by Brenda Novak
“You seem to be pretty close.”
“We are. I helped him through his divorce from that crazy bitch he married.”
“You’re not sleeping together....”
With a scowl, Callie tossed a towel at her. “No!”
Eve knocked it away. “You sure?”
“I’m positive! It’s strictly platonic. I wouldn’t want to be with him while he’s on the rebound, anyway.”
That qualified her response, and made Eve wonder even more, but she didn’t push it any further. She could tell by Callie’s reaction that it would be pointless. She’d only get more protestations of friendship.
“There is some romantic tension in our little group, though,” Callie said, settling back in her chaise.
“Involving…”
She lifted her sunglasses. “Baxter.”
Eve adjusted her chair so she could sit up a little straighter. Callie couldn’t have picked a friend who surprised her more. “Baxter and who else?”
“Never mind.” After retrieving her camera from the table between them, she took several shots of the guys in the pool.
“Don’t do that!” Eve protested.
“Take photos?”
“Throw out a hook and then yank it back. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I shouldn’t.” The camera whirred with a series of rapid-fire shots.
“But you want to.”
Callie put her Nikon back down. “I want someone to tell me I’m wrong.”
“Then…let me try.”
She rolled to the right, so their friends in the pool couldn’t see her mouth move or hear her voice. “I think he’s in love.”
Eve blinked in surprise. “With who?”
There was another long pause.
“Callie…”
Callie cupped a hand around her mouth as if the steps she’d taken weren’t enough to insure their privacy. “Noah.”
“No.” Eve shook her head. “You’re not saying…”
Obviously uncomfortable, she frowned. “I’m saying maybe. That’s all. I mean, haven’t you noticed the way he looks at Noah? It’s almost as if…as if he worships him!”
Baxter tended to brood, but she’d never attached that kind of significance to his moods. Now she wondered if Callie could be right. If so, he had a reason to sulk because she couldn’t see Noah getting together with any guy, even him. “But…if he’s gay, why would he hide it from us? He knows we’d love him just as much.”
Callie raised an eyebrow. “We would. But Whiskey Creek is a very conservative town. His parents would be mortified. And what about Noah? The second Baxter comes out, he loses the man he loves, who also happens to be his best friend.”
Shading her eyes, Eve regarded Callie’s tormented expression. “That’s too sad to contemplate.”
“And if it’s true, which one of them will stay in the group?”
“We would never, ever pick.”
“Yet they both couldn’t join us at the coffee shop, or anywhere else, for that matter. They wouldn’t feel comfortable.”
Eve reclaimed the towel she’d thrown. “I can’t believe it. You’re…you’re stereotyping, that’s all.”
Callie blanched at the accusation. “Am I?”
“Yes! Baxter is suave and well-dressed and has better taste than the rest of us. He might also be a little more…emotional. That doesn’t make him gay.”
“Okay.”
The fact that she backed off merely made the seed she’d planted sprout more quickly.
“I mean—” Eve smoothed out a smear of sunblock on her left thigh “—he and Noah grew up next door to each other. They’re best friends—almost siblings—like Chey and me—”
“No.” Callie broke in. “Not like you and Chey. The older they get, the more friction there is between them.”
Eve supposed Callie would know before she would. She captured expressions and nuances through the lens of her camera that others missed. She’d been taking pictures of the trip since they flew out of Sacramento.
Keeping up one hand to block the sun, she took a closer look at what was going on in the pool. While Ted swam laps, Kyle floated on his back near the far corner, talking to Noah, who was sitting on the edge, dangling his feet.
She had to admit that Noah was attractive. Broad-shouldered and long-limbed, he had smooth, bronze skin that rippled over all that biking muscle. But Eve wasn’t convinced there was even a possibility of Baxter’s being in love with Noah—until her eyes cut to the table where Baxter was reading a book. Although far from conclusive, the way he was looking at Noah made her uncomfortable. “You really think…”
“I don’t know,” Callie responded. “I’m afraid for Bax, that’s all.”
“And Noah. He’d be hurt, too. Maybe he doesn’t want to sleep with Baxter, but he loves him.”
“They’d both lose.”
“Baxter’s dated his share of girls,” Eve pointed out, hoping to disprove their suspicions.
“That doesn’t mean anything. A lot of gay guys date or sleep with women, or have at some stage in their lives.”
Eve felt her discomfort grow. “I hope you’re wrong. Baxter doesn’t have a chance with Noah. Noah’s as straight as a guy can be.”
Callie leaned over to drink her smoothie. “You see what’s at stake.”
“God…” She let out her breath slowly. “I guess that would explain why Bax hasn’t ever had a serious girlfriend.”
“Or left Whiskey Creek, even though his business is in San Francisco.”
“Maybe Noah’s the reason he’s been such a bear on this cruise, too.”
“Noah’s been on a roll, hooking up with one woman after another.”
“While Baxter has to sit there and watch.” Eve doubted they would’ve noticed this if they hadn’t spent a week together in such close quarters. At home, they were too wrapped up in their own lives to be aware of something that well hidden, but on a cruise ship, there were only so many places to get a break from one another.
“I have the impression that Noah senses things aren’t quite as they should be,” Callie mused. “The way he’s been acting with women…it’s not like him to be so indiscriminate. In fact, he’s always been too picky.”
“Maybe they do love each other and are fighting it.” Eve was determined to consider all options. “If Bax is gay, Noah could be, too. Maybe he’s not as straight as we think. How would anyone know?”
“We wouldn’t. Not until they were ready to tell us. We just have to pray that whatever happens doesn’t rip our friendship apart.”
“No kidding.” And she’d thought watching Joe date her best friend would be hard. “We’re all jinxed when it comes to love,” she grumbled.
“Except Gail,” Callie reminded her.
“How many people can expect to get that lucky?”
Callie shrugged. “Maybe lightning will strike twice.”
* * *
It just wasn’t the same. Cheyenne knelt in Joe’s living room, sorting through the ornaments he’d hauled out of the attic. She wanted to see what Christmas decorations he had that might match the new ones they’d bought at the hardware store on the way over. The process was going well; she thought he’d have a nice-looking tree when they were done, despite the challenges she’d created in picking the one she had. But she could definitely tell that the excitement she’d felt in his presence only a week ago—the night they’d played cards together—was gone.
Her fears had been confirmed. Sleeping with Dylan had changed her. Maybe it had even ruined her.
“You going totally with gold and white?”
“What?” She turned to look up at him. He was as attractive as ever, standing there in his well-worn jeans and crew-neck sweater. She could still admire his physical attributes. They just didn’t do the same thing to her they’d done before—which was crazy. He had a perfect, all-American athlete kind of face. No scars. No long hair. No chip on his shoulder except, perhaps, whatever resentm
ents remained from his failed marriage. He didn’t walk around with the “I could do some serious damage” air Dylan exuded. Not only did he have all of that going for him, but Cheyenne had wanted a relationship with Joe for half her life.
How could it be that he’d finally, finally asked her out and she’d…lost interest?
It couldn’t be, she decided. She wouldn’t let it. She knew he was a dependable, good-hearted guy. She was going to trust her head and not her heart—or whatever other part of her body might be making its wishes known.
“Are you sticking with gold and white?” he repeated. “Or would this work?” He held out a red-and-white-striped ornament that clashed terribly with everything else she’d selected.
“I’d like to be polite and say it would be fine, but…” She shook her head. “Sorry.”
He chuckled at her honesty. “Now you know why I needed you.”
“Your girls could’ve helped you do this. Maybe they would even have preferred it.”
“I’m trying to impress them. They called me Scrooge last time they were here. Said if I’m going to have any Christmas spirit at all, they’d have to get the decorations out and put them up for me.”
“And this will prove them wrong?”
“I’m hoping. I’m also hoping it’ll demonstrate my good taste.”
She pointedly eyed the ugly ornament he’d pulled out from the pile of other, far better possibilities, and they both laughed.
“At least I can put the angel on top.” He dragged over a stepladder that wouldn’t have been nearly tall enough had she used it. “Makes me good for something.”
“You’re good for a lot more than that.”
When he smiled, she began to feel a bit better. Joe reminded her so much of Gail. How could she not enjoy every minute of his company?
She could and she would. He might not be the man she should marry, but he was the type of man. And if she didn’t date the right type of man, she’d fall in love with the wrong type.
Thank God she’d caught herself before walking into a disaster. There was no telling what being with Dylan would’ve led to.
Briefly, she touched her stomach and hoped it hadn’t already led to trouble.
“Nice,” he said when they were finished and he turned on the tree lights.
She stood back to admire their work. “Not bad.”
“Considering what we started with.”
For some reason, she thought of Dylan’s tree. He needed help decorating, too. It was completely bare. No angel. No ornaments or tinsel or lights. For a second, she wondered why he’d even bothered to put it up.
Maybe one of his brothers did.
On second thought, she doubted it. Most likely Dylan had dragged that tree inside for their sakes. They were getting too old to care about that sort of thing, but catering to Christmas was probably a habit by now, seeing as he was the only Santa they’d had for the past fifteen years.
“Ready to go to the Victorian Christmas celebration?” Joe asked.
“I am.” Scolding herself for thinking of Dylan yet again, she finished putting the extra ornaments away and accepted Joe’s hand.
20
The tree in the park was lit by thousands of tiny lights and the choir members positioned beside it, dressed in Victorian garb, carried candles. Against the backdrop of winter’s early dark, the lights and candles made a beautiful sight as the choir sang the traditional carols. Until that moment, when she stood listening to an a cappella rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” Cheyenne hadn’t thought much about the meaning of Christmas. She’d merely been going through the motions, putting up decorations because it was expected, especially at the inn. But tonight she felt the Christmas spirit.
She had a lot to be grateful for, she realized as she looked out at the faces of those who’d gathered to celebrate. She’d found a home and people she loved here in Whiskey Creek. Joe was part of her community and her circle of friends. She had so many fond memories of him from high school, not only of the times he’d stood up for her but many others—watching him play football, spying on him when she went to Gail’s, giggling when he caught them and chased them down. He’d been the perfect big brother and that made him the perfect teenage crush. That meant he’d also provided hours of pleasurable fantasy. But somehow the sexual element of those dreams had been lost. Right now she felt nothing more than friendship for Joe.
Friendship was a start, she told herself. Maybe they could build on that foundation. She certainly didn’t want to give up too soon. Any girl would be lucky to be involved with him; he wasn’t someone to be passed over lightly.
The choir director, in top hat and tails, asked the audience to join in on the final number. She sang “Silent Night” along with Joe and the others, but her mind wandered. And, of course, it went right back where she didn’t want it to go—Dylan.
She didn’t have many memories of him from high school. She hadn’t been around him all that much. To some extent, she’d purposely kept her distance. He’d been such a troublemaker. And the good people of Whiskey Creek made a big deal of showing their disapproval when it came to troublemakers. He’d started acting out after his mother died and his father crawled into a bottle, and that should’ve triggered more understanding. It probably would have, if he hadn’t been so darn unfriendly, rejecting both pity and help, so prickly and angry all around.
Then his father had stabbed that guy and Dylan’s world had gone from bad to worse. Yet, somehow, he’d gotten through it. Maybe he hadn’t done a perfect job of behaving and demanding that his brothers behave, but he’d taken on a monumental task. Not many others would have attempted, at such a young age, to raise four siblings. But if he hadn’t accepted the responsibility, his brothers would’ve been split up and parceled out to foster homes.
Cheyenne admired Dylan for keeping his family together. She wondered why more people couldn’t see past the typical signs of rebellion, couldn’t figure out how special he must be to have pulled it off.
Maybe the people of Whiskey Creek were still a little nervous about the Amos boys because they hadn’t quite been tamed.
“Should we get some cider?” Joe asked
“Sounds good.”
He took her elbow to help her avoid colliding with a teenager who darted away from his friend. Those who’d been listening to the carols were wandering off, moving in the direction of the food and craft vendors. As they followed, Cheyenne adjusted her beanie to keep her hair out of her eyes and blew on her hands. Her fingerless gloves made a nice fashion statement, but she was beginning to wish they were more practical than cute. The temperature seemed to be dropping fast. The weather report said they should expect more snow before Christmas. She wouldn’t be surprised if it started tonight.
“You cold?” Joe paused to chafe her hands. It was a gallant thing to do. But then he kissed her knuckles, and that was a little too intimate for her comfort, especially in public.
She was just trying to decide out how to pull away while making it look natural when a patch of black leather caught her eye. Startled by the realization that she recognized the jacket and the man wearing it, she glanced over to see a pair of familiar dark eyes in a face that could suddenly have been hewn from stone.
* * *
For a second, Dylan couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t been happy when Cheyenne canceled their date, but he’d told himself not to overreact. She spooked easily. He felt confident that, with time and effort, he’d be able to win her back. Because of her past, she wanted a secure future even more than most people did, so he figured he’d do what he could to prove himself reliable.
He’d even been thinking of buying her a Christmas present. He doubted she’d ever been given much. Presley had told them stories of Christmases past that had made his heart ache for what their lives must have been like—the strange men who came around when they were children, the lack of a home, the embarrassment of having a mother like Anita, the hunger and the desperation. Not to menti
on the way she treated them, as if they were a burden to her. He wanted to give Cheyenne something unexpected and extravagant, something she’d never even dare to want. So, much to his brother’s irritation, he’d been dragging his feet every time they passed booths that featured the types of things a woman might like. He’d been particularly tempted by a pair of emerald earrings.
But seeing her with Joe let him know that her call telling him she couldn’t see him tonight had a deeper reason. She hadn’t gotten scared. She’d sampled what he had to offer, found it lacking and chosen someone else—Joe, the one person he had no chance of competing against.
As their eyes met, her lips parted slightly. Obviously, she hadn’t expected to run into him. But then his brothers clued in to the fact that she was with another man and rallied around, heading him off as if they feared he might confront her or Joe. Or maybe they were just trying to ease an awkward situation. In any case, Joe didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He greeted Dylan the second he saw him, like he always did.
Dylan swallowed hard. He couldn’t muster a return smile. At the moment, the acting that required was beyond him. But he managed to dip his head before his brothers more or less escorted him away.
Aaron had something to say. Dylan could sense it. He kept looking over but, fortunately, remained silent. He seemed to know better than to express whatever he was thinking. They all did. Dylan didn’t want sympathy, theirs least of all. He’d never been able to show them any weakness. It would only frighten them, make them worry that he’d give way to his own pain like their father had.
Falling silent, they picked up the pace, moving past the displays, which now seemed corny with all the costumes and glittery decorations. Apparently, his brothers had lost interest in A Victorian Christmas, too. Dylan wasn’t sure why he’d come in the first place. He’d let his brothers talk him into it because he hadn’t wanted to sit home alone and brood.
“Let’s go get drunk,” Aaron suggested with a “screw her” air.
“There are plenty of women at Sexy Sadie’s.” Mack added this, for Dylan’s ears only. It was the closest anyone came to outright telling him to forget her. Mack had always been able to get away with more than the others. When they were little, and they wanted something they thought he’d refuse them, they’d send Mack to ask for it.
