"So...can I come in?"

She thought of her Charlie Brown Christmas tree. She'd taken all her good ornaments over to the inn-what few she owned. Would he find her place as pathetic as he did her situation?

Maybe. But she couldn't be so rude as to turn him away. He meant too much to her. And the fact that he was seeing Eve shouldn't stop them from being friends. He'd made that point already.

With a nod, she stepped aside and allowed him to enter. As he did, she breathed in the outdoorsy scent that clung to him. Normally, she could smell oil and gas from the station, too. But not tonight. He was freshly showered and wearing a sweater, jeans and boots, unlaced enough to make them comfortable and fashionable. He didn't have the style her friend Baxter did-no one in Whiskey Creek had the style Baxter did-but Cheyenne liked the way Joe dressed. She liked everything about him.

That was the problem.

"Have a seat." She gestured at the kitchen table. She was afraid he'd choose the spot with a hole under the cushion if she directed him to the couch. She hadn't invested much money in household furnishings or the house itself. There didn't seem to be any reason to. It was just a rental. She didn't plan on staying after Anita died; she wasn't even sure what she and Presley would bring with them when they moved. Presley might insist on keeping a few things, but as far as Cheyenne was concerned, there were too many bad memories attached to all of it.

She put a couple of cheap wineglasses on the table. "Go ahead and pour. I'll be right back."

After checking on her mother, who was-thank God-asleep, she put on a bra and returned to find Joe holding a glass of wine while standing in front of the Christmas tree.

"The one at The Gold Nugget is a lot prettier," she said. "I promise."

"At least you have a tree."

"You don't?"

"Not yet. My girls keep bugging me to put one up. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow."

"I thought decorating might cheer my mother up."

"Does she still have the strength to come out here?"

"Every once in a while." She'd hoped it would be comforting for Presley, too, who was having such a hard time coping with Anita's decline.

He motioned to the empty fireplace. "Mind if I start a fire?"

"No." She showed him the woodpile at one corner of the porch, then put on Enya's Christmas CD while he coaxed a couple of logs to light.

"That'll ease the chill a bit," he said as he dusted off his hands.

She hadn't realized it was cold. She was so nervous about other things, the temperature of the house hadn't even made the list. "Feels good."

"You look good," he said. "Really pretty."

Cheyenne's heart skipped a beat. "You've got to be kidding."

"No. I like you this way."

When their eyes met, she was afraid he'd see how much his compliment pleased her, so she turned her attention to the glass of wine waiting for her on the table. "How's Gail doing?" she asked as she walked over.

"Great. She's happy." He smiled distantly, as if picturing his sister, then sobered. "I hope to hell Simon continues to treat her right. You know the kind of temptations he faces in Hollywood. He could have his pick of women."

"He'll be true to her. He's as much in love as she is. Besides, he'll have you to answer to if he doesn't."

He grinned at her teasing. "Damn straight. That's my little sister."

She tried the wine and liked it. "Do you remember the boy you grabbed by the shirtfront and tossed to the ground when I was a freshman?"

"No." He seemed genuinely surprised. "Why would I do that?"

"Because he was making fun of my dress."

"Sounds like he deserved it."

"It was a pretty ugly dress," she admitted with a laugh. "Everything about me was ugly back then."

A contemplative expression came over his face. "That's not how I remember it."

"Yeah, well, you're like my big brother, too."

He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. "Is that how you see me?"

She didn't know how to answer. Yes would be the safest way to go. But it was also a lie. So she did what she could to avoid a direct reply. "I mean, you've never looked at me very critically."

"I can tell when someone's attractive, Chey."

Her mouth went dry. "Of course you can. T-take Eve, for instance. She's beautiful, don't you think?"

His eyes never left her face. "Why are we talking about Eve again?"

"She's my best friend."

"I know. And she likes me. I get that." He changed the subject as he glanced away. "Do you have any playing cards?"

She had several packs. Before her mother had gotten too sick to manage a game, they'd often played hearts to distract her from the pain. "In the drawer."

"Any chance I could challenge you to a game?"

"Which one?"

"Poker?" he suggested with a shrug.

How long did he plan to stay? "Sure. But...what will we bet?"

"I'll wager dollars toward oil changes and car repairs. Considering what I found when you brought your Olds in last time, it could use some work."

"It could. But what will I wager? I help run a B and B, so...cooking and cleaning?"

His smile shifted to one side. "I'll settle for some Christmas cookies and tree decorating the next time my girls are in town."

"Why settle? You could have cooking, cleaning and decorating." She smacked the cards on the table. "If you win."

"I plan on winning," he confided. "But that would still be settling, since it isn't what I'd ask for if I could have anything."

This took Cheyenne by surprise. "What would you ask for?"

He glanced at the sprig of mistletoe Presley had tied to the light fixture over the table. "Peace on earth," he said with a wink. "So deal."

7.

He was flirting with her. There was no question about that. Cheyenne just didn't know why. Was he trying to cheer her up? Was he interested in becoming closer friends? Had he stopped by because he'd told his sister that she'd started crying in the grocery store and Gail had asked him to?

He didn't reveal what he was thinking or feeling, but they talked and laughed and laughed and talked until it grew late. By the time he yawned and said he should go, Cheyenne had lost a lot in tree decorating and cookies, and he wasn't willing to let her attempt to win it back. All she could do was claim that one day of her baking and tree trimming services was worth an eight-hundred-dollar credit.

"You must be one hell of a Christmas decorator," he said.

"I am." She waved toward her only example. "Don't let that fool you."

"I'll suspend my disbelief, for now. You can prove yourself next Saturday."

"That's when your girls are coming?"

"That's when. But we should pick up the tree tomorrow, before all the good ones are gone."

"We?" She corked the wine bottle since he'd declined a refill.

"I don't want to buy something you wouldn't be interested in decorating."

Eve would, no doubt, find this arrangement odd if she heard about it. That made Cheyenne hesitate. As much as she wanted to spend time with Joe, she had no business doing it. "I'm easy to please."

"Then why don't you ever date?"

She shuffled the cards. "Nice segue."

"I thought so."

"How do you know I don't?"

"We live in Whiskey Creek, remember? If you were seeing someone, I'd know about it. Everyone would."

That was true. So she began searching for excuses. "I've been too preoccupied."

"That's it? That's all you've got?"

She tried not to laugh. "I was seeing John Kovinski there for a little bit."

"Not Mr. Kovinski, the school principal..."

"'Fraid so."

"When was this?"

She pretended she had to think about it, although the answer was on the tip of her tongue. She didn't see any point in letting him know that she marked the events in her life by how they corresponded to his. "While you were married." She forced herself to throw in, "I think," even though she was as positive as she could get.

"That was five years ago!"

"I don't get out much."

"Not to mention he's like...twice your age," he added with a grimace. "Gail once dated a much older man, too. What's the appeal?"

"Safety. Security. Companionship."

"So no threat."

She chuckled. "Maybe."

"I must've missed the news that you were seeing him."

Because the relationship hadn't gone anywhere. They'd dated three times, and made out once. That wasn't much for even the nosiest people in Whiskey Creek to gossip about.

Joe finished the last of the wine in his glass. "Who else have you dated?"

She put the cards back in the box. "I've been preoccupied, like I said. Who have you dated, Mr. DeMarco?"

"Too many girls to count," he teased.

"Who's there?" Her mother's voice, cracked and pleading, came out of the bedroom. "I need my meds! Cheyenne? Presley? Bring me my morphine! Hurry!"

Joe jumped to his feet as if this sudden intrusion into their conversation had startled him. "She okay?"

The distress in her voice could be more than a little unnerving, especially for someone who wasn't used to it. "Yeah. Don't worry."

"Is there anything I can help you do for her?"

"No, I've got it." She took her mother's painkiller from where she'd hidden it behind the refrigerator.

"That's where you keep it?" he asked with a perplexed expression.

Because of Presley. But she didn't want to go into that. "For the moment."

"Okay." He didn't question her further. "I'll put out the fire while you tend to her."

She'd expected him to leave. She could only imagine how uncomfortable he felt now that Anita was awake. But her mother was so impatient she had to postpone their goodbye and he seemed willing to wait. "Calm down, Mom, I'm coming!" she called, grabbing a bottle of water in case Anita was thirsty.

"Where's Presley?" her mother asked as soon as Cheyenne reached her bedside.