“I’ll give him a call then.”
Cheyenne nodded in agreement. She wasn’t sure what Brendon wanted her to say at this point. He had appointed himself as her protector, and as confused as she was, she certainly couldn’t deny the strange feeling that had taken up residence in her chest. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been tempted to ask Travis for help over the course of the last year. Especially when she’d found her apartment trashed, all of her things destroyed. But she’d managed to refrain because she didn’t want to bring him and his family into it. He’d done enough for her already.
But Travis was the only person she’d ever been able to lean on. The only one she really trusted.
“Do your parents know about this?” Brendon questioned.
Ah, hell. Why did he have to go and ask about her parents?
Cheyenne moved out of his reach, refusing to touch the small area of skin that still tingled from his touch.
“My … uh … parents …” Shit. She didn’t even know how to explain the situation with her parents. She was hiding as much from them as she was from the stalker. They may not want to hurt her, but they unquestionably wanted something from her. Everything, actually. They wanted every damn thing they could get their greedy little hands on.
Which was why Cheyenne had severed ties with them a few years back. It had been as a means of survival. After her grandfather passed away and her grandmother’s mind began to deteriorate, Cheyenne hadn’t been complete. Her father had come in and cleaned his mother out, leaving Cheyenne with no choice but to move her grandmother to a nursing home to keep her safe from her own son. And when Cheyenne’s mother and father burned through what they’d ultimately stolen from her grandmother, they moved on to demanding that Cheyenne take care of them.
“I … uh … I don’t see my parents,” she confessed.
“Oh.” Brendon’s tone was laced with compassion. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not,” Cheyenne retorted, feeling the ever present anger and hurt churn in her gut whenever she thought about them.
“What about your grandparents? My mother mentioned they used to live in Coyote Ridge.”
“They did live here. Before I was born,” Cheyenne informed him. “They moved to West Texas when my father was still young.” The sadness swamped her. “My grandfather passed away three years ago. My grandmother’s in a nursin’ home. Advanced-stage dementia.”
Brendon’s brow creased and Cheyenne could sense his sympathy. As much as she wanted to be held, for someone to help her ease the pain of her loss, she knew that wasn’t going to happen, so she went on to explain. “I moved here with the intentions of bringing my grandmother here. As soon as the house is finished, she’ll live with me and I’ll hire a nurse to help. It’s not the idea of her bein’ in a nursin’ home that’s so hard. I just can’t stand the thought of her alone without any family to come visit.”
“So, a few more months?”
“Yeah. If I can’t get it to move along faster. That’s why I’m workin’ on some of it myself,” she informed him. “Also to keep myself busy.”
Brendon nodded his head as he glanced around, but he didn’t say anything more.
“Well, let me know what you find out. And if I can help, just tell me what I need to do,” Cheyenne told Brendon as she eased out from between him and the counter, moving to the refrigerator. She hadn’t had dinner yet and she was starving.
Now for the question of the hour … Did she invite him to stay or did she ask him to go?
chapter SIX
Brendon stared blankly at the back of Cheyenne’s head. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on between them at the moment. There were several questions running through his own head while he watched her yank open the refrigerator door, bottles clanking and rattling in the door as she peered inside. Was she pissed at him? Did she want him to stay? Was she hoping he’d leave? Should he?
God, why the fuck couldn’t he just be smooth and confident around women the way his brothers seemed to be? This should not be so damn hard. It was one of the biggest reasons he’d always made certain to have Braydon close. His twin knew how to talk to women on a nonsexual level. Brendon knew how to get them in bed.
Realizing that was the problem—it was too hard and if it was meant to be, it wouldn’t be—Brendon decided to go.
“I’ll call my buddy tomorrow and let you know what he says,” Brendon informed her when she turned back to face him, closing the refrigerator door empty-handed.