Brendon (22 page)

“I’d beat you down if that weren’t the case, so, yeah.”

Braydon smiled and then moved to his twin. He embraced him, slapped him on the back a few times, but was reluctant to let him go. This was his other half, literally. He honestly wouldn’t know what he’d do without him.

But he damn sure wasn’t going to stand in the way of Brendon’s happiness. If heading off into the sunset with Cheyenne was what was meant to be, Braydon would support his twin. And he’d figure out a way to deal. Lucky for him, he had Jessie—the best woman in the world, the only woman who knew him inside and out. There was no doubt in his mind that she would help him through this.

It was just a damn good thing she was strong enough because Braydon had the feeling there were a few more rock slides that would threaten the smooth path he’d hoped for. But with her, at least he could handle them.

chapter
TWENTY-SEVEN

T
he next morning, as Cheyenne stirred, her brain slowly coming online, she realized several things at once. One, the hard body next to hers had kept her warm and safe all night long. Two, somewhere in the room, Brendon’s cell phone was ringing. Three, Scrap was barking from somewhere on the other side of the bedroom door. And last, but certainly not least, someone was pounding on the front door.

When the last thing registered in her sleep-addled brain, Cheyenne bolted upright in bed, glancing over at the clock while she pulled the blanket to her chest, covering her nakedness as she tried to get her bearings.

Brendon reached for his cell phone, leaning up on one elbow, his sexy, muscular back flexing with the movement as he squinted his eyes to look at the screen. “Shit.”

“Who is it?” she asked, keeping her voice low. She didn’t know why she was whispering, it wasn’t like whoever was at the door could hear her.

Brendon held up a finger as he punched the Talk button. “Yeah?”

She couldn’t hear who was on the other end of the line, but she knew there was a problem when Brendon’s eyes darted to hers, worry creasing his forehead.

“Got it.” He hit the End button and flopped back on the bed, covering his eyes with one arm. “Your parents are at the front door.”

Cheyenne tried to jump out of the bed, would have if she didn’t get hung up in the blanket, ending up on her ass on the floor with a painfully hard thud.

Brendon’s head appeared above her, an amused gleam in his eyes. “Excited to see ’em, are ya?”

She frowned, then forced herself to her feet. Pacing the floor briefly, gathering the blanket tightly in her fist, she tried to figure out what she would say to them.

“Get dressed,” Brendon instructed, and Cheyenne realized he’d already climbed out of bed, pulled on his jeans, although he hadn’t buttoned them yet, and was yanking his T-shirt over his head.

Damn. Seeing him naked could’ve possibly made this morning bearable. Now she’d just have to wait until later.

Shaking the thought out of her befuddled brain, she faced Brendon.

“How’d they find me?” Cheyenne asked, hearing the anxiety that sent her voice into dog-whistle range.

“It doesn’t matter,” Brendon said, moving to stand in front of her, his warm, callused hands cupping her naked shoulders. “They’re not gonna hurt you, Chey. Never again. Understand me?”

She nodded, although she wasn’t sure Brendon knew what he was getting himself into. Her parents were . . . She’d say they were evil incarnate, but she wanted to believe there was a little good in them. After all, they were her parents. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure the good gene missed them both.

“I’m gonna answer the door,” he told her as he pulled on his camouflage cap. “You get dressed and start the coffee.”

Cheyenne nodded, then bolted to the bathroom after grabbing clean clothes from the dresser drawer. Five minutes later, she looked presentable. Or she would have if it weren’t for the green tinge to her skin. The idea of seeing her parents made her want to hurl.

Knowing there was no place to hide, not to mention how unfair it was to leave Brendon to deal with her parents, Cheyenne pulled open the door to the guest room, stuck her head out to see whether the coast was clear, and then stepped into the living room. Sighing with relief, she noticed no one was inside, but she could see shadows moving across the front porch beyond the closed blinds that Brendon had so kindly installed.

Figuring coffee was the most important meal of the day—for her at least—Cheyenne darted to the kitchen and got that started before moving closer to the front door, hoping to hear what was going on.

Well, she got her wish the instant she heard her father’s angry baritone. “I don’t give a good god damn who you are. I’m her father! I have a right to see my daughter.”

Cheyenne rolled her eyes. Funny how he wanted to take credit for being a father now.

“Congratulations,” Brendon said tersely. “And when you start actin’ like one, you can see her. In the meantime, we’ll stand right here until you chill the fuck out.”

Brendon’s tone was hard, as though his patience had already been tested. Cheyenne knew exactly what he was feeling. She’d been dealing with her father’s belligerent tirades for years. When he wasn’t happy that things weren’t going the way he wanted, he made sure everyone knew it. At this point, she was pretty sure even her neighbors knew how disgruntled he was.

“Where is she?” her father questioned, his voice higher-pitched than Cheyenne’s had been when she realized her parents had shown up on her doorstep.

“Inside,” Brendon said sternly.

“I’m gonna call the police. You’ve kidnapped my daughter. That’s what this is.”

“This is her house,” Brendon snapped. “I’m not so sure that’s gonna hold much water.”

“If you don’t let me in, I’m gonna call them. They can do a welfare check. Make sure she’s all right.”

Good grief
, Cheyenne thought to herself.

“Go ahead. But see that car right there? Those are Cheyenne’s bodyguards, and if shit doesn’t go the way they expect it to, I promise you’ll get to meet them face-to-face.”

There was silence for a moment and Cheyenne wished she could see the look on her father’s face. As it was, she figured her parents were lucky that Brendon was so calm—and yes, despite his firm tone, she knew this was calm for him. She was actually impressed with how well he was handling himself. The guy was known for his short fuse and Cheyenne would be the first to admit that her mom and dad were hell on a fuse.

Smiling to herself, she listened through the door when she heard Brendon’s gruff voice again.

“I’m gonna let you in the house, but let me say this. If you hurt Cheyenne . . . No! Hold up. I’m still talkin’, damn it. Shut up and listen.”

“Okay, so that fuse was lit, it just happened to be slow burning,” Cheyenne said aloud to no one in particular.

“Like I said, I’m gonna let you in, but if you hurt her in any way, say anything nasty, do anything I don’t approve of, I’ll throw both your asses out in the front yard. And I’ll be the one to call the cops. Understand?”

Cheyenne didn’t listen to the response, instead opting to run back to the kitchen. Truth was, she didn’t want to see her parents. Not right now. Not with so much other craziness taking place in her world, but she’d known they would eventually find her. They always did.

Like now.

“Cheyenne.”

Turning at the sound of her name, Cheyenne came face-to-face with her mother and father. They looked . . . Hmmm. Cheyenne couldn’t place what was different about them but it was definitely something.

Not their clothes. They were still wearing high-end pieces—one of their many splurges.

Her father’s dark hair was perfectly styled, his angular jaw cleanly shaven. His emerald green eyes keen as always as he glanced around the room, pretending that he wasn’t checking out her things.

Francine—known to her friends as Frankie—looked tired, but that wasn’t unusual. Cheyenne was pretty sure that keeping up with her father was a full-time job, one Frankie gladly volunteered for. Her mother hadn’t had much of a choice, Cheyenne had learned early on in life. Paul Montgomery was a player of the worst kind. When he wanted a woman, he had her. Granted, he invited Frankie into the bed, so Cheyenne figured her mother felt that as long as he was including her in his escapades, she could overlook his infidelity.

To each his own and all that.

And maybe that was the biggest reason Cheyenne refused to be shared between two men. She had no intention of sharing her man with anyone else. Ever.

Despite the dark circles under her eyes, Francine looked nicely put together. Her long sandy brown hair was straight as a board, her light brown eyes as observant as Paul’s as they roamed the kitchen from floor to ceiling.

“Care to introduce us to your . . .” Francine’s crude brown gaze lingered on Brendon a little too long for Cheyenne’s comfort.

“This is Brendon Walker. Brendon, you’ve met my parents, Francine and Paul Montgomery.”

“Frankie,” her mother corrected.

“Frankie,” Cheyenne stated, rolling her eyes so only Brendon could see. She knew that at a very young forty-five, Cheyenne’s mother was having a difficult time with getting older, so much so that she thought the nickname Frankie made her seem younger.

Whatever.

Brendon didn’t greet them, simply nodded his head as he moved to stand behind Cheyenne, his hands resting on her shoulders as he pulled her up against him.

“Would you like some coffee?” Cheyenne offered, knowing that now that her parents were there, they wouldn’t leave until they were damn well good and ready.

“That’d be nice of you,” Paul said, the underlying loathing in his tone lingering in the air between them.

“I’ll get it,” Brendon said, turning to retrieve mugs from the cabinet, leaving Cheyenne to face her parents alone.

“The place looks nice,” her mother said. “Mind if we sit down? Or is there somewhere you’d prefer us common folk to be?”

Cheyenne’s hands balled into fists. She’d known her mother’s snide comments would be along soon enough.

“Not gonna happen,” Brendon growled from behind her. “You treat her with respect or you show yourselves out.”

To Cheyenne’s surprise, Paul patted Frankie’s hand, whispering something to her before leading her to the kitchen table. Cheyenne chose to sit on a bar stool, turning it to face her parents. Close, but not
too
close.

“So why’re you here?” she asked.

“To see you, of course,” Paul responded. “We’ve been so worried about you.”

Brendon set a mug in front of Cheyenne and then delivered two more to the kitchen table. He took the last one and came to stand beside her once again. He looked cool and collected, but Cheyenne could feel the tension radiating from him.

“I went to talk to Grams,” Paul said.

Cheyenne tried to hide the tension that locked up her shoulders, but she was pretty sure even Scrap would’ve noticed, if he’d been paying an ounce of attention. Which he wasn’t. He was sitting on the floor near Brendon’s feet, watching the two strangers at the table.

“Grams said you hadn’t been by in a while,” Frankie said with a nasty smirk. “Too good for the rest of us now, huh, Chey?”

Brendon growled at her side, but Cheyenne put her hand on his arm. This was the way things went with them. Her father would pretend to somewhat give a shit, her mother would fill the silence with nasty condescension, and then finally, they would get down to the true reason they were there. Cheyenne had learned to wait for the latter.

“Well, we’ve got some things to do today,” Brendon informed them.

“Exactly who are you?” Paul asked, his eyes narrowing on Brendon’s face.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Cheyenne informed her father, doing her best to keep her tone flat and even.

“Oh, how cute is that? She’s picked up another leech. They seem to come out of the woodwork where our little Cheyenne is concerned. How long will this one hang around?” her mother asked. Her eyes moved to Brendon’s as she said, “They don’t usually get to stay long.”

“Longer than you will,” Brendon said readily.

Frankie’s face scrunched in distaste as she glared at Brendon.

“Look,” Cheyenne said with a sigh, hopping down from the bar stool. “We really do have things to do today. Could we just fast-forward to the part where you tell me what you need?”

“We need a place to stay,” Paul said quickly.

“Sorry, I don’t have room.”

Frankie’s eyes cased the room dramatically. “Not enough room? Looks like the mansion you’ve taken up residence in has plenty of room.”

“Actually, it doesn’t,” Cheyenne told them bluntly, ignoring the comment about her house being a mansion. Three thousand square feet definitely didn’t qualify her place as anything remotely close. Even if she had forty extra bedrooms, she wouldn’t let her parents stay for a minute. She’d learned her lesson the one time she’d done that. When she woke up to find her television missing, she’d promised herself not to fall for their tricks again. “I’m remodelin’ and things aren’t finished yet.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a spare room for us. We won’t stay long. Just a coupla months until we get back on our feet,” her father said softly as though he’d made the decision and that was final.

“A coupla
months
?” Cheyenne exclaimed. “What the hell did you do with all the money you stole from Grams?”

Okay, so she’d lost her cool a little sooner than she anticipated. She’d known that her parents had blown through her grandmother’s money long ago, but she’d never called them on it.

Shit.

Paul’s eyes met hers. “Your grandmother didn’t have anything of value. Not to mention, we’ve been helpin’ out with her expenses at the nursin’ home.”

Cheyenne’s hands balled into fists. “
I’ve
been takin’ care of Grams,” she said through clenched teeth. “Me. Only me!”

“It costs money for us to go visit her,” Frankie added, as though that actually made a bit of fucking sense.

“Oh, Lord.” Cheyenne turned to look at Brendon before walking right out of the kitchen and onto the back porch. Scrap followed close behind her, clearly needing some fresh air as well.

She damn sure didn’t blame the dog for wanting to get the hell out of there. She was ready to bolt, too.