by Brenda Novak
“You have to understand what our childhood was like, Dylan. People came and went. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for us to call men Daddy when we’d known them for less than a week. And the next man who came around? Suddenly, he was Daddy, and it meant nothing that the last guy was gone. We called women we’d met five minutes earlier Aunt Whatever. So I’m not sure Presley, especially at six, would find anything odd.”
He seemed to be choosing his next words carefully. “You’ve asked her about it, then? What she remembers?”
“Hundreds of times.”
“And she always gave the same answer?”
For some reason, Cheyenne flashed back to the night she’d brought up the Amoses after talking to Dylan in the park. At some point in the conversation, Presley had said, “You should’ve been born in a different era. Or to a Quaker family. Sometimes I wonder where the hell you came from.”
The way she’d acted right after that statement made Cheyenne even more uncomfortable now than it had then. But she wasn’t willing to admit it, wasn’t willing to doubt Presley. Not on this. Presley would know how important this was to her. “Every time.”
“So you trust her completely.”
“I do.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Then I hate to tell you this, but…pursuing the truth might break your heart.”
“You don’t want me to start digging? You’d rather I just left things as they are?”
“I don’t want you to be hurt.” He sat up, too. Sounding reluctant but resolute, he added. “Listen, Chey. I had a long talk with Aaron this afternoon.”
“About Presley?”
“She was top of the list. I grilled him on whether or not she’d said or done anything out of the ordinary in the past couple of weeks. I was looking for details he might’ve forgotten or considered too inconsequential to mention.”
“And?”
“At first, he denied that she’d acted strange in any way. But then he recalled something about a private investigator.”
“Crouch.”
“That’s him. Eugene Crouch.”
Her hands clutched the bedding. “What about him?”
“Aaron said she was afraid of him, afraid of what he might do.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t clear on that, but one night she was so agitated he was all she could talk about. And the drunker she got, the more worried she became.”
Cheyenne thought she had the answer. “Because my mother was always doing stuff that could get us in trouble. I heard Presley refer to Crouch, too. He approached her, looking for my mother, but he wouldn’t say why.”
“You don’t find that odd?”
“Not necessarily.” She explained about the hit-and-run that had haunted her and Presley ever since it had happened, and their guess that Crouch’s visit had something to do with that.
“But you don’t know. You’ve never talked to him.”
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
Suddenly, she remembered how secretive Presley had been when Cheyenne had overheard her first talking about Crouch to Anita. She hadn’t even admitted that he was a P.I., not at first. When Cheyenne had asked who Crouch was, Presley had said he was just some guy she’d met at work.
Why hadn’t Presley guessed, from the very beginning, that it was the hit-and-run and come to her instead of Anita?
“Whatever he wanted…it couldn’t be about me,” she said in an attempt to shore up her crumbling confidence.
“Yes, it could,” Dylan insisted.
“She wouldn’t have told Aaron about Crouch if she was afraid it might get back to me.”
“Until very recently, you and I lived in separate worlds. The thought that it could get back to you probably never crossed her mind.”
Cheyenne’s stomach tightened into a hard knot as she considered his implication. Could she really trust Presley as much as she claimed? Or would Eugene Crouch, someone she would’ve overlooked if not for her relationship with Dylan, have the answers she craved about the little girl in the party dress and the black patent leather shoes?
29
Most of the next day was spent picking up Presley’s car. The impound and storage fees added insult to injury after what Cheyenne had already been through. Her bank account was feeling the strain. She still wasn’t sure how she could afford to bury her mother. She’d have to ask the funeral home if she could make monthly payments and put the burial plot on her Visa. That was the only way she could manage it. She’d promised Anita she wouldn’t cremate her, even though that would’ve been cheaper.
At least she had the Mustang. She and Lucky were following Dylan back to Whiskey Creek.
It felt strange to smell the familiar scent of the cigarette smoke that lingered in her sister’s car and to wonder if she’d ever see Presley again. It felt even stranger to have her sister’s purse and cell phone on the passenger seat. Although she’d been more optimistic about Presley’s well-being since that first call from the CHP, her hope was dwindling. She couldn’t imagine any woman leaving her purse and cell behind. How could Presley be getting by without them?
The police had searched the contents of her purse—her phone, too, once they’d had the Mustang towed and were able to track down the right kind of charger, since the battery was dead by then. They said there was nothing to indicate where she’d gone. They’d called everyone on her contact list, even Aaron. No one could tell them a thing. There were no airplane or bus tickets, no travel brochures, no receipts in her car or in her email that gave any clue. The last internet sites she’d visited on her cell had no connection to her absence, either.
She must’ve hitched a ride. That was their best guess.
The question was: With whom? And was Presley safe?
Cheyenne drove as long as she could before pulling over. She hadn’t examined Presley’s belongings herself, because she hadn’t wanted to break down in front of the officers who were handling the transfer of her personal property. She figured there’d be time to see what Presley had abandoned once she’d reached the privacy of her own home.
But she couldn’t wait that long. She wanted her sister back so badly she had to go through those items now, in case she found something the police had missed. They didn’t know Presley the way Cheyenne did.
After easing onto the shoulder of Highway 88, she cut the engine. Dylan was in front of her. She wasn’t sure he’d immediately notice that she’d stopped following him, but that was okay. She could catch up with him later.
“Pres, you’ve really done it this time,” she murmured as she moved Lucky out of the way and picked up her sister’s purse.
Presley’s ID was in her wallet. Tears rolled down Cheyenne’s cheeks as she gazed at it. She wished her efforts to help her sister, to be there for her, had made more of a difference.
Loose change jingled in the bottom of Presley’s purse, but there were no bills. She never carried much money. She spent whatever she had, on friends if not on herself.
Besides the coins, Cheyenne found various kinds of makeup, mixed with a host of snack wrappers, notes and old gas receipts. Presley didn’t keep her purse any cleaner than her car—
She heard a door shut behind her and twisted around to see that Dylan had circled back. He was walking along the shoulder to her car, coming up on her left.
With a sniff, she wiped her tears and rolled down her window.
“You okay?” he asked.
She managed a watery smile at the sympathy in his voice and nodded.
He slid his hands into his pockets and hunched against a biting wind. The rain they’d gotten last night had stopped, but the wind was stronger than ever. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just…” She gestured at the items in her lap.
“Were the police right?” He knew they were, of course. But he seemed to understand why she’d feel the need to check for herself.
“Yeah.” She was piling everything back inside Presley’s purse when a busin
ess card fluttered out from a handful of wrappers and other garbage. She almost picked it up and shoved it back in without looking at it. Cheyenne didn’t expect Presley’s trash to reveal anything useful. But the name on the card caught her eye. Eugene Crouch, Private Investigator.
Presley had told Cheyenne she’d thrown his card away. So what was it doing in her purse? And how had the police missed it or deemed it irrelevant?
Turning so Dylan could see, she squinted up at him.
“Looks like Crouch is going to be even easier to find than we thought,” he said.
* * *
Dylan wanted to contact the P.I. as soon as they got home from picking up the Mustang, to see if that would confirm their suspicions about Cheyenne’s background, but Cheyenne asked him to wait until after her mother’s funeral. She said the next week would be hard to get through as it was, especially if Presley didn’t come home, and he knew she was right. He needed to give her time to adjust to all the changes in her life. They were hitting so hard and fast.
In the meantime, he had his own challenge to face—preparing Aaron for rehab. And Eve was home from her cruise. She’d called Chey almost as soon as they walked in the door to say she was coming over.
When Cheyenne brought out a wrapped gift in preparation for her friend’s visit, Dylan faked a yawn and stood. “Jeez, is it that time already? I’d better head home. See what everybody’s up to.”
She rolled her eyes at his facetious tone. “Let me guess. You don’t want to be here when Eve arrives.”
“Why would I mind?” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock innocence. “That confrontation with Riley was so much fun. I laugh whenever I think of it.”
She smiled at his antics, so he pulled her into his arms. “Come over later,” he said, burying his face in her neck. He loved the smell of her, the feel of her. He was pretty sure he loved her. It seemed like he’d always loved her, that he’d just been waiting for her to finally notice him. But it was frightening to acknowledge the strength of his feelings.
“I wish you’d stay and meet Eve,” Cheyenne said.
“Eve and I already know each other.”
“No, you don’t.”
“She’s convinced I’m pond scum, Chey. I think it would be smarter to wait. Let her settle into the idea that you have a boyfriend first. We’ll tackle the fact that it’s one she hates later.”
“Hates?” Cheyenne leaned back to look in his face. “She’ll like you, Dylan. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“What has you so convinced?”
She took his hand. “I like you, don’t I?”
“Things have been different since your friends left. We had a brief time when they didn’t figure in. Now that they’re back…you could change your mind.”
“Never.”
He kissed the side of her mouth, her cheek, her temple. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I could be pregnant with your baby, and if I am, I’d be okay with it.”
He jerked his head up. Was she trying to tell him something? Or… “Are you testing me?”
“Testing you?”
“To see if I’d be upset?”
Her chest lifted as she drew a deep breath. “Maybe. There was that one time, at the inn....”
“I know.” He’d been worried about a possible pregnancy after that encounter, but he’d lulled himself into believing it couldn’t really happen.
“So…would you be upset?” she asked.
He thought about it as he ran a thumb over her bottom lip. “No.”
“What would you say?”
The image of her, big with his child, brought a flicker of excitement and a wave of possessiveness. Was that how a guy knew when he’d met the right woman? When it was time to settle down? “I’d say, ‘Will you marry me?’”
The smile that broke across her face was the most beautiful smile she’d given him yet. “You wouldn’t be afraid of making a commitment like that?”
“A little,” he admitted. “But there isn’t anyone I’d rather take a chance on.”
She kissed him tenderly. “I’m glad you propositioned me in the park.”
“I’m glad I found the nerve to show up after you called and didn’t really say anything,” he told her. “I knew if I didn’t, I’d probably never have another shot. But knocking on your door that night wasn’t as easy as it looked. I never dreamed you’d really let me in.”
“I’m not sure how you have convinced everyone you’re so tough,” she said. “You’re a teddy bear.”
“Only with you.”
They were kissing when the knock came. He was the first to pull away. “Damn. I didn’t get out of here fast enough.”
She laughed. “It’s going to be fine. Stop acting like I’m shoving you in front of a firing squad.”
He caught her by the arm as she slipped away. “Just do me one favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell her I quit smoking.”
“You think that’s going to help your cause?”
“It’s all I’ve got.”
* * *
Eve wasn’t pleased to see Dylan at Cheyenne’s house. But not because she was planning to say anything else about him—at least not anything negative. It was more that she’d missed her best friend after being gone so long. She was dying to catch up, and having someone else there felt awkward.
They exchanged Christmas gifts—Cheyenne gave her the Dolci perfume she’d been coveting, and she gave Cheyenne a pretty pearl necklace she’d bought in Martinique—and they played with her puppy, who was darling. But the conversation felt stilted. Although Eve was able to talk to Cheyenne about Anita and Presley, to express her condolences and concern, she couldn’t tell Chey what she and Callie suspected might be going on with Baxter. Not with Dylan there. That information was too personal to the group.
Understandably, Dylan didn’t seem to be a whole lot more comfortable in her presence than she was in his. She’d never known him to be the nervous type. From what she could remember, he’d always had a big chip on his shoulder, a “you can kiss my ass if you don’t like me” attitude. But he was obviously making an effort to be liked now.
They talked about where Presley might have gone, when Cheyenne should hold the service for her mother, how she’d pay for it, if she’d move out of the river bottoms as she’d planned. Eve wasn’t surprised that Cheyenne didn’t seem so keen on getting a house closer to town anymore. Then, out of the blue, Cheyenne announced that Dylan had quit smoking.
When Eve glanced over at him, he managed a rather pained smile as if he understood that hadn’t really flowed into the conversation naturally but was something he wanted her to know. “Better late than never,” he added.
Eve resisted a chuckle. This was serious business, no matter how charming that had come off. “It’s good to give your lungs a break,” she responded. “But I’m more concerned about whether or not you do drugs.”
How had she let that slip out? She’d promised herself she wouldn’t be confrontational. Cheyenne had begged for her support and she’d come here with the intention of giving it.
Fortunately, Dylan seemed to welcome the chance to defend himself. Pretending there wasn’t an undercurrent was hard for him, she realized. He wasn’t the type to fake niceties, and she respected that.
“I don’t do drugs. I can’t say I’ve never tried certain substances,” he admitted. “There was a time I did, a number of years ago. But I’m sorry about that now.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So the rumors are wrong?”
“They don’t pertain to me.”
Those rumors had come from somewhere but, whether his brothers deserved it or not, he didn’t push the blame onto them. Eve got the impression he was too loyal, which eased her mind more than the fact that he’d given up smoking. It showed her that he wasn’t willing to hurt others to protect himself.
“You have to judge Dylan on his own merit,” Cheyenne chipped in, obviously trying to se
ll her, too.
Eve told herself to shelve her disapproval and let it go at that, but she had one more question, and she figured she might as well ask it. “And the run-ins with the law, Dylan?”
“All in the past.” He raised his hands. “I swear. I haven’t been arrested for…at least three years. No more fighting.” He seemed so earnest Eve couldn’t help smiling.
“You really care about her.”
He looked her right in the eye when he nodded, but confirmation wasn’t necessary. His feelings were apparent in the way he touched Chey, the way he looked at her—even the fact that he was sitting here, putting up with the skepticism of her best friend. A guy like Dylan wouldn’t do that for just any woman.
Somehow his devotion made up for what Eve had lost. Maybe her relationship with Chey would never be the same. Eve mourned that and knew she would for some time. But she could tell Cheyenne was happy, and that was more important than anything else.
“She really cares about you, too,” she said. “I think that’s what has me so scared.”
Dylan’s smile slanted to one side. “I won’t try to cut you out if you don’t try to cut me out,” he said, and that was all it took to convince Eve she could give him a chance.
“Deal!” she said, and slapped his hand in a high five.
* * *
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Cheyenne said as she held Lucky back from following Eve outside and closed the door.
“Easy for you to say,” Dylan grumbled, but Cheyenne knew he was teasing. Having Eve over had gone better than either of them had expected.
“My other friends will be the same way,” she predicted. “They’re all good people. Just like Eve.”
Her phone rang before he could say anything. She glanced at the clock, wondering who could be calling after ten. She didn’t recognize the number. It started with a 408 area code, which corresponded to Phoenix, if Cheyenne remembered correctly.
Maybe it was the police with some word on her sister. But when she hit the talk button, she couldn’t get anyone to speak.
“Hello?” she said. “Hello? Is someone there?”
No response.
“Could it be Presley?” Dylan whispered.
