Cheyenne Read Online Free PDF Page B

the love that I knew my parents had for me. In my mind, I saw the notes mingle in the air. They were flowing over my thoughts as I began to replay the memories of my life with my mom and dad. As I played, I realized my friendship with Colt was somehow intertwined.
    I had never known my biological parents; they had died when I was born. It was something we never talked about, but I had always wondered about them. My adoptive parents loved me and cared for me as if I was their own. They were devoted, kind, and thoughtful. They always kept a watchful eye out, overprotective like most parents probably are.
    We lived a simple life and had modest homes. Most of them were located outside the city limits in a surrounding mountain community. I had always assumed this was because my parents were outdoor lovers. We spent most of our free time hiking, climbing, and exploring the wilderness areas. My dad always said it was wise that we know how to manage in the wilderness on our own. He taught me to use the stars, sun, and moon as my compass. He showed me the different varieties of plants that were edible, his best method for fishing, how to start a fire, and how to build a shelter. Really, he taught me how to survive just about anything that could or would come my way.
    I allowed these memories to linger in my thoughts as I played the piano, morphing each song into the next. They weren’t anyone else’s melodies; they were my own. They came from deep within. I continued to play, thinking of what my life had become and the weeks that had followed their loss. I only finished playing when I knew my music had completely filled me to overflowing. My heart finally felt settled with the emotions. It had been such an overwhelming day. I needed to move on, and I needed to be strong.
     
    “ Don’t like the way your bedroom looks, Cheyenne?” Colt asked. He was leaning against my doorframe with his arms crossed, looking a little mystified.
    I was completely distraught over not being able to find a small pink and white jewelry box. I had been ripping my room apart, and my clothes were tossed aside and the dresser drawers were on the floor. I was frantically digging through my closet at that moment.
    “ I can’t find it. I need to find it,” I panted as I continued to tunnel through my shoes. My heart began racing as the anxiety kicked in.
    Colt moved in closer, but remained standing in the closet behind me. “What can’t you find?”
    Looking up, panic-stricken, I replied, “The box. My jewelry box.” My heart began pounding even faster, as the realization set in. It was gone. Colt immediately squatted in front of me, taking my arms in his hand. He lifted me from the floor, his eyes searching mine.
    “ Is this important?”
    The tears that had become less frequent over the months came spilling out. “Yes. It was the jewelry box my mom gave me when I was six. It was a gift, and it held my ring at one time. I just need it…I just need it, Colt.”
    “ What does it look like?”
    “ It’s small, with pink and white material over it. The top has some scratches and a dent in the lower left corner where I dropped it once,” I replied through the tears.
    His words held such empathy, “Let me help you look for it. Where was the last place you had it?”
    “ It was on my dresser…and now it’s gone.” Colt released his hold as we exited the closet.
    “ We’ll find it. I’m sure it’s here some place.”
    We searched the entire house but couldn’t find it. I didn’t understand how it could go missing, but as I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t even noticed it was gone until now. I had no idea when it had disappeared. As I pondered it further, I came to the realization that other things were missing as well. What was the possibility that someone had come into the house and taken things? It made no sense, but where else would they have disappeared to?
     
    I was sitting out on the front porch of my home. It was official. This