Hideaway. Hannah Alexander
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lower portion of her face would conceal some of her dismay.
“If he finds out she talked to me, he’ll fire her,” Susan said.
Anger intensified Cheyenne’s nausea. For her sister’s sake, she had put up with Kirk’s borderline antagonism since he and Susan had become engaged eight years ago. Cheyenne had sat through countless uncomfortably silent dinners, had timed her visits to the house when Kirk would be at work, had run interference when Mom and Dad flew up from Florida to visit. Occasionally, Susan spent the night with Cheyenne, when Kirk was out of town on business—he had his own computer networking firm.
“The stress with Kirk could be a trigger for your chest pain,” Cheyenne said.
“I’m not sure what I can do about it.”
Cheyenne decided not to mention the obvious solution. “What else is going on with you?”
Susan looked down at her hands, picking at her cuticles. “Kirk isn’t…always happy with me.”
“Happy in what way?”
“The problem is, he thinks I’ve become too independent with my business, and he’s decided to tighten the reins.”
Those weren’t reins, they were more like screws. “In what way?” Cheyenne asked gently.
Susan closed her eyes and raised a hand to her face—a shaking hand. “He’s taken all the money out of our joint account and placed them in a different bank, using his name alone.”
Cheyenne willed away her own outrage. Susan couldn’t handle that right now. “Do you think he’s planning to divorce you?”
“We don’t believe in divorce.”
We? Was Kirk cheating on his taxes but still pretending to be some upstanding, good “Christian” man? What a laugh.
“I just don’t know what to do next,” Susan said. “It’s so…so hard to realize that the man I married isn’t the man I’m married to. You know what I mean?”
Cheyenne nodded, though she didn’t really know. Her whole life had been caught up in her career, with only one serious relationship. That had ended in pain when the man she loved couldn’t endure her hours—or her success. “You could move in with me, Susan. You’ll never have to put up with that kind of treatment while I’m alive.”
“I’m the one who got myself into this mess,” Susan murmured. “I’ll stick it out.”
Cheyenne bit her tongue and remained silent. Blast the too holy standards of Susan’s religion. Didn’t anyone at their church see what a hypocrite Kirk was?
“If you need money to get you by—”
“Chey, I’m doing fine.” Susan touched Cheyenne’s arm. “Thanks. It seems like half the neighborhood has decided to redecorate, and they’re calling me to do it. I’ve opened a bank account in my name alone. I’ll be fine. Maybe Kirk’s just going through a bad time right now, and I…I need to be more understanding and…pray for him.”
Cheyenne clamped her teeth together. Susan could exercise her Christian principles and turn the other cheek all she wanted, but Cheyenne wasn’t—
There was a knock at the door, then Ardis opened it and came inside. “Got you some snooze juice, my dear. Just relax.” She injected the syringe into Susan’s IV port. “It’s a temporary fix, but you’ll start to feel better real quick.”
Susan nodded. “Thanks. Chey, everything’ll be fine.”
Cheyenne patted her sister’s hand. I’m not so sure.
Chapter Three
Dane Gideon stepped through the barn door and switched on the overhead light. The remaining Holstein heifer could be inoculated and released into the pasture.
No problem. He would have it done before the boys came home from school.
Not until he had the calf cornered in a stall did he recognize the little white bell on her otherwise black face. Too late, he heard the deep, rumbling moo of an angry mama cow behind him. Gordy.
He should have waited.
She lowered her head and came at him, her huge nostrils snorting so forcefully her breath swept dust and particles of straw into a tiny cloud at her feet.
Dane jumped up the side of a nearby stall, grabbed the ladder and climbed to the loft. He turned in time to see Starface skittering out of the barn ahead of her indignant mother.
“Should’ve sold that ornery animal years ago,” he muttered, slowly descending the ladder.
Gordy hurried after her baby, ears perked forward, her long, Holstein body all bulk and bones in the reflection of the afternoon sunlight.
Dane reached the barn floor in time to hear a loud whistle, followed by a “Yeehaw!” from outside.
He ran to the door to find Starface running back toward him, with Gordy in hot pursuit. He scrambled backward against a concrete stand, leaped atop it.
Another whistle pierced the gloom of the barn. Metal slapped wood—the slamming of the barn lot gate—then came another whistle.
Gordy waggled her head at Dane, big ears fluttering as she turned to investigate the sound.
“Cook? Is that you?” Dane called.
A familiar, broad-shouldered form came striding inside, dreadlocks bouncing, thumbs hooked over the belt loops of his jeans. “Don’t you want to vaccinate Starface before—”
“Gavin, get back!”
Gordy lowered her head and charged as Gavin scrambled sideways. Dane jumped down and ran after the cow.
“Gordy, over here!” He waved his arms over his head. “You old battleaxe, get away!”
Gavin leaped over the fence in one youthful motion.
Gordy swerved and rammed Dane with her shoulder. He hit the ground as she swerved away, kicking out with her foot to land a solid blow to his left thigh.
A loud grunt echoed in his head as he fell against the fence. The gate swung back and a hand grabbed his shirt, then jerked him, half dragging, half lifting him, out of the lot. As soon as he was clear, Gavin slammed the gate in the cow’s face.
Dane slumped against the outside of the fence while Gavin shoved the gate latch home.
“You okay?” Gavin asked, bending over him.
Dane gritted his teeth against the pain in his thigh. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sorry, I forgot Willy said Gordy had a mean streak.” Gavin gestured over his shoulder toward the cow and calf. “I know better.”
Dane caught sight of Gavin’s blood-streaked sleeve. “You’re bleeding.”
Gavin held his arm up and inspected a small cut at the base of his wrist. “I’ll get that taken care of. Guess that old cow hasn’t seen many black guys with locks like mine, huh?”
Dane rubbed his thigh. “I don’t think that had anything to do with it.”
“Do you want to vaccinate the calf while we’ve got her in the lot?”
“Thanks, Gavin, but I think we’ll let them go this time.”
“When’re you going to start calling me Blaze?”
“When it becomes your legal name. What are you doing out of school early?”
“Last hour’s PE, and I didn’t have dress-out clothes, so I told the teacher I’d be good and come straight here if he let me leave early. Why do you have such a fuss with a silly ol’ nickname? Everybody else calls me Blaze.”
“Good for them. We’ll find you