When Snow Falls (Whiskey Creek #2)(92)
Author: Brenda Novak

Cheyenne reached for her hand. “It’s okay, isn’t it? You haven’t lost anything, Pres. Now you’ll have two people to love you instead of just one.”

Dylan had treated her well when they picked her up. He’d always been nice, but there was added kindness in his words and actions tonight. There was also the tenderness he showed her sister. That gave Presley hope she might find a man like him someday, even if it wasn’t his brother.

“Do you think you’ll get married?” she asked, pulling Lucky closer to her body.

“Maybe.” Her sister’s smile was barely discernible in the dark. “I’m pretty sure I’d like that.”

“Tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve. Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Her sister was getting tired, starting to drift off.

“We’ll both be living new and different lives in the new year.”

* * *

The weather was beautiful for Anita’s funeral, which was held on January 3. So many people came out. All of Cheyenne’s friends were there, including a very pregnant Gail and her movie-star husband, Simon. Most of Presley’s friends came, too. The Amos boys turned out—except Aaron, of course—in suits, no less. They looked as respectable as any man there, especially Dylan, who’d cut his hair. Joe and his father attended, too, along with the Harmons, the hospice nurse, Marcy Mostats-Passuello, even Chief Stacy. As they lowered the casket into the ground not far from the place where little Mary Hatfield was buried and began shoveling dirt on top, Cheyenne couldn’t help but think how grateful she was that Anita had brought her and Presley to Whiskey Creek seventeen years ago.

This was her home. These people were her family.

She could feel Dylan at her side, a constant source of strength. Presley had talked her into taking an over-the-counter pregnancy test before the funeral, and she’d been slightly disappointed to learn that she wasn’t pregnant. Seeing Gail’s extended stomach and knowing Presley’s would soon be the same made her crave a baby, too. But there would be time for children—after she and Dylan were married.

As the mourners came by to hug her and Presley before moving off toward the B and B, where many of them had parked, she could see Clarence Holloway, the undertaker, waiting to speak with her. No doubt he was eager to discuss his bill, but she didn’t want Dylan to be around when they did. She knew he’d try to pay for it, and she didn’t think it was fair for him to bear that expense.

Excusing herself the moment Eve started talking to him and Presley was preoccupied, she walked over to Clarence. “Thank you for arranging such a lovely service.”

He bent his head. “That’s what we do at the Holloway Family Funeral Home.”

She cleared her throat. “I know I owe you quite a lot of money. I’d like to assure you that I have every intention of paying. Have you decided whether or not you’d be willing to set up monthly installments?” She’d asked him twice before, once just yesterday, but he’d never given her a commitment. He kept saying he’d think about it as if he’d capitulate only if he had no other choice.

“There’s no need for that,” he said.

What did he mean? She shifted on her feet, feeling awkward and wanting to get this over with before Dylan could join them. “Excuse me?”

He handed her a piece of paper. “I was just waiting to give you this.”

“What is it?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

She opened it, and saw the word Invoice was stamped across the top. The total for the funeral and burial, written in red, could be found at the bottom: $5,200. It was a fortune to her. But then she saw a zero below that, after the words Total Due.

“I don’t understand.” She frowned at him.

He nodded toward those still lingering at the grave—Gail, Simon, Sophia, Ted, Riley, Noah, Baxter, Callie, Kyle, Eve and a few others. They were planning to go over to the coffee shop together so they could spend some time with Gail and Simon while they were in town. “Your friends split the bill. They’ve covered everything.”

Cheyenne felt her eyebrows shoot up. “But…they shouldn’t have done that! You shouldn’t have let them. This isn’t their responsibility.”

“They said you’d complain. So they told me to give you this, too.”

Stunned, Cheyenne accepted the card he thrust into her hands. It was a sympathy card, one created by Callie on the computer, with pictures of them as a group in Santa Cruz, San Francisco and Tahoe. Her favorite was the photograph of them at their graduation. They looked so young in their caps and gowns….

The bottom read “That’s what friends are for.”

* * *

“Don’t be nervous.” Dylan’s presence, his support, soothed Cheyenne, but there was no way she could master her nerves. She’d finally garnered the courage to call Eugene Crouch. Now she was sitting in the anteroom of his office in Danville, waiting to meet with him. She had no idea what he might reveal or what that information might mean to her life, which was why she’d delayed scheduling this meeting until Gail and Simon had gone back to L.A. and she’d booked Presley into a rehab facility in Walnut Creek not far away.

“What do you think he’ll say?” she whispered.

“That he’s been looking for you a long time,” Dylan replied.

Cheyenne drew a deep breath. She was so happy now. Was she crazy to risk that happiness by opening a Pandora’s box?

The door opened and a tall, gaunt-looking man peered out at her. Despite his height and craggy features, he had a gentle demeanor. She liked him immediately. “Well, hello, Cheyenne Christensen.” He smiled. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Thank you,” she managed.

“Are you ready for this?”

“I hope so.”

He came to her and gave her his hand, then turned to Dylan. “And this is…”

“My boyfriend, Dylan Amos.”

They shook hands, too. “I’m glad you came along.” Mr. Crouch indicated his inner office with a jerk of his head. “Let’s go have a seat.”

Dylan’s hand felt warm against her cold fingers as they followed Eugene Crouch and took the seats he offered them.

“I was pleased to hear from you the other day,” he said as he rounded his desk.

“It wasn’t an easy call to make,” she admitted.

“I can understand why. I’m sorry to hear about…I guess we should call her Anita. Cancer is a difficult way to go.”