With a curse for her own weakness, she started up the Oldsmobile she’d bought from Henry Statham over in Jackson last Christmas and swung it around. But before she could drive out of the lane and onto the paved road, headlights appeared. A vehicle was cresting the hill.
Afraid it might be Joe and Eve and that they’d see her, Cheyenne backed up and switched off the car again. She had to remain hidden by the trees. The Olds was too distinctive; she couldn’t hope to drive by them and escape notice.
Sure enough, Chey recognized Joe’s white truck as it turned into Eve’s driveway, but she’d expected as much. Whiskey Creek was a small town of only two thousand. Not many people lived out here, in the country. With the older Harmons and their farmer neighbors asleep, it almost had to be Eve.
Curving her nails into her palms, Chey watched as the headlights went off. But when Joe and Eve climbed out, she made herself look away. What happened next was none of her business. She had no right to be sitting here, spying like some sort of obsessed weirdo. What kind of friend was she? Eve would make Joe a wonderful girlfriend, lover—even wife. He deserved the best, didn’t he?
She waited until they both went inside. Then, sick at heart because of what that might mean, she drove home. She needed some silence, some space.
Unfortunately, her mother called her the second she opened the door.
“Cheyenne? Is that you?”
“It’s me,” she called back, but hesitated in the small entry. She wasn’t sure she could make herself continue into the house. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to see the reality of her mother’s condition, didn’t want to think about what was coming or when it might happen, didn’t want to take stock of the painkiller and know her sister had stolen more.
“I spilled my sippy cup,” Anita complained. “I need another bath.”
Chey gripped her purse tighter. “No problem. I’ll bring a wet washcloth.”
“That won’t be enough. It was juice. I’m sticky all over. And the bedding…it has to be changed.”
Squeezing her eyes closed, Cheyenne pressed her free hand to her face. Bathing Anita was so difficult. It took all her strength, despite her mother’s dramatic weight loss. And now there’d be two baths in one night?
She imagined Eve lying beneath Joe, imagined how he might be touching her, kissing her, and nearly crumpled to her knees. She’d fantasized about Joe ever since she’d met him, but much more since his divorce. It was her only guilty pleasure.
But now…she couldn’t even have that, not if he got together with Eve.
“Are you coming?”
The impatience in Anita’s voice grated on Chey’s nerves. What if she walked back to her car, got in and simply drove off?
Determined to do just that, she whirled around and ran to the street. She’d escape her mother at last—on her own terms—and go find the blonde woman.
She had her keys in her hand and was opening her car door before the rational part of her mind regained control. What was she thinking? She didn’t even know where to start looking. She had no name, couldn’t associate the blonde woman with any particular city or place. She’d gone to the police before—not here but in New Mexico after she’d turned fourteen. She’d told them she thought she’d been abducted, but they’d insisted she didn’t match anyone who’d been reported missing and sent her home. What made her think she’d get a different reception now?
Besides, she couldn’t go anywhere. What would happen to Presley? Who would take care of Anita while Presley had to work? Who would handle their mother’s funeral and burial when the time came?
Not Presley. She wasn’t capable of holding herself together long enough.
And who would help Eve save the inn?
Hanging her head, Cheyenne stood in the cold, the wind whipping at her hair while she stared at her feet. Not only did she have responsibilities here in Whiskey Creek, she had friends. She couldn’t let them down just because Eve was dating the man she loved. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she did.
With a deep breath, she locked up her car and returned to the house.
“Coming,” she called to her mother the moment she walked in, but as she hurried past the full-length mirror hanging on Presley’s door, she stopped dead in her tracks. In the dim light streaming into the hallway from her own bedroom, she looked so much like the willowy blonde woman in her dreams she almost thought her reflection belonged to someone else.
5
Joe was the last person Cheyenne wanted to see. Whether he was aware of her aborted attempt to spy on him last night or not, she was embarrassed about her behavior, afraid that he’d see through her, and she didn’t want to cope with finding him wearing a big, fat, satisfied smile. She was having a hard enough time soldiering on without knowing whether he’d slept with her best friend. She wanted to close her eyes to the whole affair and concentrate on what she had to do to fulfill her obligations today and in the days to come.
But when they nearly collided as she pushed her cart around a corner and down an aisle at Nature’s Way, a local, family-owned grocery store between Whiskey Creek and Jackson, she couldn’t turn and run in the other direction. That would make her envy and upset even more apparent. So she dredged up a smile and said hello before trying to circumvent him.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he asked, catching her by the elbow.
With an effort, she kept her expression innocent and friendly. “No fire. I’m just…” She struggled to invent an excuse for why she couldn’t take a second to talk to him on a Saturday morning. Obviously, she wasn’t working. And Presley was home with Anita or she wouldn’t be out. “You know…busy. Always busy.”
He studied her before responding. “Eve said the B and B’s closed today.”
“It is. But we’ll reopen after New Year’s. I’m overseeing some remodeling while she’s on the cruise.” The changes and repairs wouldn’t start until Monday. Maybe Eve had told him that, too, but Chey was grappling to fill the silence with something unrelated to the turmoil churning inside her.
“Too bad you can’t go with her. I’m sure you could use a vacation.” His voice was concerned. “How’s your mother?”
Miserable. Fading. Cheyenne wanted to tell him how much more complicated it was to watch someone die whom you resented. How guilt played a bigger role than sadness. How she sometimes longed for a release despite knowing that wishing her mother gone made her a terrible person.
But she hadn’t shared those realities with Eve or Presley or anyone. She was afraid of what they said about her, afraid she was even worse than Anita.
I’ve always loved you. Had she really?
“She’s hanging in there.”
He was studying her so intently, almost as if he was trying to peek beneath the polite mask she wore.
“It’s got to be tough.” His hand still rested on her arm. She
