Cheyenne's Lady

by Mindy Neff

She’d embarrassed herself half to death in town two days ago, yet he found her situation sweet, tried to make her feel better by admitting that he’d once knocked down a whole shelf of dill pickles in Vera’s store. And that had been a hell of a mess to clean up, he’d said.

  Well, like falling off a horse, she knew she had to get back on. So she planned to go into town again today. Show her face and see if she turned to stone or something.

  And because she had an agenda, she needed to start early. Otherwise the kids would be awake and she’d never get dressed.

  Stumbling into the bathroom, still half-asleep, she turned on the tub’s hot-water tap and started to peel her nightgown over her head. Movement caught her eye.

  She gave a tiny shriek, caught the arrested, astonished look on Cheyenne’s face, and yanked the gown back to her knees. “Good grief!”

  With razor in midswipe, his eyes were glued to the reflection of her he could obviously see in the mirror.

  A white towel was wrapped around his lean waist.

  And that was all he wore.

  Just a towel.

  A small towel. Small enough that, a tiny little tug and it would fall to the floor.

  Small enough that she could clearly see the effect desire had on the male anatomy as he automatically turned halfway toward her.

  Oh, dear, sweet heaven, the man made her mouth water.

  Her gaze finally lifted to his.

  Wiping shaving cream off his face, he turned the rest of the way around. Brave man, she thought, not the least concerned about his arousal.

  “Um…I didn’t see you there.”

  “I figured that out between ‘eek’ and ‘good grief.’ Come here.”

  “What?”

  “Come here.”

  Her heart lurched right into her throat, pounded. She took a step, was helpless to do anything less.

  He met her halfway. His hands slid under her hair. His body was warm, his bare chest pressing against her breasts.

  “If we don’t do this, neither one of us is going to be worth a damn.”

  And with that, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  She closed her eyes, gave in, melted against him. Through the thin material of the towel she could feel his desire. Could he feel hers?

  His palm pressed against her back, nestling her against his arousal, setting her on fire. She wanted to climb right up his body, inside his body.

  His tongue explored her mouth as his hands angled her head for better access. He molded her to his will and she let him.

  Oh, she let him…and she helped him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rose on tiptoe, poured herself into the kiss, drinking from him, taking everything he offered.

  She couldn’t breathe, didn’t understand it. Steam rose around them from the running bathwater.

  He eased her out of the kiss when she didn’t have the strength to do it herself.

  Her brain was as foggy as the steamy air of the bathroom.

  “What…what brought that on?”

  “We’ve been dancing around it for days, maybe even years. Ever since the avalanche of peas, you’ve been looking at me with a hunger that’s damned hard to resist.”

  “I haven’t.”

  He smiled. “Liar.”

  She took a deep breath to steady herself. “You’re a potent man, Bodine.”

  “Likewise, Bodine. And because of that, I’m walking out of this room before I lose my mind completely and do something neither of us is ready for.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Oh, Lord. She hadn’t meant to blurt that out.

  He groaned, stepped back and shook his head. “You forget I was in that delivery room with you.”

  The reminder had her frowning. She felt pretty good. Felt healed. And when Cheyenne took her in his arms, the memory of giving birth to babies was the furthest thing from her mind.

  There was no denying the sexual tension building in the household. All it took was their being in the same room, and sparks crackled like hot electrical wires without a ground. They were arcing off each other’s emotions.

  And it was becoming nearly impossible to keep a lid on those emotions.

  He ran a finger down her nose. “The bathroom’s all yours, trouble.”

  Mmm-hmm. And her agenda for the day had just changed. Perhaps she was making a mistake. Most likely a big one.

  But the want inside her was bigger than any she’d ever known.

  At least once before she left, she wanted to know her husband in every sense of the word.

  They were two adults. They could handle a mature relationship. If she was going to leave Shotgun Ridge carrying love in her heart, she wanted to carry something more, too.

  She wanted to carry the memory of Cheyenne Bodine’s touch, the feel of him inside her.

  EMILY PARKED in front of the Bagley widows’ boardinghouse and didn’t have to worry about the baby shuffle. The ladies came right outside as though they’d been watching for her.

  She glanced across the street at the sheriff’s station, but didn’t see Cheyenne’s beefy Bronco parked in its usual spot.

  The widows moved down the porch steps—raced, rather, Emily noted—all but shoving each other to see who would get to the car first. Emily bit the inside of her cheek.

  “What a wonderful surprise!” Opal said. “Are you here for a visit or meeting that husband of yours?”

  “Don’t be dense, Opal. The girl’s got eyes in her head and knows when her own husband’s truck’s not in sight.” Mildred leaned down to peek in the car window at the twins, wiggling her fingers as though fully expecting the babies to wave back. “Saw him drive off not twenty minutes ago. You commented on it yourself when you were spying out the window.”

  “You were the one spying. And how do you know he won’t be right back, expecting to meet his wife?”

  Emily decided she ought to speak and put an end to the bickering before it turned into a brawl. It would be a shame for the widows to have to move their residence across the street—to the jailhouse. Not that Cheyenne would lock them up. Now that young deputy, Boyd, she recalled, might. If he’d write a pregnant woman a speeding ticket, he might well arrest two little old ladies.

  “Actually,” she said, “I was wondering if the baby-sitting offer still stood. I know I should have called first, but—”

  “Of course we’ll sit! We’re minding Kelly Anderson’s sweet little girls, as well, and they’ll be delighted. That little one, Kimberly, with her voice trapped inside her that way just tears your heart out. Maybe the babies’ll get a peep out of her. Sister, run around and get Hunter. I’ll get Alicia.” Opal had the car door open before Emily could shut her mouth. “Oh, we’re thrilled. Just thrilled.”

  Emily might as well have not been standing there, for all the notice the widows paid her. They were too busy unbuckling car seats, plucking babies, cooing and clucking and smiling. She probably could have taken a walk around the block and they’d never even know she’d been gone.

  Grinning, she grabbed the diaper bag and followed them onto the wide front porch and into the white clapboard house.

  The boardinghouse smelled liked every child’s memory—apples, cinnamon, spices and evergreen.

  Christmas scents.

  A Douglas fir stood in the corner of the living room, decorated like a grand Victorian lady with lace and angels, tinsel and brightly colored balls, the fragrant branches twinkling with miniature white lights.

  Although Christmas was more than three weeks away, there were gaily wrapped packages beneath the tree, resting on cotton batting artfully arranged to resemble snow.

  “Would you like some hot cider, dear? We’ve a pot of it on the stove.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t really have the time. I’ve booked an appointment over at Arletta’s beauty shop, and I’m due in a few minutes. I’d have taken the twins with me, but I worried that the chemical smells might be too much for them.”

  Mildred perked up at the mention of the beauty shop.
“What a splendid idea. Not asphyxiating the babies with permanent-wave solution,” she clarified, “but taking the time to pamper yourself. What are you having done?”

  “Just a trim, and maybe have my highlights refreshed.”

  “Well, Arletta’s your woman. Had her put a few of those streaks in my own hair.” Holding Hunter in one arm, Mildred passed a hand over her pageboy.

  “It looks very nice.”

  Opal snorted. “She’s an old woman with a mile-wide streak of vanity. You young girls look fabulous in the latest styles. Some people I’ll not mention ought to act their age.”

  Mildred cocked a brow. “Just because you’re gray as a mule and have shorn your hair for practicality is no reason to cast stones at those of us who have a care…and a sex drive.”

  Opal gasped. “Mind the children’s ears!”

  Mildred smirked.

  Emily wanted to stay and see how this conversation played out—especially the part about the sex drive—but she was late. And she had an idea the banter was really just for her benefit.

  “Um,” she ventured, “I should be going if you’re sure you don’t mind watching the kids.”

  “Of course we don’t. Stay as long as you want.”

  “I should only be a couple of hours. I’ve scheduled an appointment with Dr. Hammond at one o’clock.”

  “Is he seeing the children, as well?” Opal asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, leave us your carriage and we’ll push the little ones over to meet you. No sense loading them in the car when the office is just around the corner. Little Jessica and Kimberly Anderson are upstairs dressing right now, but I’m sure they’ll love a chance to get some fresh air and pay a quick visit to their momma, who, of course you know, works over at the clinic with Chance.”

  “Yes, I know. Are you sure, though, about keeping the twins that long? I mean, there’re enough bottles and diapers to last, but I hate to impose.”

  “Impose, ha!” Mildred said. “The second you walk out the door, Sister’ll call everyone to brag about getting to baby-sit, and you can bet they’ll all come running. We’ll have a regular bevy of grandmas here doting on the children. Off with you now. And don’t worry about a thing.”

  Emily fussed over the babies and listed everything she could think of that the widows might need to know. She was wondering aloud if she should write out an emergency medical note when the ladies practically pushed her out the door.

  Leaving the stroller as instructed, she drove down the street and around the corner to the beauty shop. It felt odd to be all alone. She kept thinking she was forgetting something.

  And though she had complete trust in Mildred and Opal, it made her heart squeeze to leave the babies, made her feel precariously close to tears. What in the world would she do when she had to drop them off at day care when she went back to work?

  She pushed through the door of the beauty salon, and a wreath with silly blinking eyes belted out a tinny Christmas tune. Astonished, startled, she grinned. Here, too, the interior was festooned with holiday decorations. She’d have to get Cheyenne to bring home a tree before all the good ones were picked over and bought up.

  Arletta, in her late forties, wearing tight blue jeans, cowboy boots and a man’s shirt that hung to midthigh, waved her in and patted the swivel chair in front of her station.

  “Come in, come in. You’re right on time. But where are those babies?”

  “I left them with Mildred and Opal Bagley.” Should she call and check on them? Her cell phone was in her purse. A lot could happen in five minutes. One of them could choke or—

  “Mmm. Corrupt them early.”

  Emily’s eyes snapped to Arletta’s in the mirror.

  Arletta laughed. “Just kidding, hon. Those ladies are harmless. And the best sitters in town. Your babies will be fine.”

  Emily knew that. She didn’t know why she’d had such a reaction. Such a motherly reaction.

  “So, what are we doing today?” Arletta ran her hands through Emily’s thick hair.

  Emily took a breath, ordered herself to relax and enjoy her time out. “Highlights and a trim. I got a good look at myself the other day and realized I looked like a hag. I’ve hardly had a second to myself. I’m starting to feel like a giant walking baby bottle, and I decided I needed to treat myself to a little pampering.”

  Arletta laughed. “That’s the spirit. And you’ve come to the right place. Your beautician use bleach or color?”

  “Bleach, I think.”

  “Then we’ll just get started. That’s Miz Pearson over there under the first dryer.” An older woman with pink perm rods wound in her hair leaned forward and waved. “Louanne Tucker is over there primping in my makeup, and that’s Miz Pearson’s daughter reading Vogue magazine.”

  Emily smiled and nodded and Arletta got to work, chatting easily. In no time at all Emily’s hair was sectioned with alternate strands, painted with bleach solution and wrapped in tinfoil.

  “You caught me at the right time, as I’ve got a bit of a lull. Town’s getting so populated I’m having trouble keeping up with business. Gonna have to hire an assistant soon.” Arletta folded the last foil and glanced down at Emily’s hands. “Nails a little weak since we took off the acrylics?”

  Emily curled her fingers inward. “They look pretty sad, don’t they?”

  “We’ll fix that right up. Come on over to the nail station and I’ll give you a manicure and pedicure—on the house. Since you didn’t have a baby shower, this’ll be my gift.”

  Emily couldn’t imagine her own manicurist in Seattle offering free services.

  While Emily’s feet soaked in a bucket of warm soapy water and her hands rested on the manicure table, Arletta and the other women imparted gossip, made girl talk and shamelessly pried information from Emily about her life in Washington and her job. Emily couldn’t resist running some of the ad campaigns by them. She had her own little focus group here and might as well test the market. The happy face was unanimously voted in, and Emily realized she was simply going to have to get over her bias.

  Her bare foot was propped on Arletta’s knee for the promised pedicure when she looked out the window and glimpsed a familiar truck passing by.

  Cheyenne.

  Her heart thumped, and Arletta must have felt the pulse, because she looked, too.

  The Bronco cruised slowly down the street, raised high off the ground on its huge knobby tires, bars of emergency lights on top. She saw Blue sitting beside Cheyenne on the front seat, eyes alert as though he had a star pinned to his furry coat and was taking his patrol duty very seriously.

  She knew the instant Cheyenne spotted her car, saw him slow and scan the storefront. Oh, Lord, she hoped he couldn’t see through the salon’s windows. She scrunched down in the chair and Arletta’s file slipped and plowed across the top of her toes.

  She had tinfoil sticking out of her head like an alien from another planet. It was scary enough to frighten a Martian half to death. She did not want Cheyenne to see her looking like this.

  “Hmm,” Arletta hummed as she buffed and filed Emily’s toenails. “How old did you say those babies are now?”

  “Five weeks.”

  The woman smiled. “Rekindled the romance with my Earl after four weeks. I imagine if I was married to the likes of Cheyenne Bodine, I wouldn’t have waited that long.”

  Emily’s face heated. Was she that obvious? Did everyone in the beauty shop see her sexual desire for her husband?

  IT WAS ONLY FIVE-THIRTY, but it was dark outside and the kids were already in their crib asleep. She’d brought home takeout from Brewer’s and wondered if she should heat it up. Cheyenne hadn’t come in from the barn yet. She was fairly glowing with pride that she’d unloaded both babies by herself and gotten them settled without having to shout for help.

  Changes were afoot.

  She looked out the kitchen window, wondering what was keeping Cheyenne. Light spilled out of the barn and a nearly fu
ll moon shone over ground upholstered in packed snow.

  Christmas lights blinked on, strands of colorful bulbs strung all along the eaves of the barn and outlining the double doors. “Oh,” she breathed.

  She reached for her coat, draped it across her shoulders and stepped out onto the porch. Cheyenne was sitting on the wicker bench, obviously admiring his handiwork.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  He glanced up at her. “I need to reset the timer so they’ll come on earlier.”

  She sat beside him on the bench, enjoying the night and the mood. The air was cold, but that only added to the festive air. What was it about simple strands of glass balls shimmering with color that could make the stomach flutter and the heart fill?

  The season for miracles. A time of anticipation and hope. Oh, she loved it all.

  “I can’t wait for the babies to see this.”

  He glanced over at her and smiled. “They in bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your hair looks nice.”

  “Thank you. Did you notice it?”

  “That’s what I just said, didn’t I?”

  “No, I meant, did you notice I had it done by looking at it or because you saw me at the beauty shop?”

  His lips twitched. “I wasn’t following you, if that’s what you’re getting at. Your car was out front.”

  “But could you see through the windows?” She’d meant this to come out as a casual question. Instead, it sounded like a demand.

  He reached over and gathered a lock of her hair, bringing it to his nose, inhaling the scent. “’Course not. Arletta’s got her name scrawled across the tinted glass. Makes it darn near impossible to see if a lady’s getting her fingernails worked on or has tinfoil antennas sticking out of her head.”

  She smacked him.

  “Hey, what was that for?”

  “A woman wants a man to appreciate the final glamour, not the process.”

  He fisted his hand in her hair for an instant, his gaze steady on hers. “I’m appreciating the glamour. A little too much.”

  “Oh.” She’d been worried about him seeing her looking like a Martian and had made it sound as if she was looking for approval. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”