Cheyenne (The Women of Merryton Book 4)

by Jennifer Peel

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Cheyenne

  The Women of Merryton: Book Four

  Jennifer Peel

  Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Peel

  All rights reserved.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To Dana, my favorite preacher’s daughter.

  Thank you for all your support and laughs. And especially for helping me bring Cheyenne to life.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peak

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I bolted upright in bed and held my chest. My heart was pounding, trying to make its way out. It was only a dream, I reminded myself. Except it wasn’t. The only difference was that when I went off the cliff this time, I got to wake up in the comfort of my bed instead of in a rushing river. I shouldn’t be alive. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him.

  He consumed my dreams more than the raging water.

  I pulled my knees up to my chest and ran my hands down the length of my smooth legs. The seven-inch scar down my right shin was another glaring reminder of the accident. That and the subtle ache in my left leg from what they called a clean break. At least the cast was gone.

  This was stupid. I was better than this. I threw off my covers. I needed to run, even if my doctor advised against it. What did they know, anyway? They, along with everyone else in this town, were trying to diagnose me. If I heard the words “post traumatic” one more time, I might have to go off on someone. Running shorts. I needed running shorts.

  I fought through the ache of stretching my legs before my run. That pain I could deal with. I took off at a slow pace. I made myself run my usual route near the creek. I kept my earbuds in, though, to drown out the sound of the water. Running as far away from the stream on the path was a must. I just needed some time, but I would conquer that demon, and I didn’t need any shrink to help me do it.

  It felt good to run. I needed to clear my head. I needed to get back on my A game. I needed the old Cheyenne, the one who didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Why do I care what Aidan thinks of me?

  I stopped and caught my breath. Being out of commission for so long was winding me. I bent over, and one of my earbuds popped out. The sound of water trickling brought me back to that moment. The moment right after Aidan pulled me from my car. The water was rushing in all around me, and I couldn’t get my seatbelt off. How he did, I don’t know. What I do know is how safe I felt in his arms on the rocky riverbank. He hardly said a word to me, but he held me tight and stroked my hair. If it wasn’t for him, I probably would have . . . I would have . . .

  I threw my earbud back in. I needed to quit thinking about him and what almost happened.

  I survived. And I was done with men.

  After Paxton, I resigned myself that I would never have what my friends all seemed to have found. Maybe Rachel was right, that because I gave the impression I didn’t care one way or another, that’s the kind of men I attracted. And honestly, for a long time I hadn’t cared. I learned early on that men didn’t stick around, and I wasn’t ever going to let a man walk out on me.

  Then Paxton happened. I let my guard down. I convinced myself that I wanted what my friends had. Well, maybe not exactly. I don’t think I was made for the domesticated life. I never wanted to get to the place where I thought that a man doing the dishes was a romantic gesture. And I didn’t need the sappy looks.

  And I knew all too well the relationship troubles that plagued most of the marriages in Merryton. It’s amazing how sitting in my salon chair opens people’s mouths. I should start charging extra for the therapy and advice that comes with each hair appointment. Even the most revered marriages in this town had problems, my best friends included. Abby and Jessie had their fair share, just like everyone else. Watching them over the years made me question why anyone would want to enter the bonds of marriage. From where I stood, all you got out of the deal were stretch marks and a man that took you for granted more often than he should. No thank you.

  Don’t even get me started on the kids. They’re great now, but those things when they come to life are just little snot, puke, and poop machines that keep you up all hours of the night. You can’t even talk to them. I refused to watch any of my friends’ kids until they could wipe themselves and have a conversation with you. Maybe something’s wrong with me—I don’t seem to have a biological clock. If ever I had a kid it would have to come fully functioning and land on my doorstep.

  I forced myself to start running again. I was determined to defy age, injury, and gravity for as long as possible. The ache in my leg only propelled me farther. That and my looming birthday. Forty. It didn’t bother me like it bothered Abby and Jessie. Well, maybe a little, but that was only because of Paxton. He could have his twenty-three-year-old model. Oh, but wait, she left him and his thirty-five-year-old butt for his younger teammate. Maybe I wasn’t twenty, but I sure didn’t look like I was forty, and I planned to keep it that way.

  Thoughts of Paxton sent a surge of adrenaline through my system, helping me to push past the pain. I blamed my friends. Everyone around me were married and breeders. I admit, some of it was wearing off on me. Especially Rachel and Andrew. They actually made married life look like fun. And
dang if Andrew wasn’t hot.

  But his friend Paxton had been hotter and more fun. I had gotten caught up in dating a celebrity. My only wish now was for Paxton to get traded. He needed to go away. I hoped now that football season was back in full swing with preseason underway he would quit contacting me. We were over. I don’t know how much clearer I could make that. Didn’t my knee to his groin last time he came up here spell that out? The moron sent me flowers the next day. As a thank you for inflicting pain?

  I don’t do cheaters. And if a man couldn’t recognize what he had in me the first go around, why would I ever give him a second chance? I learned early in my life that never worked out well. If only my mother had.

  Like I said, I was done with men. I think I had tried on every shape and size. Except for one, but I had to quit thinking about him. The man that haunted my thoughts day and night, Aidan. I wasn’t even sure why I still was. That wasn’t true. I knew why. And it went beyond saving my life. He got under my skin. We seemed to hate each other, but . . . there was still that night. Who knew that kiss would stay with me? I had only kissed him to shut him up and put him in his place.

  I thought back to Rachel and Andrew’s Christmas party last year. Their lake house was becoming the place to be in Merryton. Andrew certainly knew how to throw a party. It was because of one of his parties I met Paxton. This Christmas party was more of a family affair. Domestic bliss had claimed another pair. And now Rachel was knocked up and huge. Andrew was dutifully doting on her. But I digress. I wasn’t even sure why I went to the party; I knew it would be a bore and Paxton’s affair had recently come to light. Maybe that’s why I went. I didn’t want anyone to think that his betrayal affected me. I didn’t need or desire the pity. But did it hurt? I’ll admit that it did.

  Despite it, I did what I always did. I showed up in a brand new black dress that left nothing to the imagination and did my best to pretend that nothing had changed. I was still me.

  Then there was Aidan. He had played for Jessie Belle’s baseball team that summer, and baseball pants had never looked so good. Even when Paxton was by my side I couldn’t help but notice. And there was this mysterious air to him. Hardly a thing was known about him other than he was Pastor Bates’ brother and a do-gooder. Oh, and that his opinion of me was less than stellar. I hadn’t really cared what some preacher’s brother thought of me. Until that night.

  I don’t know what made him take a walk around the lake, but I’d had my fill of happy couples and screaming children. I had thrown on my black satin jacket and my stiletto heels and headed out to get some fresh air. I followed the well-worn dirt path around the lake. The chill of the December night showed in my breath and the raised skin on my legs, but the cold felt good. It matched my mood. And then there he was, standing, looking over the still lake. It was as if the glow of the moon laid a trail of light leading to him. I had thought baseball pants looked good on him, but it had nothing on his tight pair of jeans. And I knew his gray-green eyes would look even more amazing in the nighttime lighting. So maybe I had paid attention to him more than I cared to admit.

  I paused to watch him. He took a deep breath and then ran his fingers through his chocolate brown hair. He had this move on repeat. I had to give him props for how he styled his hair with natural curl. He wore it long enough that he could give it the messy, tousled look, but short enough that it still looked professional. It went well with his striking bone structure and symmetrical face.

  But like I said, there was a definite disconnect between us, and I meant to turn and walk away. His grimaces and glowers over the months had shouted his opinion of me. He particularly seemed put off by my swearing and baseball Butt Inspector t-shirt at the games. My attitude was he could kiss my butt. I would keep checking his out. That night I checked him out a little too long; he caught me before I turned back toward the house.

  “Did you follow me out here?” It was probably the most he had ever said to me.

  “Why would you think that?”

  His eyes gave me a once-over. He lingered on my long, bare legs. His grimace appeared before he turned his gaze back over the eerily lifeless water.

  I wasn’t having it. I marched my high heels right over to him. “What’s your problem with me?”

  He refused to look at me. “No problem, just don’t expect me to be the next checkmark on your list.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  He smirked before he turned my way. “Your friends are all talking about how you’re interested in me. I’m just letting you know the feeling isn’t mutual.”

  I wasn’t surprised my friends had jumped to that conclusion, but I felt like slapping him for believing it. I might have, if it hadn’t been so cold that it would have stung my hand. But no, I did something I shouldn’t have. I’d lived a life without regret up to that point, but that one moment I’ve regretted ever since. He’s the first man I’ve never been able to shake and I can’t figure out why. In a knee-jerk reaction, I grabbed his jacket with both hands and pulled him to me. In my heels, we were about eye-level, our bodies flush against each other. “If I was interested in you, you would know it.”

  “And how’s that?” Astonishment at my bold action reflected in his eyes. And to my surprise—and I think his—a spark of passion appeared. It didn’t help that he didn’t pull away or that I noticed the faint laugh lines in his face that spoke of someone other than who he portrayed, or the few strays of gray hair that wove through his hair, lending to his allure.

  Before I knew it, my lips pressed against his. Pent up energy and anger sealed the kiss, only adding to the desire that had somehow been triggered. For a second, he tensed as if he thought of pulling away, but instead he wrapped his arms around my waist and invited me in. My grip on his jacket tightened as my lips partially parted, only giving him a small taste. It was enough to know that he wanted more, and for a second I took great pleasure in knowing I got to him. Until he took control of the situation. He captured my lips and mouth like a man who not only knew what he was doing, but who had forgotten what it was like and wanted to remember.

  And now I can’t forget.

  Many men have touched my lips, but no one except him had left a memory there begging to be relived.

  When I came to my senses, I pushed him away. “That’s how you would know.” I walked away as fast as my inappropriate shoes would take me on the uneven ground. I swore I would stay away from him, and I had been doing a good job of it until the night of . . .

  My breaths tightened thinking about it. I slowed my already labored jogging pace to a crawl. I had taken that curve in the canyon a thousand times, but that night the rain was coming down in sheets. I’m not exactly sure what happened. It was a slow-motion nightmare. One I kept reliving, along with the kiss. I had known I was going to die. There was so much water and it was frigid.

  I was fighting, though, until the bitter end, but it was no use.

  And then he appeared. And I was safe. I shook in his arms on the bank, desperately clinging to him. Begging with my actions for him to hold me as tight as he could. He obliged.

  He never left my side, even riding in the ambulance with me. He didn’t say a thing while he held my hand, but his eyes spoke volumes. Something about me vexed him.

  Now every time we saw each other, that same look passed between us. I’ve wanted to thank him, but I didn’t know how to articulate even a drop of how grateful I was for what he did. He risked his life to save mine.

  And more than anything I wanted to be back in his arms. I want him to leave lingering memories on my lips, but neither he nor anyone else would ever know that.

  Chapter Two

  Maybe the physical therapist was right; I shouldn’t have run yet. And heels probably weren’t the way to go either, but I was tired of not being me. Besides, my leather pumps looked too good with my off-the-shoulder chambray dress. I did my best not to hobble into Jessie Belle’s Café before I headed to work, especially when I saw Aidan walking
out. My first morning back to my regular routine and he had to show up in it.

  He paused, holding onto his lidded coffee cup with Jessie’s new logo on it. The logo was courtesy of one of my favorite teen girls, Maddie, Jessie and Blake’s daughter. I loved how the sunflower wrapped around the café’s name. But it did little to hold my attention when in the hands of Aidan. There he stood holding the door open, but with his lips pressed firmly together as if speaking to me was forbidden. He was casually dressed, as usual. I didn’t know what he did for a living exactly. I heard it was something about consulting, but like most things with him, it was unclear. I noticed that he tried to keep his eyes focused only on my own, but it was like his eyes of their own accord fell over my whole body. That’s when the vexation appeared.

  Sometimes I wondered if he regretted saving my life. He obviously could do without me. But he knew that I knew that despite his dislike for me, I had gotten to him. Who knew how far that kiss of ours would have gone if I hadn’t torn myself away from him. He didn’t seem in any hurry for it to end that night. Maybe that’s part of the reason. He probably thought I shared our brief encounter with my friends, but I—as much as he—wanted to keep it to myself. If I could forget it, I would. Even now, staring at him, I wanted to pull his gorgeous head toward mine and thank him in my own way for saving my life. But I resisted. Instead I glared back at him and walked right past, making sure not to show any sign that my leg burned.

  I knew he stared after me. I could feel it, and the door didn’t chime until several seconds after I walked in.

  I took a deep breath and pretended like the last year of my life hadn’t happened. I was me. I had to be. I couldn’t stand the vulnerability anymore. It was like a foreign entity had consumed me. It was time for it to be expelled. Cheyenne Fairchild didn’t have a vulnerable side. I had made sure of it.

  Maddie was there waiting tables. She was by my side as soon as she saw me. If only a teen girl like her would appear for me like she had four years ago for Jessie and Blake. That was the way to have kids. And sometimes when I looked at Maddie, I could see myself in her, right down to the long blonde hair with long legs to match. She was tamed, but beneath that layer awaited a wild soul waiting to be unleashed, or at least as soon as her parents lightened up. And like me, people didn’t take her as seriously as they should because she had the three B’s going for her: beautiful, boobs, and blonde. But like me, she would show them. Who ran the most successful salon in this town and surrounding area? Me. Maddie would show the world what she was made of. And I would be there waiting to applaud and cheer her on.