When Snow Falls (Whiskey Creek #2)(51)
Author: Brenda Novak

18

Cheyenne couldn’t concentrate on the movie. It was as if she could feel every breath Dylan took—even though she’d sat as far away from him as possible. He hadn’t said she should sit closer. He hadn’t said much to her at all. She got the impression that he was skeptical of her presence, couldn’t quite figure out what she was doing.

She was glad he wasn’t assuming she’d changed her mind, because she wasn’t sure her being there held that much significance. Like she’d told Presley, she was just getting to know him. She wasn’t making any promises or commitments, wasn’t thinking past a platonic friendship.

For one thing, she’d already agreed to go out with Joe, if he asked her. For another, she felt as though she was at a crossroads, about to enter a new phase of her life, and the decisions she made now would determine her happiness more than ever before. Letting Presley persuade her to come here was a way of making sure that if she walked away from Dylan, she wouldn’t regret it later. That was all.

When the movie ended and Presley still hadn’t returned, Cheyenne felt even more awkward. It wasn’t as if she could get up and leave. Presley had driven; she had the keys.

Cheyenne was considering how to escape gracefully—she could say she had to go, then walk home despite the cold—when Mack suggested they head over to Sexy Sadie’s.

“Come with us,” Grady said, appealing to her.

Cheyenne’s first impulse was to refuse. But Dylan was looking at her, his eyebrows arched in challenge, and she knew he thought she was unwilling to be seen with him in public.

So she said yes.

“Great.” Grady smiled and nudged Mack. “Go get Aaron and Presley. But have them drive over separately, since we have to take two cars, anyway. We’ll go in my Explorer.”

Mack hurried off to do what he’d been told, and the others went to get their coats. Only Dylan stayed behind. His eyes narrowed for a second. But then his lips curved into a victorious smile, giving Cheyenne the impression that she’d just walked into a trap.

* * *

Things were looking up. Dylan was surprised they’d reversed so quickly, but it was good to know he hadn’t lost his ability to tell when a woman was interested in him. Maybe Cheyenne was playing it safe, but she hadn’t completely decided against him. That meant he had a shot.

He just had to be careful, let her come to him.

The music was loud and the bar crowded, but he’d been to Sexy Sadie’s so often that it felt like home. They ordered drinks—he paid for the first round—then made their way to the back corner to play some darts. This wasn’t a place Cheyenne frequented. He suspected the upwardly mobile group she hung out with visited the trendy clubs in Sacramento, if they ever pulled themselves away from worthier pursuits long enough to make the drive. Sexy Sadie’s was a down-and-dirty honky-tonk, or as much of one as there was to be found so far from the Deep South.

Dylan had heard the band before and liked them. They played a wide range of music—country, pop, even some blues.

Their group found a table in the corner. Then he watched Cheyenne lose a game of darts to Mack. Although he caught her watching him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, she seemed to gravitate toward his youngest brother. He guessed she felt safer with the baby of the family than she did with him.

“I’ll take you on,” he told Mack. Usually, he didn’t play darts, and if he did it didn’t matter whether he won. He found pool more of a challenge. But tonight he concentrated on winning because he wanted to take control of the game.

Mack knew exactly what Dylan had in mind. After he lost, he winked as he relinquished his darts and went to the bar for another drink.

Dylan played Rod and Grady, overlooked Aaron because Aaron always offered him more competition than the others and he didn’t want to risk losing before he could get to Cheyenne. To be polite, he first asked Presley if she wanted the challenge, but she motioned toward her sister. “Play with Cheyenne. That’s what you’re after, anyway. Aaron and I are going to dance. But before we do—” she pulled out a twenty “—I’m putting this on her.”

“Did you see her play Mack?” Dylan asked.

Outraged, Cheyenne elbowed him in the ribs. “So I had a bad game! I’m usually a lot better than that.”

“Sure you are,” he said. “I’m just saying your sister might not want to put money on it.”

“I can take you,” she insisted.

He stepped up to her and grinned when she didn’t back down. “You think so?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m certain of it.”

“How certain?”

She dug through her purse and slapped another twenty on the table. “Certain enough to put up my own money.”

Leaning so close he could smell her perfume, he lowered his voice. “I was hoping you might put up something I’d be more interested in winning.”

“Like?”

“Dinner. Tomorrow night.”

“Nice,” Presley said. “He’s direct. I like a man who knows his own mind. Now my money’s on him.”

* * *

Cheyenne could also appreciate a man who wasn’t afraid to go after what he wanted, who didn’t play games or pretend. Dylan seemed fearless in that regard, which somehow reassured her. If he knew what he was doing, maybe being attracted to him wasn’t so risky.

But then she reminded herself that they were talking about one of the Amos boys—the ringleader, no less—and that he had a history of going from one woman to the next. Just because he made her feel special right now didn’t mean his attention wouldn’t wane in a few days or weeks. It could be that she was just the latest in a long line of women who’d caught his eye, that he liked the challenge she presented.

“So what do you say?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “Depends.”

“On…”

“What you’re putting up.”

“What do you want?”

She studied his face as she considered her answer. She’d made a similar bet with Joe over their card game. He’d offered automotive services. Dylan could probably have provided that, too. But she wanted something more meaningful. “Twenty honest answers.”

This seemed to throw him. “To what questions?”

“Whatever I ask,” she said, grinning.

He finished his beer. “Give me a sample.”

She laughed at his sudden reluctance. “They’ll be tough.”