McKettrick's Luck (32 page)

She rested her forehead against his.

The rain came down harder.

Medics closed in.

Somebody pulled Cheyenne to her feet, and she was surprised to discover that it was Mitch. Ayanna wrapped her in a tight embrace.

“Oh, honey. Are you all right?”

Cheyenne nodded, sniffling.

An ambulance arrived, and Jesse, protesting the whole time, was strapped to a gurney and loaded into the back, right alongside the man who had attacked him. Cheyenne wanted to go with Jesse, but it wasn't in the cards. A policeman scrambled in, the doors closed, and the ambulance sped away.

Cheyenne was led back into the casino, by security, examined by a staff medic, and questioned extensively. Ayanna and Mitch stayed with her until she was finally, blessedly, allowed to leave.

Her mother and brother had come to the tournament in the van, but they left in Cheyenne's company Escalade, with Ayanna at the wheel. Mitch rode shotgun, his chest swelled with pride because he'd been able to help Jesse when it had mattered.

Cheyenne, dazed with exhaustion and relief, was content to sit in the backseat.

When they got home, she was content to let her mother and brother fuss over her. She sat on the front porch, with Mitch, watching the rain fall, while Ayanna made tea.

“You were great, Mitch,” she said, when she thought she could trust herself to speak.

“You think Jesse's okay?” Mitch fretted.

“I know he is,” Cheyenne said, reaching over to squeeze her brother's hand. “It takes more than a crowbar to crack that hard McKettrick skull of his.”

“You came so close—at the tournament, I mean.”

Cheyenne smiled.

“You know, don't you,” Mitch went on, “that you get the seat in Vegas? Jesse's already in. I heard him tell one of the casino officials, during the last break, that he was forfeiting the prize. That means it goes to you.”

Cheyenne didn't have time to absorb that bit of information.

The phone rang, the sound muffled by the walls of the house and the rain.

Cheyenne rose out of the ancient lawn chair she'd been sitting in and rushed inside to answer.

Ayanna, with a tea bag in one hand and an empty cup in the other, stood staring at the jangling black antique affixed to the kitchen wall.

Cheyenne grabbed the receiver. Her heart pounded and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. It had to be Jesse. It had to be.

It was.

“Hello?” he said when she didn't speak.

“Jesse.” The name whooshed out of Cheyenne, like a sigh of relief. She'd been putting on a brave front, for Mitch's sake, mostly, but now she could cry. “Are you—are you okay?”

“I don't know,” Jesse said. “Did I dream the part where I told you I loved you?”

She laughed, but she was crying at the same time. “No,” she said. “You didn't dream it.”

“I don't recall getting an answer.”

She drew in her breath. Let it out, slow and moist. “I love you, Jesse,” she said.

“Good,” he answered. “Good.”

“Are you all right, Jesse? What did the doctors say?”

“They stitched up the back of my head and plastered on a bandage. I have to have a CAT scan, and if that's clear, I can come home. Or, at least, I could—if I had a ride.”

“I'll come and get you,” Cheyenne said.

“I'll be the guy in the gauze hat,” Jesse answered.

She laughed.

“Drive carefully, Cheyenne. The roads are slick and Arizona drivers aren't used to rain.”

“I'll be careful,” she promised.

He gave her the name of the hospital and said goodbye.

Ayanna watched as she hung up the phone, a tentative smile playing on her lips. “Will you drop me off at the casino, Chey? So I can pick up the van? I need it for work tomorrow.”

Cheyenne nodded.

Ayanna didn't move. “This can be good, Cheyenne. You and Jesse, I mean. Let it be good. Just relax and let it be good.”

“I will, Mom,” Cheyenne said softly. She took the cup and the tea bag from her mother's hands and set them aside. Hugged her hard.

Forty-five minutes later, Cheyenne rushed into the waiting room at the hospital in Flagstaff.

Jesse was waiting, seated in a wheelchair.

She went to him, cupped her hands on either side of his beard-stubbled face. “The scan?” she asked, and everything inside her, every cell of every organ, went still, waiting, reaching for the answer.

“Nothing in there but a few rocks,” Jesse said, tapping his head.

She kissed him. “Let's get out of here.”

“I was thinking we could play poker,” Jesse told her as a nurse wheeled him outside, over to the parked Escalade.

“Poker?” Cheyenne marveled when the two of them were alone, Jesse buckled into the passenger seat and her behind the wheel.

“Strip,” Jesse said. “Winner take all.”

Cheyenne laughed. “You're on, buddy,” she replied.

They played sitting cross-legged in the middle of Jesse's bed, and Cheyenne was on a losing streak. Every time Jesse won a hand, she had to take off another article of clothing, and he celebrated the victory by kissing and caressing every newly uncovered part of her anatomy.

She was down to her panties, her nipples wet and hard from Jesse's tongue, when she finally protested.

Grinning, he got up, pulled his sweatshirt off over his head. Unbuttoned his jeans, tossed them aside, along with his boxer briefs. Except for the wad of gauze at the back of his head, he looked like his deliciously usual self.

Cheyenne swallowed, her gaze traveling from his impressive erection to his face, then back down again. She took off her panties.

He laughed at her expression, stretched out on the bed and reached for her.

Cheyenne gasped with anticipation, thinking he was going to set her astraddle of him, and take her in a single, soul-splintering thrust. She loved riding him like that, loved having him so deep inside her.

Instead, he scooted down until his head was between her legs. He nuzzled through, took her into his mouth and sucked, gently at first, and then with a hunger that set her blood on fire.

Clasping her hips, he stayed with her until she threw back her head, shouting with ecstatic surrender, her body buckling helplessly in the throes of a blazing release.

When it was over, she fell onto the mattress beside him, delectably spent.

He moved up, took her into his arms. Kissed her temple.

She crooned with contentment and cuddled against his side. “Maybe you should be resting,” she said. “After all, you just got out of the hospital.”

“Like hell I'm going to rest,” Jesse replied. “And you're not, either.”

She ran a hand slowly down over his chest and belly, closed it around his erection. Stroked him.

He groaned.

She went down on him.

And when he shattered, she was there to pick up the pieces.

 

One week later…

 

E
XCEPT FOR THE BANDAGE
, Jesse looked like any other member of the wedding party. He stood proudly beside Travis at the front of church in his fancy tuxedo.

Travis, of course, had eyes only for Sierra.

She made a beautiful bride, in her voluminous white dress and pearl-studded veil. Liam, precious in a miniature tux of his own, stood next to her, holding a pillow with Travis's and Sierra's wedding bands shimmering on top of it.

Cheyenne watched, stricken with love for Jesse and happiness for her friends, from the third pew. Ayanna sat beside her, and Mitch was on the aisle, in his chair.

“See?” Ayanna whispered, squeezing Cheyenne's hand. “There
is
such a thing as a happy ending.”

Cheyenne nodded, but she didn't take her gaze off Jesse.

As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned his head slightly and winked.

“Dearly beloved,” the minister began, to a chorus of female sniffles rising from the congregation, “we are gathered here—”

We are gathered here,
Cheyenne thought.

Family.

Friends.

A whole community.

Gathered together as one, in celebration.

Somehow, Cheyenne reflected, her heart had found its way back to this place, and these people, and she had followed it, never dreaming what was in store for her here.

She had come home.

Home to Indian Rock.

Home to herself.

Home to Jesse.

At long, long last, Cheyenne Bridges had come home.

After the wedding, there was a reception in the hall adjacent to the sanctuary. Jesse, as best man, lifted a glass of champagne, gave a toast to the bride and groom.

Then came the cutting of the cake, and the band struck up a waltz.

Travis and Sierra took the floor first, alone, surrounded by a golden glow of love and summer sunlight. Cheyenne blinked away tears, watching them.

Jesse stepped up behind her, wrapped her loosely in his arms.

She turned to look up into his eyes.

“I love you, Cheyenne,” he said, very quietly.

“I love you,” she replied.

“Good,” he told her, “because that guy is outside, asking for you. Nigel.”

Cheyenne frowned. “Nigel is here?”

Jesse took her hand, led her out of the church hall, into the sunshine.

Sure enough, Nigel was waiting on the sidewalk, looking winsomely apologetic. He wore a sports shirt and slacks, and Cheyenne saw his passport peeking out of one shirt pocket.

“If you came to serve papers on me,” Cheyenne told him, in an angry whisper, “you picked a
really
lousy time to do it!”

Nigel glanced at Jesse, then looked back at Cheyenne. “I'm not going to sue you,” he said.

Cheyenne, who had advanced like a storm trooper, backpedaled a little. “You're not?”

“Of course I'm not,” Nigel said. “I was only trying to scare you into doing what I wanted.”

“And you're here—in the middle of our friends' wedding celebration because—?”

“Because I didn't know there was a wedding until I got here,” Nigel said. “I came to apologize. Wipe the slate clean.”

“Did the company collapse?”

Nigel sighed, nodded. “My grandmother is waiting in England to welcome me back to the fold with open arms.” He paused, smiled sadly. “And a meat cleaver.”

Jesse's grip tightened on Cheyenne's hand.

“Forgive me?” Nigel wheedled.

“I forgive you,” Cheyenne replied. “Which does
not
mean I ever want to lay eyes on you again, as long as I live.”

Nigel grinned. “So long, Pocahontas,” he said. Then he leaned forward, kissed Cheyenne's cheek lightly and turned to walk away.

Jesse and Cheyenne stood on the church steps, watching him go.

“Should I be jealous of that guy?” Jesse asked speculatively, after a long moment.

“No,” Cheyenne replied, turning from her past and looking up into the face of her future.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm positive.”

“Why?”

“Because Nigel is gay. And that's just
one
of the reasons.”

Jesse laughed. Then he pulled Cheyenne against him. Kissed her thoroughly—as thoroughly as if they were playing strip poker in his bedroom instead of standing in front of a church.

“What was that for?” she asked, once she caught her breath.

“Practice,” Jesse said.

“Practice?”

“Kissing. Churches. I'm kind of getting into the spirit of the thing.” He looked down at her, his eyes serious and soft. “Will you marry me, Cheyenne?”

She swallowed. “M-Marry you?”

He nodded.

“When?”

“When you're ready. I don't care how long it takes. I'll wait.”

She smiled, slipped her arms around his neck.

The night before, she'd moved in with him.

She'd hoped for a proposal, but she hadn't expected it to come this soon. “My mother was right,” she said.

Jesse looked puzzled. “About what?”

“There
is
such a thing as a happy ending. That's what she said. Inside, a few minutes ago, when Travis and Sierra were exchanging vows.”