"I'll be fine," she replied.

"What time does your sister get home?" This came from a middle-aged brunette.

"Sometimes she stays overnight with a friend."

Dylan found this an odd reply. He found their acceptance of it even odder.

"I wish you could've got in touch with her," the woman said. "It would've been nice if she'd been able to say her final goodbye. It'll be so much harder for her to come home to an empty room."

Cheyenne rolled several hospital gowns into a ball. "She knew it could happen anytime."

"Of course, but...still."

"Her phone must be out of battery," Cheyenne explained. "Or she's so deeply asleep she can't hear it. I'll talk to her as soon as possible."

The woman sighed. "I guess that's all you can do, short of searching for her, and the roads are too slick for that tonight. You don't want to go out in this weather."

"No."

"I'm sure Presley will check in tomorrow." She moved closer to Cheyenne, forcing her to stop bustling around long enough to be embraced. "I'm so sorry for what you've been through. It was heartbreaking to watch. But I hope I was able to help you out, at least a little. That's our goal with hospice."

Cheyenne looked fragile, as if she might shatter beneath the slightest touch. But Dylan figured her pale face would seem normal to them. She had, after all, just lost her mother.

"Of course," she told the nurse. "You were great. I don't know what I-we-would've done without your support."

"I'm glad." The nurse touched her arm. "Your mother is in a better place."

Cheyenne ducked her head. "Right. I know. I agree." She was speaking softly, respectfully, but Dylan could tell she wanted them to leave. The Whiskey Creek Police Department contracted the sheriff's department to cover any 9-1-1 calls they couldn't respond to, and any that came in after one in the morning, so these were county folk, not from Whiskey Creek. They had no idea what kind of person Anita had been or the mixed emotions Cheyenne was likely to experience.

"I suggest you get some grief counseling," the woman added, a touch of lecturing in her voice. "You and your sister. What you've gone through has been very traumatic, and it'll continue to be difficult for several months, maybe longer."

Dylan allowed himself a wry smile. That was easy advice to give, but grief counseling wasn't free. He knew. There'd been nothing and no one to help his family.

"I appreciate your concern," Cheyenne said. "And...we'll do what we can."

The sheriff made a point of checking his watch. "Look at that. It's almost six. Do you think you can sleep? I'll sit and watch TV in the living room until your sister returns if you'd like. I don't want to leave you here alone."

Cheyenne kept tightening that ball of hospital gowns, adding a set of extra sheets that had been sitting off to one side, clean and neatly folded. "That's very nice. But there's no need. Thank you, though."

"I can't leave you-"

Dylan cleared his throat, attracting their attention for the first time. If they'd heard him come in, they hadn't reacted. They'd either been too engrossed in what was happening or they'd assumed he was one of the men removing the body who'd come back in for some reason, maybe a glass of water. "I'll take care of her."

"Is this...a friend?" The nurse's eyebrows, drawn by a black pencil, nearly hit her hairline.

Cheyenne looked so relieved to see him he almost went over to her, even though the room was already crowded. "My neighbor," she said. "I'll be in good hands."

That statement was spoken with conviction, which confused Dylan. He'd just concluded that she wanted Joe. But if that was the case, why hadn't she called Joe? Why wasn't Joe here? Because he lived farther away? Because she felt more at home with someone she considered beneath her and she didn't want Joe to be part of this terrible process?

The sheriff squinted at him as if his long hair and leather jacket implied that he couldn't be trusted, but there were lines of fatigue in his stern cop face. No doubt he was eager to head home to his family. His shift was probably about to end. "Call if you need anything," he told Cheyenne.

She nodded and kept up with the platitudes and thank-yous until she'd walked them out.

When they were finally gone, she locked the door and turned to face him.

"Any chance you'd be willing to start a fire?" she asked.

"Of course." He didn't question why. He guessed what she wanted to do and wholeheartedly supported it. He also guessed what she'd already done and knew he would've done the same.

While the flames were beginning to lick at the logs he'd brought from the porch, she carried in a bundle from out back.

"Where'd you hide that?"

"In the shed." The plastic bag contained the bloody pillow and some of the bedding he'd seen earlier that hadn't been in Anita's room when he came back.

She shoved it in the fire. Then she piled on the hospital gowns, towels, washrags, extra catheters and other hospital supplies, even her mother's regular clothes.

"Are you sure you want to get rid of all that?" he asked when she threw in hairbrushes and combs and makeup bags and jewelry.

"Yes," she replied with absolute certainty, and stood back to watch it burn.

22.

"You get some sleep," Dylan said. "I'll sit out here until Presley returns."

Cheyenne couldn't believe he was willing to stay. Not after seeing her with Joe earlier. She knew that incident had made an impact on him. Although he'd been kind, he hadn't touched her since they took away the body and she could tell he didn't plan to. "What about the shop?"

"I'll call Grady, have him open."

"Can your brothers manage without you?"

"They'll be okay for one day."

She twisted her hands in front of her. Suddenly, she didn't seem to know what to do with them. "You found no sign of Presley?"

"None."

She'd guessed but had to ask. Where had her sister gone? Could she have driven off the highway and down a ravine in that old car of hers?

Cheyenne feared that might be the case. She even worried that Presley might've veered off the road intentionally. Drugs made people do things they otherwise never would. The possible pregnancy might've been too much, coupled with Anita's decline and- Refusing to continue that thought, she changed the subject. "Aaron came by while you were searching. Did he find you?"

"Yeah. He did what he could to help."

"I think Presley might be in love with him."

"I get that impression."

She wondered whether or not to tell him about the baby. He hadn't been too complimentary of Presley when they'd first talked in the park so, in the end, she didn't divulge her sister's secret. It felt like too great a breach of trust. He already knew more than he probably should about the night Anita died.

The memory of going into her mother's room made her feel queasy. "Do you think I'm terrible for...for hiding what Presley did?"

His eyes were steady on hers. "No."

"I just couldn't see...couldn't see getting her into trouble when Anita was days away from dying, anyway. That's no excuse, but-" But she couldn't figure out how else to handle the situation, how to remain on stable, moral ground and still love and care for her less-than-exemplary family. "I'm sure she just...snapped or...or she was on drugs or...something. She loved Anita."

"We don't know what happened. You had to give her the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, you would've had to trust the system and I don't think that's any more reliable than she is."

True, but it didn't bode well that Presley hadn't even called to explain. Cheyenne was afraid she'd lost both her mother and her sister on the same night. "I hope she's okay."

The sympathy in his eyes made her crave his arms around her. She felt so cold, so estranged from the regular world. She knew he could be the anchor she needed. He'd done it before, although she hadn't wanted to acknowledge his profound effect on her. She wished she could ask him for that physical comfort now, but a divide stood between them that hadn't been there before. And she was to blame for it. She'd made him question everything he'd felt when they were together. Suddenly, he was as leery of her as she'd always been of him.

"I'm sure she is," he said.

She stared down at her phone. How could so much have happened since Eve left? The holidays were never easy. She had too many troubled memories of Christmases past, had learned very early that there was no Santa. But this Christmas was harder than it had been in years.

"Get some rest," Dylan said again, and sat down.

She swallowed hard. "About earlier, at the Victorian Christmas-"

"Let's not go into that, okay?"

"We should talk about it." She wanted to talk about it, to tell him how she felt, but the hope she'd seen in his face earlier, when they were at Sexy Sadie's, was gone.

"There's nothing to say. We've both gone through too much. If we hook up with anyone, it needs to be someone who's trusting and consistent and hasn't screwed up in the past. I understand that. Joe's perfect for you."

Cheyenne could hardly breathe. She'd been through hell tonight. But, somehow, this cut the deepest. The moment she thought Joe might kiss her had clarified everything, showing her that what she felt for Dylan wasn't to be taken for granted. It wasn't mere attraction. Joe was better-looking. He'd always wanted to be a family man, so he was also a safer bet. She should've been thrilled to have his interest, especially after all the years she'd wanted it.

But being in Dylan's arms felt like finding home. Maybe he was as battle-scarred as she was, but he understood her and her past. She'd never had such an affinity with anyone else.

She opened her mouth to say so but couldn't imagine he'd care. She'd done everything she could to choke off what had blossomed so unexpectedly between them. "Right. Of course. I'm sorry," she said, and went to her room.

Presley was halfway to Los Angeles before she realized where she was. Even then, she stopped driving only because she was out of gas. Her car had begun to sputter a few miles back as the sun peeked over the horizon, finally ending what felt like the longest night of her life. Now the Mustang wouldn't go at all.

She'd taken Interstate 5, a long expanse of highway intended for travel between California's bigger cities. Unlike Highway 99, which also connected Sacramento and Los Angeles, gas stations were few and far between. It wasn't as if she was close to an exit, either. Music blaring, she'd passed the last one without even thinking about it and didn't know where the next one would be. Neither did she care. She had nowhere to go. She just had to keep moving-like when she was a child and they'd gone from rest stop to rest stop, begging fellow travelers for enough change to buy something to eat.

As she got out of her car, she heard the deep blast of a semi's horn and stumbled back. The sudden whoosh of air that accompanied it washed over her, whipping at her hair and clothes. She'd almost walked right into certain death.

Dazed, she stared at the double-trailer the semi was towing, watching the dirt eddies swirl in its wake and wondering if she would've felt it had she been hit. Maybe she would've escaped the pain of her life in the blink of an eye....

What was she going to do? Where would she go?

She had no idea. But the effect of the meth she'd smoked hours ago was wearing off. She had to find a way to get more. That was all she was thinking about when, minutes later, another trucker saw her walking on the side of the road and pulled over to see if she needed a ride.

Cheyenne's phone woke her. She had it on vibrate, but as restless as she felt, that was enough to jar her from sleep. Blinking, she rolled over and grabbed it. She wanted to believe it was Presley calling. But she knew before she could clearly see caller ID that it wasn't her sister. The name started with an R.

Riley. He was probably at the inn.

"Hello?" She was doing her best to come to full wakefulness, but she felt like she was buried beneath a thousand pounds of sand. To her own ears, she also sounded like it.

"Hey, what's up? I didn't wake you, did I?"

He must be wondering why she hadn't checked in with him over the weekend. She'd told him she would.

She burrowed into the pillows. "What time is it?"

"Nearly two. I thought you'd be stopping by. I need to show you how the paint's turning out in the central foyer. I don't think it's quite what you and Eve had in mind."

"Um..." She shoved a hand through her hair. It was so difficult to switch gears and focus on work. Everything else came crashing down on her-Anita's death, her sister's possible culpability and subsequent disappearance, and bumping into Dylan while she was with Joe. "It happened last night," she said simply.

"What happened last night?"

"My mother's dead."

He fell silent. Then he sighed. "Eve's going to feel terrible she wasn't here."

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I can't replace Eve, but I'll be right over."

The door opened and Dylan appeared. Obviously, he'd heard her voice. "I've got to go," he whispered. "There's a problem over at the shop."

She didn't want him to leave, but she'd already asked him for more than she had a right to. She covered the phone. "There's been no sign of Presley?"

"No."

"Okay. Thanks for staying with me."

He nodded and closed the door.

"Who was that?" Riley asked.

"My neighbor."

"Which one?"

"Dylan Amos."