Cheyenne's Lady

by Mindy Neff

  “You’re carrying Jimmy’s baby?”

  She nodded. Her world was in a mess. She was grieving and terrified and very mixed up. She’d run the gamut of emotions lately—some that even shamed her. A good deed, prompted out of deep, unconditional love had come to a tragic end and altered the steady course she’d chosen for herself—and oh, God, she was so selfish to even think about that now.

  Cheyenne shrugged out of his coat and moved to sit on the side of the bed. “Blue, stay,” he said when the dog started to follow.

  The mattress dipped under his weight. He put his arms around Emily and held her, as much for his own comfort as for hers. His heart felt as though it was ripping in two.

  But he’d learned at a young age to shield his emotions. If the dirt-poor half-breed had dared to show any vulnerability, he’d been fair game for ridicule and trouble.

  Because of his distinctive features, he’d fared better on the reservation than Jimmy, with his buttery hair, had. But in the Anglo world, it had been different. Always the butt of a joke or sneer. Children could be so cruel.

  Perhaps that was why he’d tried so hard to fit in, to make something of himself, to show everyone he wasn’t a dirty Indian whose father hadn’t stuck around and whose mother had taken her own life after her husband had divorced her and taken her youngest son with him.

  And because of his desperate need to fit in, to prove himself, he’d pulled away from Jimmy, his own brother, his flesh and blood. He’d been so pompous and unbending, so caught up in honor that he’d turned his back on his brother when trouble had come knocking that last time, had allowed the estrangement to continue long after the rift should have been repaired.

  And now there were no second chances. That knowledge settled like a burning rock in his gut.

  Jaw tight, he held Emily to his heart. She’d obviously had a part of Jimmy—a very big part of him, he realized as the baby shifted in her womb, pressing against his side. Her heartache would be as great as his. Perhaps even greater.

  “He was your husband?”

  She shook her head, her silky hair brushing his chin. He frowned, his gut clenching.

  “He didn’t honor you with marriage when you learned of the pregnancy?”

  She leaned back in his arms, gazed up at him. “Oh, no. You misunderstand. Jimmy was married to my sister, Debbie.”

  “Ah, hell.”

  “Stop it, Cheyenne.” She pulled back, sniffed and swiped at the tears that had slid down the curve of her jaw. “I’d think by now you’d have learned not to jump to conclusions. The wrong conclusions.”

  Her tone was testy, a mother hen sticking up for her chicks. In this case, the chick was his brother. But Emily Vincent had always been that way. She was a champion of the underdog. Probably because she’d been a bit of an underdog herself. An underdog who, by the look of her clothes and car, had come out on top.

  “I’m pretty confused here.”

  Emily sighed, annoyance vanishing like a cloud whisked away by a swift moving breeze. “Of course you are. And that’s my fault. The babies are a product of a surrogate agreement between the three of us—Debbie, Jimmy and me.”

  “Babies?”

  “Twins.”

  “Oh, man.”

  The masculine terror in his tone nearly made her smile. Nearly. Because she felt that terror herself. Every time she thought about the enormous responsibility that lay ahead of her, she broke out in a cold sweat.

  Especially now that she was alone.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

  “For health reasons that are still a little complicated for me to try and explain, Debbie couldn’t carry a baby full-term. They wanted their own family so badly I agreed to help them out.”

  “That’s a hell of a sacrifice. An incredible gift.”

  She shrugged. “It was only nine months out of my life. Or was.”

  He stroked her hair, sat with her in silence for several minutes.

  “You lost your sister in the accident, too, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded, trying to battle back the overwhelming grief.

  His hand stroked her back, caressed her shoulder. “God, I’m sorry, Em. How long were they married?”

  “Three very happy years—aside from the sadness of several traumatic miscarriages. This was their dream, Cheyenne. They were thrilled about the babies. We all were. Every step of the way, every change in my body, the first fluttery kick, the tests—we went through it together.” What she didn’t mention was that the farther the pregnancy progressed, the more the babies had felt like a part of her—that she was more than merely an incubator.

  The strength of those feelings had frightened her. She loved her sister, knew how desperately Debbie had wanted that child—these children. Emily had even dreamed of having her sister offer to let her keep one of the babies.

  But in her saner moments, she knew that was ridiculous, that her hormones were simply playing tricks on her. She didn’t know the first thing about parenting, didn’t want to know. She was a career woman, for heaven’s sake. Her life was full and happy and that was that.

  Then, in the blink of an eye, Debbie and Jimmy were gone. And Emily had been faced with choices. A few of them—the ones she’d guiltily considered in the deepest, darkest part of the night—were too awful to even think about.

  She shivered and Cheyenne rubbed her arms. “Want me to start a fire?”

  “I’m okay. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you about the funeral. It was all handled so fast. I didn’t stop to think that you might have wanted to make different burial arrangements…because of your heritage.”

  “Jimmy was more white than Cheyenne. He didn’t embrace the principles or covenants of our people.”

  “But you do.”

  “In my heart. Not always in practice.”

  “I had them buried side by side in Washington.”

  “That’s as it should be.” He stood and went to gaze out the window. So silent. So still.

  She knew he was battling emotions over his brother’s death. It was horrible enough for her, but she’d had a few weeks for the numbness to wear off, to try to adjust. And she counted her blessings every day that she’d had these last years with Debbie and Jimmy.

  Cheyenne hadn’t. That had to be tearing him up.

  She moved up behind him, placed her palm gently against his rigid back. He didn’t stiffen or try to evade her touch, but neither did he react.

  The three-quarter moon glowed like a misshapen yellow ball, somehow both sad and eerie. An image of a lone wolf, baying its heartache, sprang to her mind.

  Oh, God, she hurt for him. He was like that imaginary wolf. Alone. Isolating himself the way he’d done as a boy. Internalizing his pain and facing life with a spit-in-your-eye facade.

  But she saw past the shield—there had always been an uncanny, inexplicable connection between them, even though they’d barely known each other. She felt his pain as though it were a living breathing entity in the room with them.

  “Did you eat?” he asked quietly, and she nearly jumped.

  “No, but—”

  “I’ll go fix us something.”

  “That’s not—”

  He turned then, and the agony in his obsidian eyes tore at her heart, made her throat ache. She would have put her arms around him, but he stepped away.

  “I need a few minutes,” he said softly, hesitating only long enough to brush her cheek in compassion and apology before he walked out of the room, the gray husky following like a silent, trusted friend.

  Emily swallowed hard, her heart a stinging mass of sorrow—for herself, as well as Cheyenne. She imagined he needed more than a few minutes, but knew that was all he’d allow himself. Physically there wasn’t a trace of the boy left in him, but she remembered what he’d been like all those years ago.

  A proud warrior suffering in silence.

  Chapter Two

  The scent of vanilla wafted around him. A scent both inn
ocent and classy. Cheyenne slid the bowl of leftover spaghetti into the microwave and punched in two minutes on the timer. He didn’t have to turn around to know that Emily had come into the kitchen.

  He glanced at her. Her arms were crossed over the shelf of her huge belly—Lord, it looked like it was painful—her hands rubbing the soft texture of her sweater sleeves. Cashmere. Expensive.

  Yes, Emily Vincent had come a long way from the skinny little freckle-faced scrapper with a mop of frizzy hair.

  The hair was still a bit wild, curling at will, but it had a sort of sophistication about it.

  “Cold?” he asked. To him, it felt like the furnace was set too high, but Emily kept hugging herself as though the October winds had breached the seal of his storm windows.

  She came across the room, stopped right next to him and looked up, her green eyes filled with a compassion he wanted to drown in. But he couldn’t let himself.

  “I’m fine,” she said softly. “Are you okay?”

  He couldn’t seem to look away. He wanted to bask in this woman’s presence, wanted to wrap her in his arms and let her console him, to console her in return.

  He resisted. He’d learned long ago not to reach beyond his limitations, learned to keep his emotions and his yearning in place.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Cheyenne. Don’t.”

  Just two words and she nearly unmanned him. “Ah, hell, trouble. It hurts.” He pulled her to him, rested his lips against her forehead.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  They stood there for what could have been hours, but was only minutes. Sharing the pain made it lessen. Or else it was Emily’s presence.

  The babies somersaulted in her stomach and he jerked back.

  She laughed and he knew his face must have appeared stunned.

  “Does that hurt?” He’d been around pregnant women before—Shotgun Ridge certainly had its share of them lately—but he’d never been in a position to feel this kind of activity, up close and personal, so to speak. He’d never had the occasion to really ask about the miracle of carrying a child—children in this case—in a woman’s womb.

  “Sometimes it does if they get a foot or hand under my ribs. And with two of them in there, I feel a bit like an overloaded packhorse carrying a ten-pound centipede.”

  She took his hand in hers and placed it on her stomach. The babies were doing acrobatics. What felt like an elbow or knee protruded beneath her skin, rippling along his palm.

  “May I?” he whispered, and when she nodded, he placed his other palm against her stomach, cradling her, awed, stunned, so moved he felt he needed to sit down.

  These were his brother’s babies.

  He did sit down then, pulling her with him onto his lap.

  For a minute she resisted, held herself rigid in surprise. Gradually she settled on his thighs, easing against his chest as they shared the miracle of what was taking place inside her body.

  “Do you know if they’re boys or girls?”

  “I’m not a hundred percent sure. They were sort of hugging each other when we did the sonogram, and we couldn’t get a clear look at their little body parts.”

  He grinned. “At least they were loving each other, instead of fighting.”

  “Yes. That’s much easier on my insides, for sure.”

  “Do they sleep much?”

  “No. And neither do I. I hope that doesn’t foretell what they’ll be like when they’re out here in the world.”

  He raised a brow. “Did it bother your sister that you’d accepted her husband’s seed?”

  She glanced down at him. “You’re not thinking I had sex with Jimmy, are you?”

  “Well, no.” Actually he didn’t know what to think.

  “These babies are truly Debbie and Jimmy’s.”

  “Of course—”

  “No, truly,” she said. “Technology is absolutely amazing nowadays. They took Debbie’s eggs and fertilized them with Jimmy’s sperm in some little dish in a lab. I think. I didn’t really concern myself with that end of things. I just figured they’d call me when it was my time to step up to the plate.”

  “It must have been a jolt to end up with twins.”

  “Well, yes, I’d only counted on carrying just one baby, even though I knew they’d implanted two eggs. In most of the cases, I’m told that this sort of thing doesn’t take right away, and I guess they often put more than one in to increase the odds. For my sake, Debbie only agreed to just the two implants. Evidently the hormones they gave me primed my body perfectly, because both embryos took hold right off the bat and here we are.”

  Yes, he thought, here we are. She seemed to be thinking the same thing because she went quiet. He tightened his arms around her, the fuzzy material of her sweater tickling his forearms.

  Glancing down at him, she gently ran her vanilla-scented palm over his cheek, a soothing touch that said she understood. And she did.

  Then she scooted off his lap, using the table to aid her in standing, and tugged her sweater lower on her hips, rubbing her palms along her sides as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself or her emotions.

  “Did you say something about feeding us?”

  He rose, wondering why she seemed so uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Yes. Nothing fancy. Just leftover spaghetti and salad. I didn’t know I’d be entertaining.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “I guess you were a little surprised to come home and find a woman in your bed.”

  “A little.” Understatement. He took the bowl of pasta and sauce out of the microwave and set it on the table. “Sit and eat.”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice. Seems like that’s all I want to do lately. Eat.”

  “Well, you’re eating for three.”

  “Oh, pu-leeze. I’m trying to contain my hugeness to just the middle of me. I’ve got a whole closet full of business suits I need to fit back into.”

  The mention of business clothes reminded him of the total package of this woman. The car, the air of class and money. A woman of substance.

  A career woman who just happened to be pregnant with his brother’s children…and her sister’s.

  Technically he and Emily were the uncle and aunt of the children she carried. He was having a little trouble coming to terms with that.

  He poured milk into two glasses, put a salad and bread on the table, along with the pasta, and sat down.

  They ate in silence, and for all her proclamations about being hungry, she ate very little.

  “Something wrong with the spaghetti?”

  She shook her head. “It’s very good, thanks. I think it’s all these emotions swirling around inside me.”

  He nodded. “Since you went to the trouble of leasing my house—”

  “I didn’t know it was yours!”

  He smiled gently. “I know. I was teasing.”

  “Oh.”

  “But your actions indicate there’s more on the agenda than just delivering the news about Jimmy. So why are you here, Emily?”

  She took her plate to the sink, ran water over the porcelain, then put the dish on the counter and turned.

  “I need help, and I didn’t know where else to turn. I’m a marketing director for an advertising agency. I’m not equipped for motherhood, and I’m in over my head here.” She paced, bracing a hand on her back as though it ached. “How in the world am I supposed to cope with two infants? One would have been difficult enough.”

  “You could give them up for adoption,” he said softly.

  She halted, glanced at him and then quickly away. “I could never do that. I love these children. They’re part of me. And part of my family.”

  He nodded. “And mine.”

  “Yes,” she said softly, “and yours. That’s why I came to you. I need you to help me out with the babies—at least until I get the hang of things.”

  “You want money.”

  “Darn it, aren’t you listening to me?” Her voice rose in exasperat
ion. “I’m an executive. I drive a Mercedes Benz. I have plenty of money, but no family or know-how. The thought of what lies ahead terrifies me right down to my toes. I don’t know squat about babies. They weren’t supposed to be mine. I was only the oven to cook them in!”

  Cheyenne noted her manicured nails, highlighted blond hair and quality clothes, as well as the panic in her voice. “Why didn’t you just stay put and hire a live-in nanny? You look and sound as if you can afford it. Why come all the way out here and ask for my help?”

  She pushed her hair behind her ears and sighed. “Because of Jimmy,” she said softly.

  He felt the word like a punch in the solar plexus.

  “Can we, um, go sit somewhere?” she asked

  He noticed that she was rubbing her back again and he swore. The poor woman looked like a strong wind might blow her over. She’d hauled in suitcases, had probably been driving for hours and had only gotten a short nap before he’d woken her.

  He led her into the living room and settled her on the couch while he built a fire in the river-rock fireplace that spanned one entire wall. When the flames were licking and spitting, he adjusted the screen and sat in the overstuffed wing-back chair across from her. Blue settled himself in front of the hearth, head resting on his paws, eyes alert as though gauging the uncertain atmosphere in the room.

  “I met Jimmy several years ago when he applied for a job at the advertising firm I work for,” she began. “I didn’t recognize him at first, but then I put the name together with the face.”

  Cheyenne nodded. “Jimmy was staying with our father in Wyoming most of the time you lived here in Shotgun Ridge.”

  “I know. It was only after a while that I realized he was your brother. You guys don’t look a lot alike.”

  A raven and a dove. Just like him and Emily. Cheyenne was darkness. Emily was light and bright and effervescent.

  “Jimmy and I easily became friends, and then I introduced him to Debbie. It was like something out of a storybook with them. They were so much in love. For the longest time Jimmy didn’t talk about his family…about you.”