Come Home to Me (3 page)

“It would also be different if Aaron wasn’t so unpredictable,” Eve added. “But you have no way of knowing how he might react—whether he’ll be fair and reasonable or angry and overpowering.”

Cheyenne stared at the lights glowing from inside her own house. “He can be so large and in-charge. And he has more resources than Presley does. If they ever battled over Wyatt...” She shuddered at the thought. No one wanted to fight Aaron. But Presley would do just that. She’d never give up, not if she were fighting for her child. “How could I ever put my sister in that precarious a situation?”

“You can’t. Presley deserves
some
happiness. And she is happy these days, isn’t she?”

“Happier than I’ve ever seen her.”

“Then that’s proof you’re doing the right thing.”

“Still, if Aaron or Dylan ever find out...” She felt heartsick at the prospect, but she couldn’t open her mouth, couldn’t risk telling because of what it could destroy.

“You have to hope they don’t,” Eve said matter-of-factly.

“What a mess.” Someday what she and Presley were doing would not end well; the thought of that terrified her. “Anyway, I’m home now. I should go.”

“Okay. You’re on tomorrow?”

Cheyenne had recently scaled back her hours so she could help with Wyatt. Neither of them were quite used to her new schedule. “Yeah.”

“Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

As they disconnected, Cheyenne tried to push her concern into the back of her mind, as she’d done so far. But when she went inside and turned to hang up her coat, she saw the hole in the wall—proof that she couldn’t tell Aaron about Wyatt. He had an anger problem. That alone suggested they’d better not second-guess the decisions made two years ago.

“What happened?” she called out to Dylan. “Don’t tell me you and Aaron got into it again.”

There was no answer.

Unhappy with the damage that had been done to her house, Cheyenne hurried into the living room. Her husband sat on the couch with the TV on pause, holding his head in his hands.

“Dylan, what is it? He didn’t hit you, did he?”

She grew even more alarmed when he glanced up at her with a hollowness in his eyes.

“No, he didn’t hit me.”

“What made him punch the wall?”

Dylan shoved a hand through his hair. “Aaron didn’t do that. I did.”

“What?”
She’d never known Dylan to do such a thing. Like Aaron, he had a temper. Heaven help any worthy opponent who pushed him too far. But he’d always been able to control himself—at least since she’d come into his life. Before that, he’d had a reputation for being reckless, even dangerous, but that was understandable. He’d felt he had to do whatever he could to survive, and to make sure his brothers did, too.

“I’ll patch it,” he said in an attempt to mollify her.

“I’m not worried about that so much as I am about
you
.” Sitting down next to him, she rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. “What got you so upset?”

“Aaron infuriates me. You know that.”

“But you can usually cope with it. What did he say or do to set you off tonight?”

His beard growth rasped as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I was trying to tell him to stay away from Presley, and he got belligerent, as he always does.”

The guilt she’d been feeling burrowed a little deeper. “Don’t fight with your brother over Presley. That makes me feel I’m the one who dragged you into it, because I’m so concerned about her.”

“There’s no need for him to screw up her life. If he loved her and was willing to step up and marry her, I wouldn’t feel like this. But...he doesn’t want anything she’s got to offer. Not now. She has a kid, and that’s entirely too much responsibility for him.”

Dylan adored Wyatt, felt protective of him. “Are you sure? That Aaron’s not ready for—” the way he looked at her made her adjust what she was about to say “—for someone who might be interested in a more serious relationship?”

“Hell, no. He’s never been able to maintain a serious relationship. What makes you think he could start now? I wouldn’t want him to get involved with Presley again, anyway. That’s all we need. You know how volatile he is, how their relationship could potentially affect ours.”

But Aaron wouldn’t ask permission. No one could tell him what to do; no one could make him see reason if he didn’t want to. If Dylan tried to step in, to influence him, Aaron could do exactly the opposite just to prove his autonomy.

“It’s too bad that she had to come back before he left,” Cheyenne lamented.

“I’d rather have her here in Whiskey Creek than depending on people she can’t trust to take care of Wyatt.”

Dylan had been as livid as she was when Presley found those marks on Wyatt. The owner of the thrift shop had let her bring Wyatt to work three days a week, but she still had to leave him on the weekends, because it was busier, and when she went to massage school at night.

“I agree Wyatt’s better off here,” she said, “but...”

“What?” he prompted.

But he didn’t know nearly as much as she did. “Having the two of them in town for even a month is too long.” She gave him a rueful smile as she checked his hand. He’d bruised and scraped his knuckles. “Do we need to take you to the hospital? Have that X-rayed?”

He shook her off. “No. It’s not broken.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I’ve broken it often enough to know the difference.”

She mussed his hair. Although he was as tough as a man could be, there was a childlike innocence in the way he cared for her that formed the foundation of her happiness. “I love you so much,
too
much. Even when you punch holes in my wall.” She stood up. “Let’s wash off your hand before you get blood on the couch.”

“Chey?” He caught her wrist, pulling her back to him.

“Yes?”

“Does it ever make you...envious to see Wyatt?”

The gravity of that question gave her an inkling of what might be causing Dylan to act out. It didn’t have to do with Aaron. Not completely.

“Why would it make me feel envious?” She could guess, but wanted to draw him out. He rarely put a voice to his fears and concerns; instead, he expressed them in some physical act, by making love to her, going to the gym he and his brothers had set up in their barn or—tonight, anyway—punching a hole in the wall.

“We’ve been married for a while now and...no baby.” He studied her. “Despite how badly you want one.”

He felt he had to provide something she wanted that much. He wasn’t used to being unable to give her what would make her happiest. Since he was eighteen, he’d been taking care of the people in his life. He always took on added responsibility; it was just who he was.

“I
do
want a baby,” she admitted. “I want
your
baby. But if we can’t have one, we can’t. Nothing could ever make me regret marrying you.”

“What if it’s me—my fault? You wouldn’t resent it someday?”

“Of course not.”

“Because it’s got to be me,” he said. “You’ve never done anything physically damaging.”

“You think fighting might’ve hurt your...equipment?”

“If I had a dollar for every time I got kicked in the nuts...”

He’d started in MMA when his father, grief-stricken after losing his children’s mother, stabbed a man in a bar and went to prison. Dylan had had to do something to augment what he could earn from the family’s auto body shop, which wasn’t exactly a success back then. Without the money he made fighting, his younger brothers would’ve been split up and placed in foster care.

“If that’s the way it is...we’ll accept it,” she said.

“Accept less, you mean.”

“Accept
reality
.”

His troubled eyes met hers. “I should get checked out.”

She’d wanted him to see a doctor—until she’d gone to a doctor herself and learned that it wasn’t her. “No.”

He reared back. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” She laced her fingers through his. “We’ll keep trying. You like that part, anyway,” she teased, but he didn’t let her levity distract him. He didn’t even smile; he was too intent on the conversation.

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll adopt.”

“But thanks to your mother—or, rather, Anita— you’ve missed out on so much already. I want you to have your
own
baby. I want you to experience pregnancy and childbirth and see yourself in the child you’re raising. And I want your real mother, now that you’ve found each other, to see her family grow.”

“We don’t always get what we want,” she told him.

“That’s just it. You’ve had to settle for most of your life. I can’t bear the thought that you might have to settle now because of me.”

“Dylan, I can love an adopted child just as much. Anyway, even if we never get a baby, I’d give up
anything
for you.”

He stared at her as if trying to decide whether she meant it. Then he kissed her deeply, tenderly, and led her into the bedroom, where he made love to her as though everything was fine and they’d get beyond this. But she could tell when she started to doze on his chest afterward that he was wide-awake and staring at the ceiling.

3

P
resley couldn’t sleep. And she knew why. But she refused to obsess over running into Aaron at the bookstore. She also refused to toss and turn all night.

Kicking off the covers, she got up, threw on a pair of holey jeans and a sweatshirt and lifted her baby from his crib. Wyatt stirred but didn’t wake when she put him in his stroller. She almost hoped he
would
wake up—otherwise, he’d be ready to play when she needed rest. A single mother had to sleep when her baby did or go without.

But he didn’t make a peep as she hurried down the street to her studio. There was so much work that needed to be done. She figured she might as well get started, take advantage of this time.

Once she let herself in and stowed Wyatt in what she planned to use as her massage room, where it was dark and quiet, she walked through the place, studying it with a skeptical eye. How could she make the studio more appealing on such a limited budget?

The little she’d had in savings had dwindled fast, and she was concerned that she wouldn’t be able to pay her rent. If she didn’t get enough appointments, she’d have
no
hope....

“What-ifs” churned like acid in her stomach, but over the course of her life she’d been through much worse than financial uncertainty. She could remember as a girl rummaging through Dumpsters, hoping to find a cast-off burrito or hamburger that might be edible. Her mother had taken off whenever it suited her, leaving Presley and Cheyenne on their own, often for days, without heat or even food if they were in the car.

Fortunately, those years were behind them. Pancreatic cancer had taken Anita, releasing those closest to her from the obligation of caring for her. Presley was taking a leap of faith by opening her own business, and fear sometimes threatened to paralyze her. But she could make it work. She could overcome anything as long as Wyatt remained healthy and happy.

At least here in Whiskey Creek she didn’t have to worry about his day-care provider hurting him. She hated that
she
was the one who’d left him vulnerable to that. But it wasn’t as if she’d left him to go off with some strange man so she could trade sex for money as Anita so often had. She’d had a legitimate job, and she’d kept him with her whenever she could. She’d do the same here. Otherwise, Cheyenne or a girl named Alexa, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Ted Dixon’s fiancée, would help out. Alexa wasn’t someone Presley knew well, but she seemed very sweet. Cheyenne was confident that she’d be nothing but kind to Wyatt.

A knock on the glass made her jump. It was after midnight, and she wasn’t expecting company.

It could only be Cheyenne coming to check on her, she thought. Cheyenne was trying so hard to be supportive. But when Presley turned, she saw Riley Stinson, Cheyenne’s friend whom she’d spoken to at the book signing, standing on the sidewalk in front of her store.

He waved. Then he blew on his hands to keep them warm as she walked over to let him in.

“Riley! What are you doing out and about at this hour?”

“I was on my way home from Ted’s and saw your light. Figured maybe I’d catch you working.”

“You did. Well, I haven’t really begun yet. But I intend to.” She glanced toward the street, where he’d parked. “Where’s Jacob tonight?”

Riley had a fifteen-year-old son he was raising, with a little help from his parents. Jacob’s mother wasn’t in the picture. She’d been sentenced to twenty years in prison for running down his next love interest with an old Buick just before they all graduated from high school. The last thing Presley had heard about Phoenix Fuller was that she was due to be released around the same time as Aaron’s father.

Presley wondered how Riley felt about his ex-girlfriend coming home at last, but she didn’t know him well enough to ask such a personal question.

“Jacob’s staying at a friend’s.” He whistled as he took in their surroundings. “So this is the new studio, huh?”

She felt herself flush. It wasn’t much to look at. But it was more than
she’d
ever had. “So far. There’s still a lot to do.”

“What do you have planned?”

“Repairing the drywall and painting, to begin with.” She folded her arms against the chill, wishing she’d brought a coat. Until Wyatt was up and no longer under a blanket, she was hesitant to turn on the heat, since she, and not her landlord, had to pay the utility bill. “After that I’ll create a reception area where I can book my appointments and clients can check in.”

She indicated the door leading to where Wyatt was sleeping. “That will be the massage room.” She also showed him the larger area on the other side. “This will be the yoga studio.”

“Nice.”

He seemed to approve, and that made her less critical. “There’s even a small kitchen in back,” she said, feeling some of the excitement she’d experienced in Fresno when she’d lain awake so many nights, dreaming and planning for her future.

“This space has everything you’ll need.”

“It’s a bit run-down,” she admitted. The shop had once been an antiques co-op. The individual co-op members rented booths in which they displayed whatever they could scrounge up to sell. From what Presley remembered, most of it was junk, and no one had done much to maintain the property.

“There’s nothing here a little work won’t fix,” Riley said.

“Work
and
money,” she added with a rueful smile.

“I’ve got some extra wood lying around my backyard. I’d be happy to donate it to the cause and build that reception desk you mentioned.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no! I wasn’t hinting for you to do that. I don’t have the money to pay you. Not right now. But Cheyenne told me you’re a good contractor. I’ll keep you in mind if things go well for me.”

He studied her. “Why not work out a trade?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Construction for yoga lessons?”

“No.” His grin slanted to one side. “Construction for
massage
.”

How had she guessed? “You don’t even know if I’m any good.”

“I’m willing to take that on faith.”

She might’ve thought nothing of his willingness to do so much work in the hope that he might like her massages, but she wasn’t used to that kind of generosity. She felt certain
something
had to be behind this, something other than what he’d stated. And because of the exchange she’d overheard at the bookstore, she suspected she knew what it was. Cheyenne’s friends—hopefully Aaron, too—weren’t aware of what she’d done when she took off two years ago. But it wasn’t a secret that she’d never been particularly circumspect. At times she wondered just where she’d be if she hadn’t had her sister to counteract her mother’s example. At least now, without the drugs, she could see herself as she wanted to be, as she
could
be, and thought she might eventually get there—if she stayed the course.

“I doubt you’d be interested in the type of massage I’m offering,” she told him.

He seemed taken aback by the flatness of her voice. “Because...”

She gave him a look that said he could stop pretending. “It’s just a massage, Riley. Nothing to get too excited about.”

His eyes widened. “I wasn’t expecting... I mean, I didn’t think you were offering anything more.”

Maybe that was true. Maybe it was her own insecurities that made it difficult to trust even a guy like Riley. But, to be safe, she figured she’d be better off carrying her own burdens. “I’d rather do the work myself. But thanks.”

“O-kay,” he said, drawing out the word.

When she didn’t soften her refusal or make conversation, he started for the door. “I’ll get out of your way, then.”

She couldn’t help going after him. “Wait, I’m sorry if I assumed the wrong thing. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have too many sharp angles for someone like you, so there’s no point in becoming friends.”

He lowered his voice as if to add gravity to his words. “Who says you have too many sharp angles for someone like me?”

“I do.”

“You barely know me!”

“And yet I know I’m not what you want. I could never be what you want. If...if that’s what you were considering.”

“I hadn’t decided. But...why
couldn’t
you be what I want?”

Because she’d made too many mistakes. Was too jaded. Too suspicious and distrustful and defensive. She had a sordid past, an unfortunate upbringing, too much experience. He deserved a girl who’d once been prom queen, not a one-time addict. “I might be Chey’s sister but I’m nothing like her.”

“The panther tattoo on your arm gave that away at first glance,” he said wryly.

“So...why are you here? Because you’re tempted to take a walk on the wild side? If so, you need to understand that nothing comes cheap or easy with me anymore. If you heard otherwise, it would’ve been true...in the past. But I have a kid now.”

“People change. And I have a kid, too. That’s partly why I’m interested in getting to know you. I understand what it’s like to be a single parent. Or have you forgotten?”

The silence stretched out as they stared at each other.

“I’ll build your reception desk tomorrow,” he said. “After I get some sleep. And you don’t have to pay me anything.”

She grabbed the door as it swung back. “Why would you do that?” she called after him. “What’s in it for you?”

“It’s called friendship, Presley. Maybe it’s time you became acquainted with it,” he said, and got into his truck.

* * *

Presley was up all night, plastering over the cracks and holes in the walls. Although intent on finishing before Wyatt woke up, she wasn’t quite that lucky. The baby monitor alerted her when he began to stir. It was early—not yet six—and she had another hour of repairs. So she took him out of the stroller, changed him and put him in the playpen she’d set up in one corner several days ago. But less than thirty minutes later, he was tired of his toys and getting hungry. She was just lifting him into her arms when Riley showed up, carrying a sawhorse.

“Cute kid,” he said as he let himself in.

Somehow, in her hurry to get started last night, she’d forgotten to lock the door after he left. It was fortunate that she lived in Whiskey Creek these days and not the dumpy neighborhood she’d had to brave in Fresno, or that could have been a much bigger deal. Here, a lot of people didn’t lock their doors at night—which was probably why Riley didn’t comment on the fact that he could stroll right in.

“Thanks.” She watched the muscles ripple under his T-shirt as he put down the sawhorse. He was good-looking, and he had a nice build. Maybe he wasn’t as breathtaking as Aaron. Few men were. But neither was he as troubled.

“No problem.” Dusting off his hands, he examined her work. “You’ve made some great progress.”

Presley couldn’t believe he’d really come back, especially so early. “What are you doing here?”

“You know what I’m doing here. I told you last night that I’d be building your reception area this morning.”

She shifted Wyatt to her other hip. “You’re either a really nice guy—or a glutton for punishment.”

“Are you asking me? Because if you are, I’m a really nice guy.”

Wyatt, interested in this newcomer, had stopped crying. She wiped the tears from his face as she said, “You’re still going to be disappointed when I won’t sleep with you.”

She refused to feel obligated, not when she’d warned him. She wouldn’t let anyone pressure her into making choices that were detrimental to her, no matter how grateful she felt for his friendship. That was the old Presley.

He put a hand to his chest as if she’d wounded him. She expected him to accuse her of being too brash. Cheyenne would never have blurted out something like that. But she’d been frank on purpose, to highlight the truth: she wasn’t his type.

Surprisingly, his response wasn’t what she’d predicted. “Who said you won’t sleep with me?”

She gaped at him. “I told you—”

“That you won’t trade sex for money. If I get a massage, I get only a massage.”

“That’s true.”

He nodded. “Then we’re fine. Because when we have sex, I don’t plan on paying you.”

He’d said that with a straight face, but she could see a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “
When
we have sex?”

“I’m not saying it’ll happen, so don’t get mad. I’m just not ruling it out. In other words, if we ever reach that point, I’m open to getting physical. In case you were wondering.”

She didn’t know how to respond. She’d accepted long ago that she’d never be able to attract the kind of solid citizens her sister did. So why was popular, handsome, someone-who-should-know-better Riley Stinson even giving her the time of day?

He chuckled at her stunned silence. “Don’t tell me you’re that easily embarrassed.
You
started it.”

She’d been trying to scare him off; she hadn’t expected him to say something equally shocking. “But...you’re my little sister’s friend.”

“What difference does that make?”

“I’m older than you are.”

“There’s two years between us. Two years hardly makes you a cougar.”

She jiggled Wyatt, who was getting fussy again. “It’s not just the age difference I’m worried about. It’s the other differences.”

“And those are...”

“Vast.”

He tilted his head as he peered into her face. “Isn’t that the case with most guys you meet? Not many people have been raised the way you were.”

“And Cheyenne turned out all right. That’s what you must be thinking. But you have to understand that Cheyenne is special. She could’ve been raised in
any
circumstances and survived them.” Somehow her sister had navigated their crazy childhood without ever screwing up. She’d left all the bad stuff to Presley, who’d tried everything once—and the most damaging things a lot more often than that. “She never made the mistakes I did.”

“Which makes you...what? A bad person?”

“Some people might see it that way.”
His
crowd typically did.

“Well, I appreciate the warning. But Chey says you’ve gotten your life under control.” He searched her face. “Is that true?”

Wyatt was struggling to get down, but she couldn’t let him because of all the tools and nails and wet plaster. “It is. I haven’t done anything wrong in two years.”