Battle of the Bulbs (Holidays in Willow Valley Book 1) Page 2

  Inside the house, she found the warmth her chilled body craved, and the warm-hearted welcoming of the down-to-earth country furnishings.

  The honey-colored half paneled wall suited the atmosphere, with rust red and burnt orange accent colors pulled from the rooster picture suspended above the wooden bench where Cheyenne dropped her purse and bag on top of plaid cushions. The minty scent of eucalyptus smelled like home and was woven into grapevine everywhere, from the wreath hung on the back of the door, to the swag draped above the entrance to the living room, even woven up the staircase banister in front of her.

  Cheyenne chucked her boots on the heart designed shoe mat, wiggling her toes. “Grandma!” she called, peeking into the living room and glancing through the archway into the dining room, finding it empty.

  Christmas overtook the inside of the house too. Swag branches hung over the fireplace wrapped in ribbon and lights, with three stockings hung, a collage of cross-stitched Santa cushions lined the sofa, and Christmas-printed doilies covered every surface. Surprisingly, she didn’t see a Christmas tree.

  “Cheyenne.” The soft sound of her grandmother’s sweet voice soothed ease and reassurance into Cheyenne. Almost taking away the throbbing dismay of the last few days.

  She wished her angst solely revolved around the scandalous story itself and not the man who leaked it. She’d trusted him, opened up to him, and given him more details about herself than any other person on this earth and still, in the end, months after he’d left without a word, he’d exposed her worst fear to the world. And his poor conduct might result in the demise of the Lilith House, leaving twenty-two rooms vacant and homeless mothers on the street.

  Cheyenne felt the world closing in on her again, her chest weighing heavy, her throat shutting down. It was only when her grandmother, Millie, a tall and slim lady with gorgeous silver curls, appeared in the doorway at the end of the hall that she breathed again.

  Millie smacked her hands against her gingerbread apron leaving white flour handprints across the front. The swinging door gave Cheyenne a quick peek into the kitchen beyond where she knew Grandma was baking up a storm, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the purple color streaking through Millie’s bangs. A bold and outgoing statement. Cheyenne liked it.

  The old woman crossed the floor and pulled Cheyenne into a long embrace. When she pulled away, she thoroughly looked her granddaughter over.

  “You look as beautiful as ever.” She gripped her cheeks, turning her head from side to side, studying her.

  “Thank you.”

  Millie moved her warm hands down Cheyenne’s arms to grip her hands. “Lily has been keeping me up-to-date, all day, every day.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “Hush now. You don’t ever have to apologize to me.” Her face grew serious. “And you didn’t have to go through making those decisions alone. I would have driven to Oakston and taken you to the clinic or we could have…”

  Cheyenne vigorously shook her head. “Grandma, it’s done. A long time ago.”

  “You were only fifteen.”

  “One year younger than Lilith.”

  “Cheyenne—”

  “I can’t” She could barely get the words out. “It’s been a long drive, a long few days and I can’t talk about it right now.”

  Her grandmother nodded. “Of course.” She hugged her again.

  “Lily is out on the front lawn fighting with your neighbour,” Cheyenne said, changing the topic.

  Millie waved her hands in the air. “Oh, she’ll be fine.”

  “She’s in her socks.”

  Millie looped her arm around Cheyenne’s. “It wouldn’t be the first time and I doubt it will be the last. But, don’t you worry yourself, I knitted those warm socks myself and they’re thick to last.”

  “In the snow?”

  She led them through the swinging door at the far end of the hallway and into a small kitchen. The smell of delicious fresh baked cookies made Cheyenne’s stomach growl.

  “Lily’s a big girl,” Millie said. “Sit down and let me whip you up a snack before dinner.”

  Her grandmother moved around the cozy kitchen nook, pulling a plate out of the oak cupboard and bread from a wooden bread box.

  Cheyenne sat at the two-person table pressed against the wall and stared past the sheer floral curtains hung over the large window. Snowflakes whirled about outside. She could see a fence dividing the backyard likely a good decision after meeting King Cranky.

  She found herself smiling at her interaction with the bizarre old man. Cranky on Christmas didn’t suit, contrary to his festive yard.

  She envisioned Lily and her quirky ways having something to do with King Cranky’s attitude and his distinctive line crossing rule. No doubt Lily pestered him to no end, leaving her almost feeling sorry for the guy…almost.

  Millie set a sandwich and glass of tea in front of Cheyenne. “So tell me,” she said sitting down across from her. “What did you think of King Cranky?”

  Cheyenne smiled.

  What better way to forget her problems than to discuss the ups and downs of the crazy neighbour?

  Chapter Two

  “YOU KNEW, DIDN’T you, Mother?” Booker Bank’s infuriated voice ricocheted in the phone receiver. “She told you she was coming to Willow Valley, didn’t she?”

  He couldn’t believe his mother had misled him to Willow Valley, expressing fake concern over Booker’s grandfather living alone in his house, when in actuality, she’d sent him to…to what?

  That was the question of the day.

  Silence answered him.

  “Mom?”

  An irritated sigh came through the phone. “We may have discussed her whereabouts in a passing conversation…”

  “I knew it,” Booker shouted. “I can’t believe you orchestrated this.”

  “Booker, you’re over exaggerating. You visit your grandfather every Christmas anyway.”

  “Am I over exaggerating? Did she mention it in passing or did you suggest she come to Willow Valley? What is your ultimate plan here? Do you think I’m going to see her and realize I can’t live without her?”

  A short silence from his mother placed his own doubt in the sarcastic question. He feared seeing her would do exactly that.

  “Would that be the worst thing to happen?” she softly asked.

  “That’s not going to happen. We are over.”

  “Did you read about the scandal?”

  Booker closed his eyes and inhaled deep breaths to keep from telling his mother the scandal had been the reason he’d walked away. He didn’t need a lecture from Mother Mary after Cheyenne had lied straight to his face…twice.

  Walking away had been the hardest decision in his life. Cheyenne’s zest for life had been contagious, even for a man so lost his only comfort was drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. Her never-ending smile, mass of auburn hair, which most days she didn’t even bother to brush, and the life behind her eyes had brought peace to Booker’s life again. He felt bad for Cheyenne when the scandal released; there was no way around it. He hadn’t stopped loving her when he walked out the door, but he’d known he couldn’t spend his life with a person who didn’t trust him, and, in turn, who he couldn’t trust.

  Secrets hurt people and Cheyenne’s recent lies unfolding before the media proved to be a prime example of the aftermath damages inflicted on the Lilith House, a house for unwed mothers. He didn’t need his mother to tell him about the impact of the scandal. He’d volunteered at the Lilith House for months. When they’d found out the head director had not disclosed an abortion from her teenage years, all hell had broken loose. The Lilith House’s goal was to prevent those types of things and their investors were not happy. The investors refused to associate their names in circumstances opposite to their cause.

  For days Booker had tried not to think about any of it, but he couldn’t push away the memory of Cheyenne’s haunted look when he’d found the threatening l
etter on her desk. The first day she’d lied to him.

  “What a shady scam,” his mother, Mary, said with disgust lacing each word. “I am beyond words for the disappointment I feel at the person responsible. Cheyenne is a good person, with a big heart.”

  And a liar.

  “When I find out who is behind the release of her past, so help me Lord…”

  “Mom, I know you’re friends with Cheyenne—”

  “She’s like the daughter I never had.”

  “Now who’s exaggerating?”

  “Since you’re in town, can you do me a favor and look out for her?”

  Booker rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. “If by looking out for her you mean leaving her on the side of the road with her totalled car, then yes, I’m right on track.”

  A moment of silence followed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I called a tow truck.”

  “Booker Banks is your grandfather there? Put me on speakerphone.”

  Booker did as she directed.

  “Eddie?”

  His grandfather, Eddie chuckled from the rocking chair by the front window. Tapping a pencil on his crossword book, he pretended to be indulged in the next clue. “Mary. Say hi to Ellen, she’s sitting on the fireplace.”

  Booker glanced at his grandmother’s ashes in the black onyx urn on the fireplace.

  “Hi, Ellen,” Mary said, as if his grandmother was in the room. Eddie had made Booker hug the urn when he showed up last week—his mother should thank her lucky stars she wasn’t saying hello in person. “Do you know a Collins?” his mother inquired. “I’m not sure of the woman’s first name, but her granddaughter’s name is Cheyenne.”

  “Cheyenne Collins…” His grandfather ran the name across his tongue. “Why does that sound so familiar? Such a lovely name if I do say so myself. Solid and strong, like a fighter.”

  His grandfather had no idea. Cheyenne wasn’t a fighter in the physical sense, but she did fight for what she believed in, the Lilith House and the girls who stayed there. She fought tooth and nail, through stubborn and scared girls and women to give them a good start out of a bad situation.

  Booker covered the receiver, shooting his grandfather a look telling him to stop trying to get a rise out of his mother. “Enough from you, old man or off to the retirement home.”

  Eddie shrugged and feigned his crossword puzzle again. He sat there every day, waiting as the sun dropped to sleep and the Christmas lights lit up his property. There was a best decorated contest on Eddie’s street and he was determined to win this year.

  “I heard that,” his mother said through the phone.

  “Don’t worry, Mary,” Eddie said. “Booker will be fine. I have a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard.”

  “I’m not drinking,” Booker said.

  “When did that start?” Eddie asked. “Or stop?”

  “When he met Cheyenne,” Mary said. “Her inspiration impacted him on more levels than he’d ever expected, and days after they first met he stopped drinking and running around the world like a loose cannon.”

  “That’s a shame,” Eddie said. “Drunken Booker is less of a jackass than Sober Booker.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa.”

  “Should we pull out the bottle for old times?” Eddie asked.

  “No!” Mary and Booker shouted at the same time.

  “Heaven help us, if I’d known you were going to be a bad influence on him, Dad, I wouldn’t have sent him up there in the first place.”

  “If I’d known Cheyenne was here I wouldn’t have come up.”

  “And if your other son hadn’t gone screwing Booker’s fiancé two years ago, Booker wouldn’t have become a drunken playboy.”

  Mary groaned.

  Booker grinned.

  Eddie continued. “You can always look back and wish you hadn’t, but living in the now is the only way to move forward.”

  “How insightful, Grandpa,” Booker teased.

  “If I had known we were going to have this conversation I would have gone to the john,” Eddie mumbled.

  “Dad, you’re awful,” his mother said, but Booker could hear her smile.

  “And you’re suffocating the boy. Let him figure out his own damn love life. Oh, and I’m not coming up to Oakston for Christmas. I think I’ll enjoy little old Willow Valley this year. After the table dancing last year…”

  Booker groaned. “Do we have to talk about this?”

  “And the singing…”

  “I will leave you here alone, old man,” he threatened again.

  “Maybe you’re both right. I should hide that whiskey or Booker might climb on my kitchen table,” his grandfather said, standing. “Nice talking with you sweetheart.”

  “Never a dull moment with you, Dad.”

  Booker left his mother on speakerphone and began to pace the length of the living room. “Willow Valley might be a small town, but I don’t plan on running into Cheyenne again.”

  “Funny you should bring up running again. You’ve run away from problems your whole life.”

  “Mom, I’m a journalist and I’ve been travelling the world, looking for a story.”

  “Did you find one?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Confrontation is part of life, son. When will you stop taking off the minute things get rough and returning with another chip on your shoulder, pretending everything is okay?”

  “Don’t hold back.”

  “You two are perfect together and she’s in a bad place right now. Alone. She needs you more than ever. How about you stop being selfish and be there for her like she was when you needed her.”

  “Mom enough.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “Did what?”

  “Leaked Cheyenne’s past, putting her in this terrible predicament. Who would want to hurt her like this? And put the Lilith House in jeopardy?”

  Booker said nothing, not wanting to bring up the threatening letter he’d found on her desk. A letter she brushed off as nothing more than a threat from an angry family member of the people she housed.

  “Booker?” his mom pressed. “Do you know something about this?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?” Her voice screeched through the phone and he was glad for the speakerphone feature. “Are you in some way responsible for this?”

  “Do you think I did it?”

  Now his mother was silent. Booker couldn’t believe his mother would think so low of him. He was mad—no pissed—at Cheyenne, but he would never have released that story.

  “Goodnight, Mom.”

  “Booker?”

  “I thought you raised your sons better than this. One screws around with his brother’s fiancé and the other’s a sad, drunk journalist who leaks stories about his ex. I think I’ll stay in Willow Valley for Christmas, too. Night, Mom.”

  Booker tossed his cell on the coffee table. It slid across the wood, bunching up on the poinsettia runner, and knocking over a family of elves. The inside of his grandfather’s house resembled Santa’s workshop, only the head elf spoke a cranky tune. Speaking of which, Eddie stood in the doorway staring at the phone.

  Booker sent him a warning glare. “Don’t even get me started with you, Grandpa,” he cautioned. “Megan phoned me today to tell me you were up that old ladder again. I told you to wait for me. I offered to hire a couple of teenagers on the block to help you, but, instead, you go and climb that old thing by yourself.”

  The old man snickered, his dark eyes darting to look out the window as the sun began to set its beautiful colors of pink and purples over the town. “Old hag sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong,” he muttered.

  “She’s in her early twenties.”

  “Is that why you have her on speed dial?” Eddie chuckled.

  “I don’t have her number on speed dial.”

  “Participating in a little extracurricular activity while you’re here wasting your time thinking you’re putti
ng me on an old age home or trying to track down some Cheyenne who pulled the stick out of your rear end and gave you your conscious back?”

  Booker groaned.

  He didn’t want to talk about Cheyenne, especially since there was nothing to talk about, so he went with option two.

  “It’s a retirement home,” he said.

  “I don’t care if it was a room at the Caliendo Resort—I still ain’t going.”

  “You are going. It might not be today or tomorrow, but you, old man, are headed that direction.”

  “That’s what you keep telling me and here I sit.” The old man stretched his arms across his lap, sank deeper into the cushioned rocking chair and crossed his ankles with a grin. “As comfy as ever,” he added, looking mighty pleased with his cleverness.

  “I don’t plan on dragging you kicking and screaming to the retirement home during the holidays.” Although the thought had crossed his mind now. A crazy asylum had, too.

  “They better have some good storage for my decorations.”

  “I bet they have tons,” Booker said sarcastically. “I bet they will even have room for your old ladder.”

  “Smartass. Is supper burning?”

  Now who was the smartass? Booker took his grandfather’s hint to begin preparing supper and headed to the kitchen where chicken alfredo ingredients awaited him.

  He pulled out a pan for grilling the chicken and a pot for boiling the noodles. He doubled the recipe, contemplating extra to divide into individual portions and freeze for Eddie after he left.

  While the meat sizzled, Booker raided the cupboard for spices, finding the bottle of whiskey hiding behind them. He pulled it out, looking the bottle over with desire. In some ways the liquid acted like a drug. It had helped him coast through a hard time in his life while destroying the relationships around him. He’d turned to the relaxing liquid the night he found out Cheyenne had lied to him. He’d spun the lid off, like he did now, lifted it for a smell, and poured it down the drain. Alcohol would never control him again.

  Watching the liquid disappear down the drain, he wondered if Eddie would even notice, or forget where he’d hidden the bottle.