6.

"How'd it go last night?"

Joe looked up from the basketball game he'd been watching since he got home from work. His father had asked him about his date with Eve Harmon twice already-earlier today, when they were at the station. Joe had brushed aside the subject both times and didn't have much to add now. "Fine."

"That's all you've got to say? It was fine?"

He returned his attention to the TV. "What were you expecting?"

"I don't know... A little excitement maybe? Eve seems like a nice girl."

She was a nice girl. Joe couldn't argue with that.

"Do you think you'll go out with her again?" A cabinet banged shut as Martin started dinner. When they were home together, they took turns doing the cooking. They had a few part-time employees at Whiskey Creek Gas-N-Go who helped out on nights and weekends. Since the station opened at six and closed at midnight seven days a week, they couldn't man it every hour.

"Joe?" his father prompted when he didn't answer.

Apparently, Martin wasn't going to let this go. Using the remote, Joe lowered the volume on the Kings and Lakers. "I don't think so. Why?"

"Why not?" his father countered.

"You know how I feel about getting involved with someone from Whiskey Creek. I made that mistake when I got married." He ran into Suzie's family all over town-her parents, aunts, uncles, cousins. These people, whom he'd once loved as much as his own relatives, no longer spoke to him. They blamed him for the divorce and God knew what else, even though it was Suzie who'd cheated, Suzie who'd tried to pass off another man's child as one of his.

Sometimes he wished he could tell the Petrovicks what Suzie had been like as a wife. He wanted to see the shock on their faces, especially her stodgy old father's.

But he'd never say a word. Not even to Gail or Martin. He'd destroyed the results of the DNA test as soon as he received them in the mail. He'd never told Suzie that he knew. Summer meant as much to him as Josephine. If the truth got out, he stood to lose far more than he already had.

The lid to the trash can closed with a thump. "Then why'd you go out with her in the first place?"

Because she'd taken him off guard when she called and he hadn't wanted to embarrass her. And, ideals or no, he needed some kind of diversion. Lately, he'd been so damn lonely, so dissatisfied. That didn't exactly put him in a strength position when it came to turning down invitations.

"It was just dinner, Dad, not a date." Eve had talked too much and tried too hard, and then she'd nearly tackled him at the door as he tried to leave. But he'd known he wasn't interested in her when he said yes. That made the discomfort his fault.

"Right," Martin said with a skeptical cackle.

Swallowing a frustrated sigh-he really didn't want to be grilled about this-Joe turned up the volume. "It's true. You're making too big a deal out of it."

His father raised his voice to compete with the sudden roar of the Laker fans. "You're saying she just wants to be friends."

He slouched lower so he could lean his head against the back of the couch. "Yeah."

"That's why she stops by to get gas almost every single day and spends fifteen minutes hanging around the minimart hoping to run into you."

The frequency of Eve's trips had given her away. Joe had guessed, long before she'd asked him out. She'd been hinting that she liked him for the past several months. But he couldn't see himself in a romantic relationship with her, couldn't see her as anything other than the chubby little girl with pigtails who'd played Barbies with Gail. "Give it a rest, okay?" he grumbled.

"You got to date somebody."

"Who says?" Finally goaded into dealing with this, he hit the mute button. "You don't date. You've lived without a partner for years."

"Because I had you and Gail to worry about, and now I'm too old and ornery to get along with anyone."

He hadn't brought a woman home since Linda left him for her high school sweetheart. Joe had been thirteen when his mother walked out, Gail eight. They'd hardly seen her since. She was still with the same man and by all indications happy, but she wasn't one who liked to look back.

"You don't want to be alone for the rest of your life," Martin said.

"How can you be so sure?" The first few years after his divorce, being alone hadn't been so bad. It beat the hell out of trying to live with someone as high-strung and volatile as Suzie. He never wanted to go through any of that again. The fighting. The shock of some of the things she said. The betrayal he'd felt when he'd learned about her affair with their next-door neighbor. The sickness that had swamped him when he found out she'd brought the man he'd considered a friend, the man he'd been barbecuing burgers for on Saturdays, into his bed. The sense of failure that'd dragged him down when she finally kicked him out because he was only staying for the sake of the girls. The loss of no longer waking up in the same house as his children. It had been hell.

But his fear of getting involved in another bad relationship was quickly being offset by the downside of his current situation. He was tired of living with his father and sleeping alone. He hadn't had sex with anyone since Deborah Hinz, the woman who'd come from Sacramento to sell him energy-conversation lighting for the exterior of the station eighteen months ago. Even that hadn't been as enjoyable as it should've been. He'd thought there might be some potential there when she'd asked to meet him at a bar not far from where she lived. But when he woke up and realized he'd drunk too much and gone home with her, he beat a hasty retreat. Then he bought the lights she'd been hoping to sell him, even though his father insisted they could find them cheaper, to make up for not wanting to see her again.

"I just need to go to Sacramento or the Bay area more often," he said, and hoped he was right, that getting out and meeting new people would fill the void.

His father's voice was barely audible; he'd stuck his head into the refrigerator to get something out. "How will you meet someone in Sac or anywhere else? At a nightclub?"

"I guess I could join a church group, but doing it for the wrong reasons seems a bit deceptive, don't you think?" The Lakers scored from at least five feet behind the three-point line. "Nice shot," he muttered, and rewound the DVR so he could take another look at that bucket.

"You don't need to leave Whiskey Creek," his father said. "There are plenty of nice women right here."

Martin didn't want to lose both of his kids to other locations. "Like who?"

"Eve Harmon! That's what I've been trying to tell you."

He glanced over to see his father salting two pieces of fish, which he could smell from where he sat in the living room. "You want me to date one of Gail's friends?"

"What's so bad about that?"

He had to explain? "If things don't work out, loyalty would force Gail to side with me, since I'm her brother, which could cost her one of her closest friends. That's not fair."

His father arranged the fish on the broiler and slid it into the oven. "You're overthinking it."

"How ironic."

Apparently satisfied that he'd started dinner, Martin came to the living room doorway. "What's ironic?"

Joe shot him a crooked grin. "Most dads tell their sons not to think with their dicks. Sounds like you're saying just the opposite."

"Most dads are talking to young boys. You're thirty-six."

"I left home once-and learned my lesson. Now you're never getting rid of me."

His father must've known he was only joking because he didn't comment. He leaned against the wall, watching the game while they talked. "It's time to get back in the saddle."

"I'm not sure I'm willing to listen to your advice in this area, Dad." He took a pull of his beer. "It's a bit too much *do what I say and not what I do,' don't you think?"

When his father made no comment, Joe saluted him with the can. "You have nothing to say to that?"

"I guess you got me," he replied, and went back into the kitchen.

With a chuckle, Joe shook his head. His father didn't lose an argument very often. And he never acknowledged it when he did. "Listen, you can relax, okay? I'm fine. Quit worrying."

"There has to be someone you find attractive," his dad called back.

Cheyenne Christensen came to mind. But only because he hadn't been able to forget her since he'd bumped into her at the grocery store earlier, he told himself. He'd known she was going through hell. It had to be hard watching a parent succumb to cancer. But she'd seemed more on edge than usual....

"You think Anita Christensen's going to die soon?" he asked.

"Where'd that come from?" His father was digging around in the freezer. They were probably going to have frozen peas with the fish-a healthy enough choice but not a particularly exciting one. Predictable, boring, safe. That seemed to be the story of his life these days.

"I saw Cheyenne at Nature's Way," he explained. "When I picked up the milk and eggs."

"What'd she have to say?"

Joe cursed when the Lakers went on a 6-0 run. "Not much. Just that she was fine."

"So Anita's hanging on."

"Unfortunately."

"Joe!" The surprise and reproof in his father's voice demanded an explanation, if not a retraction.

"It doesn't sound good to say it," Joe admitted. "But Cheyenne and her sister would be better off."

The stove ticked until a burner lit with the soft, distinctive poof of gas. Sure enough, Martin was putting some peas on to boil.

"Since when have you become so interested in the Christensen girls?" his father asked.

"I'm not," Joe replied, but that wasn't entirely true. Presley had never appealed to him. Physically, she was okay, even with all those tattoos. But she had a mouth more suited to a sailor and eyes that gazed out on the world with bitterness and suspicion. If there'd been a few warning signs he'd overlooked with Suzie, Presley came with neon flashers.

But there'd always been something about Cheyenne. His eyes followed her whenever they passed on the street. He couldn't help turning around to catch a second glimpse of her when she came into the station. And this morning...he'd felt so protective when those tears welled up.

"Glad to hear it," his father said. "Eve would be a much better bet."

Joe propped his elbows on his knees. "What's wrong with Cheyenne?"

"She's had a hard life. If anyone has the right to carry excess baggage, it would be her. Just look at her sister."

The way his father automatically dismissed Cheyenne bothered Joe. "She's done well, considering what she's been through. Like you said, it's Presley who's out of control. She propositioned me at the Sexy Sadie Saloon a few weeks ago."

"How does a woman do that these days?"

"She said for twenty bucks she'd take me in the girls' restroom and *blow my mind.'"

"I take it you declined."

"I did-and that didn't embarrass her in the slightest. She told me to go to hell and started scanning the bar for her next mark."

"See what I mean?"

"Presley isn't Chey," Joe argued.

"Doesn't matter. You marry the girl, you marry the family."

He understood that concept only too well. But he was feeling contrary enough that his father's disapproval pushed him further into Cheyenne's camp. "It wouldn't hurt to befriend her."

"You've never paid much attention to her before."

"She belongs to Gail's group. And I've been busy."

His father motioned at the clock. "You're not busy tonight. Maybe after dinner you should take a bottle of wine and head over there."

"Maybe I will."

"She could probably use some company."

"No doubt," he said, rising to the challenge. But once he caught sight of his father's grin, he realized that Martin had been manipulating him the whole time. "You think you're so clever," he complained.

"It's not hard to lead someone right where they want to go," he said with a laugh. Then he nearly drove Joe crazy whistling as he finished making dinner.

No one ever came to the house, unless it was one of J. T. Amos's sons, looking for Presley. Sometimes Presley partied with them down at their place, which was a rambler along the river half a mile away. Since it was nearly eight o'clock on a Saturday night, Cheyenne felt confident it had to be one of them-confident enough that she wasn't the least concerned about her appearance. She'd already scrubbed her face so she wasn't wearing any makeup. She wasn't wearing shoes, either-just a pair of holey jeans with a sweatshirt. She'd stand behind the door, tell Dylan, Aaron, Grady, Rodney or Mack that Presley was out for the evening, and be done with it.

But it wasn't the Fearsome Five, as they were often called. Cheyenne couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Joe standing on her rickety porch. She hadn't even realized he knew where she lived.

"Hey." He offered her a grin that made her stomach flip-flop. "Looks like you're in for the night."

She resisted the urge to raise a self-conscious hand to her messy bun. Did her hair look as bad as she thought it might? She could feel wet tendrils clinging to her face. "Yes. I, um, I'm not planning on going anywhere. I mean, I can't. Presley's out. I have to stay with my mother."

"That's what I figured." He lifted the bottle he carried in one hand. "Would you like to have a drink with me while you do your caretaker thing?"

She blinked several times before finding her voice. "Did you come to talk about Eve?"

"Eve?" he repeated.

"She's crazy about you, you know. I'm sure you've guessed what with all the trips we've made to the gas station." She laughed, hoping to appear less off balance. "And...she's so great. You wouldn't want to lose out on someone like her."

A strange expression flitted across his face. "Thanks for the encouragement. I think she's nice, too. But I'm not here to talk about Eve."

He didn't indicate whether or not her words had surprised him. Of course they hadn't. He couldn't have missed the way Eve kept singling him out. She wasn't nearly as good at hiding her feelings as Cheyenne was. She'd never had to hide anything because she'd never really feared anything. Besides, she'd asked him out. That made her interest quite obvious.

"Is this about...earlier, then? This morning? Because I'm okay." She cleared her throat. "I didn't mean to make you feel sorry for me. Again. That's sort of the history of our relationship, isn't it?" She managed a self-deprecating chuckle, but he didn't join in.

"I feel bad about what you're going through. That's not the same as pity." He lowered his voice as if confiding a great secret. "Having a drink with me isn't any sort of betrayal, Chey."

This was the first time he'd ever called her by the shortened version of her name but it seemed natural. No doubt he'd often heard Gail refer to her that way. "Right. Of course it isn't. I didn't mean to suggest it would be."