"When?"

"After you fell asleep."

It bothered him that she didn't want anyone to know they were seeing each other. He took it as a slight-he'd made that clear when she'd been afraid Presley would see his bike-and she couldn't blame him. Yet he'd taken her keys off his desk and gone out in the cold to remedy the problem in the middle of the night? "That was nice of you. Really nice. Thank you."

"Keeping you in my bed was worth it. Have a good day," he said, and disconnected.

Their time together had been incredible, even better than the hours at her place. She had to admit that much. Practice helped...

"You're an interesting man, Dylan Amos," she said as she wandered around his room, which was surprisingly clean and well-organized. There were a few articles of clothing he hadn't hung up, but no dust, no dirt and everything smelled fresh.

She examined the bits of paper and receipts tacked to his corkboard. Names and numbers of both men and women. Flyers announcing MMA tournaments. A few pictures of him at the lake with his brothers or some buddies. Before and after photos of various cars he must've repaired. His GED.

When she saw that, she checked the date on the certificate and realized he'd gotten it only a year ago. She wondered why he'd bothered with it. He'd been running his own business since eighteen, and it seemed to make enough to support them all. They certainly had plenty of toys, from motorcycles to Jet Skis to four-wheel drives, and no one was rushing off to work someplace else.

"Come on, we're late!" someone shouted. "Old Man Murphy wants his car today. We don't get it done, Dylan's gonna pound our asses."

She smiled at that. Then she saw a framed picture on the opposite nightstand and walked over to have a look. An attractive woman of maybe twenty-five, with long dark hair, held a young Dylan on her lap.

Sobering, Cheyenne picked up the photograph and stared at the faces of mother and son. They looked so much alike. They had the same coloring, the same pouty mouth. She smiled again, thinking about how much she enjoyed kissing that mouth. What would he have been like had his mother lived? And what about his father? Did they have a relationship?

The front door slammed, jarring her out of her thoughts. At last, she was free.

Putting the picture down, she waited until she heard the motors of two different vehicles flare up and grow dim. Then she hurried out to find her own car behind the barn.

As soon as Cheyenne let herself into the house, Presley came out of her bedroom. "There you are," she said, sounding put out.

Self-conscious and guilty, Cheyenne crossed to the kitchen. "Hi. Sorry about last night. I would've called but I zonked out."

Her sister trailed after her, stopping at the table when she proceeded to the fridge. "Where? That's the question."

Cheyenne wasn't sure whether or not she'd gone looking for her. She doubted Presley would have checked the Amoses', even if she did. She'd probably gone in the other direction, past Sophia's and maybe even the Harmons'. "Over at Eve's place."

"I thought Eve was on a cruise."

She rummaged around as if hunting for something to eat, but she wasn't particularly hungry, just trying to avoid facing her sister and meeting her gaze. The fact that she and Presley seemed to have switched roles didn't escape her. "She is."

"So what were you doing there?"

Cheyenne took out a boiled egg and cracked it, using a paper towel to catch the shell, since she didn't want to risk clogging up the garbage disposal. "I stopped by to get a dress I lent her, turned on the TV for a few minutes and fell asleep."

"Oh." With a yawn, Presley collapsed into a seat. "You really had me going there for a while. I searched all over for you."

Fortunately, she didn't ask to see the dress, because it was already hanging in Cheyenne's closet. "You didn't bother Sophia, did you?" She added salt to her egg. "She had an early flight to Hawaii."

"When I couldn't find you, I called over there, but no one answered. So I drove by and, of course, your car wasn't parked out front. It wasn't at Riley's, either."

Cheyenne looked up. "You left Mom alone?"

"I had to. I was afraid something had happened to you."

Breathing a sigh of relief that Presley hadn't managed to find her, Cheyenne took a seat at the table. There was just one more thing that concerned her.... "You didn't call the police or anything, did you?"

"No." Presley frowned, watching her eat. "I don't like involving the police in our business, so I thought I'd wait a little longer. I was actually wondering if maybe you ran away." She laughed uncomfortably. "Lord knows I've been tempted on occasion."

"I wouldn't leave you, Pres."

"Really?" she said.

Surprised by her insecurity, Cheyenne reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "Of course not. We're sisters, right? We stick together."

"Yeah, sisters."

Cheyenne could barely hear her. She leaned closer. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Just don't scare me like that again, okay? I was so worried."

Cheyenne gave her a pointed look. "Now you know how I feel when you don't come home."

"That's usual behavior for me. I work nights. I go out often. It's not usual behavior for you."

"There's no excuse for being inconsiderate."

"I know. I'm sorry." She brushed her hair out of her eyes and stood up to get a drink. "By the way, Joe DeMarco came by last night."

Cheyenne twisted around to see her. "He did?"

"Yeah."

"What'd he want?"

"He asked for you."

"And you told him..."

"That you were probably at Sophia's."

Her stomach knotted but she forced herself to swallow what was in her mouth. "What time was that?"

"Almost nine."

Cheyenne had been at Sophia's then. Thank God. "Did he say what he wanted?"

Presley returned with a glass of milk. "No, but he seemed disappointed you weren't here." She gave Cheyenne a suspicious grin. "You're not seeing Gail's brother, are you?"

"No." Cheyenne shook her head. "Eve's dating him. We're just friends."

She grinned. "Lucky Eve. He's cute."

Cheyenne didn't want to be reminded of that. "He's a nice guy."

"He told me to have you call him."

"I will. How was Mom last night?" Cheyenne held her breath, hoping Presley would take the bait, and felt another wave of relief when she allowed her to change the subject.

"Fine. She woke up for a few minutes and we chatted. But mostly she slept."

Nothing new there. Cheyenne was about to throw away the paper towel she'd been using so she could take a shower and head over to the B and B when she noticed a shard of glass on the floor. "Did something get broken?"

"Oh!" Presley's expression turned sheepish. "I was going to tell you about that."

"What?"

"You know the picture of you, Eve, Gail and some of your other friends in Tahoe? The one you had on the mantel?"

"Yes..."

"I accidentally dropped it. But don't worry. I'll get you another frame."

Cheyenne glanced at the fireplace. Sure enough, her picture was missing. But everything else was there, even some Christmas ornaments that were far more fragile. "What made you pick it up in the first place?"

"I was...dusting. What else?"

Rocking back, Cheyenne blinked at her. "Wow, what got into you?" she said with a laugh.

"I dust. Sometimes."

"No, you don't." She laughed harder. "And you never offer to stay with Mom."

Presley stared down at her hands, which were busy digging at her cuticles. "I guess I just realized how much you mean to me, and that I haven't been the kind of help I should've been. I want to do more. I want to give you a reason to love me."

Apparently, Presley was in a much more serious mood than Cheyenne had realized. "Stop. I do love you and I always will."

Her sister smiled but, for some reason, it didn't reach her eyes.

14.

Steam was beginning to fill the bathroom, but Cheyenne let the shower run and stood in front of the mirror. She hadn't inspected her body in a long while. There hadn't been any point. She was the only one to ever see it. But now...now she wanted to put herself in Dylan's shoes, to determine whether or not she was really as attractive as he made her feel.

She wasn't too impressed with her own assets. In her opinion, several of her friends were prettier. But she wasn't bad. At five foot nine, she was fairly tall-long and lean. Since Anita was the opposite, she assumed this genetic endowment came from her father, whoever he was. Or her old memories were what she feared. Her breasts were a C, the size most women seemed to want, or not far from it. And she'd been told through the years that she had nice legs.

She could use a tan, she decided, but it was the middle of winter so a guy couldn't expect too much there.

Maybe she should cut her hair. Or start lifting weights. Dylan was certainly toned.

She could get a tattoo....

Suddenly, she wanted a drastic change, wanted to break out of the constraints that held her back, try new things, take a few risks.

But she wasn't sure how to do that. She had her mother and sister to worry about, and would need to help her sister even after her mother died. She didn't earn a lot of money. She lived in a small town and couldn't see herself leaving the friends she'd made. Not only that, but her reputation would probably always mean a great deal to her. So how would she ever step away from being dutiful and responsible and...boring?

Apparently, part of her wanted to break out of her cocoon, and part was afraid to emerge as anything other than what she'd been.

"Chey?"

Presley was calling her.

Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around herself and opened the door to find her sister standing on the other side. "Yes?"

"Mom and I figured out what that P.I. wanted."

"You did?" Because of her involvement with Dylan, she'd all but forgotten about the man who'd approached Presley, looking for Anita.

"Remember that hit-and-run in New Mexico?"

"How could I forget it?" she said with a grimace. She was eleven when her mother had mowed down that cyclist, old enough to understand the terrible ramifications of Anita's actions but not old enough to do anything about it. After that day, she'd had nightmares, could still remember the sound of their car hitting the metal of that man's bike. But she'd never spoken of it. She didn't want to speak of it now.

"They want to charge her with vehicular manslaughter."

Cheyenne sagged against the door. "He died?"

"So it seems. They've been looking for her ever since."

"We should turn her in."

Presley's chin snapped up. "What?"

"I mean it." Their mother had skated out of every mistake. Anita always ran, pointed a finger at someone else or manipulated the system. She'd been conning others her whole life, wreaking havoc and never cleaning up the messes she created, and Cheyenne was sick of it. She'd been sick of it for as long as she could remember.

"What good will that do?" Presley asked.

"It'll give the victim's family some closure. She should've called the police that day."

"She was drunk! They would've taken her to jail. And then what? What would've happened to us?"

Cheyenne had no answer. Anita was all they'd ever had. Even the few friends Anita had made passed in and out of their lives very quickly. And she had no roots. What she did have, always, was a reason she couldn't do the right thing, why she was justified in doing the opposite.

"She's dying, Chey," Presley said.