by Mindy Neff
“I’m just a regular sex goddess,” she muttered.
Cheyenne cleared his throat, scaring her to death, making her whirl around. Too late she realized she was standing in her unbecoming stretch pants and huge nursing bra.
Lopsided bra.
She snatched a towel off the end of the bed and held it up. “Good grief.”
“You should close the door.”
“And you should be a gentleman and not come in. Besides, if I close the door, I can’t hear the kids.”
“Who told you I was a gentleman?”
He was in an odd mood this morning, and it made her nervous. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Teasing her. Baiting her. Then there was that incident the other day with the drawing, when he’d gone all silent on her and taken himself off to the barn.
It was becoming more difficult to judge his mood, to get a bead on him.
“I wanted to know if you need anything from town.”
“Are you going in to work today?”
“For a couple of hours. Some of the neighbors are going to come over and check on you.”
She felt such relief, and hated it. She still didn’t trust herself to be all alone with the kids. She was getting better with them, but the fears were still there.
Hoping to arm herself with knowledge, thus allaying some of her nerves, she’d logged on to the Internet and researched everything she could on babies and parenthood.
That information-gathering spree probably had something to do with why one bosom was so much smaller than the other. She’d likely pumped it dry. But the articles she’d read had expounded on the benefits of mother’s milk in the first weeks of a child’s life. Emily wanted to give Debbie’s children every advantage. And she’d found that using the breast pump didn’t hurt the way it did when the twins nursed at her breasts. She didn’t understand it, but there it was.
She might be overdoing it, though, and thought she ought to call Kelly Anderson or Chance and make sure.
“I can’t think of anything I need right now. The neighbors have brought enough food to last us six months.”
Emily realized she wouldn’t be here for six months.
But Cheyenne would.
Eating casseroles alone.
“You okay?”
How did he read her so well? Was she such an open book that her emotions showed on her face?
“I’m fine. Getting a little cold standing here behind this towel.”
He grinned. “Sorry to intrude. It’s tough to pass by an open door when you’re in the room, though. I’d hate to miss another of those kissing rehearsals.”
Her face heated and she had a very real urge to throw her hairbrush at him. Instead, she gathered her dignity around her—or as much of it as she could, given the fact that she was standing here with a thin bath sheet shielding lopsided breasts, an unbecoming nursing bra and a nonexistent waistline that still hung over the waistband of her stretch pants.
“Go to work, Cheyenne. You’re making me a nervous wreck.”
He grinned. “I’m going.” He started to move out of the doorway, stopped. “Emily?”
She was still holding her breath. “What?”
“I agree.”
She stared at him, thoroughly lost.
“Definitely a sex goddess.”
She had to sit down. Because even though his tone was teasing, his eyes were not. He really thought she was sexy.
Good grief!
What in the world had gotten into the man?
This hadn’t been part of the bargain.
THE BABIES WERE AWAKE and cooing, instead of crying, by the time Cheyenne came home from work.
Progress, Emily decided. Figures, though, that they’d show their best manners to Cheyenne. He’d probably think they’d been this angelic all day—which they definitely had not.
But, oh, these times when they cooed and waved their little arms around, blowing spit bubbles and blinking owl-like eyes up at her, were priceless.
She glanced up and frowned when Cheyenne banged something against the door. Why didn’t the man just come in? Couldn’t he see that he was letting the cold in and the warmth out?
“Shut the door, for heaven’s sake!”
“I’m trying.”
Her eyes widened when she saw why he was struggling. In one hand he carried a spongy football and a rag doll. The other was pushing a deluxe-model double stroller designed for twins.
“Hmmm,” was all Emily said, yet she smiled.
He shrugged, looking sheepish. Which wasn’t at all like him.
“I was over in south county and the store was close. I figured you’d be needing one of these pretty soon.”
She felt her heart give an apprehensive kick. “I don’t think I’m up to outings just yet.”
“Well, it’s here when you’re ready. So what do you think?”
“Looks pretty fancy.”
“Top of the line,” he said proudly. “They had a pretty cool remote-control car, but I resisted. Didn’t want the kids to fight.”
“They’re already fighting. Alicia bashed Hunter in the head with her fist.” Never mind that the baby didn’t have any motor skills to speak of in order to take deliberate aim. Hunter had cried as though he’d been mortally wounded, and Alicia had joined in, apology or commiseration, Emily couldn’t tell which.
“Violence,” Cheyenne said with a weary grin. “What’s the world coming to?”
She looked more closely at him. He seemed tired. “Bad day?”
He went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, then brought it back out into the living room. She’d noticed he never drank alcohol—or at least he hadn’t since she’d been here.
“Domestic-battery call. A family out by the reservation. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve removed the husband from the house. But the wife won’t press charges and he always returns.”
“And you’re called back out.”
He nodded, set his cup on the coffee table and eased himself to the floor where she sat next to the babies. Lying on a thick blanket close to the warmth of the fireplace, both infants were churning their legs and arms.
He stretched out beside them, propped on his elbow, stroking his fingers over each baby as though to assure himself that they hadn’t changed in the hours he’d been gone.
Alicia latched on to his finger, managed to get it in her mouth. He smiled at the unladylike sucking sound she made.
“She hungry?”
“She’s always hungry. I fed them both a couple of hours ago—which doesn’t mean a whole lot. They don’t seem to be attached to any sort of reasonable schedule.”
“Mmm. And you’re a woman who likes schedules.”
“Well, yes. Organization at least.”
Little of that prevailed in the house. The living room had been unintentionally transformed by a new decorating scheme. A box of diapers sat on the end table, along with lotion and powder. An empty bottle rested on its side on the sofa. Rattles and pacifiers were strewn on the blanket the babies lay on.
It was all very domestic—if a little messy.
Firelight reflected off the star pinned to Cheyenne’s chest. A shiver of worry crawled beneath her skin. He’d mentioned a domestic-violence call. Those kind were the most dangerous for law-enforcement officials, weren’t they? Cheyenne was such a confident, competent man she hadn’t given much thought to the dangers of his profession.
“Do you like your job?” she asked.
His brown eyes met hers. “Yes, most of the time.”
“I don’t imagine there’s much crime in Shotgun Ridge.”
“My territory covers the whole county. But you’re right. This is a great town, peaceful. The Bagley widows have a tendency to call us out to settle squabbles—but I think that’s more for the entertainment of their guests.”
Emily laughed. “I’ve witnessed their ‘entertainment.’ They’re delightful. Isn’t the boardinghouse right across the street from the station
?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “That’s what makes it so convenient. They have an uncanny knack of knowing when we’re not busy.”
“More likely because they can see in your windows.”
“Mmm. Did the neighbors come help you out today?”
“Yes. Dora came over this morning and Eden this afternoon. They’re both so calm around the kids.”
“They’ve had practice. I didn’t mean to leave you so long.”
“That’s okay. You brought gifts.” She grinned. “Besides, I’ve got to wean myself from total dependency pretty soon.”
He glanced away, stared at the fire, his finger still clutched in Alicia’s tiny fist. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Perhaps the same thing she was—that once she “weaned” herself from dependence on others, it would be time to go. She was on maternity leave through January. Time enough to worry about that.
Looking closer, she decided his preoccupation went deeper.
“The woman you helped today, the one with the nasty husband—she’s someone you know, isn’t she?” Emily could tell he was still keyed up. She had an urge to reach across the blanket, to run her fingers through his dark hair, push back that stubborn lock that kept falling forward. To soothe him.
“I dated her years ago. She’s my age, but she looks closer to fifty-five than thirty-five.”
“Do you still have feelings for her?”
“Not in the way you mean. But nobody should have to put up with that kind of treatment. It baffles me why she won’t leave, why she keeps letting him come back. I’ve talked to her till I’m blue in the face. She won’t meet my eyes. Just cowers. It makes my gut twist in knots.” His chest rose and fell on a long tired breath. “I’m waiting for the day I have to call out the coroner, instead of the paramedics.”
She did reach out then and covered his hand. He turned it over, linked his fingers with hers, stroked her knuckles with his thumb, much the same way he’d stroked Hunter’s arm when he’d been feeding him—absently, gently.
“You’re a good man, Cheyenne.”
His gaze shifted from their joined hands to her eyes, held. “Just doing my job.”
She had an idea he was repeating a variation of her own words, but she didn’t understand what he might be trying to tell her.
Did he regret the sacrifices he’d made for his job? The sacrifices that cost him his relationship with Jimmy?
But Jimmy had caused the rift between them by breaking the law, asking his brother to abet the crime. That wasn’t right.
Or was he subtly reiterating how he saw her? Putting her up on a pedestal she didn’t deserve? He wanted her to believe she was some sort of heroine. For what? Accepting responsibility? Loving two little babies, more and more with each breath she took? He was doing the same.
“We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?”
“We could be.” He said it softly, seriously.
And Emily’s heart fluttered in panic.
“Your coffee’s getting cold,” she said, and hopped to her feet. “I’ll just warm it up for you.” She was running away and didn’t know why. Liar.
CHEYENNE FELT A SENSE of déjà vu as he turned into his driveway. Packed snow crunched under the knobby tires of the Bronco, furrowing ruts in its wake.
Blue sat beside him on the seat, ears perked and alert. He often took the dog to work with him when he figured it’d be a slow day. On the days it wasn’t so slow, Blue was like a partner to him. Well trained, the dog could be docile as a lamb or fierce and threatening. Sometimes a menacing growl from the husky was more effective than a pointed gun.
“Now, who do you suppose is driving that trendy little car?” The Volvo was a rental, he noted, from an outfit over in Billings.
Since Cheyenne hadn’t expected company to come calling in a rental car, he figured it must be one of Emily’s friends. Thanksgiving was two days away. Had she invited someone special to share it with them?
Uneasiness assailed him for no good reason.
“Come on, boy. Let’s go see what’s up.” Out of habit, he pushed the driver’s side door closed with hardly a sound.
With his hat dripping melted snow, he stopped in the mudroom. His kitchen had been transformed into what looked like an advertising boardroom—though he’d never seen one firsthand, his imagination was in fine working order.
The ordered chaos didn’t distress him nearly as much as the handsome young yuppie-type leaning over Emily, one hand touching her shoulder with a familiarity that made Cheyenne’s gut twist, his other hand gesturing expansively to the storyboards propped on every available surface.
Blue shook to dislodge the snow from his coat, and his tags jingled.
Emily looked up with a smile. Cheyenne felt a little better. The smile was genuine. A welcome.
And he was being an idiot. If he wasn’t sure it was such a ludicrous idea, he’d think he was jealous.
“Cheyenne. Come meet Dave Kimble. We work together at Cockran Advertising. Dave just flew in today. Dave, this is Cheyenne Bodine,” she said.
The pretty boy in khaki slacks and a casual sport shirt moved forward to shake hands. “Pleased to meet you. Em tells me you’re Jimmy’s brother. Sorry to hear about the accident. Jimmy was a good man.”
“Thank you.” Em, was it? Not Emily, or Ms. Vincent, or Mrs. Bodine, for that matter. Very familiar.
“I hope you don’t mind us taking over your kitchen this way. Faxes are great, but sometimes a project needs a hands-on approach.”
Yeah, and if this guy didn’t keep his hands to himself and stop touching Emily after every third word, Cheyenne was going to get pretty ticked off. As it was, he tucked his hands in his pockets, casually brushing aside his jacket so that his uniform shirt, badge and gun belt were visible. Hell, he hadn’t done this kind of strutting since he was a puffed-up deputy sheriff still wet behind the ears and full of his own power.
“I don’t mind,” he said slowly. “It’s Emily’s kitchen, as well.”
“Yes, she mentioned about the mixup in addresses. It’s good of you to put her up this way.”
Well, she’d been a regular font of information, hadn’t she. Just how close were these two? And why the hell did he care?
“Will we be putting you up, too?”
Dave laughed. “No. I’ve booked a room in town at the boardinghouse. Quaint thing, that. Didn’t know those places were still around. This town’s like walking into a Norman Rockwell painting. I’ve got to say, those two widows are delightful. The one with the Christmas trees painted on her fingernails actually hit on me.”
“Mildred,” Cheyenne and Emily said at the same time. They both smiled. Then Cheyenne turned back to Dave.
“So, you work with my wife.”
“I do?” Baffled, Dave looked from Emily to Cheyenne. His brows shot upward toward his perfectly groomed sandy hair. “You’re…you two are married?”
Emily nodded and Cheyenne kept his features bland as she glared at him. He wasn’t quite sure where this dog-in-the-manger behavior had come from and felt a little ashamed. And he damned sure didn’t want to admit it had hurt that Emily hadn’t mentioned their marriage to her associate.
Then again, why should she have? It wasn’t as though it was a real marriage.
“I thought you were just having babies, Em. Just on maternity leave.”
“I hardly had a chance to say anything,” she said to Dave. “You dumped the smiling toilet tissue, macho-man exterminator and the cosmetics ad on me before I could even draw a decent breath.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Dave said, easily dismissing the marriage subject when she reminded him of his work. Short attention span, Cheyenne thought. The man smiled, showing a fortune in dental work. “I was really excited about that smiling-toilet-paper idea.”
“Well, you can forget that one. I hate that ridiculous yellow happy face. It’s been done to death.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Dave’s expression fell as though she
’d just maligned Santa Claus.
“Nope.” As she spoke, she fielded babies, bottles and business.
Without any apparent thought that Cheyenne could see, she automatically passed one of the kids to him, along with a bottle, then plucked the other out of the infant seat and stuck a bottle in its mouth.
He checked the baby in his arms. Alicia. Her blue eyes were wide open and trained on him. He wanted to lose himself in the wonder of holding this child, but was too awed and astonished seeing Emily in action like this and, instead, focused on her.
She glanced at him to make sure he was doing his job with the feeding, then paced the room, Hunter in her arms, studying the boards that sat everywhere with all manner of drawings on them, dismissing him as though he wasn’t there.
Or as though she trusted him and felt certain she didn’t have to spend any time handing out instructions.
He adjusted the bottle that had slipped out of Alicia’s mouth when he was paying attention to Emily, instead of what he was supposed to be doing.
She was always roping him in, it seemed. Marriage, dragging him into the labor and delivery, passing him kids to care for without so much as a “pretty please.”
She really was efficient, though. She was handling both babies and business with relative ease, and he didn’t think she even realized it. Her capabilities were so clear to onlookers and so unclear to her. She still doubted her abilities, worried she wasn’t up to responsible tasks when it came to the kids.
It didn’t make sense.
If she didn’t think the process to death, she was just fine. It was when she allowed herself to dwell on things that she got scared. But with each day, she was getting better, more sure of herself.
On the one hand, Cheyenne cheered her on. On the other, the selfish part of him would mourn the loss of dependency she had on him, the way she beseeched him with those wide green eyes, the way her lips would part on a relieved sigh when he did nothing more than slip an arm around her, stand by her side, give her moral support.
And that line of thought was going to get him in trouble.
He noticed that she kept glancing in disapproval at the toilet-paper ad.
He was still a little peeved at the yuppie’s familiarity and the fact that Emily hadn’t mentioned having a husband, but at the moment he was inclined to join forces with this Dave person.