When Snow Falls (Whiskey Creek #2)(72)
Author: Brenda Novak

There were no guarantees, but Cheyenne preferred to believe him. She certainly didn’t want to face any of the other possibilities. “When do you want to go out?” she asked.

“There’s no rush. You can call me when you’re ready. I just…I want you to give me a chance.”

“I’m not a safe bet, Dylan,” she said into his T-shirt. “You know that.”

He kissed her temple. “I think that’s what you’re holding against me.”

* * *

Presley woke in the sleeper of a semi. The man who’d picked her up was driving. She could hear and feel the motion of the truck. But she was naked beneath a blanket so she knew they probably hadn’t been on the road for long.

Squinting in the darkness, she shoved herself into a sitting position so she could see who she was with. When she saw it was a man somewhere in his late fifties and that he was obese and terribly unattractive even in the dim light of the instrument panel, she nearly groaned out loud.

“What time is it?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“Nearly two.”

She pressed her fingers to her temples in an effort to ease the pounding. “Where are we?”

He used the rearview mirror to look back at her. “Near Phoenix. You hungry? I can stop at a hole-in-the-wall café I know. They cater to truckers so they’re open twenty-four hours.”

She wasn’t hungry. She was never hungry. She just wanted more meth, Oxycontin, pot, anything that would dull the awareness dawning on her. “You don’t happen to know a dealer in Phoenix, do you?”

“No. I’ve never done drugs. My wife would divorce me if I did.” He winked at her. “But I’ve got more Jack Daniel’s, if that’ll help.”

She remembered drinking with him hours ago. That was probably the reason she had such a splitting headache. “I’ve had enough of that.”

“Want me to pull over at the next stop? I could give you another massage.”

The way he smiled at her certainly didn’t help the roiling in her stomach. “There’s no chance you’re a serial killer, is there?”

His eyes widened as if she couldn’t possibly have meant that hopeful inflection. “Oh, no! Don’t worry. You’re the one who wanted to…you know. I would never hurt you.”

The truck rumbled beneath her as she sank back onto the pillow and stared up at the blackness. “That’s what I thought.”

“You seem disappointed,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh.

“I am. Would it be so hard to put me out of my misery? Maybe you could just push me out while we’re driving.”

“That would kill you.” He sounded shocked. “I told you I’m not going to hurt you. You’re such a beautiful girl. Why would you have a death wish?”

She didn’t answer.

“Maybe you’re a little crazy, but you’re a hellcat in bed. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex that good. I owe you.”

She thought of Aaron and the pain in her head and chest became so acute she nearly blacked out. He was the only one she wanted, but he didn’t want her. And now she was carrying his child. She wasn’t sure what to do about the situation. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking or using. The over-the-counter test she’d taken just after Cheyenne left for A Victorian Christmas with Joe confirmed it. But if she was going to end the pregnancy anyway… “I want to get out.”

“What?”

“Pull over and let me out!”

“I can’t do that here! We’re in the middle of the Sonoran desert.”

“So?” She rested one arm over her eyes. “I’ll walk.”

“It’s too cold outside. And it’d take you hours to get to Phoenix.”

She didn’t argue. She didn’t care enough about anything to put up a fight. Her mother was dead. Her sister wasn’t really her sister. She was pregnant. And the man she’d considered her boyfriend didn’t give a shit about her.

“Presley?”

Why had she told this man her name? Couldn’t he tell that she didn’t even want to see him? “Yes?”

“Are you okay with Phoenix? Can I let you out there?”

Phoenix was good as anywhere. “Whatever.”

* * *

Cheyenne checked Presley’s room as soon as she woke up. Still empty. So she went to the front door, hoping her sister’s car might be in the drive despite her absence from the house.

Except for the Oldsmobile, the drive was empty, as well. Not really a surprise, despite all her wishing it could be otherwise. There was, however, a rose and a card on the doorstep where the hospice nurse had left a meal last night—a meal Cheyenne had taken in before searching the riverbank but hadn’t eaten.

In spite of the cold, she scooped up those small gifts and walked outside to sit in her sister’s chair. But when she saw the ashtray perched precariously on the banister, she didn’t even bother to open the card, which she assumed someone had left because of Anita’s death.

Her phone rang, cutting through the worry that held her in such a tight grip. She’d kept her cell with her every minute since Presley had gone missing. But this wasn’t her sister, either. It was the casino, wondering whether or not Presley would be coming in to work later.

Although Cheyenne explained to Presley’s boss that their mother’s death, which she’d told him about yesterday, was hitting her sister hard, he hardly seemed sympathetic. He managed another perfunctory, “I’m sorry.” Then he told her that Presley would lose her job if she didn’t make it in tonight. They were short-staffed and couldn’t get anyone else to fill in over the holidays.

Hoping Presley’s friend, Carolyn, might’ve heard from her, or that she could cover the shift and buy Presley some more time, Cheyenne called her.

“Have you heard from her?” she asked as soon as Carolyn picked up. She left the card that she’d found on the doorstep in her lap but held the flower to her nose.

“No, nothing. And I’ve called her phone a million times.”

There was no guarantee Presley even had her cell with her. If the ringing bothered her, she could’ve thrown it out the window. When she was high, there was no telling what she might do. That was how she’d wound up getting a tattoo depicting wild beasts devouring innocent prey covering one whole arm. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world,” she’d said when Cheyenne had asked why she’d chosen something so violent.