they walked in the direction of the main road. “Step down, and we’ll cross the street.”
“Gotcha.”
“Reese, do you want to talk?”
“Not yet, but thanks. I’ve got to figure this one out on my own.”
It wasn’t simple because he wasn’t the man he used to be. He definitely wasn’t the man Cheyenne needed in her life. Cheyenne needed and deserved a man who could take care of her. She deserved a real marriage.
The plan to dissolve their marriage had seemed easy back in Vegas. Now that he knew her, knew the food she loved most, the colors that made her happy, the music she listened to when she was down—all of the things she’d shared in her letters—it didn’t feel like an easy in-and-out plan.
Chapter Three
A few days after Reese’s visit, Cheyenne sat down in the barber chair and looked at the shop, at her dream. She smiled and rested her hands on her belly. She’d cleaned and polished, and the only thing left to do was paint. She would wait until she talked to a doctor before she undertook that task. She wanted to make sure it would be safe for the baby.
She eased out of the chair and headed for the back room. What had once been a storeroom was now her little apartment. It held a bed, a chair, dorm-sized fridge and microwave. She even had a tiny bathroom and a closet. It wasn’t much, but at least she had a place to stay, a place of her own.
The bell over the door jangled. Cheyenne stepped around the corner and peeked out. Heather Cooper stood at the front of the shop looking at the pictures on the wall. Cheyenne wiped her hands on her jeans and straightened her top. Those adjustments didn’t make her feel any more confident, not with Heather standing in the front of the little shop, looking completely together in linen capris and a pretty top of soft fabric in summery blues and greens.
Years ago Cheyenne had been a lot like Heather, before mistakes that turned her into a different person, someone she didn’t recognize. Living in Dawson, she thought maybe she’d find the old Cheyenne. The old Cheyenne knew how to smile and greet Heather.
“Heather, it’s good to see you.”
Heather turned from the photographs in black and white of customers who used to patronize the Dawson Barber Shop.
“The pictures bring back a lot of memories. I know most of those men.” Heather smiled and walked across the room. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Getting settled and trying to get work done so I can open soon.”
“What else do you have planned?”
Cheyenne looked around the barbershop, and she shrugged. The room was long and narrow. There were molded plastic chairs at the front of the building, midway back a counter with a couple of bar stools. The old barber chair sat between that and the back wall. Opposite the barber chair there were a couple of sinks for washing hair.
“Not much really. Maybe paint the walls.”
“What colors?” Heather walked around the room, as if it was a normal day, normal conversation.
Cheyenne stood in the center of the room and watched the other woman. It wasn’t a normal day. They weren’t friends, although Cheyenne wondered what that would be like, to have someone like Heather to talk to, to have coffee with.
Cheyenne shrugged in answer to the paint color question. “I don’t have a clue.”
“I’ll help if you’d like. And if you want my opinion, I think decorate with the photographs and the past in mind.”
“That’s a great idea. But I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Consider it my ‘welcome to Dawson’ gift.” Heather took a seat on one of the stools behind the counter, and Cheyenne knew this had nothing to do with the shop or welcoming her to Dawson.
“That would be a wonderful gift, but you don’t have to.” Cheyenne stood for an awkward moment, and then she sat next to Heather.
After a few minutes of silence Cheyenne shifted to face her guest. “Why are you really here?”
“Cheyenne, I want to know about you and my brother.”
Cheyenne breathed through a pain that wrapped around her middle, and she wanted so badly to tell Heather to leave, to let it go.
“I’m not going to give you information that Reese hasn’t given. This is between the two of us.”
And what would people think of her if they knew the deal she’d made with Reese Cooper? Would they be as welcoming as they’d been? Would Vera at the Mad Cow still welcome her with pie? Would Myrna Cooper ask her to leave?
Sometimes she didn’t know what to think of herself.
“I’m sure it is between the two of you.” Heather shook her head. “He’s my brother, and I don’t want him hurt.”
“He isn’t going to be hurt.”
Heather gave her a careful look and then she nodded.
“When he’s around you, I see pieces of the old Reese. No matter what the situation is between the two of you, I think you’re good for him.”
“I’m the last thing Reese needs in his life. He has a wonderful family, and he’s going to get through this.” Cheyenne rested her hand on her belly. “I’m here to start a life for my baby and myself. I’m here because Reese told me stories about this town, the people. That’s all, Heather. There’s nothing more between us.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Heather hopped down from the stool. She grabbed her purse, and she smiled an easy smile. “I’m busy the next two days, but I’ll be back Thursday to help you. And if you’re interested in church, Dawson Community Church is at the edge of town.”
“I’d love to go to church. But about the decorating—I really can’t afford to pay you.”
“I’m not asking you to pay me.” Heather stopped at the door. “And if you need anything, let me know.”
Cheyenne nodded and managed a smile. After watching Heather drive away, she went back to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. Another pain wrapped around her belly. She’d been having them all day, these pains. She’d timed them. They weren’t regular, but she still didn’t think it should happen this way, not this often or this soon.
She should find an emergency room—alone. She closed her eyes and leaned back, giving herself a pep talk. She could do this. She didn’t have to call someone. She didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. In two months she would be a single mom with no one to call or lean on. She’d made the decision to have this baby, and she could do this.
Alone.
She closed her eyes and let one tear trickle down her cheek—only one. She wouldn’t let the rest squeeze out. She was done crying. She had a life to get hold of, a baby counting on her. She picked up her purse and left, locking the door of the shop behind her.
Fifteen minutes later she pulled into the parking lot at the emergency room for the Grove hospital. She sat for a second, telling herself she’d been imagining the pains. But another hit as she sat there. She breathed through it and then got out of her car and headed toward the entrance of the E.R. As she walked through the double doors, a receptionist smiled a greeting. The woman, gray-haired and kind, told Cheyenne to take a seat and she’d get her information.
Cheyenne pulled out her insurance card and driver’s license. She handed both through the window to the woman who took them, then looked at Cheyenne over wire-framed glasses.
“You just moved to town?” The woman, her name tag said Alma Standish, asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ll need to find an obstetrician very soon. We have