by Shannyn Leah
Her hand began to slip and he righted it. “Stay put.” He tore open the bandage.
“I’ll be fine.”
“So you keep saying.” Securing the bandage on her head, he took her hand and held it on her lap. He wanted to tell her he shouldn’t have walked away, but the words wouldn’t connect into sentences. When her eyes fell shut, he knew there was no way in hell he was leaving her here. “I’m staying here for the night,” he said.
Her eyes flew open. “What?”
“I will wake you every hour.”
“No.”
“It’s not open for discussion.” He reached behind her, pulling a Christmas-colored afghan from the back of the couch and laying it across her.
Cheyenne’s body huffed a small protest before she said, “Whatever. Stay on your side of the couch.” She pulled her knees up against herself and moved as far away from him as the couch would allow.
Booker lingered beside her a little while after she’d fallen asleep, watching her, unable to figure out whether to blame exhaustion or concussion on her quick slumber.
He didn’t go to sleep right away, deciding to run back to Eddie’s house, grab his keys, check the windows and lock the doors. Habits from living in the city. When he returned to Millie’s, he repeated his ritual. Finally, over an hour later, he decided to give into sleep.
Before he settled on the far end of the couch, he checked on Cheyenne, giving her a little shake.
“Still alive,” she mumbled without opening her eyes. “Doctor Booker.”
“Where are we?” he asked.
“At Grandma’s house having a slumber party on the couch.”
Satisfied, he let her roll away from him.
Booker grabbed another afghan from a chair and settled on the opposite end of the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table.
He planned to wake her every hour or so and, if all was good by five the next morning, he would sneak out before Millie rose. He didn’t want to startle her by finding him on her couch.
Glancing at his watch now, just past midnight, he hoped for a couple good hours of sleep, but didn’t hold his breath.
***
THE FIRST TIME Booker awoke, he found Cheyenne had sunk to rest her head on the armrest, forcing him to stretch across the sofa to shake her awake.
The second time, she was stretched out on the couch with her head sleeping on the middle cushion giving him easier access to shake her.
The third time, Cheyenne was using his lap as her pillow. She’d grumbled incoherent mumblings at first, and after additional prying, he’d managed to get specifics out of her.
The last time he woke, he felt her breathing against him before he opened his drowsy eyes. Blinking, he turned his head and his chin rubbed the top of Cheyenne’s head.
Was this real? Or a dream?
Breathing deeply, he blinked until the room formed and he felt himself waking up. He reveled in the discovery of finding Cheyenne stretched out beside him like old times. God, he missed her.
His body sat as still as silence, and he considered letting her sleep. He feared waking her would rain down a harsh reality and she’d scramble as far away from him as possible—possibly kicking him out of the house and, even more likely, slapping him across the face.
However, his concern for her well-being trumped his desire to hold her and softly he shook her shoulder.
“Hmmm,” her soft murmur tightened the area between his legs.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Cheyenne Collins.”
“What’s my name?”
She giggled a soft tune, still half asleep and said, “Booker, sweetheart, I know who I sleep with.”
His body tensed.
She was still very much asleep.
Temptation to play along with her rose to the surface. He considered pulling her down beside him for one more night and forget the bad blood between them. However, again, her well-being trumped his emotions and he continued with his questions, knowing each one would bring her closer to reality.
“Cheyenne, the ladder fell on you, do you remember?”
Her eyes fluttered open and her head tilted up to look at him. “Yes,” she said, lifting her hand from his lap. He expected her to pull away, but she touched his stomach, resting her hand there for a moment, and pressing her palm flat against him. He felt a moan form low in his chest, knew she felt it rumble, too. Her fingers danced around the area before she progressed up his torso, over his chest, then her finger touched the flesh of his throat and his body boiled.
He caught it before she touched his face. “What are you doing?” he asked, but he knew and he didn’t want to stop her.
“I miss you,” she whispered. “I miss us. This. Nights are the worst.”
His eyes fell shut. If he continued to watch the desire build in her eyes, he wouldn’t have enough control to say no. “You’re half asleep and overtired,” he said, letting go of her hand so he could rub his eyes.
“I know.” She sighed and the majestic sound danced against his skin. “Let me wake up, Booker, and then we can…”
“What?” he asked, opening his eyes. “Sleep together and regret it come sunrise? That’s not why I stayed.”
“Why did you stay? Why are you here?”
“To make sure you are okay,” he said.
“Why did you leave…?” Her body fell limp against him.
Booker knew his time to sleep had ended. How could he possibly shut his eyes? How could he curb his desire with Cheyenne exactly where he thought she always belonged: with him.
“I feel safe here with you,” she said. “I don’t feel safe alone. Not here.”
Booker’s senses turned on high alert.
What was she talking about? Did she know what she was saying or was her mind groggy from him ripping her in and out of sleep.
The arm Cheyenne had tucked between her and Booker moved. His free arm was wrapped around her back and, as she moved he felt her fingers touch the side of her stomach.
Uneasy chills crept through his veins.
He knew every inch of her body better than he knew his own and her fingers were caressing an old scar above her hip bone. Why?
What exactly caused her scar…or who? What or who was she hiding?
Chapter Nine
CHEYENNE SENSED A presence lingering beyond her heavy eyelids, but she wasn’t ready to wake up. She felt Booker’s body warming against hers, still in somewhat of a sitting position. His fingers laced around hers.
It had been a good night. A short night, but she’d slept better than she had in days, even with Booker waking her up every hour. She’d drifted in and out of dreams about him—even though she had the real thing right beside her.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, then jerked at the sight of two plates of bacon and eggs thrust almost against her face. Millie’s curious eyes were beyond the plates, as she hunkered down to Cheyenne’s level, holding the plates out to them.
“Grandma, what are you doing?” she whispered, trying to move away from Booker but the plates provided no room.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Millie said, ignoring Cheyenne’s protests to move.
“Fine. Yes. At a distance,” she said. “Like the kitchen table.”
Her grandmother held her stance. “I didn’t expect to wake up to this in my living room.”
“What time was it?” Cheyenne asked.
Last night Booker had promised to be gone by morning, and, she had trusted his word again…foolish.
“Are you naked under there?” Millie asked.
“What? No.”
Mortifying.
“Is he?”
“Grandma!” she hissed, trying not to wake Booker.
“That’s not an answer.” Cheyenne jumped at Lily’s voice over her shoulder. Her niece stood behind the couch, bent down, her arms leaning on the back of the couch, watching Cheyenne and Booker. Creepy.
“Gosh, Lily,” Cheyenne hissed at
her. “You scared the death out of me.”
“So did Grandma when she thought you’d been abducted. Were you abducted?”
“Can you two hush and let me get up?” Cheyenne said. “We can talk about this in the kitchen. You’re going to wake Booker up.”
“It’s too late.” His raspy voice sent chills down Cheyenne’s spine. That morning voice. It used to drive her absolutely insane first thing in the morning and now she had to endure it without being able to capture his mouth with hers, and while in front of her grandmother and Lily. Today was starting off worse than yesterday.
Cheyenne groaned. “Grandma, move so I can sit up.”
Millie still didn’t budge. “Aren’t you comfy where you are? All cuddled up with Booker.”
Cheyenne felt the rumble of his low chuckle against her side. His body stretched, ready to move, pressing all kinds of him against her.
This was not happening.
“Grandma—”
“Here, take your breakfast,” Millie said.
Accepting the plate was the only way to escape her grandmother, so Cheyenne smiled and took it, sitting up away from the warmth and comfort of Booker.
Making his morning sounds, the ones she loved so much, he sat up, taking the second plate from Millie. “Thank you. Looks delicious.”
They both began to stand, but the old woman’s hands flew to their chests and pushed them back down. “Eat here,” she said. “I’ll get coffee.”
“I’ll help her.” Cheyenne jumped again at Lily’s whisper right behind her ear.
She glared over her shoulder at Lily’s wide smile and Booker’s sleepy gaze followed. Lily leaned down, her arms folded on the back of the couch. “So, this is who you were bedding back in Oakston?”
She already knew the answer to that.
“I figured since the moment you gave him a knuckle sandwich.”
A knuckle sandwich?
“The tension between you two is thick and it isn’t from betrayal on either of your parts. It’s lust,” she purred. “Not sure how you two are still dressed under that blanket.” Lily reached a hand between them to lift the blanket and peek.
Cheyenne slapped her.
“Or why,” Lily added, with a disappointing frown.
“Aren’t you helping Grandma?”
“How do you like your coffee, Booker,” her niece asked.
“Black.”
Cheyenne glared at Lily as she walked away, her ever unsubtle smirk staring right back at her. Once she disappeared behind the kitchen door, Cheyenne turned to Booker and began an apology for her family’s behavior. She jumped when his swift motions caught her chin with one hand and moved her hair with the other giving him easy access to her wound.
Disappointment resonated through her.
What had she been expecting? A good morning kiss?
Her mind whirled in a world of confusion recalling bits and parts of his confession.
Booker peeled back the bandage. Every area of her skin his hand touched left heated desire. “Looks like you will survive,” he said.
Her instinct to pull away hammered inside her. She was ready to spit out an, “I told you so” in a snotty, know-it-all tone.
But she didn’t.
His finger stroked the side of her face, trailing warmth along her skin, kindling a fire deep inside her. Cheyenne’s lips curved upwards rewarding the sexy morning grin he slanted her. Her tongue darted across her lips at the memory of how he could kiss her soft and sweet, bursting a balloon of butterflies in her middle, and then turn his technique into a scorching hot kiss, leaving her breathless for more.
Her action didn’t go unnoticed. Booker’s eyes swept over her lips, lingering before looking back to her eyes.
His smirk grew. “We got one thing right back in Oakston.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, playing along with him, even though she knew their words were a match ready to light and burn.
He nodded. “Yes.” He breathed, moving his head closer to hers, his lips nearer.
“Sex?” she said.
“Us,” he corrected.
“Before you walked away.”
“I needed time.”
“Two months with no word,” she said, sitting back. “What did you learn in those two months?
Booker grabbed his plate of eggs from the coffee table and leaned back on the sofa, resting one ankle on the other knee. “Cheyenne, it’s too early to start this.” His tone was different this morning than it had been the last couple days. The egotistical, angry grump he’d directed at her vanished now, his scrupulous fight draining from him. She’d seen this face more than once but usually regarding Kylie and his brother.
She shook her head, and looked away. “What difference does talking about it make, right? You’d do ‘us’ all over again if we were back there and walk away when it got hard.” Cheyenne set her plate down, appetite lost.
He caught her hand as she stood. “I don’t know that I would.”
Was that his apology? Regret?
She didn’t have time to ask, as Millie and Lily returned with coffee.
Forcing a smile, she wondered if her pause of silence indicated her reluctance to know the answer.
Cheyenne planned to jump in the shower or go back to bed, but Millie shoved the coffee in her hands and eyed the couch, waiting for her to sit down.
This would be a long breakfast.
***
BOOKER WAITED BY the front door after Millie insisted he have a container of cookies as a thank you for taking such good care of her granddaughter through the night.
“I have some running around to do this morning,” he said to Cheyenne, who sat on the stairs, waiting, out of politeness for her grandma. “I will pick you up for lunch and then we can go buy Eddie a ladder.”
“I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” Cheyenne said.
He wasn’t asking, he needed to talk to her and Millie’s house wasn’t the place to do it. “There’s a sale at the hardware store,” he continued.
“Pass.”
“Pass on what?” Millie asked, carrying a Christmas tree printed container to him.
“Lunch with me,” Booker said, with a wink. Millie blushed. “Lunch and ladder shopping,” he added.
Millie’s face crinkled, lips thinned, and eyes narrowed. “Leave King Cranky without a ladder,” she said. “Serves him right. If he wasn’t such a cheap arse, he’d go buy himself a new one.”
“Grandma we can’t not replace a ladder we are burning,” Cheyenne said.
Millie laughed. “We are burning it, aren’t we? What fun.” Maybe they should have left that part out of the story.
“Lunch.” Booker pointed a finger at Cheyenne.
“I don’t need your help.”
“You don’t even have a vehicle here,” he said. “Besides, I’m not so sure you should be driving in your condition.”
Millie’s turned a concerned look at Cheyenne. “He’s right.” She grabbed Cheyenne’s chin with her hand and tilted her head back and forth to see the cut.
Cheyenne glared at him around Millie. “Grandma, I’m fine. He’s using my injury to play on your caring chords.” If they were in public school, Booker would bet she’d have finished that off by sticking her tongue out at him.
“It’s working. No driving for you.”
She rolled her eyes as heavy footsteps stomped up the basement stairs.
“Grandma!” Lily bounded through the door. “You took the tree off the wood platform again!”
Millie glanced at Lily. “Yes, before I got word Cheyenne was coming. I had planned on putting it up then decided I would enjoy decorating with my granddaughter. Like the old days.” Millie squeezed Cheyenne’s shoulders with a smile.
“That’s all sweet and dandy,” Lily said. “However, you must have moved it earlier than that, say in the fall, during the rainstorms because the tree is mouldy. Ruined.”
“Oh dear.” Millie covered her mouth. “I can’t remember. I gue
ss we could buy a new one…maybe.” She looked around the room. “It’s a week before Christmas and I don’t know who has trees left…”
“The lumber mill has trees,” Booker said. “Cheyenne and I can stop by with my truck after we pick up the ladder and choose a nice fresh one for you.”
“Wonderful.” Millie clasped her hands together. “Lily and I will bring the rest of the decorations up and tonight we’ll set up the tree.”
Cheyenne leapt off the stairs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” She pointed a finger at Booker. “Don’t make plans for me,” she snapped, before moving her look to Millie. “And stop trying to force us together. You might know one side of Booker and I know you like him and he’s good to you. I’m happy for that. But I know another side of him and it’s not good.”
Ouch.
Silence fell upon them. Even Lily said nothing. The silence stretched as each person eyed the other.
When Booker couldn’t handle it anymore he said, “So I will see you at lunch.”
“She’ll be ready,” Millie said.
Cheyenne’s mouth dropped open in protest but he slipped outside and shut the door as he heard a muddled, "What? No. Grandma.”
Walking back to Eddie’s, Booker pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Several messages from his mom awaited him, all of them including something new about Cheyenne and finally finishing with an admission that Eddie had informed her Cheyenne was staying next door and she was awaiting details. There was absolutely no way he planned on having a conversation with his mom before he talked to Cheyenne.
He’d decided he was going to win her back, but he would need proof to back up his innocence in the story leak. She might say she believed him, but her eyes told him a different story.
Eddie’s house smelled like burnt coffee brewing. He chuckled. Some people would think his grandfather had forgotten the coffee overnight, but in truth, Eddie liked the little extra burnt flavor.
Booker dialed on of his contacts and waited for an answer.
“Boss, it’s the holiday, this better be a life and death situation,” his assistant, Jesse said.
“I need you to find out who leaked the Cheyenne Collins episode.”
A pause. “Should I ask why?”
