When Snow Falls (Whiskey Creek #2)(44)
Author: Brenda Novak

Mack sent him a worried glance. “You’re preoccupied, quiet.”

He supposed that was true. He’d finally found someone he really wanted in his life. And he was sure that—just like the mother he’d prayed to keep, and the father he’d tried so hard to reclaim from alcohol—he was destined to lose her, too.

* * *

Cheyenne didn’t let herself go to Dylan’s that night or the night after. She worked all day at the B and B Wednesday and Thursday, watched her mother and tried to keep herself occupied with videos and computer games. She was afraid he’d call her and knew she’d go see him if he did, but the phone never rang. Maybe that was why, on Friday, after Riley and Jacob left, she broke down and called him from the office.

Her heart seemed lodged in her throat by the time he answered. Her emotions were such a mixture of embarrassment and chagrin over her wanton behavior, disappointment that she didn’t seem to be the person she’d always thought she was, and desire to return to his bed that she couldn’t seem to get her bearings anymore. She felt pulled apart, restless. Most of all, she wanted to come out of this tailspin knowing they were friends, that he didn’t hate her. Regardless of his reputation, she liked Dylan; there was no denying that.

He picked up but didn’t give her a chance to speak. “Damn, do I need to educate you in everything?”

“Excuse me?” she replied, taken aback.

“It’s only eight o’clock. Booty calls are supposed to happen later. Otherwise, word might get out that you’ve lowered your standards enough to sleep with me.”

Cringing, she opened her mouth to respond, but he’d already hung up. She should’ve called him before. She needed to explain that she was trying to get back to the Cheyenne Christensen she recognized, that her behavior had very little to do with him. He had to be wondering what the heck he’d done wrong. After spending three nights in a row together—that last night she’d nearly torn off his clothes—she’d rejected the key he’d offered her and then he’d heard nothing.

He could’ve called her.

She tried to justify her behavior that way, but…considering she’d pushed him away, he really couldn’t be the one to call, and she knew it.

“Shit,” she breathed, and tapped herself on the forehead with her phone. What was going on with her? Had she ever been more lost or confused?

Not since before coming to Whiskey Creek…

She told herself not to call him back. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she’d made at least one more attempt to soothe any feelings she might’ve hurt—so she tried again.

“What?” he said.

He’d answered at the last second, right before the call could transfer to voice mail. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I’m really sorry,” she said, and hung up so he couldn’t beat her to it. Maybe if she didn’t act as if she expected his forgiveness, or anything else, he wouldn’t think so badly of her and they’d both be able to move on.

After checking to make sure that Presley would stay with Anita for another hour, she left her car at the B and B and walked a block south to Just Like Mom’s for a bite to eat. She wasn’t hungry. The anger she’d heard in Dylan’s voice seemed to be ricocheting through her head. She felt sick inside. But she ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some coffee. She didn’t care that it was too late for caffeine. She wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway. Ironically, it’d been even harder to wind down on the nights she’d made herself stay away from Dylan than on the nights she’d seen him. It required that much effort to fight the impulse to return.

She’d become instantly addicted—that was the only way to describe it. She was acting like Presley, always searching for her next hit.

But when he’d handed her that key, as if he assumed what they were doing would continue, it had scared her to death. She couldn’t get involved with anyone like him on a regular basis. As soon as Anita died, Cheyenne was moving out of the river bottoms, away from the Amoses and the memories of her past. She’d rent a cute little house in town, maybe even one with a white picket fence, and forget it all—her dreams of the blonde woman, the nightmare of being raised by Anita and the fantasy of Dylan.

So fate seemed almost too cruel when Dylan and his brothers filed into the restaurant. Especially when he did a double take on seeing her by herself in the corner booth.

16

After that initial moment of shock, Dylan ignored her. It made Cheyenne feel even worse, but she wasn’t sure how else she expected him to behave. She was the one who’d let him know that their relationship wasn’t something she wanted to take public. So he was treating her the way he’d treated her before—as if they were basically strangers.

That didn’t make it any easier to sit and wait for her food when he was right across the restaurant, however. She told herself not to look over, but every few seconds her eyes naturally gravitated toward him.

With that scar on his face, his crooked nose, which had probably been broken in a fight, and the wary air he carried like a battle shield, she knew most people would consider him the least attractive of the Amos boys. They were all tall, strong and dark-haired, with rugged features and expressive mouths, if not perfectly straight teeth. But they were also reckless, undisciplined and unpredictable. As far as she was concerned, that made them emotionally undependable, too.

Tonight Dylan had on a pair of holey jeans and a distressed leather jacket, which he took off because the restaurant was so warm. At that point, Cheyenne couldn’t help admiring the way his Amos Auto Body T-shirt stretched across his chest. It reminded her how well the rest of him was put together. Maybe other people wouldn’t find him as attractive as his brothers, but she found him more so. There was something about the way he smiled, the way there seemed to be all kinds of things going on in his head, far more than ever passed his lips….

It could even be his attitude that attracted her. He acted as if the whole world could go to hell, that he’d do exactly as he damn well pleased. Sometimes she felt like ignoring public opinion, too. But she’d always been too scared of ending up friendless—and possibly worse off than she was now.

The waitress brought her a basket of crackers and said she’d be right back with the soup. But Cheyenne was hardly listening. Just looking at Dylan made her throat go dry, because she knew what that mouth, those hands, felt like. And she wanted more.