by Brenda Novak
Another car came motoring up from behind, forcing them to move on.
“Good luck with that,” Joe called.
“Thanks. I might need it,” Riley said with a wave.
* * *
A noise alerted Cheyenne to the fact that she was no longer alone. Presley came stumbling into the kitchen, squinted at the clock, then groaned. She acted as if it was far too early to face the day, but it was eleven-thirty. “Where are you going?” she mumbled through a yawn.
Cheyenne had been up, doing some cleaning, since six. “A friend wants my help picking out a Christmas tree,” she said as she rinsed her coffee cup.
Her sister started for the fridge, then stopped and winced as if that much movement hurt her aching head. “What friend?”
“Does it matter?” Cheyenne took two ibuprofen tablets from the cupboard and handed them over.
Presley wrinkled her nose. “This the best you can do?”
She wasn’t getting anything stronger. Not from Cheyenne. “That’s it.”
Obviously exasperated, her sister popped them in her mouth, pulled the orange juice from the fridge and drank out of the jug.
Cheyenne scowled at her. “Seriously? You can’t get a cup?”
“Too late now,” she said as she put the juice back. “And do you have to talk so loud? What’s wrong with you today?”
The keys to the Olds were lying next to her purse. Cheyenne grabbed both. “Nothing.”
“Something has you bugged. You’re in a shitty mood.”
Because Cheyenne had been up most of the night, trying to talk herself into canceling. A loyal best friend would’ve refused to go anywhere with Joe. But she kept telling herself that nothing was going to happen. She’d pay off her poker debt while Eve was gone, so Eve would never even know about it, and that would be the end of it. What was so bad about buying and decorating a tree with a friend’s big brother?
“I’m in a hurry,” she said. Joe had called to say he’d pick her up at noon, but she’d insisted on dropping her car just outside of town. From there, they’d go to Jackson. Most of her friends were away. They’d had to be up long before dawn to get to the airport by eight. But still… No way did she want anyone she knew to see them together.
“What’s the rush?” Presley rubbed her temples. “Christmas is two weeks away.”
Cheyenne didn’t answer. She was too busy pulling on her coat and scarf.
“And I thought all your friends went to the Caribbean,” Presley added, slouching against the counter.
“Not all of them,” Cheyenne said.
“Who’s left?”
Anxious to get out of the house, Cheyenne didn’t even glance at her. “Riley’s still here.”
“You’re getting a tree with Riley? That’s what has you so worked up?”
“Nothing has me worked up.” Realizing that she’d forgotten to note the amount of morphine she’d given their mother in the log, she searched for a pen and wrote down the information. “How was your date last night?”
Presley scowled. “I’ve had better.”
“What movie did you see?”
“We skipped the movie.”
“So what did you do?”
“He took me back to his place.”
Tossing the pen aside, Cheyenne whirled to face her. “That’s it? You had sex?”
She shrugged. “He wasn’t a total cheapskate.”
“Meaning he provided the drugs and alcohol.”
No response.
“Why do you settle for so little?” Cheyenne knew the intensity of her words and expression would bother Presley, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted her sister to be happy and that didn’t seem possible if her sister continued down the same road as Anita.
“You have fun your way. I’ll have fun mine,” she said, shuffling back to bed.
Cheyenne watched her go, then checked the clock. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late.
She felt a hint of misgiving as she reached for the door handle. She even pulled her cell phone from her purse and stared down at Joe’s number.
Call him. She could tell him no, put an end to whatever they’d started last night.
Her finger hovered over the button. But she’d been waiting for the chance to spend time with him for far too long.
“Today and the next Saturday with his girls. That’s all,” she promised Eve, and walked out.
8
Cheyenne had the creamiest-looking skin Joe had ever seen. He’d noticed before, of course, but as they wandered through the Christmas-tree lot in Jackson, with the cold adding a tinge of pink to her cheeks, he realized she was even prettier than he’d given her credit for. She was interesting, too. She saw the world so differently from the women he’d dated in the past.
“What about this one?” he asked. They’d finally arrived at the corner of the lot where St. Nick’s displayed their best and most expensive trees. Joe had been searching for this section all along. He knew finding it would make the decision an easy one. But Cheyenne wasn’t convinced. She scrunched up her nose as she inspected the ten-foot-high blue spruce with the $150 price tag.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “It’s perfect.”
“That’s just it,” she said with a sigh. “It’s too perfect.”
This surprised him. “How can a Christmas tree be too perfect?”
“Anyone with enough money can buy a tree like this. An expensive artificial tree would be, technically, even more perfect—no branch out of place and that sort of thing. The challenge is to take something that has serious flaws and make it beautiful.” She turned in a slow circle, inspecting the options around them before pointing at a specimen that had been shoved off to the side. “What about that one?”
He couldn’t believe it. She’d chosen the ugliest tree he’d ever seen. Whoever owned the lot obviously agreed with him because it bore a clearance tag that read, Only $35!
To humor her, he went over and tried to stand it up straight. “You’re kidding. Look, it has a broken branch.”
She didn’t move on as he expected. “I can see that.”
“What about all the gaps and holes along the bottom, where it should be the fullest?”
“We can use garland and decorations to fill that in.”
Was she trying to help him save money? Show him how thrifty she could be? “Why mess with it? What you’d save on the tree itself, you’d spend on decorations.”
“Maybe. But bringing out this tree’s true beauty would be a worthy challenge. Then it wouldn’t have been chopped down for nothing.”
A lot of trees were going to be wasted. He couldn’t save them all. But he supposed it was refreshing that she wasn’t demanding the best money could buy. She saw value in a tree that had been tossed aside and rejected by everyone else who’d already come through.
“Now I understand why you picked the tree you did for your own house,” he joked.
She gave him a guilty-as-charged expression. “It would’ve been wasted, too.”
“I see.” He wondered how his girls would react. At eight and ten, they were still pretty young. Maybe they wouldn’t notice the tree’s imperfections. “You think you can make it look decent?”
“With enough lights and ornaments, we can make any tree look decent.”
This woman was quirky. Of course, her background and situation would make her a bit different, but he’d never thought he’d like those differences as much as he did. Suzie had known nothing but safety, security, love and praise. She’d been so terribly spoiled that she couldn’t settle for the attention of just one man; she’d had to have the attention of every man in their social circle.
Cheyenne, by contrast, had no compulsion to be the center of attention. She’d grown up living on the fringe, saw beauty in the unconventional.
“Or…maybe you’ll like that other tree better,” she said, suddenly second-guessing herself. “Get the nice one, if it suits you.”
He glanced between the two
options. He’d automatically chosen the expensive, seemingly perfect Christmas tree when he’d fallen in love with Suzie. He’d been young, too young to marry, but he’d never questioned that she’d be a wonderful wife. Maybe it was time to try a tree that hadn’t been placed in the best corner of the lot, one that’d had to struggle just to survive.
It was an interesting thought. One worth considering. “I’m fine with this one,” he said, and motioned to the employee who’d been trailing them through the lot. “We’ll take it.”
The young man’s eyebrows went up. “Seriously? Dude, we were about to throw that tree out.”
“Now you don’t have to,” Joe said.
With a shrug, the guy waved to a coworker wearing a Santa hat and, together, they muscled it off the lot and into the bed of Joe’s truck. Joe was just paying the thirty-five dollars when he turned to say something to Cheyenne and spotted a man standing in line he’d hoped never to see again.
* * *
“Hey, that you, big guy?”
A jolt of alarm shot through Cheyenne when someone recognized Joe. She assumed the person lived in Whiskey Creek, which meant Eve might hear about them being together. But when she looked at the handsome, blond-haired man who’d come up behind them, she realized she’d never seen him before. At that point, she would’ve relaxed—if Joe hadn’t stiffened.
“Lance.” He gave a slight tilt of his head, but there was no warm smile, no pleasure Cheyenne could detect in meeting this person.
The man seemed oblivious to Joe’s negative reaction. Or he was too interested in whatever he could learn to let the lack of welcome bother him.
“I can’t believe it!” He slapped Joe on the back. “It’s been years, buddy! What are you doing here? You can’t be living in Jackson....”
Joe accepted his change and shoved it in his pocket without counting it. “No, Whiskey Creek,” he responded, and stepped out of the way so they wouldn’t hold up the line that had formed.
When Cheyenne moved with him, Lance’s eyes cut to her. “This your new wife?”
“Actually—”
The cashier interrupted. “That’ll be eighty-five dollars,” he said, waiting for Lance to pay.
Lance handed him some cash but never took his eyes off Joe. “Last I heard, you were still single.”
“That hasn’t changed.” Joe didn’t explain what Cheyenne was to him, but he performed a perfunctory introduction. “Chey, this is Lance Phillips. He was my—” he seemed to be picking his words carefully “—neighbor when I lived in Sac.”
“Nice to meet you,” she murmured.
As Lance shook her hand, Cheyenne got the impression he was sizing her up, wondering if she and Joe were romantically involved. Deciding whether or not he found her attractive enough to be considered a good catch. “They call you Chey?”
“Yes. It’s short for Cheyenne, Cheyenne Christensen.”
“My pleasure.” His gaze lingered on her, then shifted back to Joe. “How are your girls?”
A muscle twitched in Joe’s cheek. “You’re asking me? You probably see them more often than I do these days.”
Lance blinked several times, obviously taken aback. “Not anymore. Suzie didn’t tell you? We moved here shortly after you, er, left.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Who’s we?”
“What do you mean?” He laughed awkwardly. “Me, Maddy and the kids, of course.”
“So Maddy stuck with you.”
The cashier handed Lance his change.
“Yes,” Lance said, losing some of his false cheer. “Things got a little rough, as you know, but then we found out she was expecting and decided we had too many reasons to hang on to our marriage. That child turned out to be the little girl she always wanted,” he added, attempting another smile.
“A girl,” Joe repeated.
“Yes.”
A strained silence followed. It felt to Cheyenne as if Joe had just suffered a blow of some sort. She’d watched him for too many years not to recognize when he was upset. Something about this conversation, this person, was all wrong. Maybe they’d once been neighbors, but Joe had no liking or respect for Lance. Was he one of the men rumored to have slept with Suzie? Gail had mentioned infidelity, and Cheyenne couldn’t imagine anything else making Joe act like this.
“Congratulations,” Joe finally said, the word so dry Cheyenne wondered how it hadn’t turned to dust in his mouth.
“We named her Madeline, after her mother. She’s been a real blessing.” Lance talked fast, as if doing so might carry him into friendlier territory. “Came at the perfect time.”
“For you, maybe. I don’t see how a pregnancy forcing Maddy to give you another chance could’ve been a blessing to her.”
All pretense of camaraderie disappeared. “I’ve apologized, Joe.” Lance shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans and hunched forward in his wool pea coat. “I don’t know what more I can do.”
“You can quit pretending we’re friends,” Joe said, and guided Cheyenne away.
Cheyenne could hear Joe’s labored breathing as he marched to his truck. With his hands curved into fists, he walked so quickly she could barely keep up.
“Why do you hate that guy so much?” she asked once they’d both climbed inside the cab. Although she had her suspicions, she had no idea if she was right.
He gazed at her, but she was fairly certain he wasn’t seeing her. His mind was somewhere far away. When he came back to himself, he seemed almost startled to realize she was in the truck with him.
“I’m taking you home,” he said. “This was a mistake.”
* * *
Presley stared down at Eugene Crouch’s business card. All his information was there—his name, the name of his agency, his P.I. license number and his email address. She could contact him easily, right now while her mother slept, with a phone call or an email, and put an end to the mystery of the blonde woman.
She owed her sister the chance to assume her rightful identity, didn’t she? The chance to have the respectable family she’d always longed for. Those ringlets in Cheyenne’s hair, the expensive party dress and the pretty shoes suggested she’d come from a very different situation than the one in which she’d been raised, a far superior situation—
“Presley?” Anita called. “Where are you? Aren’t you going to turn on our show?”
It was Saturday. Their soap didn’t air on weekends, but the meds were making Anita’s brain so fuzzy she could no longer keep track of the days. Presley hated that as much as she hated everything else about what was happening. Her mother was no longer the strong, dominant personality she’d once been; she’d been reduced to a helpless stranger.
“Where are you?” Anita demanded.
Presley couldn’t bring herself to answer. She continued to lean on the kitchen counter, Crouch’s card in one hand, her thumb passing absently over the embossed lettering.
It didn’t give an actual address. She didn’t even know where he was from. New Mexico? Here? Somewhere else?
Regardless, there was enough information that she could contact him. Should she do it?
If not, she had to at least tell Chey what she suspected his business with them to be. Not telling would be unfair, almost as unfair as what Anita had done in the first place.
But what would Chey do when she found out they weren’t even related? That she was and always had been better than her mother and sister—as good as the group of friends she’d admired for so long?
Would she go back to her original family? Embrace what could have been?
If so, she wouldn’t want the one person who reminded her of everything she’d lost tagging along. Maybe she’d even begin to blame Presley. In a way, she had the right. It was Presley whose pleading for a playmate had instigated the events that had changed Cheyenne’s life. If not for Presley, Anita wouldn’t have bothered to take on a second child. Half the time she hadn’t wanted either one of them
.
“Presley! Why won’t you answer me?”
Anita’s voice had turned into a panicked sob. Presley had to go reassure her. But she wanted to make a decision on this first. Constantly dwelling on it, having Crouch’s card in her pocket, was driving her crazy.
She picked up her cell phone but couldn’t bring herself to dial. Cheyenne was the only person she had in the world, the only person, besides Anita, whom she loved. If the truth came out, Cheyenne would have no reason to stay with her. Resentment would eventually overtake any good feelings she had, and that would be the end of what they’d known as sisters. Presley was too realistic about her own shortcomings to believe she was the type of sibling Cheyenne would cling to.
Anita was dying. Soon, their mother would no longer have any effect on Cheyenne’s happiness. That meant Cheyenne didn’t need to know about Crouch or the years that had come before. It was too late to undo what had been done. Even worse, it might make Cheyenne more miserable to realize what Anita had stolen from her.
“Should I tell her, Mom?” Presley suddenly cried out.
Silence met this question. With all the medication, and considering that they hadn’t discussed Crouch since right after she’d met him, Presley thought her mother would ask what she was talking about.
But Anita didn’t need clarification. In a lucid moment, she called out, “You’re a fool if you do.”
Her mother was right, she decided. God help her but she couldn’t tell Chey. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then she took out her lighter and burned Crouch’s card in the sink.
9
Cheyenne didn’t know what to make of her two hours with Joe, but the minute he dropped her off at her car and drove away, she felt instantly relieved. Nothing had happened.
She also felt terribly disappointed for the same reason. Which made no sense at all. She’d known they could only be friends; she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she let it go any further.
“So get over him,” she muttered, and got into her Oldsmobile. She still owed him a day of tree decorating with his girls, but doubted he’d collect. She’d convinced him to buy that damaged, ugly tree, and now he was on his own with it. Whatever had possessed him to come over last night, and invite her to join him today, had fizzled. After that ambiguous “mistake” comment, he’d scarcely said a word to her, and she’d instinctively known not to push him.
