While Mitch soaked up the admiration, Cheyenne leaped backward off the fence and made for the barn doors, standing open to the warm night, spilling light and the earthy scents of hay and horse.
Jesse tugged the saddle off the animal’s back, pulled the bridle over its head, careful to remove the bit with one hand, presumably so it wouldn’t bang against the animal’s teeth.
“That was a stupid, arrogant thing to do!” Cheyenne blurted, standing a dozen feet from Jesse with her hands on her hips.
“Maybe,” Jesse conceded, pausing to look at her, then leading the horse into its stall.
“You saw Mitch get thrown from that tractor today!”
Taking his time, Jesse closed the stall door, fastened the latch, stroked the horse’s long face appreciatively. “That’s right,” he answered. “And if Mitch hadn’t gotten on old Pony-boy here, he might have been scared for the rest of his life.”
Ever since she’d come back to Indian Rock, Cheyenne had kept her emotions in check. Now, suddenly, she started to cry, and not delicately, either. She gave a strangled sob, and the floodgates opened.
“It was just like the first accident,” she wailed. “He was on a four-wheeler and—”
Jesse paused a moment, then came to her, took her in his arms, held her against his chest. “I know,” he said. “I know.”
Against her better judgment, Cheyenne didn’t pull away.
CHAPTER NINE
“THERE’S BEEN A LOT TO BE afraid of,” Jesse said gently, there in the middle of the breezeway, his breath warm in Cheyenne’s hair. “I understand that. But this is a safe place. This is home.”
Cheyenne didn’t know whether he meant his arms were a safe place, or the Triple M, or Indian Rock. She sniffled and tilted her head back to look up into Jesse’s face. “What’s happening?” she asked, not addressing Jesse, but thinking aloud. She felt confused, disoriented, even a little light-headed.
“I don’t know.” Jesse grinned, his voice throaty and low. “But I like it. I like it a lot.”
She finally found the strength to step back out of his embrace, but it took all her determination. She’d never leaned on anybody before, at least not since she’d been an adult, and she didn’t dare start now. Not with Jesse McKettrick, at least.
“Thanks for bringing us to the party,” she said, dashing at her cheeks with the back of one hand. Ashamed of her emotional display. “But I think we should go home now.”
“I’ll take you if you want to go,” Jesse allowed. “But I don’t believe Mitch is ready to leave. He’s having too good a time out there, grandstanding.”
In spite of everything, Cheyenne laughed. It was a moist, spare sound, made against her will. “You’d think he was Roy Rogers,” she said.
Jesse reached out, ran the backs of his fingers lightly along her cheek. It was over so briefly that if his touch hadn’t left a trail of fire along her nerve endings, she wouldn’t have counted it as real. “Just for a few minutes,” he told her, “Mitch wasn’t the kid in the wheelchair. He was a cowboy. He had legs again. That counts for something, Cheyenne. Don’t take that away from him by trying to rush him out of here.”
He had legs again.
Cheyenne knew that phrase would stay with her, long after she’d left Indian Rock for good. Long after memories of Jesse had faded, she would remember that.
“Why did this have to happen to him?” she cried. She wasn’t asking Jesse. She was asking the universe.
“Why does anything happen to anybody?” Jesse countered quietly. “We’ve all got a part to play, when we come into this world. Nobody gets to approve the script.”
Cheyenne thought of the Triple M, of the big McKettrick family and its colorful history. “What if you lost it all tomorrow, Jesse?” she asked. It wasn’t a challenge. It was an honest question. “Would you still have that same easygoing attitude?”
“I guess I’d be real sad for a while,” he said. “Then I’d make the best of things. Find myself a horse to ride—just like Mitch did tonight—and ante up for a game of poker.”
Before Cheyenne could respond, Mitch whirred in from the corral, his face dusty and his grin broad.
“Did you see, Cheyenne?” he asked eagerly. “Did you see me ride that horse?”
Something softened inside Cheyenne. “I saw,” she said very quietly.
Mitch turned the chair, so he could look up at Jesse. “Can I do it again sometime? Maybe you and I could ride together?”
Jesse’s gaze touched Cheyenne’s face, like the faintest whisper of a breeze, and went immediately to Mitch. “Sure,” he said. “Sure.”
The horse nickered, and Mitch went over to the stall. Remarkably, the animal lowered its head so its erstwhile rider could stroke its neck. “Thanks, Pony-boy,” Mitch said.
Cheyenne’s eyes stung, and she swallowed. When she looked Jesse’s way, she caught him watching her.
“You’d be hard put,” he said, ostensibly addressing Mitch, “to find a better friend than a horse.”
Bronwyn rushed in next, her pretty face alight with excitement.
“You were great!” the girl told Mitch.
He blushed. “Thanks,” he said, sounding shy.
“The band’s playing again,” Bronwyn enthused, taking Mitch’s hand. “Let’s go dance some more!”
Dance? Cheyenne thought, befuddled.
The pair of them disappeared.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Jesse said.
“What?” Cheyenne asked, distracted.
“Dancing,” Jesse answered.
She barely stopped herself from moving back into his arms. Best to keep some perspective here, she thought.
Jesse stepped forward, took her hand.
So much for perspective.
Then, with only the horses to see, he pulled her close, bent his head and kissed her.
Cheyenne had kept her passions under wraps for a long time—she’d had to because she needed almost all her wit and energy to do her job, and what was left over went to her mother and brother.
Now, with Jesse’s mouth touching hers, gently, but hungrily, too, her soul stirred. A pleasant buzz of electricity zipped through her, a spreading warmth. She slipped her arms around Jesse’s neck and kissed him right back.
When they broke apart, Cheyenne was breathless, and a little bedazzled. A simple kiss wasn’t supposed to feel like that, was it?
Was there a rule book somewhere, a part of her mind chided, with a code of kissing?
Jesse smiled at her expression, squeezed her hand.
“We’d better get out there and dance,” he told her. “Indian Rock is a typical small town. We stay in here too long, they’ll be wondering what we’re doing.”
Cheyenne laughed, gave away too much by touching the tips of her fingers to her mouth, where Jesse’s kiss still tingled against her skin.
His eyes lingered there, for a moment, and she thought he might kiss her again. The mere possibility was cause for a curious tangle of anticipation and sweet terror.
“We can’t have that,” she said, and then a blush pulsed in her cheeks. “People wondering, I mean. Not—”
“Let’s go,” he said, “before they use up all the music.”
For the rest of that night, it was as though a golden space had opened between Jesse and Cheyenne, and then surrounded them, a magical, non-place where they could step out of their very separate worlds, however briefly, and meet in the middle.
Cheyenne knew it wouldn’t last, and Jesse probably did, too.
As it got later, sleeping children were carried inside the house, probably to lie among piles of coats, dreaming dreams charged by adrenaline and sugar. The adults spoke in softer voices, the band toned it down, and all the dances were slow ones.
At midnight, Travis stopped the music and pulled Sierra up onto the porch with him.
The guests all stopped to listen and watch.
Cheyenne felt that peculiar tightening in her throat again, the one
she’d left behind years before, and had found again when she’d returned to Indian Rock.
Travis drew Sierra against his side, and she nestled there, smiling, embarrassed and happy. He kissed the top of her head. “I guess you all know we’re in love,” he said to the onlookers, “and we’re getting married in three weeks—you have your invitations, and if you don’t, show up anyway.”
A patter of laughter drifted through the crowd, and some light applause.
“Some of you have noticed that Sierra isn’t wearing an engagement ring,” Travis went on. “That’s because not just any ring would do.”
A drumroll sounded.
More laughter.
Sierra looked up at Travis, her eyes shining.
Rance McKettrick stepped up, handed something to Travis.
Travis turned to Sierra. “I love you,” he said.
Sierra put her hand to her throat. Her reply was inaudible, but Cheyenne and everyone else at the party knew she’d responded in kind.
A diamond glinted in the light of the porch, like a captured star.
Travis took Sierra’s hand, slid a ring onto the appropriate finger.
Sierra looked down at the ring, then flung both arms around Travis’s neck.
The party guests cheered.
The band struck up a celebratory little ditty.
And Cheyenne’s eyes smarted.
After Travis and Sierra had exchanged an exuberant kiss, it was Sierra’s turn to address the crowd. “Mom and Meg were sorry they couldn’t be here tonight, but they’ll be at the wedding, and I hope each and every one of you will be, too.”
More applause followed, and Sierra and Travis danced, alone, to the poignant strains of an old Patsy Cline song.
After that, the party wound down.
Jesse went to get the truck, while Cheyenne searched for Ayanna and Mitch. When she’d found them, she sought out Sierra.
“Thank you,” she told the hostess. “It was a wonderful party.”
Sierra smiled wearily. “Yes,” she said. “It was. I meant to ask you about the ladies’ poker tournament—”
“I don’t really play—” Cheyenne began.
Sierra cut her off, taking both Cheyenne’s hands in her own. “It’s just for fun,” she said. “Nobody expects you to be any good.”
Nervous as she was, Cheyenne laughed. She’d watched a million hands of poker in her time, waiting for her father, and had even played, when they’d needed someone to round out a game. “I see,” she said.
“We’re playing for a seat at the big tournament in LasVegas,” Sierra went on. “We have a pact—if one of us wins, the pot goes to the clinic, for their building fund. They need to add an in-patient wing, and they’ve almost got enough money to break ground.”
Cheyenne had no desire to play poker, but she’d be staying in Indian Rock for a while, whether working for Nigel or for McKettrickCo. She wanted to make friends in the community, and expanding the clinic was certainly a good cause.
Of course, Sierra and her friends didn’t have a prayer of getting all the way to Vegas—they’d be coming up against serious players from all over the United States. Players like Jesse.
“I’m not sure I’d be an asset,” Cheyenne said.
“Please join us,” Sierra coaxed, smiling and still holding on to Cheyenne’s hands. “We’re having a practice session tomorrow afternoon, in the poker room behind Lucky’s. Lunch at eleven-thirty, then a card game. Say you’ll come.”
Cheyenne relented. It wasn’t as if any of them would get past the first few rounds of the local tournaments. And while Lucky’s held a lot of sad memories for her, she wasn’t that little girl waiting hopelessly for her daddy anymore. She was a grown woman.
“Only if you promise to tell me more about the ghosts.”
“It’s a deal,” Sierra said, pleased.
By then, Jesse had returned, and Mitch and Ayanna were both inside the truck. Cheyenne watched a little longer than she’d intended as Jesse deftly folded Mitch’s chair and lifted it into the back of his pickup. When she turned back to say goodbye to Sierra, she saw a knowing look in the other woman’s eyes.
“See you tomorrow,” Sierra said.
Cheyenne nodded.
Jesse stood with the truck door open on the passenger side. Cheyenne thanked Sierra again and went to him.
BACK AT THE BRIDGES PLACE, Jesse helped Mitch out of the truck and back into his chair, and he and Ayanna chorused their thanks and hightailed it into the house.
Jesse and Cheyenne stood alone, at the base of the porch steps, in the light of a three-quarter moon, with crickets chirping in the brush and the smell of newly turned dirt ripe in the warm air.
“I had a good time,” Cheyenne said.
“Me, too,” Jesse answered. He hesitated, then laid his hands on Cheyenne’s shoulders. “I’m about to kiss you again,” he told her, wondering if she’d allow it or just turn and walk away.
She sighed, whether from impatience or anticipation he didn’t know, closed her eyes and tilted her head back.
Jesse chuckled and brushed her lips with his.
She put her arms around his neck, the way she had in the barn earlier, when he’d kissed her the first time. Jesse felt a charge go through him, felt the echo of it pass into her.
When she stepped back, she blinked, like somebody waking up from a deep sleep. “I’d better go in,” she said, but she didn’t move.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told her.
“I’m busy tomorrow,” she said.
Jesse waited. If Keegan had used their discussion about the job at McKettrickCo to move in—
“Poker game,” she explained. He wondered if he’d heard her right, and his confusion must have shown in his face because she laughed. “It seems some of the women of Indian Rock are plotting to win a seat at the big tournament in Vegas. You’ve got some competition.”
Jesse laughed, too, but it was more relief than amusement. Now he wouldn’t have to go by Keegan’s place and call him out. “Is that right?” he asked.
Cheyenne raised an eyebrow. “I take it you don’t feel particularly threatened,” she said lightly.
Hell, no, he didn’t feel threatened, though he wasn’t about to say as much. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of these mini-tournaments springing up all over the country, in local casinos and even online. The pros bought in, for a hefty fee, and, as last year’s winner, Jesse was comped by the organizers, expected to defend his title.
“And you’re going to play?” he asked as a frisson of excitement shivered down his spine.
“Why not?” she said. “It’s just a friendly game.” Was she trying to convince him of that, or herself? It felt like something more to Jesse, though the truth of it was he didn’t think any of the townswomen had an ice cube’s chance in hell of getting beyond the local casino just up the road.
He kissed her again, but briefly this time. He didn’t want to push his luck with Cheyenne; she was as skittish as a field-born filly, and there was still the issue of those five hundred acres standing between them. He was a good judge of character, but Cheyenne was a puzzle. She might really like him—or she might be angling to get that land.
“I could make coffee,” she said uncertainly.
Jesse wanted to go inside with her—wanted any excuse to stick around for a while. But he sensed that it was time to step back, take a breath. “Another time,” he told her.
He waited until she went into the house, then got back in the truck and started for home.
AYANNA WAS IN THE KITCHEN, where she’d set out two cups and put a kettle on the stove to boil. Mitch had apparently gone straight to bed.
“You were eavesdropping on Jesse and me from the living room,” Cheyenne accused, smiling.
Ayanna blushed guiltily.
My God, Cheyenne thought. She’s still young. She’s still pretty. She had a wonderful time at the party.
“I was not eavesdropping,” Ayanna insisted, but her c
olor was still high, and her eyes sparkled with cautious mischief.
Cheyenne pointed to the cups. “I doubt you’d offer Jesse tea,” she said. “You knew he wasn’t coming inside, and furthermore, you’re gearing up for serious girl talk.”
Ayanna looked both pleased and embarrassed. “All right, so I might have walked past the screen door at an opportune moment and accidentally overheard a tiny part of the conversation—”
Cheyenne crossed the kitchen floor, with its buckling linoleum, and hugged Ayanna. “‘Accidentally’?” she asked, grinning. “Did you have fun tonight?”
“Yes,” Ayanna said, “and so did Mitch. So did you, from the looks of things. You and Jesse made such a nice-looking couple, dancing like that.”
“Don’t make too much out of this, Mom,” Cheyenne warned gently. “I’m not in the McKettricks’ league, and I suspect Jesse’s just trying to see how far I’ll go to get him to sell me those five hundred acres.”
“Did it ever occur to you that he might actually like you?” Ayanna asked, huffily. “You’re not an adolescent anymore, adoring him from a distance and pinning his picture up on your wall. You’re a beautiful, accomplished woman, and he’d be lucky to have you.”
“Mom,” Cheyenne said.
“Well, it’s true,” Ayanna insisted.
“You might be a little prejudiced.” I don’t want you to get your hopes up, she added silently. Happy endings are for storybooks. This is real life.
“And you might be a little jaded.” The kettle boiled, and Ayanna snatched it from the burner, and filled Gram’s cracked but beloved old cups with hot water. “What’s this about you playing in a poker tournament?”
“You only ‘overheard’ part of the conversation?” Cheyenne teased, carrying the cups to the table. The water was turning a lovely dark pink, and the scent of raspberries rose with the steam.
The two women sat down across the table from each other. Cheyenne flashed on a memory of playing five-card stud there, when she was barely big enough to see over the edge. She and her dad had used matchsticks and pennies in place of chips.
“I thought you hated poker,” Ayanna said, blowing on her tea and dodging Cheyenne’s gaze.
McKettrick's Luck Page 13
