Page 15 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

brOOKLYN

“What the fuck?” I jolted awake with the noise.

Door chimes. That’s just your doorbell.

Yeah, but who the hell would be here at …

I squinted.

3:37

Well, okay then.

A voice groaned from over my shoulder as the hand on my thigh tightened.

Right, Arthur. He stayed.

My heart did a little pitter-patter.

He stayed.

More ringing.

More barking.

I slipped out of bed and fumbled in the dark for my sleep pants, bumped my shin getting out the wrong side of bed, then realized I’d left the pants somewhere at the foot and worked my way around.

The bedside lamp flicked on. Arthur grunted, a pained sound as the stretch clearly tweaked his sore leg, but said, “Can I help?”

Pitter-patter.

“I swear I’ll get this sorted. I’m so sorry they woke you.

” I yanked on the pants and found the T-shirt I’d abandoned earlier today from my hamper.

“Uh, stay put.” I didn’t look at him as I headed out of my bedroom.

I couldn’t conceive of who might be ringing my bell like that.

The police? A neighbor? A client who had an emergency and needed daycare immediately?

Twain continued to howl as I made my way to the front door, the tiles cold on my feet.

Without checking the peephole, I threw the deadbolt, and then opened the door wide. “Jesus Fucking Christ.” My jaw dropped.

“No. Cheyenne Fucking West.” She put her hand on her hip. “You going to let me in? And what’s with the noise? You get a pack of dogs since you moved here?”

“Yes, come in. No, they’re not my dogs. What the fuck are you doing here?”

My baby sister flounced in with a tiny overnight bag and a determined look on her face. She wore faded denim jeans ripped in just that way. She’d paired them with a yellow cotton top that matched her blonde hair, an oversized pale blue checked chambray shirt, and cowboy boots.

Yep, cowboy boots.

As soon as she was securely inside, I shut the door.

About the same time, the howling ceased.

I was one-hundred percent certain the two actions were not connected—which meant Arthur had his dogs under control.

Oh yeah, this isn’t going to be awkward at all.

“I repeat…what the hell are you doing here?” Not to be taken wrong—I was thrilled to see her.

Just, how she’d made it from upstate New York to Gaynor Beach, California was a little baffling.

I was positive Mom and Dad would not have let her have a car, or a plane ticket.

“Hitched.” She toed off her boots. “God, my feet are killing me. And I’ve been living in the same two sets of clothes for a week. I’m gross.”

Gross? Don’t think about the dried cum on your skin that you might’ve missed while you were wiping yourself down with tissues. Don’t think about Arthur —“Hitched? What the fuck?” I shook my head.

She met my gaze with intense hazel-green eyes so much like my own. “Hitched. As in, I stuck out my thumb in New York City and found rides all the way across the country. Wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.”

“You mean aside from the fact it’s illegal and you could’ve been murdered?” Images flashed in my mind of her being left on the side of the road. In a ditch. Her head bashed in or shot or strangled or?—

“Do you have food? I’m hungry. The last woman who drove me here was nice, but she had to ditch me just inside the city limits and get back on the highway.

She only had a couple of hours to get to San Diego.

Some kind of…” Cheyenne waved her hand around.

“You know, I didn’t really listen. She said she could drive me to Gaynor Beach, and here I am. ”

“You walked from the highway exit ramp?” That was a long enough distance at any time. At three in the morning? Wearing cowboy boots and tight jeans?

“Yes. Food. Then chitchat. Is the kitchen this way?” She pointed down the hall.

I redirected her. “Nope. Bedrooms are that way. Bathroom if you need it. I’ll put your bag in the spare room because I’m working off the assumption you don’t have a hotel to go to, and you’re not going to hitch back to New York at three a.m.” I don’t want to make you go, but you can’t stay here long.

Being seventeen and all. “Kitchen’s through here.

” I led her through the living room, formal dining room, and into the kitchen.

She headed straight for the fridge.

I hovered behind her. “Why don’t I cook you something? You must be starving. When did you eat?” She didn’t look any skinner than I remembered. She was always more coltish than curvy. Lanky, like myself.

“A trucker who brought me from Vegas through to LA bought me dinner.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

Cheyenne elbowed me in the ribs. “Nice woman. Strong as an ox, and wouldn’t put up with bullshit from anyone?—”

“Language.”

“You can say fuck and I can’t say bullshit? What kind of bullshit is that?” She opened the fridge door. “But LA was a while ago. Took a bit of time for me to find someone heading down I5 who was willing to give me a ride.”

I said a prayer of thanks to the woman who’d done just that. I hated the idea of my sister hitching on the side of the road. “The cops didn’t pick you up?” I tried to elbow her aside. “Grilled cheese? Tuna cheesy melts?”

Arthur had really liked those.

Arthur! Shit! Clearly, he’d gone back to his room since the barking had ceased.

How the hell was I going to introduce him to my sister?

Or her to him? We just got started. Is this going to wreck everything?

Will he freak out? Will she? My sister could have no doubts that I was bisexual, after hearing that last blowout fight with my parents, but knowing was different from seeing.

Oblivious to my moment of panic, Cheyenne was still checking out the fridge. “I love your tuna cheesy melts, but I’m hungry now .”

“Tuna sandwich?”

“Mayo but no olives?”

“That works.”

She grabbed the bread and the mayo from the fridge while I grabbed a tin of tuna from the cupboard. I snagged a bowl while she opened the tuna. She was about to drain the tin when I stopped her.

“What?”

“Ebony really loves?—”

Crap .

Cheyenne arched an eyebrow in a way only she could really pull off.

“It’s not what you think.”

“You don’t know what I think. I know you’re bi. So I’m assuming Ebony is—” She glanced around. “—where, precisely?”

“Drain the tuna and let’s get this done.”

She put her hand on her hip. “You’ve got company.”

“Tuna.” I snagged the tin and, with a heavy heart, drained the juice. I didn’t have time to sort out four saucers anyway and only giving some to Eb wouldn’t be fair.

I dumped the tuna into a bowl, added several heaps of mayo, some pepper and celery salt, and stirred. “Do you want butter on your bread? I use it so infrequently that I keep it in the fridge.”

“This is fine.” She opened a random cupboard, located a plate, and put it on the counter. She had two slices of bread ready for the mix and I dumped a pile of it on the slices. Her preference was always more mayo than tuna.

“Milk?”

“Do you have Coke?”

I arched an eyebrow.

She glared back. “You know I never get to drink it at home. Well, they’re not controlling me now, and I want a fucking Coke.”

“Seriously, Cheyenne, you don’t have to swear all the time.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s crass and beneath you.”

“You swear.” She mashed the bread together and started peeling off the crust.

Good to see some things never change . She’d always hated crusts.

“Look, I’ll grab you a pop. Why don’t you sit at the table like a civilized human being?”

“When did you ever care about that?”

“Hey. That’s not fair. Just because I didn’t believe in our parents’ philosophies on—” I waved my arm about.

“Everything,” she helpfully supplied.

“Well…okay.” She wasn’t wrong. Coming out hadn’t just been a repudiation of their beliefs—it had been a middle finger to their plans for me.

Go forth and multiply was the name of the game where we came from.

The more children the better, despite the fact that meant more mouths to feed.

After the globalist attack they were sure was coming, all hands would be needed.

My parents had three other kids between Cheyenne and me.

All were, as far as I’d ever perceived, also true believers.

Why Cheyenne and I called bullshit on everything was beyond me. Something in our genes? A bullshit detector? Still… “You’re underage, Cheyenne. You knew you’d be way better staying until you turned eighteen. Even better, an extra few months and finish high school. More opportunities.”

“Like you?” She plopped into a chair and put her plate on the table. Then she took a massive bite.

I got a can of pop out of the fridge, added some ice to a glass, and then poured the cola over it.

“You remembered.” She grinned when I presented the glass.

Truthfully, I remembered a lot about her.

She’d only been four when I’d left the first time, a sweet, mischievous toddler I’d missed in the moments I had energy to spare.

Those more recent few weeks had imprinted themselves on my mind, though.

Newly turned seventeen, she’d made time for me, while Nevada, Austin, and Denver had kept themselves busy.

Well, Nevada was married with two kids, but Denver and Austin were still single.

Which didn’t mean they took any notice of their disdained older brother, and I couldn’t care less what they liked.

My brilliant, surprising little sister, on the other hand…

“I do my best. Look, uh…” I pointed over my shoulder down the hall, gesturing that I needed to duck out for a moment.

“Say hi to Ebony. Whoever he or she might be.” She took another bite of her sandwich.

Right. “I’ll be back. Don’t…wander.”

She made a gun with her hand and pretended to shoot my way, a “you got it” gesture telling me she’d do what I asked.

I hotfooted toward the bedrooms and, once I was certain my nosy sister hadn’t followed, stuck my head into my room.