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    Not waiting for her to answer him, Brendon flipped on the light, bathing the oversized room in a warm, yellow glow from the antiquated light fixture above the small mirrored medicine cabinet. As silently as possible, he began searching through cabinets until he found a stack of bright white washcloths. Retrieving two, he twisted the knob for the water and then flipped off the light. After wetting the cloths with cool water, he knelt down on the floor behind Cheyenne.
    “Hey,” he whispered near her ear. “Take this.”
    When she took one of the cloths, Brendon used the other to wipe the back of her neck after he pulled her hair out of the way and held it with his hand.
    “Take slow, deep breaths.”
    Cheyenne didn’t say anything, but he heard her do as he instructed. Not that he expected her to talk. Brendon was all too familiar with the pain associated with too much alcohol. He’d been there many times over the last year. Granted, he knew Cheyenne’s wasn’t intentional, while all of his drunken stupors had been. Brendon would drown himself in alcohol, working to banish all thoughts from his head.
    Not that it ever worked.
    When Cheyenne’s breathing evened out and her vomiting ceased, Brendon helped her to her feet and then scooped her up into his arms before carrying her back to her bed. After covering her up once more, he backed out of the room, coming to a halt in the doorway as he watched her sleep.
    Funny . . . it didn’t matter that she’d just been puking her guts out—something that wasn’t attractive, he didn’t care who you were—she was still the most beautiful woman in the entire world.

chapter THREE
    D eath was probably more preferable than the pounding that was going on behind her eyes and the desert that had taken up residence in her mouth, Cheyenne thought as she stumbled out of bed the following morning and managed to make her way to the bathroom. She ended up in front of the mirror, cringing at the image that reflected back at her.
    Heavens. She looked like shit.
    It wasn’t going to get any better until she got in the shower, so Cheyenne flipped on the water and while she waited for it to warm, she flossed, brushed her teeth, and then swished mouthwash for the recommended sixty seconds. Oddly, that alone made her feel tons better.
    Reaching into the medicine cabinet, she retrieved pain reliever and downed it with water from the spout before yanking off her clothes and climbing into the bathtub/shower combination.
    God, she would be so happy when the remodel was finished. Technically it was her own fault for the delay, but after Kate was born, Cheyenne had purposely pushed Kylie off so that the new mother could spend time with her precious baby, using the excuse that she wanted to be present for the big jobs. Truthfully, Cheyenne had trusted Kylie implicitly, but it had been the only thing she could think of to get Travis’s hardworking wife to take a break.
    Now, though, she was eager for a nice, big shower. Something with more showerheads and significantly better water pressure. Kylie had promised that her bedroom and bathroom were next on the list of rooms to get completed. She fully intended to hold her to that.
    Cheyenne knew that it wasn’t Kylie’s fault that she’d moved in ahead of schedule either, but now that she was no longer on tour, she was looking forward to some downtime. This was going to be it. A few months of working on her house, out of the limelight . . . It seemed like the right thing to do. Actually, it was the only thing she could do with that damn stalker making his presence known every time she went to a new city to perform.
    Allowing the warm water to rain down over her head, she fought the thoughts away. She was safe at the moment. No one knew where she was, which meant she didn’t have to worry about some stranger with a fixation showing up on her doorstep.
    After shampooing and washing up, Cheyenne shut off the water and toweled