"What do you know about Dylan Amos?" Cheyenne asked. She and her sister had been watching TV for the past hour. Presley planned to go out later, but it was only ten o'clock-early by her standards. The parties she attended didn't get started until eleven. Normally she'd be hard-pressed to find one on a Sunday. Even the Amoses had to work during the week. They ran their own collision repair shop just outside town. But it was getting so close to Christmas there was a party almost every night.

"He's beyond sexy," Presley responded. "Why?"

Chey pretended to be absorbed in studying her hands. "You have a thing for him?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

"Not that I've heard."

"Maybe he isn't popular with your crowd. But all the women I know want him."

Chey refused to speculate on just what type of woman that would be. She preferred not to acknowledge that her sister was one of them. "You've slept with him?"

Presley screwed up her mouth, apparently puzzling it out. "I don't think so."

Chey felt her eyes widen. "You don't know?"

"How would I? I don't always pay attention to everything that's going on."

Sometimes Presley was far too honest.... "That really scares me, Pres."

"Letting go feels good. You should try it sometime."

Cheyenne wasn't that self-destructive. She'd just decided to drop the subject-her encounter with Dylan was odd and nothing she needed to spend time thinking about-when her sister spoke again.

"What makes you ask about Dylan? You hate the Amoses."

"I don't hate them," she said. "I don't even know them."

"You never want me to go over there."

"Because their parties are notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol, any one of which could land you in deep trouble. In short, the Amos brothers are thugs."

"They're fun. And I can take care of myself."

That remained to be seen. She hadn't done such a brilliant job so far. Her inability to make wise decisions kept Cheyenne playing the heavy. "So...which of them have you slept with?" she asked.

Presley grabbed the remote and paused the program. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I ran into Dylan earlier, at the park."

"And?"

"Nothing, really. He surprised me by saying hello. I didn't think he even knew my name."

"He definitely knows your name. He asks about you all the time."

Cheyenne tucked her hair behind one ear, trying not to stare at Presley. "Why would he do that?"

"You intrigue him."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Every other woman he knows would spread her legs for him in a heartbeat. But you're hard to get, aloof. You treat him like he's not good enough."

"That's how I come off?"

"To the Amoses you do. They don't understand that you're just trying to get out of this shit hole, change your life. Anyway, I've already told him he doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting in your pants. You'd think he'd forget about it."

Cheyenne scowled at her. "That's a crude way of telling him I wouldn't be interested."

Presley rolled her eyes. "You should've been born in a different era. Or to a Quaker family. Sometimes I wonder where the hell you came from."

Her sister had said similar things in the past. Cheyenne had never taken them literally. But the fear that suddenly flickered in Presley's eyes, as if she'd just said something she wished she could retract, made Cheyenne feel that maybe this wasn't a throwaway statement.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

Jumping to her feet, Presley threw the remote on the couch. "Nothing. I have to go."

"Before we finish Alaska State Troopers?"

"I've seen enough."

"But you love this show."

"It's getting late."

"Pres!"

Her sister must've heard the serious note in her voice because she stopped and turned. She'd also hunched in on herself as though she was expecting the worst, which set off another alarm in Cheyenne's head.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. What makes you ask that?"

Her behavior. "You haven't heard from that private investigator again, have you?"

"No."

"What was his name? Something like Couch...or Crouch?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "I don't even remember."

"You have his card."

"I tossed that. No point in keeping it. Mom won't be around long enough to make right whatever she did wrong-or to be punished for some old mistake."

They'd had to increase the dosages on Anita's meds again. She'd been unconscious for the past few hours. "That's true, but...shouldn't we at least see what it's about?"

"We'd be foolish to dig up the past."

"You're convinced it's bad?"

"What else could it be? Has there ever been a surprise like that you thought was good?"

No. Definitely not.

Cheyenne shrugged, effectively ending the conversation, and Presley disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned twenty minutes later, she had on thick eyeliner, deep red lipstick and a low-cut blouse with a pair of tight-fitting jeans that left no detail to the imagination. There'd once been a time when Presley was chubby. But those days were gone. If anything, she bordered on too thin. Cheyenne knew her drug use had a lot to do with that.

"Are you going back to the Amoses'? Or somewhere else?" Cheyenne tried to make her tone more conversational than parental, but she knew how the question sounded.

"Does it matter?" she asked, obviously irritated.

"I'd like to know where to look for you if you don't come home."

She gave a dramatic sigh. "I might stop by to see what the Amos guys have going. Don't know if I'll stay."

Her sister's perfume was so strong it burned Cheyenne's nostrils. "Will you be stopping by alone?"

"No. Carolyn from work's planning to hang out with me. We might also go to the Devil's Lair in Jackson."

So she'd have company. That was good news, at least.

Cheyenne turned off the TV. "I worry about you, Presley," she said. "You're two years older than I am. Don't you think it's time to settle down?"

"Don't start," she snapped, and hurried out the door.

Silence fell like an anvil once the door banged shut. Cheyenne told herself she should use this opportunity to get some sleep. She hadn't slept well last night. She'd been too busy wrestling with her conscience over Joe. But she was too listless to go to bed this early.

Leaving the TV off-it was no longer capable of holding her attention-she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of the wine Joe had left behind. If only her friends weren't gone. She could've had one or more of them over. Eve often came by to keep her company on the long nights she had to babysit her mother. Sophia and Riley were in town, but Sophia had a husband and a daughter, and Riley had his son, Jacob. She couldn't imagine that the two of them would want to come over and hang with her, not when they had to be at the inn first thing in the morning.

She eyed the phone. She wanted to call Joe, ask him what had gone wrong at the tree farm, why that guy had upset him. Was it related to his divorce as she'd guessed?

Regardless, she had no business breaking down whatever barrier had sprung up between them. That barrier was keeping her safe from herself.

You ever want me to show you what it's like to have a man in your bed, you know where to find me.

Dylan's words ran through her mind, as they had several times since the park. She had no intention of taking him up on his offer, but she had to admit she was curious about what it would be like to finally sleep with a man. She was also beginning to wonder if she was waiting for something that was never going to happen....

Maybe holding off was an excuse not to take the risks that came with getting that close to another human being. Maybe she was so fearful of being categorized as a whore, like her mother, that she was determined to remain above any and all accusation, so determined she wasn't leading a normal life.

Or she was as damaged as her sister and was simply reacting to it differently.

That could be it, she thought, but at least her response to what she and Presley had been through wouldn't lead to rehab or leave her open to an STD. Her sister didn't even know if she'd slept with Dylan!

Cheyenne shook her head at the craziness of that. But then her gaze drifted to her cell phone and she decided to go ahead and make a call. She wasn't sure where it would lead. It would probably be a terrible mistake. But at least diverting herself in this way would insure that she kept her distance from Joe.

Cheyenne had expected to hear a lot of noise in the background. Music, possibly some raucous laughter. But that wasn't the case. When Dylan answered, she could hear him perfectly. A dog barked. Probably one of the two he had with him most of the time. That was it.

She almost hung up as soon as he said hello. But she knew caller ID had already recorded her number. Chickening out would be more embarrassing than saying what she'd devised as her excuse.

"Dylan?"

He went silent, as if the sound of her voice took him completely off guard. The fact that she'd called him surprised her, too.

"It's-" she drew a steadying breath "-it's Cheyenne. Christensen."

"I only know one Cheyenne, Cheyenne Christensen. What can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but..." This wasn't going as smoothly as she'd intended. It was one thing to try to keep her mind off Joe; it was another entirely to contact a virtual stranger just because she'd run into him at the park and thought he might be able to ease her loneliness.

"I don't mind," he said, putting the onus of the conversation back on her.

She swallowed, her throat dry. "My sister told me she was coming over again tonight."

More surprise. "You're welcome to come with her, if you want," he said, guessing at the reason behind her call.

That was nice, at least. "I can't. I have to stay here with my mother."

"What about that Mostats-Passuello woman? Doesn't she come over and sit with her sometimes?"

Marcy was a nurse who helped out from time to time. But she had a family. "Once in a while."

"Call her."

"I can't call her this late!"

"So..."

"So I was hoping you'd...that you'd..." Suddenly what she'd rehearsed-I was hoping you'd look out for my sister while she's there-promised to come across as so lame she couldn't bring herself to say it. This wasn't the first time Presley had gone over to his place, and he'd already said nothing would happen to her there.

Face burning, she decided to end this as quickly as possible. "Never mind. I shouldn't have interrupted you," she said, and hung up.

"That was colossally stupid." She groaned, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. For all she knew, he was with another woman. "What was I thinking?"

She'd been thinking that he was a lot more attractive than she'd given him credit for. That she'd gone long enough without knowing what it felt like to make love to a man. That it didn't matter if she called Dylan, just as long as she didn't call Joe.

But she'd made a fool of herself.

"I'm an idiot," she murmured, and forced herself to go to bed.

Almost two hours later, the doorbell rang. Cheyenne dragged herself from sleep and checked the clock, but it took a moment for the time to register. Two. Who on earth would be at her door in the middle of the night?

She listened to see if the noise had disturbed her mother. But there was no other sound. Anita was so drugged she could probably sleep through the apocalypse. And, apparently, Presley wasn't home yet. That, however, wasn't unusual.