"Now?"

Thank God she was lucid. "Yes! I told him you didn't live here but he had proof. So this is what we're going to do. I'll show him in, and you'll tell him that Cheyenne ran away when she was sixteen and you've never seen or heard from her since. Only you're not going to call her Cheyenne. Cheyenne is now my best friend, a roommate who helps me take care of you and pay the rent, if that name comes up. Do you understand?"

When she didn't seem to be tracking what Presley was saying, Presley's panic leaped to a whole new level. "Mom! I need you to think straight. Please do your best. Five minutes. Can you give me five minutes? Can you fight the pain? Tell the man I bring in here that the girl you stole ran away years ago. Will you do that?"

Her tongue wet cracked, dry lips. "I'll...try," she said, and groaned as she closed her eyes.

"Try. She'll try," Presley muttered to herself, and hoped to hell trying would be enough.

When she returned to collect Mr. Crouch, she found him sitting patiently on the porch in the old kitchen chair she used to smoke. He picked up his briefcase and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from his slacks before following her inside.

"If your mother is as sick as you say, I'm sorry to intrude," he said.

She didn't respond. Her heart was in her throat. She shut the door and waved for him to cross the living room.

He trailed after her, glancing around, taking note of everything he saw. She hoped she hadn't missed some detail that would give her away, but she couldn't imagine what that might be. It'd been at least twenty-seven years since the picture he'd shown her was taken. Chances were he could run right into Cheyenne and not recognize her.

When Presley ushered him into Anita's room, he frowned to find her every bit as badly off as he'd been told. This type of illness could not be faked. Anita was so pale, so feeble, Presley wondered if he saw any similarity to the woman he'd been looking for, especially now that she had no teeth.

"Mom, this is Mr. Crouch, that P.I. I told you about."

Anita opened her eyes but didn't speak. Presley hoped she'd been saving her strength-and that she hadn't already forgotten what she was supposed to say.

Clutching his briefcase with both hands, Mr. Crouch approached her bed. "Ms. Christensen?"

Again, Anita gave no response, but she didn't deny her own name, and he must've recognized her, because there was a hint of satisfaction in his demeanor.

"I've been searching for you for a long, long time," he said.

She showed no surprise.

"You've already guessed why," he added.

Anita nodded.

"Where is she?"

"Gone." Her mother's voice, when she finally used it, shocked even Presley, it was so weak.

He froze. "Gone where?"

Presley dug her fingernails into her palms. There wasn't much she could do now-except trust her mother to lie as well as she always had.

Anita struggled for breath. "Who can...say?"

Sensing Mr. Crouch's disappointment, Presley almost applauded. Her mother deserved an Oscar for this performance.

"What happened to her?" he pressed. "Where I can find Jewel?"

Anita pulled the blankets higher. "I don't...know."

Shoulders slumping, he set his briefcase on the chair by the bed. "Why not?"

"She...ran away. Haven't...heard from her since."

Presley feigned distress. "Mom, what are you talking about? It was Connie who ran away just before we moved here, when we were in Bakersfield. Connie, remember? Not someone named Jewel." She turned to him. "I'm afraid she's not making any sense. My sister ran away. My mother must be confused. The meds do that sometimes."

"No." He gripped his forehead, rubbing his temples. "I don't think she's confused."

Presley stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He opened his mouth, then hesitated. The compassion that flickered in his eyes made her feel bad for misleading him. With her mother dying, he didn't want to tell her that the person she'd always believed to be her sister really wasn't.

"It doesn't matter now," he said. "If you could just...tell me the name she was using when she left. Was it Connie Christensen?"

Anita spoke up. "Who knows? She had a-" gasp, rattle, breath "-boyfriend. A no-good loser named Ben. Ben Sumner. For all we know-" gasp, rattle, breath "-she married him. Or she picked a name out of a hat...so we wouldn't...be able to find her."

His lips thinned. "That's unfortunate."

When they didn't comment, he tried asking a few more questions-the names of the cities where they'd been living before "Connie" left, if they had any idea where she might have gone, if she had any tattoos or piercings that could help identify her. He even asked about dental work and broken bones, as if he planned to check the morgues for every Jane Doe.

This guy was nothing if not thorough. But telling him part of the truth was making him believe they were telling him the whole of it. Presley knew from her mother's example that it was the best way to lie.

They said she had a mermaid tattoo covering most of her midsection, and a scar on one arm from falling into a tub of scalding water when she was six. They said she'd pierced her nose and dyed her hair black, creating an image about as far from the real Cheyenne as they could get. And when he was finally satisfied that he'd obtained all the information he could, they lied again by accepting his card and promising to call if they ever heard from her.

Cheyenne didn't answer her phone. It was Joe. Again. This was his second attempt in the past thirty minutes. According to his earlier message, he wanted to apologize for his inexplicable behavior yesterday. But she'd ignored his first call and intended to ignore this one. She had her own inexplicable behavior to worry about, preferred to forget that they'd ever played cards or shopped for a Christmas tree. She'd drifted into dangerous waters there, but now that she had her wits about her, she was going to be very careful not to make any more mistakes.

She waited until the call transferred to voice mail, then checked to see if he'd left another message.

Chey, Joe again. Listen, like I said before, I'm really sorry about yesterday. That guy...I didn't explain but...my ex-wife and he...well, you've probably guessed the situation by now. He was part of the reason for my divorce. But that's my problem, not yours. Please forgive me and say you'll let me make it up to you. I'd like to take you to that Victorian Christmas event going on this week.

She imagined wandering through the streets with him, enjoying the lights and music and the various foods sold by street vendors. There'd be roasted chestnuts and spiced apple cider and smoked turkey legs. Artists and crafters would be selling their wares. She looked forward to A Victorian Christmas every year. The celebration started in Sutter Creek, then moved to a new town in Gold Country every night before ending in Whiskey Creek.

She would love nothing more than to go with him, but...

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall into her hands. She couldn't do it. On Saturday she'd told him she was a virgin. On Sunday, she'd slept with Dylan Amos, a guy who just happened to proposition her in the park.

She wasn't good enough for someone like Joe. He was better off with Eve.

Her phone rang again. This time it was Presley, so she answered.

"Hey," her sister said.

"What's up?"

"I was just wondering when you might be getting home tonight."

Cheyenne checked the time on her computer. It was almost eight. Riley and Jacob had brought her some takeout from Barry's Burgers and left two hours ago. "Don't know. Why? I thought you didn't have to work."

"I don't. I wanted to tell you there's no rush. If you'd like to go out, you know, do something fun, I'll take care of Mom."

"Really?" Cheyenne didn't mean to act so surprised, but Presley abandoned Anita whenever she could. Cheyenne cut her some slack because she knew Anita's decline was harder on her sister, but she was sure there were times Presley said she had to work when she didn't.

"Really. She's having a good night and so am I."

"I'm...glad to hear it."

"So what will you do?"

Cheyenne had no idea. Riley and Jacob were beat after putting in nearly twelve hours of exhausting physical labor. They were planning to be back by six in the morning, so they were probably hoping to get to bed early.

"I'll stop over and say hello to Eve's parents. Then I'll drop by Sophia's. If her husband's out of town, maybe she'll want to watch a movie with me."

"You've got a pretty good chance of Skip being gone. He's always gone."

"Because he's such a big deal, right?" Cheyenne smiled. They made fun of Sophia's husband all the time. He was so full of himself. But he was pretty adept at making money. He traveled the world, raising funds for various venture capital partnerships. Almost everyone in Whiskey Creek invested with him. If they had enough money. He'd never give anyone who lived in the river bottoms a second of his time.

"A legend in his own mind," Presley replied.

Covering a yawn, Cheyenne leaned back. She hadn't realized how tired she was, but it made sense, given how little sleep she'd had last night. "Thanks for looking after Mom, Pres. I appreciate the break."

"No problem. Have fun."

After they hung up, Cheyenne drummed her fingers on the desk, trying to decide whether or not she'd really go to Sophia's. She was tempted to call Joe back. She was also tempted to call Dylan. She felt terrible about how things had ended, wanted to apologize to him as Joe had apologized to her.

But she'd be better off to leave both men alone.

She powered down her computer, gathered up her purse and turned off the lights.

A creak from above made her pause, but she didn't go to investigate. She knew she wouldn't find any reason for it.

"Good night, Mary," she said, and smiled as she let herself out.

Dylan sat in front of the television, his two dogs-a chocolate lab and a golden retriever mix he'd rescued from the local shelter five years ago-at his feet. But he wasn't paying much attention to the MMA match his brothers had rented on pay-per-view. He liked cage fighting as much as they did. In the early years, when he'd first taken over his father's business and it wasn't making enough to support them, he earned extra money by competing. Now he occasionally went to the gym in Jackson, but he didn't fight. Training just gave him a way to stay in shape.

He should've been more interested in what he was seeing but, thanks to his visit to Cheyenne's house last night, he'd had to work at the shop for twelve hours on virtually no sleep and didn't have his usual energy. The only thing that kept him from drifting off right there in his recliner was the hope that Cheyenne's sister would show up. He was eager to hear whether or not Cheyenne had let anything slip. How was she today? Had she told Presley she'd finally slept with someone? Or was she still determined to keep it to herself?

Probably what he wanted to know most was: Did she regret what they'd done?

"Want a cigarette?" Aaron held out a pack of Marlboros, but Dylan shook his head. He hadn't had a smoke all day.

"No, I quit."

"You what?"

"I said I quit." He knew how damaging it was to his health. He wasn't sure why he'd ever started, except that, once upon a time, cigarettes had given him something to do with his hands when he felt like throwing punches. The nicotine calmed him. Back then, he'd figured smoking was the lesser of two evils. But he was beyond needing that crutch-wasn't he?

"Since when?" Aaron asked.

Mack, Grady and Rod stared at him, too. Even the dogs, Shady and Kikosan, pricked their ears forward.

"Since today."

Rod paused the TV. "What brought this on?"

"Maybe I don't want to get lung cancer, okay?" He didn't know why they had to make a big deal out of it.

They glanced at one another as if he'd just said he was moving to the moon.

"What the heck?" Grady said. "You just had me buy a whole case at Costco."

Dylan didn't want to be reminded of that, and he didn't want to be questioned about his decision. "So? Aaron smokes."

"Only once in a while," Rod said. "And only when you're having a cigarette."

"Then we'll throw the damn things away. Nobody has to smoke them."

Shady barked, obviously sensing the shift of emotions in the room.

"It's just kind of sudden," Grady said. "That's all."

"And it's because they're unhealthy?" Now Rod was getting into the act.

Dylan gave him a disgruntled look that warned them all to back off. "That's right."

Aaron, of course, didn't back off. He leaned forward. "But they were unhealthy when you started."

"So you're going to give me the third degree?" He preferred not to smoke anymore. So what? It was bad for his health. But that wasn't all. He couldn't see Cheyenne with anyone who smoked. Certainly no one in her crowd lit up, except her mother and sister-both people she didn't respect. He couldn't dismiss that, or the fact that she'd mentioned the smell last night, although she'd claimed it didn't bother her. He just didn't want his brothers to know it had taken a woman to make him quit, hated to admit it even to himself. He was stupid to care about Cheyenne. Until yesterday, she'd never paid him any attention. She'd been too busy chasing Joe, thought he was so much better.

So why had she given him her virginity? Why not Joe? Dylan couldn't imagine any available male turning her away. She could easily have chosen another man. But she hadn't, and he couldn't regret taking what she'd offered him. There were moments he wanted to believe he wouldn't waste any more time or energy on a woman who'd counted him out before really giving him a chance, but...he'd make love to her again if only she showed interest. He couldn't lie to himself about that.

"Fine," Aaron said.

Mack shrugged. "I'm glad. I've been at you for months."

"Then that's why," Dylan grumbled. "For you."

The volume on the TV went up, the dogs lay down and the MMA fight continued. But as the minutes slipped away with no one coming to the door, Dylan finally asked his brothers what he wanted to know. "Presley coming over later? Or does she have to work?"

"No clue," Mack responded, eyes glued to the TV. He obviously didn't care one way or another. Like Dylan, he'd never found Cheyenne's sister appealing. It was Aaron who liked her. They'd been sleeping together for the past several weeks. Dylan thought they might be drifting toward a relationship. Aaron invited her over often enough, but it could be hard to tell what he was thinking. Aaron had been the most difficult of his brothers to raise. He was always getting into trouble.

"Aaron? You heard from her?" he asked.

Aaron glanced over. "Who?"