Cheyenne (The Women of Merryton Book 4) Read online

  “Or just focus on you. We can do without boys and men.”

  A giggle escaped her. “You seem to like a lot of them.”

  I stood up. “I used to. The earlier you learn not to wrap yourself up in a man, the better.”

  She sighed and shuddered. “Maybe you’re right. School is only going to get harder, and I really want to get into UAB when the time comes.”

  “Go for it. Stand on your own. Never look back. If Spencer can’t see what he had in you, he isn’t worth it. Men aren’t worth it.” She could take that advice to the bank.

  Chapter Four

  I iced my leg in the privacy of my townhome on my zebra-striped couch. I loved it along with my pink end table and coffee table. I was determined to run again in the morning. I wasn’t giving up chocolate or high-heeled shoes.

  I had swung by Jessie Belle’s Café and grabbed a salad on my way home. Another reason I could never procreate—I couldn’t cook, not even to save my own life. I could burn frozen lasagna. That took talent, and I oozed it.

  I inhaled my salad; all I’d had for lunch was some yogurt. The salon had been hopping today and my leg and stomach were paying the price. That was one thing I missed about dating. Free food delivered day and night by attractive men. I sighed and turned on The Walking Dead. It fit my mood. And I needed a man fix. Andrew Lincoln, who portrayed the main character, did it for me. Those blue eyes of his were killer. Not as killer as the gray-green eyes of someone who shall go unnamed, but dang. I was melting along with the ice on my leg.

  When my leg felt properly numb, my phone rang. I figured it was Abby or Jessie checking on me. They did that a lot lately. From them I didn’t mind the mother hen routine. After all, they were the ones with me when I had fallen apart on this very couch. When it hit me in my core that my life had almost ended. It was sobering. Jessie and Abby saw me through it. And each time it rained for the weeks after, they were there when I felt paralyzed. Sometimes they had to drive me to work. Thankfully the summer had been warm and mostly dry. And they didn’t blab to anyone or judge me. On occasion they begged for me to seek counseling, but what good would it do? No one could make the rain go away, and the memory of driving off that cliff was seared into my mind forever. Like everything else in my life, I would learn to deal with it and move on.

  But it wasn’t either one of my best friends calling. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was local so I answered it. “Speak.”

  “Hello,” a cheery voice responded. “This is Nathan Bates.”

  Did another Bates move to town? And why were they calling me? “Nathan?”

  He chuckled. “You might know me as Pastor Bates.”

  “Oh.” Why was he calling me? I made it as clear as possible I wanted nothing to do with church. The churchiest thing I had done in the last twenty years was show up at one of their trunk-or-treats, and that was poke-my-eyes-out boring. The free candy didn’t even compensate.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m calling and how I got your number.”

  “Yep.” I was about ready to end the call. I didn’t need any preacher trying to save my soul. I was sure if God did exist, I had broken most of the rules everyone professed he wrote, so I wasn’t counting on passing through any pearly gates. Besides I liked it warm, so I figured I wouldn’t mind hell so much, and I bet the company there was much more fun.

  “I asked Dr. and Mrs. Cole for your number. You see, I’d like schedule an appointment for my wife.”

  “Oh. Well, if you call the salon tomorrow, we can get her on the schedule.”

  He cleared his throat. “I was kind of hoping you could come to our home. Kristen, you may have heard, has been sick.”

  I had heard that. Everyone had. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer, but the word on the grapevine was that they caught it at an early stage. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I never knew what to say in these situations. And I wasn’t the most compassionate person.

  “I appreciate that. After her radiation and surgery, her immune system isn’t what it used to be and she hasn’t been feeling all that great, so I wanted to do something to cheer her up. And since she really shouldn’t be out in public yet, I’d like you to come here and, you know, do her hair and nails.”

  I paused, not sure.

  “All the ladies at church rave that you’re the best.”

  He was good at laying it on thick. “I suppose I could, but it would have to be after hours. Or on Sunday or Monday when the salon is closed.”

  “Could you come over Monday? It would really mean the world to her and me.”

  “Sure, why not?” Other than I didn’t want to be anywhere near a pastor.

  “Great. How does ten work?”

  “I’ll be there. Just give me your address.” I didn’t usually make house calls, but hey, I wasn’t completely heartless.

  I hung up the phone and went back to The Walking Dead, but now all I could think about was the Bates family, especially the younger brother. Why did everyone think there was something other than hate between us? And why wouldn’t he talk to me? And what was I going to wear when I went to the pastor’s house? That was a real question. I needed to make a statement. That statement was, don’t ever expect me at church. And yes, most of the rumors about me were true, so don’t waste your breath trying to save me or whatever it is you think you’re doing. Even if I was giving up men, I was still planning on having lots of impure thoughts.

  I had all weekend to think about it between nursing my leg, which I ran on again, and at dinner at Jessie’s house Saturday night with Abby’s family. They both were going overboard on the praise for what I was doing for Kristen Bates. It wasn’t a big deal. But apparently, everyone at their church was worried about her and had been praying for her. It was a haircut and a mani-pedi, nothing life changing.

  Monday, I made sure to wear my shortest shorts and an off-the-shoulder shirt. It was summertime and hot. And it was my day off. I swung by the salon to grab my shears and a mani-pedi kit. I didn’t know what color nail polish she might like so I grabbed a variety of shades, nothing too flashy though. I didn’t have much interaction with Kristen Bates, but when I had, she was always dressed conservatively. Cardigans and elastic waistband kind of pants. She was the picture of propriety. Unlike me. I looked in one of the salon’s mirrors at my flowing, long blond hair tossed to the side in curls today, and my outfit. Even my blue eyes spelled trouble. Let’s not forget the white sunflower tattoo on my back, prominently showcased today. I dispensed with the heels only because my leg hurt like a mother.

  I headed my rebel self over to the pastor’s home near the church. The modest home screamed that no one like me belonged there. I felt like I was walking up to Ward and June Cleaver’s house. Pansies lined the paved walkway and their door showcased a large fake flower wreath that Kristen probably made with the women’s group from church. I had made Abby and Jessie swear never to fall that deep. If I ever started seeing fake flowers on their doors, I was having an intervention.

  I knocked on the tacky door with my supplies. It didn’t take long before I was greeted by a smiling Nathan Bates. I couldn’t believe he was related to his brother. Aidan obviously lucked out when the genes were doled out in that family. The pastor wasn’t ugly; he was just kind of eh, like he blended into the wall. He had graying brown hair that needed to be cut, but I wasn’t going to mention it. And there was no style to him. Aidan came off as classically hip. The pastor, here, looked like he was happy with his beer belly, even though he probably didn’t drink beer. And his pants could have used an iron.

  Nathan Bates smiled warmly. He didn’t flinch at my outfit, which bothered me. I wanted a gasp or a grimace. His brother did them so well I assumed it was a family trait, but no, he didn’t act like anything was amiss. Or maybe he was a good actor. I was going with that. “Cheyenne, this is so good of you. Come on in.” He was too happy for my taste. But I was sort of impressed considering the circumstances.

  I stepped into the Cle
aver’s home. Yep, it was like I imagined, right down to the doilies under the lamps. I didn’t even know people still lived like this. They had floral patterned furniture too, and trinkets everywhere. I felt like I was in a dollhouse.

  Kristen was curled up in a comfy chair. She sat up when I entered the living room. Her smile spoke of having to fake it. Her eyes said she was exhausted. “I’m sorry to be such trouble.”

  I felt for her. “No trouble at all.”

  She ran her hands through her messy hair. Normally she had it done in tight curls that did nothing for her other than show her age. That was going to change today. She had the potential to be pretty, and I could unlock that. We were starting with a haircut that belonged in this decade. Her gray hair was a great shade and fit her, so it could stay. “We could move to the kitchen,” she offered.

  That would have been easier for me, but I didn’t think that would have been very comfortable for her. And I had gotten used to doing hair in some not-so-easy positions when my leg was in a cast. I’d had stools in varying heights brought in so I could sit and do hair. “Do you have some plastic trash bags or a sheet we can use to cover the chair? We can do this right where you are.” They had wood floors, so I wasn’t too worried about cleaning up the hair.

  Pastor Bates clapped his hands. “Excellent. I’ll go get some.”

  I approached Kristen not sure what to say, so I decided I would treat her like a regular client. I knew that’s how I would have wanted to be treated. It’s how I wished people would have treated me after my accident and when I wore my cast. “Hair or nails first?”

  I saw the relief in her eyes that she didn’t have to talk about her illness one more time. It was apparent she’d had a mastectomy by the way she moved, and her whole body looked tired. “Hair.”

  “I can do that. Are you willing to try something new?” I asked even though I already knew what I was going to do. But it was always more fun when they agreed from the start.

  She contemplated for a moment. “You know? Yes. I’m at your disposal.”

  I loved her. Those were my favorite words from a client.

  I helped Nathan get the chair covered before I worked my magic on her hair. Her hair was too thin for its length. I had been to a show in Denver where they showcased hairstyles for older women. They had done this one asymmetrical wedge I’d been dying to try out on someone, and she had the perfect high cheekbone structure for it. It was happening.

  The hair started falling and worry filled her features.

  “This is going to be fantastic,” I reassured her.

  She picked up a large clump of hair that fell on the cape in front of her. She wasn’t buying it.

  “Trust me.” My shears worked their magic.

  “It was really nice of you to come here on your day off.”

  I snipped more hair. “It’s not a big deal.” I didn’t lie and say I was happy to do it. That wasn’t me. I would have rather been hanging out with my friends or shopping in Denver.

  “It is to me, so thank you.”

  I shrugged off the thanks. “Don’t thank me until you see your hair.”

  “I’m sure it will be great.” She wasn’t convincing me.

  I wasn’t going to let her see it until I could blow it out and style it. Her husband had hooked me up with some extension cords so I could use my power tools, as I thought of them.

  Her eyes were anxious as my brush and hair-dryer did their thing. I couldn’t help but smile at her. I had seen the look many times, but it made it all the better when I handed her the mirror when I was done.

  She took my large, hand-held mirror. Her eyes widened at first as she touched her hair. She looked as if she was trying to come to terms with it. It took a few seconds, but the acceptance came. And then the tears. I wasn’t expecting those.

  “You hate it?”

  She lowered the mirror. “Oh, no. I love it; it’s so different and trendy. So not me.”

  “It could be. Let me do your makeup.” I wasn’t giving her a choice. She needed a makeover and to say goodbye to June Cleaver.

  “I don’t know. I don’t usually wear makeup.”

  I swallowed my first words, which would have been to tell her what a mistake that was. “New hair requires a makeover.”

  Her tired eyes brightened. “All right.” I had never heard anyone sound so timid about makeup.

  “It will be painless, I promise.”

  “Sorry. I’m not a woman of the world.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was it some sort of church talk? “Well, okay.” I turned to get my bag. I always had makeover essentials handy. It was my gift to society. I was ready to help those in need of a makeover at any moment.

  “All I ever put on is moisturizer.” She looked warily at the foundation I was going to use on her.

  “That’s something.” I wasn’t going to back down. “Close your eyes.”

  She obeyed, but with trepidation. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” I applied the foundation with a makeup sponge.

  She blushed. “You know I had a double mastectomy.” She sounded embarrassed by it. She opened her eyes.

  I nodded.

  She looked at my chest. I almost felt guilty.

  “I was wondering.” She stared at my chest some more in fascination.

  I’m not going to lie, my girls had it going on, even at almost forty. I had kept those babies perky. They were worthy of the stare.

  “What cup size are you?”

  I laughed. “Are you thinking of going this size?” I was impressed, but I wasn’t sure she or her husband could handle it. But, hey, maybe they needed a little excitement in their lives.

  She closed her eyes. “Oh . . . I don’t know. The plastic surgeon told me I could choose.”

  “I’m a size D.”

  “I was a B,” she stammered. I don’t think she was used to discussing her breasts. She must not have had friends like Jessie and Abby. We’ve been talking about them since we all got our first training bras.

  “You only live once. I say go for it.”

  She smiled with her eyes still closed.

  I was curious to see what her final decision would be. I took my time giving her a natural look, using earth tones, except for the light pink lipstick. It took ten years off her face. This time when I handed her the mirror, she smiled right away.

  “I’ll leave these samples with you. I sell this line of cosmetics at my salon. I’ll give you a discount if you want to purchase anything.” It was a pricey line, but so worth it.

  She set down the mirror. “Thank you. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

  “We still have your nails to do.” I let her choose a color.

  She went with a bland taupe. Not surprising.

  I was finding I didn’t mind the visit as much as I thought I would. She wasn’t a complete June Cleaver, but it all went downhill when he showed up. Merryton was not big enough for the both of us, apparently. Didn’t he have a job? He drove a Land Cruiser, so he had to have some kind of money—those things ran over 80k. I had just applied cuticle cream to Kristen’s dry nail beds when he knocked and entered. I guess they had an open-door policy since he came right in.

  “Hello?” He sounded happy. I had never heard him sound that way. He was usually brooding in the corner somewhere. Even when he played baseball he rarely showed any enthusiasm, which we all found odd considering how good he was at it. Maybe he had lightened up this past season that I had skipped. Men in baseball pants, or any kind of athletic pants . . . okay, let’s just say any men that looked good in pants were my weakness. I was hoping the more I stayed away from him and men the easier it would get. No such luck yet.

  The happy didn’t last long. A few steps into the house allowed him to see right into the living room where Kristen and I were.

  Kristen perked up at the sight of him. “Aidan, what a nice surprise.”

  My back was to him and I was planning on keeping it that
way, but it wasn’t meant to be.

  “Did you come here to see Cheyenne?” Kristen asked.

  What? Why would she think that? I turned and looked between the two.

  Kristen gave me a full-on smile.

  Aidan was stretching his neck. “I didn’t realize she was here. I can come back another time.”

  Pastor Bates entered the awkward scene. “Good, you’re here.”

  “I’ll come back.” Aidan was already turning to leave. I had that effect on him.

  “Nonsense.” Pastor Bates grabbed Aidan’s shoulder. He smiled at me and his wife. “Aidan, here, is helping me with some fundraising efforts.” The pastor then did a double take. “Wowzer. Is that my wife?”

  Kristen nervously touched her hair. “Do you like it?”

  Her husband’s smile answered for him. Maybe they were a fuddy-duddy kind of couple, but you could tell they loved each other. “You look nineteen again. I love it.”

  She blushed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Nathan.” She sounded just like June.

  “What the women at church say about you is true.” Pastor Bates directed his comment toward me. “You do good hair.”

  I bet that wasn’t the only thing the church ladies said about me. I knew I garnered my fair share of gossip. It didn’t bother me. I kind of enjoyed it. The added bonus was no one bothered me about coming to church. It was a win-win. “I know.” I wasn’t one for false modesty.

  Kristen and Nathan chuckled. Aidan’s mouth twitched to my surprise and I think his. He shook his head like he was making sure not to react positively to me.

  Nathan patted his brother’s back. “We’ll leave you two ladies alone.”

  “Oh, but Cheyenne and Aidan didn’t have any time to talk.”

  I’m thinking the radiation addled Kristen’s brain.

  “We don’t talk,” I stated with boldness.

  Kristen’s brows furrowed. “But, Aidan—”