by Shannyn Leah
“It sounds like a word,” her niece said.
“We should play a game of Scrabble,” their grandmother said, now completely off topic. “Maybe tomorrow night.”
“As long as you have a dictionary for Miss Weaponry.” Lily’s bug-eyes stared at Cheyenne.
“How about Bingo?” Millie said. “I have the cage that rolls the balls around inside. That sounds like fun.”
Cheyenne ignored them, staying focused on the topic at hand. “It doesn’t matter whether it kills a person or only harm a person, the paintball gun is still considered a weapon. Do you both understand? There will be no shooting people today. There will be no taking that paintball gun out of the house.” Cheyenne paused, wrinkling her nose in confusion. “Why do you own a paintball gun?”
Both women smirked, but neither answered or listened, walking instead straight out the front door…Millie now clutching the gun.
Bloody hell.
Cheyenne scrambled into her boots as the voices on the porch rose through the door.
Good Lord, if they shot the neighbour they’d spend Christmas in jail leaving Cheyenne all alone with the unlikely, but still, possibility of her mother and whatever new boyfriend she had with her. She couldn’t even stomach the thought.
Outside, the argument echoed down the street, no doubt drawing attention. Was the street used to the bickering from this duplex? Did they stand in their warm houses, lights off, curtains drawn shut only enough to peek through and watch?
Relief flooded Cheyenne when she saw the paint ball gun triggered on King Cranky’s lawn targeting an inflatable snowman instead of the man himself.
“Let go of the banner!” Millie yelled. “Or the snowman gets it.”
“Your banner is on my side of the porch,” King Cranky called back.
They sounded like bickering children on the playground and Cheyenne felt like the teacher forced to split them apart and share apologies.
“And so will my ammo be if you don’t release my banner,” Mille threatened. Her grandmother was a tyrant. Cheyenne’s chest swelled with pride.
In the midst of craziness, curiosity arose in Cheyenne. When and why had the war had begun between these two? Was the hostility over fences and overgrown hedges? Or had one been nosier than the other?
Cheyenne watched as King Cranky took the upper hand of the battle and snipped off part of the banner. Eddie held out the material to Millie, flagging his fluttering trophy in the wind.
“Two warnings.” Millie scowled. “Two warnings too many,” she muttered, training her gun on the innocent snowman and pulling the trigger.
Cheyenne jumped and screamed as the loud shot echoed across the town square.
Lily cheered.
Red paint splattered on the inflatable snowman, tilting it over, but it remained unbroken.
“Old woman, you’ve gone mad!” Eddie cried out.
“Try again,” Millie said, glancing from his hand on her banner to his face and back again.
Cheyenne officially decided these two were worse than children. They were cranky old folks and not just any cranky folks, but crazy, old, cranky folks.
They all soon discovered King Cranky was as stubborn as Millie as he cut another chunk off the banner sending three more shots into the snowman. The inflatable sunk to the ground.
“Grandma, no!” Cheyenne shouted, coming to her side. “Stop this instant.”
“I will stop when Eddie is finished vandalizing my property.”
“When your banner stops blowing on my side, I will stop removing it,” Eddie said.
“Millie?” Another man’s voice entered the fray.
Cheyenne froze. As she recognized the voice, a load of emotions shot through her. Anger, anxiety, pain…so much pain. It couldn’t be. Hearing Booker’s voice had to be her head playing games with her heart.
“Good evening Mr. Banks,” Millie called back in the sweet voice she used with everyone except King Cranky.
“I’ve told you, Millie, call me Booker and good evening to you, too.”
No. No!
Cheyenne’s stomach plummeted and a sickening feeling rose up in her chest, forcing her to swallow the stinging sensation back down.
What was Booker Banks doing in Willow Valley and how did he know her grandmother?
Cheyenne peeked around her grandmother to catch a glimpse of the man in question.
Her breath left her, her words vanished, and her heart sped up so quickly she feared it might rip through her chest. Gripping the porch railing, his attention solely on Millie, stood her Booker. Well, not her Booker, but the Booker who not only broke her heart, but put the Lilith House in jeopardy.
“Let’s call it a truce,” he called, not noticing Cheyenne.
Run. Turn away. Dart into the house and never leave again.
“Millie, hang your banner on the other side of the porch and Grandpa will stop crossing the line.”
He knew about the line?
Booker’s smooth words harmonized with his smooth body—like a man who knew what he wanted.
“It’s already ruined,” her grandmother said.
“I’ll buy you a new banner while I’m in town tomorrow buying Grandpa a new blow-up snowman,” Booker offered.
He sounded sweet and sincere. Cheyenne knew it to be true until things got rocky then he bolted like a chicken.
“You will not!” Eddie cried.
“Grandpa…”
“This banner is, or was an antique. It’s not some cheap item you buy at the discount store,” Millie quipped. “The only place you will find one remotely the same is at Unusual Finds Antique Warehouse outside of town.”
Eddie’s familiar black eyes came back to Cheyenne. He was Booker’s grandfather. She remembered when Mary had introduced her son, giving Cheyenne warning of the dark place he was in. Those black eyes had been full of mystery and danger…all the things Cheyenne wanted to stay far away from, yet she hadn’t been able to stay away from him. Mary had thought helping others would fuel some spark back into her son. Cheyenne had been caught in the ignite of Booker’s fire.
Her fingers clenched at her side, wanting to run them through his thick black hair, streaked with silver, and soft as silk. He flashed Millie a gorgeous smile highlighting his chiseled face, with dimples on each cheek. Cute dimples women would turn on each other to call their own. She’d fallen for this man and let him destroy—no, try to destroy her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d almost succeeded or knowing he’d broken her heart worse than her career.
His callous actions ground anger through Cheyenne, pumping like wild fire through her veins and surprising her with a fury she didn’t know existed inside her. There’d never been a time in her life she’d lashed out in violence, but, at this very moment, anger clouded her judgment. Fury ranked over good sense.
By the time he finally looked at her, sending her a sincere smile, Cheyenne’s body flared making her want to hop over the railing and tackle him to the ground. And not in a good way.
Cheyenne stepped closer when her feet should have darted in the opposite direction. She wouldn’t melt down to his level and hide behind the safety of her grandmother’s house.
Booker’s eyes found her, recognition smouldered grey. His smile dropped and his eyes widened—his regret not showing. Nowhere did she find even an ounce of regret, remorse, or repentance at his actions. He simply did not care.
Before Cheyenne knew what happened, one arm lifted and her fisted hand slammed into Booker’s pretty little face. No verbal retaliation. Not even a slap. She’d punched him!
Booker groaned, covering his nose with his hands and taking a step back. Gasps of horror and disbelief flooded from behind her. Eddie’s reaction sounded like an amused chuckle. The old man had an outlandish sense of humor, but now wasn’t the time to debate the old man’s dark and twisted side.
“You punched me?” Booker said.
Oh Lord, she had.
Millie’s hand grasped Ch
eyenne’s sleeve, but remained quiet.
“Is that considered weaponry?” Lily’s mocking couldn’t come at a worse time.
Booker kept his eyes locked on Cheyenne. They darkened, as if that were possible. He squinted against the pain, and moved his hand away from his nose to reveal a small trail of blood above his lip.
Shoot. Not good, but damn it felt really good.
“I’m bleeding.”
“You deserve it.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“And the real Cheyenne is revealed,” Booker said, pulling a Kleenex out of his pocket and dabbing under his nose.
She shook her head at him. “Don’t you pretend to know me.”
Eddie chuckled again. “Are you one of the pretty ladies on Booker’s speed dial?”
One of the pretty ladies on Booker’s speed dial?
Oh, this continued to get better and better.
“No.” Cheyenne and Booker said at the same time.
“Good thing. You wouldn’t want to be in direct competition with Miss Floozy Megan across the street. She’s calling Booker with a dilemma every opportunity she can get.” His voice changed to a high-pitched tone. “The pipe in my sink burst. My snow blower quit running.” Cheyenne recognized the degrading attitude.
“Grandpa, this is Cheyenne Collins.”
“I know.”
Yeah, they’d met alright.
“You know?” Booker asked.
“We’ve met. Like her better now,” he added. “Any woman who can give my grandson a bloody nose ranks at the top of my list.”
Cheyenne didn’t want to know what list he was referring to.
“My daughter-in-law thinks you are quite the special flower,” Eddie said. “She seems very sweet on you and Booker getting back together.”
“Wait…” Lily interrupted. “Is he? No. Yes, he’s him, isn’t he? Oh, Cheyenne.”
Perfect.
“Are we up for round two?” Eddie asked. “You want these?” He offered Cheyenne the clippers.
“Grandpa!”
“I’m not taking sides,” the old man said. “I’m just balancing out the playing field.”
“You’re taking sides,” Booker snapped back.
Cheyenne looked at the clippers as though contemplating taking them. Of course, the thought hasn’t crossed her mind, but the misery of her entire holiday flashed by her like a bad Christmas movie. The man next door, her arched-enemy, elderly neighbours fighting over the line dividing their property, and above all, Cheyenne felt the confidence she acquired reversing the longer she stood on the porch.
She looked back at Booker strength in her voice. “Stay on your side of the line, Banks, and Collins on this side. Make sure you don’t cross the line.”
“Really?” Booker asked. “You punch me in the face and then think you’re entitled to the final say?”
“Why don’t you just walk away without a word? You’re good at that.”
“Keep feeding yourself the lies until you believe them.”
Cheyenne’s mouth opened, then shut and then opened again, but no words came out. What could she possibly say that would justify the damage he’d caused? She turned and stalked to the door.
“I could have you charged for physically assaulting me!” Booker called after her. “How deep do you think you could bury that report?”
“Call it in. I would rather spend the holidays in jail then stay next door to you.”
***
YOU BOTCHED THAT up nicely, boy,” Eddie said, carrying the torn banner pieces into the living room like prized possessions he’d won at the local fair. Sitting on his rocking chair, Eddie laid the material across his lap, running his fingers along the jagged edge, a sly, satisfied look across his face. “That was quite a…” He paused, glancing at nothing in the air, as if thinking of the right word to use. “…performance.”
The only performance on the porch had been him and Millie in their never ending battle of bickering.
Cheyenne was Millie’s granddaughter. How could this be happening? Not only was she here, she was staying next door. Booker contemplated getting a room at the Caliendo Resort for the week.
“I think your mother has mistaken what Cheyenne needs. She certainly doesn’t need you to fight her battles for her. She’s quite capable on her own.”
What was the old man talking about now? Booker didn’t have the energy to figure him out. Cheyenne would be sleeping one wall away from him. Why did his room have to be on the west side of the house, directly against Millie’s side?
Booker ignored his grandfather, which evidentially the old man assumed meant continue talking.
“I can’t tell if you leaked the rumor because Cheyenne lied to you, or is that innocent girl paying for your foolish pick of the litter in the past. Cheyenne’s not Kylie.” Eddie snorted. “That haughty woman couldn’t throw a punch, have the balls to stand up to a miserable old man, or stand her pretty little foot into a snow hill. Cheyenne isn’t Kylie and yet, Kylie is the one you hurt.”
His grandfather had no idea. “I’m not doing this with you. Not tonight.” Booker headed toward the kitchen needing a beer…or five.
“Clean yourself up while you’re in there. The girl has a strong right hook.”
In the kitchen, Booker grabbed a beer out of the fridge and pressed its cold glass against his swollen nose. He wanted to drink it, let the liquid ease the stiffness of his emotions.
Booker opted for splashing his face with cold water. His nose was tender, but nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t resolve. If he could sleep.
Eddie came into the kitchen humming a Christmas melody. Booker felt like slapping him.
“Looks like you’ll live,” his grandfather said, examining his nose. “Too bad. I was rooting for Cheyenne.”
“I was rooting for you moving into a retirement home.”
Eddie poured himself a glass of water and carried it to the door. “Uh-huh.” He chuckled, stretching his hand above his head. The water sloshed over the rim of the cup and spilt on the floor. Booker would clean it later.
“You should feel guilty for cutting up an old ladies antique banner,” he barked at his grandpa.
“As you age, guilt becomes less significant, actions more enjoyable and end results more satisfying. So, no, I don’t feel guilty for cutting up Hagwart’s banner. In fact, it was the highlight of my week. We should do this again next week.”
“This is why you need to go to a retirement home. Your sense of humor is humorless.”
“Over my dead body,” Eddie said, pushing through the door. “What a festive holiday we have to look forward to.”
Booker followed him to the bottom of the stairs. “Pack your bags old man because after the holiday into the retirement home you go.”
“You plan on stealing Hagwart’s paintball gun and putting an end to me breathing,” he barked back.
Booker closed his eyes and rubbed them. “They have fantastic activity programs to keep you busy and entertained. There’s an exercise room, art class and bingo. They have bingo. You like bingo.”
“I will play bingo with my own damn balls, in my own damn house.”
Booker groaned at the old man. “Disturbing, Grandpa. That’s what nightmares are made of.”
“No. The nightmare is you trying to figure out all the rooms in the house I’ve played bingo. Sweet dreams.”
Booker’s sweet dreams would be all about Cheyenne. His mother had been right. When he stood in front of Cheyenne, all he wanted to do was forgive her, pull her into his arms and drive back to Oakston to pick up where they’d left off. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Booker knew sweet dreams weren’t in the cards for him.
Chapter Four
CHEYENNE SPENT THE next morning baking with Millie. The kitchen counters were lined with freshly baked goodies cooling on wire racks. Golden gingerbread, squares of shortbread and red and green sprinkled sugar cookies all for the lighting of the trees at the beach.
By mid-afternoon, Millie needed a nap, which was perfect for Cheyenne who never wanted to see another rolling pin in her life. She cursed Lily for going to work and leaving her here alone.
Cheyenne made some hot tea and then snuck a couple warm treats and made her way to the living room. Standing by the front window, she nibbled on her grandmother’s shortbread, and washed them down with peppermint tea. It was her first time alone today and she felt content.
Then she caught sight of Eddie dragging that deadly ladder back across his front lawn. Where was Booker?
He’s not my problem.
But her attempt to ignore the old man lasted a whole of one minute. She abandoned her tea, putting on her boots and coat.
Once outside she called, “Eddie!” The snow crunched beneath her boots.
He didn’t even glance over but she saw him shaking his head. “Not you again,” he said loud enough she could hear.
Cheyenne crossed the lawn to shout him away from the wretched ladder as a baby blue colored truck backed out of his driveway. Her stare followed the side of the familiar blue beast and she saw Booker sitting in the driver’s seat.
He rolled his window down with a smirk on his unshaven face. His hair was tousled, too, like he’d just climbed out of bed. Her heart softened for a moment as she remembered how she loved Booker in the morning—half asleep, gentle and sweet. Plus, he enjoyed morning cuddling and she’d never tired of slowly waking up in his arms.
But that was a different Booker.
“It was you?” she yelled at him, abandoning Eddie. She stopped at the edge of the driveway. “You left me on the side of the road in a snow storm?”
“I called a tow truck,” he said.
He had. “What’s wrong with you? I could have been hurt!”
“You weren’t.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I didn’t care either. Be thankful I bothered calling you a tow truck at all instead of leaving you to fend for yourself.”
Cheyenne gasped and she pointed an outraged finger at him. “You have issues.”
“From my standpoint, you’re the one having issues.” He rested one arm out of the window, the other slung over the wheel as he leaned out. “That’s what the papers claim.”
