When Snow Falls (Whiskey Creek #2)(59)
Author: Brenda Novak

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 mention 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.

And Mack was right. There were plenty of other women. So why hadn’t he listened to his instincts, which had told him all along that making a play for Cheyenne would be reaching too far above him? Until recently, she’d always treated him as if he was no one she’d ever consider.

But now that he’d been with her, he couldn’t seem to settle for anyone else.

* * *

Cheyenne felt a measure of relief as Joe drove off. The Christmas spirit she’d been feeling had faded the instant she bumped into Dylan. For the rest of the evening, the look on his face had haunted her, making it impossible for her to enjoy herself and awkward when it came time to say good-night to Joe. He’d walked her to the door and leaned in as if he might kiss her, but she’d given him a fleeting smile along with her thanks and fled inside.

Thank God he was gone. Now maybe she’d have a few minutes to try to sort out why she felt so sick inside. If Joe was really the better choice, why was her heart being so rebellious? Why, when he’d invited her over for Christmas dinner, had she told him she wasn’t sure she could make it?

With a sigh, she dropped her purse on the kitchen table and sank into a chair. The house was dark and quiet. Presley didn’t usually go to bed so early. But Cheyenne figured she had to be sleeping—until she realized she hadn’t seen her sister’s Mustang in the drive. She’d been too preoccupied with her own problems for that detail to register as soon as it should have.

A peek outside confirmed it. No Mustang.

Had Presley gone? Why would she do such a thing after assuring Cheyenne that she’d be home to look after Anita?

Afraid she’d done just that, and more than a little apprehensive about the reason, Cheyenne poked her head inside her sister’s room. “Presley?” she murmured, hoping to find her in bed, despite the missing car. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d left her car somewhere and hitched a ride home to avoid a DUI.

There was no answer. Leaving the door open to use the light from the hall to see the shapes of furniture and other obstacles, Cheyenne waded through the clothes on the floor to the bed.

“Presley?” She patted the blankets, searching for something warm and solid.

The bed was empty. After flipping on the light, she saw her sister’s comforter balled up in the middle; there was no one inside it.

Once again weaving through the mess on the floor, she hurried to check on their mother.

Anita’s room was just as quiet, just as still. But it smelled terrible. Much worse than normal.

A chill ran up Cheyenne’s spine when she called her mother’s name and got no response. Thanks to the powerful opiates she was being given to handle the pain, she often slept too deeply to answer. Cheyenne wasn’t sure why it disturbed her so much tonight except that…the smell wasn’t right.

Holding her breath, she listened for the sound of Anita breathing.

Silence…

“Mom?” she whispered.

Again, no answer.

She stood in the dark for several long seconds, waiting, listening, gathering her nerve. Some small animal scampered over the roof—probably a squirrel or a raccoon—but she heard nothing other than that.

Anita was dead. Cheyenne knew it before she moved any closer. She just couldn’t seem to figure out how to feel about it. Her mother’s passing wasn’t the immediate release she’d expected.

The sick feeling that’d sat in the bottom of her stomach since she’d seen Dylan grew much worse, along with a general sense of revulsion. Where was Presley? Why hadn’t her sister called? Cheyenne had carried her cell phone all night, just in case.

The answer became apparent when she turned on the light.

* * *

The voice that woke him was reedy.