But today was beautiful.
It definitely was and these people had come to show her just how much.
“Now, we know you’re not settled in completely,” Travis—her closest friend—said as he approached, holding a beer with one hand and wrapping his other around his wife’s slim shoulders, “but since you’ve made Coyote Ridge your permanent home, we wanted to welcome you the right way.”
“Thank you,” Cheyenne told him. She owed so much to Travis Walker, the guy she’d come to see as a protective older brother. Although he would be the first to say that she didn’t owe him a thing. It was true. No matter what the stubborn man claimed.
In fact, Cheyenne had him to thank for her music career. She could still remember that night so clearly. Who knew how long it would’ve taken her to get as far as she had if not for Travis being in the right place at the right time that night. And she would be forever indebted to him for it, too.
“So, can we get this party started or what?” Zane, the youngest of the seven brothers, hollered from the other side of the room, holding his beer bottle up in the air. “Welcome, Chey. We’re happy you’re finally here and all that nonsense. But we’re also starvin’. After all, my wife’s eatin’ for two, you know.”
“Oh, hush,” V said, smacking Zane’s arm softly. “I’m not the one who’s tryin’ to steal the food outta the kitchen.”
Cheyenne grinned at the youngest, and most mischievous, Walker and his wife. How Vanessa put up with Zane sometimes, Cheyenne would never know. That man was a nuisance. Sweet, yes. A pain in the ass, absolutely. A sweet, good-hearted, pain in the ass. That was Zane Walker.
Over the last couple of years, the Walkers had made Cheyenne feel at home in their little town—coincidentally, a town her own grandparents had once resided in. In fact, Lorrie had known them, but that wasn’t surprising, since Lorrie and Curtis seemed to know everyone in Coyote Ridge, Texas.
It had been a fluke that Cheyenne had ended up there, but after Travis had invited her to celebrate Mother’s Day with their sweet, meddling mother a couple of years ago, Cheyenne had found herself coming back time and again, loving it more and more with every single visit. During her visits with her grandmother, Cheyenne found herself talking more and more about the little town, anxious to bring her grandmother back there. Until here she was … the proud owner of an old Victorian that was being renovated by none other than Travis’s wife, Kylie, a woman Cheyenne had befriended easily.
Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne smiled. Feeling grateful and blessed, she stared back at all of the faces looking to her for direction.
“Okay, fine,” she called out, feeling all eyes on her. “Let’s eat!” If she didn’t get these people to disperse, she very well could start crying and she doubted that’s what they had in mind when they’d been planning this party.
BRENDON HAD BEEN fighting the urge to leave the impromptu welcome-to-the-neighborhood—or town as was the case here—party for the last half hour. Ever since Cheyenne walked into the room, looking good enough to eat. Chestnut hair with subtle red highlights, green eyes and flawless, tanned skin had never looked so good. On anyone.
But leaving wasn’t an option. Not unless he wanted to listen to his father ride his ass for the next two days about his attitude.
Yep. Been there, done that, the T-shirt didn’t even fit anymore.
The old man had apparently had enough of Brendon’s shitty mood and had decided to tell him so. One thing Curtis Walker wasn’t was subtle. Just a month earlier, the man, in no uncertain terms, had informed Brendon that he needed to get his shit together and mighty damn quick.
“Boy,” Curtis greeted when Brendon walked into his parents’ house after being summoned by his mother that morning.
“Dad,” he replied, watching his father closely before glancing around the room, wondering where his mother was, but unable to ask before his father started talking.
“Have a seat,” Curtis stated as he eased into his recliner.
Brendon opted to sit on the couch, although he would’ve preferred to stand. He hoped this wasn’t going to last long, and that he’d be on his way in the very near future.
“What’s up, Pa?” Brendon inquired when his father didn’t launch into the reason he’d summoned him over. “You wanted to talk?”
“I do,” Curtis confirmed.
“About?”
“About you.”
Well, wasn’t that just fucking great? A lecture.
“This mood”—Curtis swung his hand around as though encompassing something—“it’s beginnin’ to worry your mother and me.”