call her out on their tempting neighbor. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
Cheyenne slipped on her coat, which she’d draped over a chair. “Yes.”
“Because Aaron told me something last night that has me a little confused.”
Now she was nervous again. “Last night? I thought you were working.”
“I was. I stopped by his place on my way home.”
“What did he have to say?” She didn’t want to ask. She was afraid Dylan had told his brothers about their romantic liaison. It would certainly be a fitting revenge....
“That he saw Dylan’s bike here last weekend.”
“Here?” she echoed. She didn’t know what else to say. At least Dylan hadn’t blown the whistle.
“In our driveway.”
Cheyenne pretended a sudden preoccupation with putting on lip gloss. He’d only been here for a couple of hours but, apparently, that had obviously been long enough for someone to notice his motorcycle. It was a miracle no one had spotted her car at his place on Monday—although he lived even farther from town, and not many people had to go by his place in order to get home. Except for Carl Inera, the ones who did wouldn’t be up and about that late.
“Do you know why?” Presley asked.
Cheyenne met her gaze. “Maybe he stopped by to see you.”
Presley’s eyebrows shot up. “In the middle of the night?”
“Sometimes you’re home.”
“I wasn’t on Sunday.” She shoved off from the wall and moved closer. “You’re not seeing Dylan Amos, are you, Chey?”
Cheyenne’s stomach tightened, which immediately made her regret eating. She couldn’t tell anyone, other than Eve, that she’d been with Dylan, especially Presley. She believed her sister would never do anything intentionally to hurt her, but she could get high or drunk and let the secret slip. Or she could use Cheyenne’s association with Dylan to justify her own selection of friends. Cheyenne was afraid that if Presley didn’t break away from the people she’d been hanging out with and quit using, she’d wind up dead.
She planned to lie, but she couldn’t do it quite as blatantly as the situation called for. “He came by and we talked a little, okay?”
“You talked.”
She fished her keys out of her purse. “That’s right.”
Presley sauntered closer. “So…will you be talking again?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re not interested in him?”
This time she didn’t qualify her response, because she so desperately wanted what she said to be true. “No, not at all.” She started out the back door, since she’d parked her Oldsmobile in the carport, then hesitated. “How’d he get that scar on his temple? Do you know?”
Presley opened the cupboard and pulled out the Cheerios. “A bunch of guys jumped Aaron at a bar over a comment he made, or money he owed or…something. I can’t remember exactly.”
“And Dylan got involved?”
“You can’t mess with one of his brothers and not expect Dylan to jump in.” Silverware rattled as she opened the drawer. “He put two of those guys in the hospital. But he came away with a piece of glass from a broken bottle in his temple. Aaron once told me if it’d gone in another fraction of an inch, Dylan would’ve been blinded.”
“So he’s as good at fighting as we’ve always heard.” Their high school had been abuzz with the news of Dylan dropping out of school to take over his dad’s business. He’d grown even more infamous when he’d become an MMA fighter shortly after.
“Apparently. He won a lot of matches.” She poured milk on her cereal. “The way Aaron tells it, after their dad went to prison, getting in the cage was the only way Dylan could keep a roof over their heads.”
“He had the auto body shop.”
Presley held the cereal box so she could read the back of it and spoke between mouthfuls. “Yeah, but his dad wasn’t the same after their mother died. He’d let the business fall to crap. It took Dylan several years to build the shop into what it is today.”
So Dylan deserved the credit for that. “He’s a survivor.” She was talking more to herself than to Presley, but her sister glanced up.
“He can be gentle, too. Especially with Mack. Aaron’s always complaining about the way Dylan babies Mack.”
Cheyenne straightened. She was afraid to hear the answer to this question, but she had to ask it. “Does Dylan do drugs?”
“He’s partied over the years, but…he doesn’t anymore. He might have a beer or two. That’s about it. We tease him that he’s getting old.” Presley’s grin faded, and she narrowed her gaze. “You are interested in him, aren’t you!”
“No.” Cheyenne shook her head.
“Yes, you are! I can tell! I think you should go out with him. He’s not as bad as everyone says.”
Just having her sister recommend him was enough to scare her off. She knew Presley would find it hilarious if Cheyenne were to fall for one of the guys she’d always warned her against. But Presley seemed genuinely excited by the idea. And Cheyenne could understand that, too. It meant Cheyenne would finally like something Presley liked. “He’s not my type, Pres.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”