Prelude and Promises

by Barbara Baldwin

  His voice had risen in anger toward the end. “Damn campers anyway, building fires in restricted areas. We’re lucky the whole forest didn’t ignite.”

  “What happened to the firebug?” Only the two of them had returned in the truck.

  Trevor slanted her a grin. “He’s currently roped to a tree on site. I was more worried about Jake.” He sat back and rolled his head, trying to loosen tight muscles. “Hand me that salve and bandages.”

  “Should we move him to the couch?” she asked, as Trevor finally stood, putting out a hand to help her to her feet.

  “He’ll be alright there for another few minutes. We’re going to have to wake him up anyway because of the concussion so we’ll let him walk instead of me carrying him.” He collected the ruined towels and disposed of the basin contents as she put things back in the first aid kit.

  “You’d better put alcohol on your next shopping list,” she said.

  “Damn. I had groceries in the truck.” He hurried out the door and came back carrying two canvas bags and another bag with a familiar logo.

  He set the canvas bags on the counter and handed her the other one. “This is for you. Jake asked me to pick you up a few things in town. Apparently he figured you needed something other than that black dress.” He grinned as his gaze traveled down her length. “I’d say he was right.”

  Until that moment, Cheyenne had forgotten she wore Jake’s shirt, which only came to mid-thigh. She tugged at the hem, her face heating rapidly.

  Trevor pretended not to notice her discomfiture as he began putting groceries away. “You might do me a favor, though, when you get back to town. While Charlotte knew your size and didn’t mind picking out a few things, she kept asking me questions as to why I was the one buying you clothes. Even when I told her to charge them to Jake, the questions didn’t end.”

  “Didn’t you tell her what happened?”

  “No sense in starting gossip. Besides, it wouldn’t have made any difference but for one thing.”

  He turned as Jake groaned. They both crouched down beside him. Trevor tapped him lightly on the cheek. “Wake up, buddy. Come on, open those baby blues.”

  “They’re brown,” Cheyenne automatically corrected only to have him grin again.

  “Of course you would know.”

  She scowled at him. “What one thing?”

  “Huh? Oh, that. Charlotte and I are…” he paused as if not sure what to say.

  “In a relationship?” Cheyenne immediately understood.

  “Right. And she tends to be a little sensitive.” He tapped Jake’s cheek again, eliciting a groan.

  “I’ll make sure she understands.” Together, the two of them hefted Jake into a sitting position as he slowly opened his eyes.

  His gaze found hers and his eyes narrowed. “Are you still mad at me?” he asked to her surprise.

  “And well she should be,” Trevor said before she could form a thought. “Don’t worry about that now. We’re going to move you to the couch and then you’re going to drink some water and try to stay awake.”

  Cheyenne wasn’t much help as Jake lumbered to his feet, supported by Trevor. She did manage to get a glass of water but questions raced through her mind. Why was Jake confused? Why did Trevor take her side when he most likely knew where the fault lay?

  As she helped Jake down some of the water, Trevor explained. “A concussion can cause confusion and many times, the events just prior or after a blow to the head are forgotten, or skewed. You should try to keep him awake, but if he falls asleep, wake him up every two hours.”

  “Me? Where are you going?”

  “I still have to take the firebug to town and do the paperwork to press charges,” he said as he walked into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar so she could hear him. “I’m going to take Jake’s Jeep instead of the truck.” He came out wearing a fresh uniform. “If someone is still looking for you and they see the Jeep, it might help deflect interest when you’re not in it.”

  That seemed a good idea. What wasn’t such a great idea was leaving Jake in her care. “What if something happens here? What if he develops a fever?”

  “Nothing is going to happen. Just keep an eye on him and get him to drink.”

  “But…” The door closed behind the ranger.

  “Damn, my head hurts,” Jake said and she hurried back around the couch to stand in front of him.

  “There’s aspirin in the first aid kit. Shall I get you some?”

  “No! No drugs.”

  “Jake, it’s only aspirin.” She didn’t understand his adamant refusal but he kept shaking his head, then his eyes drifted closed.

  “No, no, stay awake.” She shook him slightly until his eyes opened again.

  “Talk to me; keep me awake.”

  At least he didn’t sound mad at her, and for a moment she thought about curling on the couch beside him. When his gaze traveled down her bare legs and back up, she decided that wasn’t a good idea. She dragged a chair over from the table and sat in front of him.

  “What should we talk about?” She certainly wasn’t going to bring up one topic in particular.

  “Why don’t you like me?” Jake asked. Even though his head and hand hurt like the devil, her voice was soothing and he really did want to know.

  “I never said that,” she replied too quickly.

  “Let me rephrase. Why don’t you like the image of me?” She seemed to like Jake Smith well enough. An image of a slinky black dress sliding down her curves flittered across his mind but he couldn’t grasp it long enough to know if it were real or imaginary.

  She looked away and he thought she wouldn’t answer. He sat until the silence stretched into minutes. He reached over and touched a finger to her chin, turning her back to face him. A look of sorrow washed over her features before she schooled her expression.

  “You have everything,” she emphasized the last word. “Everything. Fame, fortune, family. And you threw it all away.”

  “I didn’t throw it away.” What should it matter to her anyway?

  “Semantics. Walking away is the same thing.”

  Suddenly, concussion and throbbing headache aside, he understood. He had it all, or so she thought, and apparently she did not. Or at least she had not come from money as he had. He racked his brain for a change in topic.

  “Cheyenne. That’s a unique name. I thought you said you were from Texas.”

  Her expression cleared, her shoulders relaxed. “Although I don’t remember him, Mom said our dad was from Wyoming. My name is probably no more unique than my sister’s. She’s named Laramie Katherine.” She smiled softly. “I used to call her Lark.”

  “And what did she call you?”

  She hesitated, but finally said, “Cat.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of my middle name.” She handed him a water glass and he emptied it. Without his asking, she got up and went to refill it. She came back and sat again in front of him and he cursed his aching body for he desperately wanted to touch her lovely legs.

  Trying to get his mind out of the gutter, he went back to playing Twenty Questions. “Getting information out of you is worse than practicing my scales when I was ten. BCDEFGABC, over and over again. How many times do I have to ask why?”

  She laughed and he was happy to hear it. Laughter had been severely missing from his life. On the downside, her smile transformed her face from sweet to seductive. Again, an image flashed in his brain; something that had made him incredibly angry, and then it was gone. Yet he knew it had something to do with the woman sitting barefoot across from him in what looked suspiciously like his shirt.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  She reached across and took his glass, sipping some water. “Cheyenne Alyce Tucker,” she said. “Cat.”

  From the beginning, everything about this woman had fascinated him but now he knew he would never be able to think of her as Miss Tucker again. His eyes drifted closed. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” />
  * * *

  Cheyenne let him sleep two hours, then woke him again. His headache was a little better, he said, but his hand throbbed and he finally consented to taking aspirin.

  “Tell me more about Cheyenne Alyce Tucker,” he prompted, after dutifully drinking an entire glass of water. She had made coffee while he slept and she sipped the hot brew.

  “I’m not a very interesting person,” she said.

  “I know better,” he argued. “Where did you go to school? Did you lose your virginity at prom?” He wiggled his brows.

  “I’m not going to tell you that!”

  He smiled and she thought again how handsome he was, although that wasn’t what had drawn her to him. He was kind, thoughtful and helpful; friendly and generous. Making love to him had been the stuff of dreams. At the moment, he didn’t remember his anger but she couldn’t count on him never remembering what had caused him to tear off into the forest.

  Perhaps it would be best to tell him the truth about herself. Then, when he remembered what he considered her betrayal, he would realize he was better off without her.

  “I told you not so long ago that I never lie, but that was a lie.” She held up a hand when he started to speak. “You need to know this, and I won’t get through it if you keep interrupting.”

  At his nod, she continued. “Unlike your mother, mine was rather absent minded about Lark and me, sometimes leaving us for days at a time as she partied with her current boyfriend.” She looked away when he frowned. It was far too late for sympathy. “We moved from town to town, whenever we got evicted for not making rent, until finally one day, our mom moved on without us.”

  “Geez. How old were you?”

  “Luckily by that time I was sixteen; Lark was thirteen. I made the mistake of filing a missing person report and when the police came they were going to turn us over to social services. So I lied and told them I was eighteen and had legal guardianship of my sister. When I told him I didn’t know where the papers were to prove that, he said he would come back the next day.” She closed her eyes at the memory. “The next day, we were gone.”

  She sighed before continuing. She might as well tell him everything. “It was also a lie when I said I had never done anything wrong. I stole boxes of macaroni and cheese to feed us when I didn’t have a job.”

  That brought a slight smile to his lips. “No wonder you made a face at my humble cooking.”

  She looked away, unable to meet his gaze but his words had her turning back.

  “You did what you had to do, Cheyenne. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Don’t you see? I’m nothing but a fraud. We moved to a small nowhere town and stayed in a rundown hotel, cleaning rooms for a roof over our heads. I worked two jobs and went to community college while Lark finished school and I promised myself I would never, never, be poor again. I would never have people look down at me for being ‘just a waitress’.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “With my first paycheck from Donovan Academy I paid my rent and spent the rest on clothes and shoes.”

  Jake heard the raw emotion in every word she spoke. It was as if a knife had been lodged in his chest and he longed to hold her tight. What courage it must have taken for her to take charge of her life. It suddenly became quite clear as to why she had always been so rigid and efficient. And that was where she was truly wrong.

  “Do you know,” he said softly, “I think Miss Tucker is the real fraud.”

  Her head snapped up at his words. He reached over and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of her palm. When she tried to pull back, he held on tighter.

  “No matter the clothes, the tight bun, the attitude, you’re not really the stern and brusque Miss Tucker. You’re courageous, strong and caring, as adorable as those puppies and you look great in my shirt.”

  Predictably she blushed. He scooted forward on the couch and leaned in to kiss her; a gentle brush of the lips with the promise of tomorrow.

  “I think I’m good now,” he said, lying down with his head on a pillow. “You need to get some sleep.”

  “Are you sure?” she questioned.

  “Go to bed.”

  She got up and turned toward the bedroom but when he said her name, Cat, she turned back.

  “Thank you for trusting me with your story.” The rest of what he wanted to say floated silently across the space. I love you all the more because of who you are.

  Chapter 13

  Jake woke to the sounds of pots banging in the kitchen and soft feminine swearing. He turned to see Cheyenne at the stove and from the smells wafting through the small cabin, she was cooking something delicious.

  He cautiously sat up, taking inventory of his aches and pains. His headache was gone but there was still a dull throbbing in his hand. He looked down at the bandage, wiggled his fingers and decided everything was good.

  Which had him looking back at Cheyenne. She was dressed in a bright tee and white shorts, her feet bare. He wondered briefly where she had found clothes and then thought maybe he had been out of it longer than a night. Suddenly everything came back to him; her seductive treachery, the hateful words he had thrown in her face. Anger welled up in him again. Why was she still here? Hadn’t he told her to get out of his life?

  He must have made some sound, because she turned, giving him a tentative smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear. The movement drew his gaze to her orange shirt. Caught on Lockabee Island was stenciled in black with a picture of a fish behind bars.

  Ha, he was the one who had been caught. He had known why she was here from the beginning, but as the days went by and they had gotten to know one another, it had become about them, not anything in Chicago. He had fallen under her spell, only to have her use their intimacy to try and trap him.

  Swearing, he got up and went into the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror showed a pitiful specimen of man with unkempt hair, a bruise on one cheek and dark bristles covering his chin. He splashed water over his face and ran his fingers through his hair, only making it worse. What did it matter? It wasn’t like he was trying to impress her. Not anymore. Without a word, he walked through the living room and out the door.

  * * *

  Cheyenne’s heart sank as the door slammed behind Jake. She had known the minute she turned toward him that he had remembered everything that had happened, and he hadn’t forgiven her.

  But he kissed you last night. Yet she knew it had been a kiss of compassion, not love. Slowly, she untied the towel she had worn as an apron, put a lid on the spaghetti sauce she had been simmering and shut off the stove.

  Trevor had texted her about delays but he was on his way back. She would have him take her to town where she would pack her bag and catch the ferry to Red Haven. The hotels there were just fine for having a good cry while she waited for a flight back to Chicago.

  Her lips trembled and she looked to the ceiling, willing the tears not to fall. She should never have let her guard down. She could have remained professional and insisted he remember she worked for his uncle. She should have continued to wear her suits to armor herself against the effect he had on her. She glanced down at the tee shirt Trevor had brought her from town and laughed humorlessly.

  “Should have, would have, could have,” she muttered, scooping up her favorite puppy from the box and going out onto the porch. Although all the dogs were Black Labs, this one, smaller than the rest, had a little patch of white on its chest. She hugged it close as she gazed around but didn’t see any sign of Jake. Trevor’s truck was still parked at the side of the cabin so he couldn’t have gone far. She worried about his hand but he hadn’t even given her time to check his bandage this morning.

  “He’s a big boy,” she said to the puppy as she cuddled him. “He made his choices, both in Chicago and here, so he can just live with them.” The puppy licked her trembling chin. “Oh, God,” she moaned, burying her face in the soft fur and finally letting the tears flow because she knew that she would
have to live with those choices, too, and her heart broke.

  Minutes later Jake’s Jeep came into view along the dirt road. Swiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her tee shirt, she tried to pull herself together as Trevor drove up. The puppy wiggled in her arms and she set it on the porch only to have it bound down the steps, tumbling over itself, to get to Trevor.

  “Hey, mutt.” He scooped the dog up and came to a stop at the edge of the porch. “Like the shirt,” he quipped.

  “I know Charlotte did not pick this out for me.” She came down the steps to stand by him.

  He grinned, then frowned when he looked at her more closely. “Where’s Jake?”

  She bit her lip to stop the trembling before she could answer. And then she could only shrug. “I hope you don’t mind but I looked through your cupboards and found stuff to make spaghetti sauce.”

  “I never mind when I don’t have to eat my own cooking.”

  “Hey!” The shout came from the tower, and they both turned to watch Jake hurrying down the ladder one handed. He slipped a rung and Cheyenne gasped. The fool man was set on killing himself. If he didn’t she just might do it for him.

  Running the short distance to where they stood, he stopped to catch his breath. Cheyenne flushed when she saw he held her black dress crushed against his chest.

  “Hank said it was Max’s Corsica with some unknown drivers following us,” he gasped. “Apparently they followed the Jeep, even with you driving,” he nodded toward Trevor, “because they’re at the park entrance.”

  “Crap,” Trevor swore. “I was cautious; I didn’t think anyone was behind me.”

  Jake quickly pulled out his phone and tapped a contact. Cheyenne could only hear his part of the conversation, but it was quick and curt.

  “I thought you would have found them by now. This island doesn’t take thirty minutes to drive around.” A pause, then he continued, “They’re at the park entrance. We’re going out the back way. You know where to find me.” He hurried over to the Jeep to grab a backpack from the rear before coming back and grabbing Cheyenne’s hand, pulling her toward the cabin.