Cheyenne's Lady

by Mindy Neff

  So she’d sent notices around the county, contacted the local papers and the radio station. After all, the stations went all out advertising rodeos; might as well give their production the same hype.

  She’d also designed a new sign for the church, built by Jake McCall, and ordered magnetic, weather-resistant letters so events and times could be posted for everyone driving through town to see.

  And since she’d been so caught up in the advertising, she’d found herself organizing the rehearsals, as well. After all, she did know a thing or two about production.

  Next up, she’d need to turn her thoughts to the drive-through Nativity production. They’d have live animals, a camel perhaps. Her mind was buzzing.

  With her trunk filled with gifts she’d picked up in town, she felt her spirits soar. She’d never looked forward to a holiday as much as she did this one.

  Emergency lights flashing on the highway up ahead made her heart skip a beat, then race in dread. An accident, she realized as she got closer. Slick roads and a curve taken too fast.

  An image of an accident she hadn’t witnessed but could see clearly flashed in her mind—Jimmy’s sport utility van wedged beneath a semi, life seeping out of her sister’s veins.

  Had they held each other in those last minutes? Had they gone quickly? Emily hadn’t been able to ask.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror at the twins sleeping peacefully in their car seats, feeling love swell. Tragedy had gifted her with those two little lives to care for.

  She slowed and brought her attention back to the road. Her heart rammed against her ribs and her hands shook. She felt sick.

  The emergency light on top of Cheyenne’s Bronco flashed like a strobe in the late-afternoon light. She eased her foot off the gas pedal, then drove on past. He had his hands full; he didn’t need onlookers.

  But oh, she ached for him.

  Her husband. The rescuer.

  WHEN HE CAME HOME, Cheyenne didn’t say a word. He stood over the crib where the twins slept, oblivious to the near tragedy he’d witnessed.

  Teenagers, he thought. They’d sustained a fair number of injuries, but the doctors said they would recover. The worst part had been notifying the parents. God, he hated that part of his job.

  The kids had been lucky. The car had flipped, but a snowbank had cushioned some of the impact. Seat belts had done their job. Otherwise, two sets of parents would have had a Christmas filled with mourning, instead of joy.

  He fought not to let the sadness swamp him. His own brother was lost to him, wouldn’t be spending the holiday exclaiming over gifts, sharing kisses and food and the incredible joy of filling his arms with babies. It didn’t matter that it had been years since he’d spent a holiday with his brother.

  There had always been hope.

  He’d known Jimmy was out there somewhere.

  Now that hope was gone. He had his brothers’ children, instead.

  He touched each of their little cheeks, careful not to wake them. The feel of them, the smell of them, filled him with emotions he couldn’t name.

  A gift. Yes, Emily had given him a gift. Because he could feel Jimmy, see him, in these babies.

  He turned, saw Emily standing silently in the doorway, hall light spilling over her blond hair.

  Her eyes were soft and filled with compassion. He’d seen her drive by, had felt such relief that his own family was safe, then felt guilty for the thought when two young people were bleeding and crying in pain.

  So much pain in the world.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head, went to her, reached for her, held her with arms that wanted to shake and strained to be gentle.

  She soothed him with her hands on his back, rubbed.

  “I need you,” he whispered.

  “I’m right here.”

  He gazed down at her. But for how long, was what they were both thinking. Life could snatch loved ones away in an instant. Job responsibilities could wrench a family apart. God, his head hurt to think.

  So he kissed her, lost himself in her soft lips and giving spirit. He drank from her, easing the horror of the wreckage that still plagued his mind.

  How many times had he come home to an empty house, the screams of mourning ringing in his ears and no one to distract his mind.

  “Will dinner keep?” he asked quietly.

  “For as long as you want.”

  “Then help me shut out the night.”

  TWO DAYS LATER, Emily was still thinking about the night of the accident. He’d needed her, and for once she’d known it without a doubt, felt it deep in her bones, in the touch of his hands and the whisper of his lips. Their lovemaking had been different; he’d seemed different. It was as though love sang in every sigh and touch.

  Something had shifted between them. She was certain of it, yet he’d pulled back from her. He was different, quieter, helping more and asking less.

  She wanted to shake him. Instead, she scoured the sink and watched the clock. She’d faxed the last of the changes for the cosmetics ad. It was good. Dynamite. Better than anything the competitors had come up with. Never mind that she was biased.

  When the phone rang, she jumped and the sponge went flying. Snatching up a towel, she gave her hands a swipe to dry them and dived for the receiver.

  “Hey, kiddo, you did it,” Dave Kimble said.

  “We got the account?” Excitement bubbled inside her, roared in her ears, made her stomach lurch. She held her breath, trying to act professional, wanted to shriek and dance and laugh like a loon.

  “Yep. All sewed up in time for Christmas. I’m authorized to tell you there’s a cushy promotion with your name on it as soon as you get back from maternity leave.”

  She did shriek then and listened to her associate laugh. She barely heard the rest of the details he imparted, and when she hung up the phone, she wasn’t altogether sure if she’d even told Dave goodbye.

  Her insides were a tangle of butterflies. She wanted to leap with joy, shout it from the rooftops. She did a little dance around the kitchen.

  Yes! Vice president! Ten long years of hard work and fifteen-hour days had paid off.

  Cheyenne walked into the kitchen and caught her dancing like a fairy. She leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  “Whoa, trouble. What’s all the excitement?”

  “I got the account. I’ve courted them for two years and I did it!”

  “Congratulations.”

  She gave him a smacking kiss on his lips, then slid down his body, her face stretched in such a wide grin it almost hurt. “I’ll have you know you’re looking at the new vice president of Cockran Advertising.”

  “So you’ll be leaving, then.” His tone was casual. He stepped back, picked up the soapy sponge that was still sitting on the floor where it had landed.

  The question stopped her, brought her back to earth. She hadn’t thought past the excitement of the moment, of hearing Dave tell her she’d gotten the job. Hadn’t thought about how it would affect her life—life as it was now.

  She landed from her high with a thud as the reality of here and now settled around her. She looked at Cheyenne, trying to see past his question, but his handsome face masked his emotions. He could just as easily be asking her if she was going to town, instead of all the way to Seattle.

  “What do you think?” She wished he’d tell her what he felt. He’d never pressured her, never asked for more.

  “It’s a great opportunity for you, Emily. I know you’ve worked hard for this account, this promotion.” He touched her cheek, then took his hat off the peg by the door. “We should do something to celebrate your success.”

  “Cheyenne—”

  A baby started to cry. She sighed.

  “Want me to check?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. You go ahead and see to your horses.”

  It was clear he was anxious to get out of the house. Her confidence wavered. She was so
sure he felt something deeper. He had helped her with the babies, which was all she’d asked of him. Was he simply honoring his bargain to her?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cheyenne went out to the barn, feeling his heart twist. The scent of hay and molasses oats, leather and horses wrapped him in a cloak of familiarity, yet the usual comfort it evoked seemed to be missing.

  This was his dream—this ranch, this town, his job. He’d been happy here. If he’d been lonely, he didn’t like to admit it.

  Funny, he hadn’t felt that loneliness since Emily had come. His world had come alive.

  She’d made him come alive.

  How could he go back to his solitary existence when she left?

  He reached for the latch on the wooden stall door. The sound of Emily yelling his name, her voice filled with a mother’s terror, had him racing back into the house.

  He took the porch steps in one leap, nearly tore the door off its hinges, his heart thundering in dread.

  She was still in the kitchen, but she had Alicia in her arms.

  In a single glance he searched the room, Emily, the baby, looking for blood or danger.

  “What is it?”

  “She’s burning up. She’s so still, lifeless. Oh, my God, Cheyenne, something bad’s wrong with her.”

  He touched his fingers to the baby’s downy cheek. It felt hot, but he couldn’t tell how hot because his fingers were cold. The flushed skin and listlessness, the shallow breathing, though, told its own story.

  “Get your coat. I’ll get Hunter.”

  He didn’t even take the time to phone the clinic. In minutes he had them bundled out to the truck and strapped in. Hunter was screaming his lungs out at being snatched from sleep and thrust rudely into the cold.

  Emily was terrified. He could see it in her face, hear it in the trembling of her voice as she spoke to the baby in her arms.

  She didn’t ask him any questions, just let him take the lead.

  And he did.

  He slammed the truck in gear and spun out of the yard, the knobby tires barely slipping in the snow. Snatching up the mike to the two-way radio as he navigated the driveway, he switched to the public frequency.

  “Chance, this is Cheyenne, come back.”

  Most of the neighbors monitored the radio, including the doctor. Half the men in town were volunteer firefighters, and when someone had a need, everyone pitched in. Cheyenne knew the radio would be on at Chance’s house, as well as at the clinic.

  “Hey, Cheyenne,” Chance responded. “What’s up?”

  “I’m coming in hot to the clinic. One of the twins has a fever.”

  “How high?”

  “I didn’t stop to take it. It’s high.”

  “She conscious?”

  Damn it!

  He glanced at Emily, saw the tears in her eyes, the fear. He felt that fear himself.

  “Yes.” He tried to keep his voice impersonal, steady. Hell, he was a professional, dealt with crises every day. They weren’t personal, though. And this was. “She’s awake, but listless.” His voice shook. Hunter was screaming in the back seat.

  Alicia was utterly still and quiet in Emily’s arms.

  Oh, God, that wasn’t a good sign.

  “I’ll be standing by,” Chance said.

  He pressed the accelerator.

  By the time they reached town, Chance was at the clinic. The doctor quickly took the baby out of Emily’s arms. Hunter was still crying. “Is he sick, too?”

  “No,” Emily said, her voice scratchy with emotion. “Just Alicia. What’s wrong with her?”

  “Give me a minute with her.”

  She followed. Chance shook his head. “Cheyenne, take her out to the waiting room.”

  “No. I have to stay with her.” Her insides were twisted into knots. She’d never been so scared in her life. She’d been dancing a jig in the kitchen, and her baby daughter had been burning up with fever.

  Cheyenne put his arm around her. “Come on, Em. We need to get Hunter settled down and give Chance some room. If Alicia starts responding to Hunter’s distress, it’ll make Chance’s job harder.”

  She knew he was right. Oh, this was one of those instances where she simply didn’t have enough arms to go around. She lifted Hunter out of his seat, cradled him, shushed him, paced with him.

  Soon afterward, friends and neighbors streamed through the doors of the clinic. They’d heard the fear in Cheyenne’s voice. They felt they had a stake in the children’s lives. Someone might need a shoulder, a cup of coffee, a baby-sitter.

  Emily looked around at the love in the small waiting room.

  Looked around at all she’d be giving up.

  Cheyenne came up behind her, circled his arms around both her and Hunter, rested his cheek on top of her head. She leaned into him, grateful for his strength.

  It seemed forever until Chance finally came back into the waiting room, Alicia bundled in his arms. “There’s a little girl here who’s looking to say hi to her folks.”

  Emily thrust Hunter into Cheyenne’s arms, rushed over to gather her baby girl in her arms—the baby girl who was staring sleepily up at her, happily sucking on a pacifier.

  “The fever?” She touched her fingers to Alicia’s soft cheek.

  “It’s down. She’ll be fine.”

  As Chance explained his theory on what had caused the fever to spike, cautioned her to watch for a rash in a few days’ time, she tuned out. Her baby was fine. Overwhelmed, overwrought, she sat right down on the floor and cried.

  A DOUBLE WHAMMY. Twice in the space of an hour yesterday, he’d feared losing both Emily and Alicia, one to her job, the other to a fever. His heart hadn’t recovered.

  He’d slept in snatches beside the crib. By dawn he was fairly certain the baby’s crisis was indeed past.

  Now his mood was nasty.

  So he was working it off in the barn, his uncle giving him plenty of space, not speaking.

  That almost made him angrier.

  He’d cleaned and oiled every piece of equipment in the tack room. Bridles hung in military precision, bits were arranged by size and shape, saddles draped horn to cantle-binding over a wooden sawhorse.

  “Aren’t you talking this morning?” he snapped at John, and instantly regretted his tone.

  “When a man has much on his mind, it is wise to give him room to think.”

  “Emily got the promotion she’s worked so hard for.”

  John White Cloud laid down the currycomb he’d been using on Lightning, came out of the stall and closed the wooden door. “So she will leave?”

  “Yes. I’m happy for her.”

  “Are you?”

  “Don’t start with me, Uncle.”

  John stuck a piece of straw in the corner of his mouth, leaned a shoulder against the wall. “You have taken on the burdens of an entire county. You serve and protect all people—right down to Emily and the twins. Yet you ask nothing in return for yourself.”

  “That wasn’t part of our bargain.”

  “And what if she wishes it so?”

  “Didn’t you hear me, Uncle? She’s got the job she’s been working for all her life.”

  “Do you want her to stay?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It is, yes. Ask,” he counseled.

  Cheyenne’s heart thudded. “What if the answer’s no?”

  “The answer will be no unless you ask. You must risk.”

  And that was the crux of the matter.

  He hadn’t risked anything. He didn’t have anything on the line. He hadn’t asked her to stay.

  He’d known going in that the marriage wasn’t for keeps. When he’d asked Linda to stay all those years ago, she’d shut him down, and he’d vowed never to put himself in that position again.

  And marriage to Emily hadn’t put him there. They both knew the rules. Were biding their time.

  But by God, he wanted to change the rules.

  He had to take the risk, do the
one thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do. He had to put his heart on the line.

  “If there were second chances,” John said, “what would you wish for?”

  “Family.” It came out easily, without hesitation. He hadn’t known the yearning was there, that it went so deep. His friends, Wyatt, Ethan and Stony, were living proof that love was real. It might not always be easy or tidy, but true love was beauty. It shone like the brightest star, clearly visible for anyone who cared to look.

  When it was the right kind of love, like that of Ozzie Peyton and his late wife, Vanessa, it formed a foundation that would weather anything life could throw at it. Because love and families stood together, solid.

  That was what Cheyenne wanted. And he wanted it with Emily and the twins.

  But what if he was wrong about her feelings? He was a man who could tell if a perp was lying, was trained to notice subtle nuances.

  And every nuance Emily projected was love. He couldn’t be that wrong.

  He turned to his uncle. “If I asked, would you take my ranch, see that the stock continues to build?”

  John White Cloud studied his nephew. “If you do not ask, the answer is always no,” he repeated.

  Cheyenne wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but he thought that meant yes. Maybe it was a “We’ll see.”

  Right now, though, he had a powerful urge to seek out his wife.

  He was dismayed to see that his yard had filled with vehicles while he was in the barn—Ozzie and his pals, the Bagley widows.

  Damn it, he didn’t have time for company!

  He stopped inside the back door, cleared his throat. “Emily, can I have a word with you?”

  Emily looked up. “Cheyenne. What’s wrong?” She was on her feet, checking him as though looking for an injury. His heart clicked wide open.

  Ah, to hell with the audience. It’d be all over town within an hour, anyway.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  She frowned. “Coming with me where? I don’t think we should take Alicia out so soon after her fever. That’s why the play committee is meeting here and—”

  “Not to the play, damn it. To Washington.”