When Snow Falls (Whiskey Creek #2)(82)
Author: Brenda Novak

“You’ve done the best you can,” she said.

But his best wasn’t enough. Despite knowing that her friends would judge him for lighting up—probably use his smoking as proof that he wasn’t as good as they were—he wanted a cigarette. Quitting was much harder than he’d ever imagined.

Maybe he didn’t have what he needed to make Cheyenne happy.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

He slipped his arms around her and the puppy she was holding and kissed her neck. What would they have been like if they’d led different lives? “Joe’s the better man. Maybe you need to hear it directly from me.”

She backed away from him. “I don’t believe it.”

He stared down at her. “You did at one time.”

“That was before I got to know you.”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks, Chey. We could be making a mistake. I could hurt you, or you could hurt me—”

“That’s the risk with any relationship. People change. We can only judge by what we feel now.”

“Will that be enough to get us through?”

“I think so.”

“How can you be that confident?” he asked. Her friends weren’t even home yet. Just wait until they were….

“Because…”

When she didn’t finish what she’d started to say, he tilted his head in question.

“I admire Joe. I really do. But…” She set down the dog. Then she straightened and her expression softened as she met his eyes. “I’m in love with you.”

Dylan had never expected her to make that kind of admission, that kind of commitment. Not so soon. Not when she had so many reasons to feel torn. But it gave him the confidence he needed to believe that maybe, just maybe, they had a right to be together. He’d never felt the way he was feeling at this moment. The craving for cigarettes disappeared. So did the difficulties he’d known since he lost his mother, the confusion and anger inspired by his father, the loss, the betrayal, the lashing out that came as a result and the regrouping in order to cope. The only thing that mattered was that this woman welcomed his kiss, his touch, his imperfect heart.

* * *

Cheyenne spent a wonderful morning with Dylan and her new three-legged puppy.

After showering, they took Lucky, which was what she’d decided to name her dog, and walked over to see Dylan’s brothers.

It’d snowed in the night, covering the landscape with a thin blanket of white. The river bottoms had never been the prettiest part of town, but they looked beautiful now, as pristine as anywhere else.

For a second, as she gazed down the road that eventually wound to the right, Cheyenne was sorry Anita wasn’t around to see the lacy trees. It was so rare that they looked this way. That it was Christmas morning gave this beauty special significance.

Maybe, with time, she’d learn to appreciate the better parts of the woman her mother had been. She hoped so. She wanted more than the dark memories that rose in her mind so often.

Except for Mack, everyone was still sleeping, even though it was after noon. No doubt the Amos boys had partied late and were taking advantage of the chance to sleep in, since they didn’t have to work. Even Dylan’s dogs didn’t come and greet them, so she felt comfortable putting Lucky on the floor.

Glad she didn’t have to encounter Aaron right away, she breathed a small sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure how she’d react to him, given that she believed him to be one of the reasons her sister ran off.

“There you are.” Mack seemed a little forlorn, sitting in front of the TV alone, with no decorations on the tree and no presents underneath. He was only twenty-one, after all. Like the rest of the Amoses, he’d had to grow up fast—but twenty-one was still young not to have the love and support of either parent. Cheyenne felt guilty for stealing Dylan away for so long.

“Hey, you about ready for your present?” Dylan asked.

Mack’s reserve seemed to vanish. “Were you trying to make me think I wasn’t getting one this year?”

Dylan laughed. “You’ve never been overlooked before, have you?”

“Santa’s never been so preoccupied,” Mack teased, winking at her.

She grinned back at him. “Fortunately, your Santa’s pretty reliable.” Another thing she liked about Dylan.

Dylan marched down the hall, banging on doors as he went. “Hey, you’re sleeping Christmas away! Get up if you want your presents!”

Cheyenne watched to make sure Lucky would be okay when Dylan’s dogs came bounding out of the bedrooms, but they merely sniffed her, looked at Mack as though asking how they should react to this interloper, then wagged their tails. Once Cheyenne was satisfied that Lucky wouldn’t be harmed, she sauntered over to the kitchen and peered in the cupboards. She wanted to start baking. Dylan had assured her they’d have all the supplies she’d need, but he’d never made pies before.

“Where’d that dog come from?” Mack asked.

She turned to see that Dylan’s youngest brother had followed her. “She’s my Christmas present.”

“A deformed puppy? I hope it wasn’t from Dylan.”

She couldn’t help laughing at his horror. “Actually, it was.”

“Jeez, he couldn’t have gotten you one with all its legs?”

“He picked the one I would’ve picked,” she said simply. She loved Dylan all the more for understanding what would be important to her, but she didn’t add that.

“I see. Nice.”

She laughed again when he finished with an uncertain “I guess,” that indicated he didn’t see at all. Then another voice caught her attention.

“Is Presley home?”

The joy she’d been feeling seemed to leak out of her, like a balloon slowly losing its air, as she noticed Aaron, who looked as if he’d just stumbled out of bed.

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Not yet.”

“Have you heard from her?” Eyes red, hair wild, he’d obviously passed a very difficult night.

“No.”

A confused, hurt expression stole over his face. “Where could she be? She never goes too long before contacting me.”

Cheyenne shook her head. She had no answers.

* * *

Presley squinted up at the single bulb on the ceiling overhead, in so much pain she could hardly move. Apparently, a “light” bondage session for her new business partner meant whips and chains and a few blows from his closed fists. But at least he’d provided some of the best drugs she’d ever had. He’d used a needle. She hated to think it was heroin—she knew how addictive it could be, had always promised herself she’d never go that far—but she had a feeling heroin was exactly what had produced such a magnificent high.