Don't Tell Me You Love Me (Destiny Bay Romances~The Ranchers Book 6) (3 page)

She glanced at him and wondered why his strength didn’t seem to be helping her today. But she knew that what was bothering her was something he couldn’t fix. She couldn’t actually bring this problem to him, could she? In some ways, his being here just made it worse. After all, Johnny would be coming tonight. She knew that as well as she knew anything.
 

“Well here she is, the blushing bride!” Her neighbors, Sara and Jake Edwards came toward them both, smiling warmly, hands outstretched. “Frank, you’re a lucky man.”

Frank had heard it a hundred times tonight, but he laughed as though it were the first time. “Don’t I know it.”

Sara was a gusher. “You two are just perfect together. Really. It’s like fate or something. Kismet.” The woman grabbed Cheyenne’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “Oh, you darling, I’ve always known you would make the right match in the end.”
 

“
Meaning Johnny had been the wrong match
?” Cheyenne wondered as she endured the woman’s hug and pretended to agree with her. Of course that was what she meant. It was exactly what everyone had thought at the time. But public opinion hadn’t mattered to her at all in those days. She’d been so strong, so sure of herself—sure of her feelings. She’d known what she wanted and she’d pushed everything else out of her way to get it.
 

Things were different now. She had Zachary to think of. What she wanted didn’t matter. What was best for her son did.
 

She’d calmed down since the night before. Johnny wasn’t going to take Zach away from her. No judge would let that happen. She’d been up half the night worrying about it, but by dawn she’d realized she was being foolish. Johnny had never even seen his son. He knew nothing about children. He didn’t really want him. He’d only said that to scare her.
 

She’d thought long and hard about what she was going to do about Johnny being back and she’d come to a decision. Things would fall apart if she tried to hold them together too hysterically. What was going to get her through this—what was going to get them all through this—was a sense of humor.
 

If only she knew where hers had gone. This pasted on smile wasn’t it.
 

She laughed at a joke Sara told, even though she didn’t really hear it, and at the same time, she felt a whisper shiver through her blood. She closed her eyes and felt Johnny’s heart beat and knew he was in the room. She wasn’t surprised that he’d come. She’d known he would. But she hated the way she could feel him, just like the old days. She couldn’t let him know it was still the same. If she waited, he would be there any moment.

There’d been a time when she would have run into his arms the moment she’d sensed him nearby—a time when every one of his glances sizzled across her skin, when electricity danced across her nerve endings at the sound of his name. She’d hoped that was all over. It had to be. She was going to make sure it was.
 

“Frank,” she said, touching his arm. “I think I’ll go check on Zachary.”

The mildest hint of annoyance flitted through his eyes, but his voice was mild. “The last time I looked, he was sound asleep,” he said. “But if you feel the need….”

Mitch Barton, another neighbor, came up and threw an arm around Frank’s shoulders, and Cheyenne escaped while he was engaged in manly banter, glad not to have to explain any further. She knew why she was suddenly worried about her son, and she knew it was ridiculous. But she was going to follow her instincts anyway.
 

Instincts were tricky things. It was another one of them that led her to look across the room and meet Johnny’s gaze, just as the crowd parted enough for them to see each other despite the fifty or so mingling people between them.
 

Time reeled, slowing, then speeding up too fast, leaving her dizzy enough to need to reach out and steady herself against the banister of the stairs to the second floor. She watched him coming toward her and she held her breath. It wasn’t until he’d stopped a foot away that she realized he had come attached to another woman—a woman whose arm was linked with his. Her gaze followed the arm up to the face that told her it was her cousin.
 

“Lysette,” she said in surprise.
 

“Cheyenne,” her cousin said in return. “Wonderful party. So glad to be here. Congratulations and all that.”

“Thank you,” she said faintly. “Uh…won’t you have something to eat?” She gestured toward the buffet table lavishly set along the kitchen wall. “There’s lobster pate and crackers and champagne and…oh yes, those little meatballs that you love.”

“Ah, the perfect hostess,” Lysette said brightly, reluctantly slipping her arm from the crook of Johnny’s. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “I can handle getting the food myself. I can see that the two of you have things to talk about.” She sauntered toward the table with a lingering backward glance at Johnny, but he wasn’t paying any attention.
 

“Hello, Cheyenne,” he said softly.
 

She stared at him. “I can’t get used to you being back,” she said. “After all this time….”

Her voice trailed off and he avoided her eyes. He didn’t want to see what they might reveal at the moment. He shrugged and looked around the crowded room, his gaze skimming the crowd but his mind totally on her. “I know what you mean,” he said, then looked back. “You can sense when I’m in the room with you, can’t you?”

Her eyes widened for just a second. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

His wide mouth tilted at the corners in a cynical smile. “Yes you can. I know you can.”

“How could you know a thing like that?”

“I know because I can sense you, too.” Reaching out, he touched her arm. She jerked it away.

“I can always feel you before I see you,” he went on. “It’s in the air between us. You can’t deny it.”

She shook her head, making her beautiful hair swirl around her shoulders as it always did. “It doesn’t matter, you know. That we have this…this bond thing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “It only means we were made for each other.”

Her eyes flashed. “Ridiculous,” she muttered again, looking away nervously.
 

 
“I’m not saying we’ll end up together,” he added, almost chatting with her. “I’m just sayin’…you can’t fight destiny.”

“Oh yes you can.” She frowned at him.
 

“It’s strange being in this house again,” he added, speaking quickly before she had a chance to tell him to leave. “I keep expecting your father to appear around a corner any minute.”

Her face softened and she almost smiled in return. “And yell at you for being in this house in jeans,” she said softly.
 

He shrugged again. “I always wore jeans.”

“And he always hated it.”

“It wasn’t the jeans he hated,” he murmured, turning away.
 

“What?”

“Nothing.” He gave a grunt of exasperation and turned back. “I know you hate me because you think I caused your father’s heart attack.”

She stared right back at him. “I know you caused it.”
 

“Cheyenne… .”

“After all he did for you, how you could have treated him that way is beyond me.”

She looked around as though she’d suddenly remembered they weren’t alone. “Come on,” she said, gesturing toward a secluded nook behind the stairs and turning toward it. “Back here.”

She led the way, and it seemed to him that her perfume filled his head as he followed. She was beautiful, an angel. Two years had only made her more so. Her dress was tight in the bodice, pushing her breasts up and out in a way that made his muscles tighten. The skirt was a swirl of pastel colors, always moving and catching the light. He wanted to bury his face in her shiny hair and he was reaching out to touch her chocolate curls when she turned and caught him at it, stopping him with a stern look. She quickly looked behind him, making sure no one had seen them leave.
 

“Afraid to be seen with me?” he asked her lightly.
 

She threw daggers at him but didn’t answer. Instead, she looked him up and down. “I see you dressed for the occasion. My father would be livid if he were here.”

He shrugged, unwilling to apologize for anything right now. He glanced down at his jeans. At least they were clean. And anyway, it was traditional. Hadn’t they just established that he always wore jeans in this house? “I didn’t get an invitation so I didn’t know the dress code for the evening. I was on my own in picking out my attire. And you know what that means.”

She hesitated. “I would have invited you. But after the way you acted yesterday…”

“I was wrong, okay? I know I was wrong.” He steeled himself and turned slowly to fully face her. He knew she was talking about the kiss. It seemed apologies were in order after all. “I’m sorry.”

She bit her lip and stared out at the muted hallway lights. “Sorry.” That wasn’t a word she’d heard often from him. She looked at him, guarding herself. “Well, I’m glad you understand that nothing like that can ever happen between us again.”

When had that been decided? He didn’t remember making any promises. But her huge eyes were imploring him to confirm it, and he muttered obligingly, “Of course not.”

She looked relieved. Did she actually think he meant it?

“Next Saturday I’m marrying Frank,” she said, as though to make sure he got it.
 

He winced and she looked at him harder, exploring any evidence she could find behind the cool facade of what he was really thinking.
 

“Why?” he asked simply.
 

The question startled her. “Why?” she repeated.
 

He took a step closer and touched her arm. “Yes. Why?”

She took a step back, avoiding his hand. “I…he’s a very good man. You know that.”

His mouth twisted. “Sure. That’s an established fact.” She hadn’t said anything about loving Frank, and that was what he wanted to know. Did she love the man? He doubted it. Even if she’d said the words, he wouldn’t have believed her. On some level, somewhere inside her, she was still his Cheyenne. She trembled when he touched her. It could be fear. But he didn’t think so.

“Frank’s a prince of a guy. He always has been.” He moved restlessly. “But what does that have to do with you marrying him?” he asked her. “Why do you feel the need to do this thing?”

She took a deep breath. She knew what she was going to say wouldn’t go over well with him. But she also knew she owed him the truth.

“Zachary needs an intact family. He needs a mother and a father who is always around.”

His face seemed to harden and there was the hint of a throbbing at his temple. “I’m his father.”

She looked up at him, surprised he would say such a thing. Didn’t he know how absurd that was? She folded her arms tightly, as though she were cold.
 

“Not in any way that counts. When have you ever been here for him? When have you ever acted as though you even knew he existed?”

Anger was swelling inside him but he was going to hold it back if it killed him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, just to keep from forming fists in front of her. “Where is the kid?” he asked.
 

“’The kid’?” Her eyes flashed with outrage. “Are you referring, perhaps, to your son? His name is Zachary. He’s a real live boy, not some sort of….”

He moved impatiently. “Okay, okay. I’ll get the terminology down in time. But I want to see him.”

She felt like she needed to hold her breath. “When?”

His eyes were hard as stone. “Now.”

Chapter Three

Johnny wanted to see Zachary right now. That was impossible. He was asleep upstairs. The timing was all off. Adrenaline pumped through her. Her hands twisted in the fabric of her skirt. She didn’t want him anywhere near Zach. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, either. There had to be some way to get him to go away again. She wanted yesterday back. Today was too hard.
 

“You’ve never seen him. Never.”

He frowned. “What does that have to do with anything? I’ve been overseas. How could I see him from Kuala Lumpur?”

Her head rose and she held his gaze with a fierceness that startled him. “You’ve never made the slightest effort to see him. You’ve never cared about him. And now you think you’re going to swoop in here and….”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to point out,” he said, his tone clipped, “that I am making an effort to see him right now and you’re not being very cooperative.”

“Cooperative?” She glared at him. “Oh, listen. I can be cooperative. I can be so darn cooperative, you’ll think you found Mary Poppins raising your son.” The moment the last few words were out of her mouth, her hand went to cover it, as though to hold them back. Why had she said it that way? By her words she’d admitted he had a say in this, that he had a stake. She couldn’t let him think that.
 

Quick, before he realized what she’d done, she had to go on the attack and divert him. “You owe me, Johnny,” she said in a rush. “You owe me big time. And I’m collecting, right now.”

He stared at her, waiting. She took a deep breath and went on.
 

“You put me and my family through hell. You know you did. And you took off, leaving me to pick up the pieces. I’ve never asked you for anything since that day you left. But now I’m asking. And you owe me.”

He watched her talking, watched her pretty pink lips, and he wanted to smile. He’d always loved the way her mouth moved, the way her lower lip pouted when she finished a sentence. Her eyes were so soft and brown and she was so earnest, so sure she was right. And maybe she was. He wanted to reach out and curl her into his arms and love her until she let go of all this anger and was his girl again. He ached for her. She was so close. And yet so far away.
 

“What do you want me to do?” he asked softly.
 

“To leave me and my family alone.” She met his gaze as though it hurt, but had to be done. “Just go away.”