by Shannyn Leah
They failed.
They both gasped, grabbing the edge of the railing to look over, watching in horror as the speaker tumbled, in what appeared to occur in slow motion.
Booker caught sight of a figure walking along Eddie’s pathway below. The wireless speaker sang its way down the side of the house, hitting the peaked roof, toppling against the wall, and landing directly in front of the figure. The contact with the ground smashed the speaker apart with a loud crash, music dying.
Protecting himself from the flying debris, the figure raised his arms over his head and ducked down.
Cheyenne gasped, covering her mouth.
Booker held his breath.
It wasn’t until the man looked directly up at them that Booker realized it was a uniformed police officer.
Shit.
***
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Millie, Lily, and Eddie stood quietly on the porch, watching the man of the law standing before Booker and Cheyenne, yet to say anything.
Booker found Cheyenne’s guilty face adorable.
Officer Crawfield didn’t look as impressed. Staring from the demolished speaker back up to them, and then over their shoulders at the others, it appeared as though he was trying to figure out where to start.
Booker couldn’t blame him. This house was full of crazy.
“I’m not sure exactly what to do here,” Crawfield said. “I’m called here for a clearly obvious noise violation—”
“Noise violation?” Millie shouted. “Old man Banks cut my banner in half! Look.”
Booker glanced over his shoulder to see Millie waving her hands at the ruined banner still hanging between the houses. He’d spent all afternoon looking for another banner for her and had come up empty-handed.
“You,” Eddie growled, taking the officer’s attention to the Banks’ side of the porch. “…shot my inflatable snowman with a gun. Do you even have a license for your gun?”
The officer looked at her. “Mrs. Collins, do you have a gun?”
“A paintball gun.” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and then leaned over the porch to yell at Eddie. “You don’t need a licence for a paintball gun, you dimwit.”
“There should be a warning not to sell to crazy old ladies!” Eddie retorted.
“There should be instructions how to eliminate crazy old men!” she shouted back.
“That was a threat.” Eddie pointed at Millie, his arms flailing. “Officer, did you head that? Millie Collins is threatening to kill me.”
Crawfield’s chest rose with a deep inhale of air. “Eddie, that wasn’t Millie’s intention.” It was obvious the officer had practice with trying to keep the peace between them.
“Yes it was,” Millie said.
Booker’s chuckle met Cheyenne’s groan.
“You think my grandmother getting arrested is funny?” Her dead-stone look sobered Booker.
“No. Not at all.” He smirked and added, “But if she stopped incriminating herself, she might have a better chance of staying out.”
“You think that’s funny?”
“This whole situation is funny.”
Funny. Ridiculous. Crazy.
“You find almost killing me funny?” Crawfield asked, and it was Booker’s turn to turn stone-cold sober.
“No, sir.”
“Sissy,” Cheyenne mumbled for only Booker to hear.
“I’m off the clock,” the officer said. “I’ve had a long day. I stopped by as a courtesy call to resolve this situation without needing the presence of an officer on duty and prevent charges.”
“Get a real officer here,” Eddie said.
“Yeah,” Millie agreed.
“I’m pressing charges,” the older two said in unison.
Officer Crawfield’s displeased look fell upon Cheyenne and Booker, indicating he expected the two of them to resolve the rift between the two old people.
Booker only had one idea. Whether it was a good one or not, hadn’t passed his mind.
“I have a lasagna warming in the oven. How about we all go inside and sit down for a home cooked meal?”
The officer’s dark eyes flickered between them, debating. Finally, he said, “I could eat a piece of lasagna. Alright. Everyone into Mr. Banks’ house for dinner.”
“I will not,” Millie said.
“I agree,” Eddie said. “She shall not.”
The officer stepped between Booker and Cheyenne, stopping at the edge of the porch and looking up. “If you don’t both come sit at that table and eat a meal together, so help me, I will drag you both down to the station in my cruiser and you can spend the night in a cell…together.”
Millie folded her arms across her chest, eyeing him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try it,” Eddie added.
Booker groaned. “Stop the bickering. We are accepting Crawfields— ”
“Sam,” Crawfield substituted.
“We are accepting Sam’s offer to avoid prison time for any of us.” Booker shot a look at Cheyenne, after all they had almost killed the man. “There’s plenty of lasagna for everyone. Millie, Lily, Cheyenne, please join us for supper.”
Hesitancy crowded their group, lingering in the silence.
“Do you have dessert?” Millie asked.
Chapter Six
SILENCE SPANNED ACROSS the dinner table in every direction. Eddie’s late wife’s ashes sat in the middle of the table in an urn. Cheyenne glanced at her grandmother, eyebrows lifted. She simply shrugged. It was odd, yet Eddie and Booker ate as if there wasn’t a cremated woman on the table.
Sam didn’t pay attention to Ellen’s ashes either, and he didn’t notice the tension, inhaling his meal like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Unfortunately, Cheyenne knew what starvation looked like and Sam’s hefty body told her he ate a regularly healthy-sized meal.
In contrast, Cheyenne hardly touched her meal. Not that the food wasn’t good, she’d tasted Booker’s delicious lasagna, but her stomach felt sick just being at the same table as him—right beside him, in fact. While Booker brought supper from the kitchen, everyone else had rail-roaded Cheyenne by leaving only one empty chair beside her.
Their elbows knocked, and their arms rubbed.
Maybe she could keep a piece of bread down. Cheyenne reached for the bread at the same time as Booker. Their hands touched. His fingers settled over her hand and the contact felt more real than anything had this week. Desire, no amount of betrayal could douse, oozed through her veins, swirling with her longing to feel protected by this man again.
She jerked away, feeling all sets of eyes on them. “Excuse me.” She stood so quickly the chair lost balance and Booker had to grab it to straighten it. Cheyenne rushed into the kitchen. The home’s layout was the same as Millie’s side, but instead of her grandmother’s country decorating it felt like she’d walked into the sixties. Everything was retro from the teak furniture, to the avocado color splashed on the backdrop of the kitchen and counters. Neither side of the house suited the Victorian exterior.
She poured a glass of water and then heard the door open. She turned to find Booker had slipped inside.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Cheyenne sipped on her water before replying. “Did you mom know you were here? In Willow Valley?”
He nodded.
“She played us,” she said with a humorless laugh, setting the glass down on the counter a little harder than intended. Booker’s eyes never left her.
“She can be persuasive,” he said.
That was an understatement. Whenever Cheyenne couldn’t get funding, donations or volunteers, Mary had lined them up by the next day.
“Did you know I was here?” Cheyenne asked. “In Willow Valley?”
“Cheyenne, I wouldn’t be here if I had.”
The words stung, but it was the truth she needed to keep her emotions in check. “Did you leak my report?”
He stepped toward her. “No.”
“But you left.”
�
��Yes.”
She bit her lower lip.
“It wasn’t the action behind the lie, Cheyenne, it was the lie itself.” He sighed. “Are you alright?”
“No, of course I’m not alright,” she shouted at him. “I have to give my notice at the Lilith House come the New Year. I can’t continue on the board. I don’t even know if they will allow me to volunteer. I doubt it. But enough about me,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “How are you? Your mother has kept me updated daily about your travels over the mountain and sunbathing south. Shame she seemed to have forgotten this little trip. Sounds like you’re back to the man you were before I met you.”
He took another step. Why was he insisting on getting so close to her?
“I hear only the good things about you, too. The extra haul of supplies you reigned in for the winter. The hospital charity where you raised more than the amount of money needed. You’re not the only one she talks to.”
Cheyenne grunted. “I bet the last conversation about me was full of optimism.”
“This will pass. My mom will sway all the investors to see your side.”
“Like you did?”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s exactly the same.”
“I walked away to save myself,” he said. “You know about Kylie and you know how dark I turned after her and my brother. When you lied to me, the darkness came back, filled me with an anger…a path I didn’t want to go down. Not with you. I needed to figure things out. But for the investors, they need to make sure you’re suitable. And trust me, there’s no one more qualified than you. You made the Lilith House. When my mom is finished, they will all see that.”
She almost felt hope in his words. She didn’t doubt Mary could sway some of the investors, but what about the future? Cheyenne would rather have no backlash at the Lilith House. If she had to walk away, she would.
“Stop,” he said. He now stood directly in front of her. “I can see your head talking yourself out of this. You’re a good person.”
His hand gently touched the side of her face, his thumb rubbing her cheek ever so slightly. The comfort she craved, the soothing that she wanted—needed—to face her bumpy road ahead, washed through her, reminding her how much she missed him, wanted him…needed him.
“Stop,” she said, cover his hand with hers. “You’re not in my life any more. This isn’t your job.”
“I never considered it a job.”
“Please,” she begged, unable to handle how much she wanted him. Needing him to make the first move and walk away.
His eyes darted to her lips, lingering there. She found herself doing the same. When she looked back at him, his waiting eyes were hungry with lust. Cheyenne knew she had to walk away, because if she didn’t, would? Her brain reminded her of the months he’d been gone, traveling, seeing the world, likely sleeping with a different woman in each country. All the signs were there for her to acknowledge, but when he leaned in, she didn’t pull away.
***
HER LIPS TASTED delicious—sweet like the wine she’d been sipping. She hadn’t taken a bite of food.
“Booker,” she breathed against his lips, her warm breath protesting and, yet, begging him to continue. Stopping would be the wise decision. But Booker had never been known for being wise.
He nudged her lips open with his tongue. It was a silent question whether she wanted to continue. He would walk away if that’s what she wanted.
When her lips parted, slipping her tongue between them and meeting his, he lost all control. He pulled her body roughly against his, covering her mouth fully with his and tasting every last area.
She moaned against him, her hands sliding up and gripping the front of his shirt.
They were in trouble.
His hands ran down her back. Another moan had his insides going wild. They stumbled backwards until her back hit the counter. In a swift movement, he lifted her up and her hands gripped his face, pulling his lips harder against hers. Her soft fingers moved down his throat, stroking the front of his shirt, blazing streaks wherever she made contact. When her warm fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, touching his skin, it was his turn to moan.
Her legs tightened around his middle. He needed more of her and his mouth moved down her chin, kissing her throat. His hand pulled her sweater away from her shoulder giving his mouth access across her skin.
“Booker, get your hands off her, she has a story to tell.”
Cheyenne screamed and jumped back hitting her head on the cupboard.
“Shit,” Booker cursed. “You okay?”
“I make sandwiches on the counter your rear end is on,” Eddie said from the doorway.
“Grandpa! Get out of here.”
“I’d tell you to finish, but I don’t want you pulling your—”
“Grandpa!”
“Yeah, yeah.” The door shut behind him.
Booker looked at Cheyenne. She pressed her body against the counter putting as much distance between them as she could and holding her hands in the space.
“This was a mistake,” she said.
“What if the only mistake was me walking away two months ago?”
Pain warped the features of her soft face. “I don’t have the energy to do this right now.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He stepped back and held his hand out for her.
She hopped off the counter without his assistance, straightened her sweater and eyed him. “We need to get out there before Eddie starts flapping his mouth.”
Booker stepped aside. “After you.”
He followed her to the dining room where the looks on all the guests’ face told them they were too late.
They’d started dessert without them. Lily sliced pieces of the apple crumble as they walked in, passing plates around the table.
“Cheyenne, how was your day?” Eddie asked as they sat down. A random question full of instigation. Booker recognized his grandmother asking with an ulterior motive.
“It was productive,” Cheyenne said.
“Care to elaborate?” Eddie pressed.
She shook her head and took her first bite of lasagna. “This is delicious,” she said to Booker.
He chuckled, knowing a distraction when he saw one.
“Girl, don’t you have a picture to share?” his grandfather asked.
That sucked the humor right out of Cheyenne. “It’s getting late,” she said. “We should probably get going.”
“We haven’t had my apple crumble,” Millie said.
“Show us what you spent your afternoon doing,” Eddie said. “Then maybe I will try this crumble. It looks burnt with not nearly enough apples.”
“My apple crumble is perfect.” Millie gave Eddie a scowl “If you’re so worried about it being burnt, don’t bother trying any.”
“Picture,” Eddie said.
Cheyenne sent the old man a dirty look no one missed. “I didn’t bring my camera.”
“Well then elaborate with a story.”
She rolled her eyes. “I let Eddie use your ladder to put his Christmas lights up today.”
Eddie smiled a satisfied grin and shoved large mouthful of the crumble into his mouth as Millie gasped. “My ladder. Why on earth would he be using my ladder?”
King Cranky snickered and Millie reached for his plate of crumble.
Lily caught her grandmother’s hand. “Sam, have you had any news on the break-ins around town?” she asked, changing the subject.
Sam launched into a description of the break-ins around town, including when, where and what are gone missing. There was a pattern: televisions, snow blowers, and other easy pieces for resale. He suggested they all lock their house and sheds.
“Do I taste nutmeg in this?” Eddie continued chewing and grinned.
Booker grinned back. Maybe Millie and Eddie had more in common than they thought.
Chapter Seven
AFTER EDDIE RETIRED for the night, Booker cleaned up supper and
spent the rest of his evening working on his laptop…trying to work. It didn’t erase the memory of touching Cheyenne.
Giving up on finding a distraction in his work, he took his dirty plate from his second slice of apple crumble to the kitchen, leaving the lights off and placed it beside the sink.
A light in the backyard caught his tired eyes. He inched toward the back door and found a glow radiating from Eddie’s shed.
Was it the vigilante breaking into all the houses?
Booker scrambled to pull on his boots, skipping a search for his jacket and ran through the deep snow to the small wooden shed.
He wouldn’t let a little dimwit steal from his grandfather.
The beam of light, flashing through the windows of the shed stopped as he reached the door. Booker stopped and waited.
Nothing.
He debated calling the police or pulverizing the kids himself. But how many people waited for him beyond the door?
He peered through the window as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, catching sight of a single individual moving about. He immediately recognized the bulky winter jacket and plaid hat: Cheyenne.
Stepping inside, he cleared his throat. “Adding breaking and entering with the intent to steal to your record sheet?”
Cheyenne screamed so loud, Booker jumped.
The flashlight she held flew through the air, making wild patterns across the tools hung on the walls.
“Booker!” she yelled, her hand covering her chest. “What the hell? You scared the death out of me.” Her rapid breathing echoed within the four walls. She scrubbed her hands across her face moving them to rub her temples. A glare in his direction followed, reaching for the flashlight on the ground now spinning in circles. “Jerk,” she muttered.
“I’m the jerk?”
“Actually, yes. You could have been a murderer. Or those little brats running around breaking into places.”
Booker grinned. “So could have you.”
Her lips curled up, dropping as quickly.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked.
