Pride (In Wilde Country Book 1) (24 page)

“You were a child,” the shrink had said gently. “Twelve years, then thirteen years old. You were a little girl, helpless, terrified, alone. You were not responsible for what happened to you. And you were brave. You went from being a victim to taking charge of your life. That’s a wonderful accomplishment.”

She told that to herself. She tried to believe it. But it didn’t work.

Why had it taken what had happened to Baby to make her stand up for herself?

The shrink said that Baby had been the catalyst that forced her to face what was being done to her. Until then, she said, Cheyenne had protected herself from the ugly reality of her life by shutting down.

“When your mother got drunk or stoned and handed you off to a man,” the shrink said, “you took refuge within yourself by pretending nothing was happening—but you couldn’t do that when it came to the horse. You’d stopped permitting yourself to feel anything, but Baby was different. You felt his pain, and you loved him enough to fight back.”

It was, the shrink said, why she treated sex the way she did. Being in total control with men kept her from feeling anything. It gave her a sense of power that drove away childhood memories.

“Will it ever be different?” Cheyenne had asked during one of their last sessions.

The shrink had done an un-shrinklike thing. She’d reached over and squeezed Cheyenne’s hand.

“It will be,” she’d said, “if you keep working through these things. If you let yourself begin to feel. You’ll finally acknowledge that you were a brave child who grew into a courageous woman and when you do, you’ll find a wonderful man who will love you for who you are and not just for who you permit the world to see.”

One night, she was sitting in a corner of Luca’s long white couch, reading a magazine. He was reading, too, lying stretched out with his head in her lap. And without any warning, she looked down at her lover’s face and faced the truth.

She was in love with him.

She loved everything about him, from their wildest, most passionate lovemaking to—she smiled to herself—to the plain vanilla kind.

She loved lying in his arms without having sex at all.

The other night, as always, he’d drawn her to him in bed and started to caress her.

She’d stopped him.

“I just got my period,” she’d said softly.

“I want you anyway,” he’d murmured. “Don’t you know that,
cara
?”

She’d blushed.

Silly, but she had. And she’d told him that she loved what he’d said, but the thing was that when she had her period, she got crampy and headachy, and for the first day, anyway, she mostly felt rotten.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he’d said. “I’m so sorry.”

Did she want some tea? Aspirin? A heating pad? Did she want him to rub her back? Was there nothing he could do? He’d treated her as if she were made of glass and he’d held her close through the night, no sex, nothing but care and concern and—and—

Love.

Wasn’t that what he’d shown her? That he loved her…

A cellphone rang. His. He sat up, dropped a light kiss on her hair and reached for the phone.

“Who?” she heard him say. He frowned, got to his feet and began pacing as he spoke. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, it is kind of you to—No. I agree. There is no real reason not to—Still, the situation is…” He paused. She could see him take a deep breath. “You’re right. It is time. I shall be there.” He looked at Cheyenne. “
We
shall be there.
Si
. Yes. Cheyenne McKenna. Yes. Cheyenne. She and I are—we are—we are together.
Va bene.
We’ll see you then.”

The call ended. Cheyenne stared at Luca. She waited. And waited. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“That was Jacob. Jacob Wilde.”

She nodded.

“There is going to be a party at El Sueño. A Labor Day celebration.”

She nodded again. This was serious. There was that telltale sudden appearance of his accent.

“He says it is a Wilde tradition. A family tradition. And he says that since the Bellinis are family, you know, since we are Wildes, too…”

“I’m glad you’re going,” she said, meaning every word. “But I heard what you said about taking me with you. Thank you for that, but I don’t belong there. I mean, this is a family thing.”

He crossed the room in half a dozen long strides, gently clasped her shoulders and lifted her to her feet.

“I could tell you that I want us to go because it’s a chance for me to take another look at Sweetwater Ranch and get started on planning renovations.”

“Oh, that’s lovely! I didn’t think that you’d—”

“I could tell you that it would be fun to get away together for a few days.” His kiss was as tender as it was hard and deep. “Or I could simply tell you the truth. You belong wherever I am. I love you, Cheyenne. I love you with all my heart.”

“Luca.” She felt her eyes fill with tears. “Luca—”

“And you love me.”

She gave a watery laugh at that bit of arrogance, that Luca Bellini arrogance that she’d come to adore.

“Tell me,” he demanded, as he had so many times before. “Say the words I need to hear.”

What he needed to hear was the ugly truth of her past, but right then, the only truth that mattered was the one blazing in her heart.

“I love you,” she said. “I love you, love you, love you…”

He gathered her into his arms and took her to his bed, to their bed, and they made love with such passion and tenderness that, at the end, she wept.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“
…And then,” Alessandra
gasped, amidst peals of laughter from everyone gathered around the fire-pit in the back yard at El Sueño, “and then, Bianca and I looked at each other and we pointed at Luca and Matteo and we said, ‘They did it!’ And our mother grabbed each of them by an ear, marched them into the house and sent them to bed without any supper.”

“Which was fine with us,” Luca said, grinning, “because supper that night was
maccheroni al formaggio
and even when you say it in Italian, macaroni and cheese is still macaroni and cheese.”

“And we hated macaroni and cheese,” Matteo said. “I still do.”

More laughter.

Lissa wiped her eyes. “How come we never thought of laying the blame on our brothers?”

Jaimie and Emily exchanged mischievous smiles.

“Speak for yourself,” Jaimie said. All the Wildes and Bellinis looked at her. “One time, you guys had been home from school, winter break or something, and I had just gotten my driver’s license and I wasn’t supposed to take a car out without permission, but Em and I were supposed to meet a couple of guys at Angie’s Café and so we, uh, we ‘borrowed’ that black pickup we used to have, remember? Things would have been fine except we forgot to refill the gas tank, and—”

“And,” Emily said, “Father flew in the next day and he took the pickup out to check on a couple of oil wells—”

“And he ran out of gas.” Jaimie giggled. “He had to walk back to the house and he was furious. ‘ Who drove that truck and didn’t top off the tank?’ he said, and we both knew he’d ground us if we told him the truth, so—”

“So,” Emily said blithely, “we said one of you guys must have done it.”

“Never could trust ‘em for a minute,” Travis said, looking at Luca and Matteo and grinning.

“How come I wasn’t going to Angie’s with you?” Lissa said.

Emily rolled her eyes. “That was the winter you were too busy drooling over Donny Hayes, remember?”

“His name was Donny Hayden,” Lissa said with mock indignation. “And I did not drool.” She batted her lashes. “Well, okay. Maybe a little.”

Lissa’s husband wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side. “Aha,” he said. “A secret past.”

She smiled at him, and all the love in the world was in that smile.

“Jealous?” she asked sweetly.

Nick kissed her. “No,” he said, and kissed her again, “because you’re not Donny Hayden’s, you’re mine.”

Everybody sighed.

“What a scene,” Caleb said. “Probably straight out of Nick’s next movie.”

“Well,” Nick said, “now that you mention it…”

They all laughed.

Cheyenne sat in the curve of Luca’s arm, warmed by the fire, by the wonder of seeing people who had been enemies coming together as a family, but warmed most by the joy of being with the man she loved.

They’d flown in yesterday and rented a car for the drive to the ranch.

She’d been on edge. On edge? Terrified, was more like it. She was about to meet her lover’s brother and sisters, his half-brothers and half-sisters, their spouses, their kids…

She was about to meet all the people who mattered to him and yes, she’d met them before, but that only made it worse because that first meeting, right here at El Sueño, had certainly not gone well.

“Nervous?” Luca had asked, when they pulled up at the house.

“No,” she’d replied, but her teeth had chattered.

He hadn’t laughed, hadn’t teased her. He’d simply leaned across the console and kissed her.

“I love you,” he’d said. “And so will everyone else.”

The first few minutes had been a little sticky. They’d been the last to arrive. Same as the last time, the Wildes and Bellinis had all been gathered at the big table in the dining room; they’d been eating lunch and talking non-stop, but they fell silent when she and Luca entered the room.

All those upturned faces. The polite smiles. The questioning eyes. Given the chance, Cheyenne would probably have turned and run, but Luca hadn’t let that happen.

He’d put his arm around her shoulders and drawn her close.

“Everybody,” he’d said, “this is Cheyenne.” A pause. “Just in case you don’t remember meeting her before.”

He’d said it lightly. A few people smiled.

“She owns Sweetwater Ranch.” She stiffened, and he drew her even closer. “Which is about to become a place where kids with problems learn to trust the world, thanks to Cheyenne and an organization called
Horse Sense
.”

That drew more smiles, looks of interest and a couple of knowing nods.

“But the most important thing you should know about her,” he’d said, “is that I love her.” A gasp. Stares. “And she loves me,” he’d added, and that had done it.

Everybody had started talking at once, Matteo had high-fived Luca, Lissa had told them all to shove over, Emily had taken plates and silverware and napkins from the sideboard and just that easily, Cheyenne had been made a part of the group.

And, she thought now, as she watched the flames of the fire shooting into the night sky, it was one heck of a group.

An actor. A chef. A psychologist. A CFO. A VP. A couple of lawyers. A university professor. A financial guru. A guy who ran a half a million acre ranch as well as one of his own. Another guy who owned a high-level security company. Two men who designed and built structures known around the world.

It would have been easy to be impressed, maybe even intimidated, but they were all really nice people. They’d made her feel as if she belonged here, asking her about the places she’d been, the ads she’d done, the world in which she moved.

Amazing.

Only a couple of months ago, questions about her life had seemed intrusive. Luca’s love had changed that. He’d shown her that the world could be a welcoming place instead of a judgmental one.

As for his big family… She liked them all, but she felt especially comfortable with his sisters, maybe because they so obviously adored him.

“Whoops,” Lissa said. “We’re out of cookies.”

Bianca said that she would go into the house and get more. Alessandra offered to go with her.

“Me, too,” Cheyenne said, and rose to her feet.

“Come back here, woman,” Luca said with a fake growl.

She leaned down and kissed him.

“Two minutes,” she said. “I promise.”

“Two minutes,” he said, smiling at her. “And then I’m going to come after you.”

She laughed. His sisters did, too, looping their arms through hers as the three of them walked across the grass, through the back door and into the kitchen.

“You’ve moved the mountain,” Bianca said, as the door closed behind them.

“You have, indeed. You’ve given us back the Luca we used to know.”

Cheyenne smiled as she transferred chocolate chip cookies from a big platter to a wicker basket.

“He’s a wonderful man.”

“He is. He always was.” Alessandra licked a drop of chocolate from her finger. “But to see him so happy…”

“We all took the news about our father hard. You know about that,
si
?”

“Yes. Luca told me.”

“Well,” Bianca said, “we all suspected our father had a dark secret. Even as children, we knew something was not right. And when we learned the truth…”

“We were all hurt and angry,” Alessandra said, “but Luca was filled with rage.” She smiled. “Now, that rage is gone. He is different. What I mean is, it is a long time since we saw our brother so—so—”

“Relaxed,” Bianca said.

Alessandra nodded. “And so trusting.”

Cheyenne felt her smile tilt.

“Really? The Luca I know has always been trusting.”

“Well, that’s the point. The Luca you know is the Luca who loves you. You have changed him.”

“He’s changed me,” Cheyenne said, a little too quickly. “I mean—I mean I had some trust issues myself. Everyone does.”

“Not like our Luca,” Alessandra said softly. “I think he may have been the one our father hurt the most. Bianca and I grew weary of his endless promises to spend holidays with us early on. So did Matteo. But Luca…there is a part of Luca that tried very, very hard to believe that though our father was not perfect he was, at heart, a good man.”

“We can remember being very young,” Bianca said, “five and six, perhaps, and already suspecting that there was no point in thinking that our father would come home for Christmas, as he always promised, or for our birthdays. Matteo and Luca were older. Ten. Maybe eleven. And Matteo knew, as we did, that our father was given to making promises he wouldn’t keep. Luca would say he knew it, too, but—”

“But,” said Alessandra, “he was the one who sat up until midnight Christmas Eve, waiting for the sound of our father’s car, the one who would not open his birthday presents because he was sure our father was going to come through the door at any minute. Luca clung to the hope that our father would not disappoint him longer than the rest of us did.”

Bianca nodded. “And he paid the price. You know, growing up with a father we couldn’t trust and with parents whose marriage must have been an endless series of deceits affected us all. As most children do, we learned to sublimate our feelings.”

Alessandra groaned. “
Dio
, must you speak psychobabble?”

“It isn’t psychobabble, it’s the truth.” Bianca looked at Cheyenne. “Alessandra and I learned how important it is for women to be strong and independent. Marco convinced himself he would never marry. Well, the lesson my sister and I learned is actually a good one. As for Matteo—Matteo may yet meet a woman who will change his mind.”

“And the moon may turn out to be made of green cheese,” Alessandra muttered.

Bianca made a face. “The point is,” she said, reaching for Cheyenne’s hand, “it was Luca who concerned us the most. We feared he would have a sad life, that he would never learn to trust anyone, to believe in someone enough to permit himself to love her.”

“And then you came along,” Alessandra said softly, “and now our brother is whole.”

* * *

Cheyenne couldn’t go back outside to that happy, laughing bunch of people and pretend to be part of them.

Not yet.

“You two go on,” she told Luca’s sisters. “I’m going to make myself a cup of tea.”

She didn’t drink tea unless she was sick, but nobody knew that.

“We’ll stay with you,” Bianca said, but Cheyenne said, no, they couldn’t do that.

“Everyone’s waiting for those cookies. If they don’t get them soon, they’re liable to storm the kitchen.”

They laughed. Bianca hugged her; Alessandra kissed her cheek. Finally, the door shut after them.

And Cheyenne let the phony smile drop from her face.

Now what?

Get herself under control, that was what. Grab that much-vaunted control that had carried her through life, and hang onto it.

Pin a smile on her face. Go back to the fire-pit. Laugh and joke, and sit with Luca’s arm around her.

Luca, who loved her and trusted her.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

She wrapped her arms around herself, paced out of the kitchen, through the big dining room, then down the hall.

He trusted her.

And she had repaid that trust by lying to him, by withholding the truth that would surely have driven him away, because she was not a woman that a good, decent, kind man like Luca Bellini would want in his life.

What man would ever want a woman like her?

The story she’d told him about what the day Baby died… It had only been part of the truth. Yes, Mama had beaten her black and blue, and she had finally hit her back, and the next day, the school had called the authorities.

But there was more, much more to it than that.

The day Baby died was the day she had finally refused to let Mama ‘give’ her to a man.

The nightmare had started months earlier, with touching. Mama had boyfriends who’d liked having fun. That was what Mama called it. Having fun.

“They just want to have a little fun, sweetie,” she’d say. “Come on. Let Tommy touch those little titties. He won’t hurt you.”

Tommy. Or Jerry. Or Billy. What did it matter?

And when she’d sobbed and begged and said
No, no, please Mama, I don’t like this,
Mama would turn cold and mean.

Children were supposed to obey their mamas, she’d say, and to help with chores. ‘Having fun’ was Cheyenne’s chore, and it was time she got used to it.

On her thirteenth birthday, ‘having fun’ escalated into something even worse.

Far worse.

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” Mama said, her eyes big, black holes from whatever she’d been shooting or snorting. “Today you’re gonna be a big girl. A real big girl.”

Mama had led her into the back room of their trailer. A fat man who stank of whiskey and sweat had been waiting, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed with his pants around his ankles.