Battle of the Bulbs (Holidays in Willow Valley Book 1) Page 5

  “Thanks to you. I will never forgive you, Booker. That was my secret, my past, my life and you shared it with the world.”

  “Dumbass move,” Eddie hollered to them.

  Cheyenne glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t you step one foot on that ladder, Eddie, or so help you God.”

  The old man snickered at her, heading back toward the porch where lights spilled out of boxes. More lights, seriously?

  Cheyenne looked back at Booker. “You have trust issues.”

  “Me? You’re the one who didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. I asked you, Cheyenne. I asked you flat out what that letter was, twice, and you brushed it off both times, lying to me.”

  Cheyenne clamped her mouth shut. She would never tell him the termination was only the beginning of her struggles. Two days later she’d almost died, but he didn’t care. Not really. Two months ago he hadn’t even given her time to consider telling him before he’d splashed her secret everywhere.

  “You want to talk about that now?” she asked. “After disappearing for two months and leaving me with nothing more than my abortion report on my office desk. You paid someone to look into my past.” The thought made her sick inside.

  Booker opened the door of the truck, climbed out and slammed it behind him. “Of course I paid someone to find out what the hell spooked the woman I loved.”

  Loved? Past tense. He’d never said the word before. Had he really been in love with her? She couldn’t ponder the possibility now, with all the pain it entailed.

  “Grandpa, get down off that ladder!” he shouted past her. Then to her he said,

  “I had never seen you as spooked or as scared as when I read the letter out loud. You were off kilter, distracted for days and I was worried.”

  “That was your clue to drop it.”

  “Drop it? I thought you were in some sort of trouble. The note demanded a ransom threatening to release something you’d done.”

  “And what? When an abortion popped up you decided the action was what? Horrible? Repulsive? Who does that, right?” She tried to pretend it didn’t hurt, even if she knew if she was back there again, she’d do it the same. He didn’t understand everything.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Your actions said everything and I’m not Kylie.”

  “I didn’t say that either.”

  “I told him that last night,” Eddie yelled to them.

  Cheyenne ignored him although she was grateful he saw it her way, too. “I would have told you…eventually. Maybe not this year, and maybe not even five years from now, but I would have told you. Regardless it doesn’t give you the right to display my secrets because you feel betrayed again.”

  “Do you really believe I leaked this report?” he asked. “What kind of person do you think you were dating?”

  Cheyenne sucked in her lips. If he didn’t do it, then who did? Is that what he was saying? She’d blamed him the minute it had been released, but if it wasn’t him, it had to be her mother…unless he was lying.

  “I’m finished talking with you,” she said. “If you wanted to talk, you shouldn’t have walked out of my life.” She turned, seeing Eddie stepping on the ladder.

  Argh, she was going to kill him herself.

  “Get off the ladder!” Cheyenne and Booker yelled at the same time.

  Eddie jumped away like the wood was on fire.

  “Wait until I get home Grandpa,” Booker called before returning to his truck and peeling out of the driveway.

  Kind Cranky ignored him and began climbing the ladder before Booker got to the end of the street.

  “Mr. Banks!” Cheyenne called, once again darting through the freshly fallen snow to steady his ladder. “Come down from there before this ladder falls over and takes you with it.”

  Stupid men, young or old, always pushing her limit of politeness to its max.

  “I will get down when I’m good and ready,” he grumbled back, making her want to scream.

  “Fine.” She let go of the ladder and crossed her arms. “Do whatever you want. It’s your life. Fall over and snap your neck for all I care. You’re miserable, you know. I’ve never met a grouchier man than you.” She lowered her voice to say, “Just for the record, you’re the grouchy old man on this block. Everyone thinks so. So go ahead and fall to your doom.” Her hands flew to her mouth at the last statement.

  How awful. How mean and absolutely awful.

  Eddie stared down at her, hands spilling over with tangled lights almost as aged as him. His wrinkled face giving her an amused smirk.

  “I did not mean that,” Cheyenne said quickly, through her gloved fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

  He held one hand up to stop her, and Cheyenne’s hands flew out to steady the damned ladder again. “Don’t apologize. If you have the nerve to say how you feel, you shouldn’t back up and apologize because it’s rude. Rude is part of life. I like you.”

  He liked her? Did he like anyone?

  “You, Lily, and even Millie are the only three people brave enough to say your thoughts to my face.” His eyes looked down the road, at people shoveling their driveways and kids playing in the snow. “The rest of the town gossips behind my back or phone my grandson to tattle like children. But not you three.” His chuckle moved with him as he returned to hanging more lights, as if the property wasn’t already lit like a giant Christmas tree already.

  As she watched him adjust the lights an idea popped into Cheyenne’s head like the switch of this bright tree. She hoped the idea succeeded in getting him off the old ladder.

  “Mr. Banks?”

  Eddie ignored her. So much for liking her. Although if she’d yelled or insulted him, he would have no doubt replied.

  “You know what would really annoy my grandmother?” she continued. “What would really make her angry?”

  He looked down with piqued interest.

  Thank the stars.

  “If I let you borrow her ladder to hang the rest of your lights.” She liked the idea, but King Cranky scrunched his face up, unsure.

  Cheyenne rushed on to convince him while she held his attention. “Think about how furious Millie would be finding out I let you into her garage, gave you her ladder, helped you set up the ladder and…” She paused for dramatics, watching each proposal persuade his decision. “…I will take a picture of you on her ladder and show it off to her during supper tonight.” She wouldn’t really, but what would a little white lie do besides save this man’s life. “How does that sound. On her property, in her garage, using her ladder, and no charges filed because I said you could.” She let him stew on that for a moment before adding, “Oh, I know my grandma and that would ruffle her feathers.” She finished with her best troublemaking look. “What do you say?”

  Please say yes. Please, for the love of your life, say yes!

  His dark eyes shifted shades of wild grey like his grandson’s as he took his sweet little time deliberating her offer.

  “I’m not sure what your angle is mini-Hagwart…”

  Cheyenne smiled at his nickname for her grandma, knowing she called him King Cranky. They were more alike than they knew.

  “…but I like it.” He beamed a pleased look and then said, “Deal.”

  He wasn’t sure what her angle was? She didn’t want to see him hospitalized.

  He clambered down the steps, each one creaking its age and threatening to crack below his boots.

  This ladder needed to be chopped up and burned.

  ***

  TWO HOURS LATER, Cheyenne and Eddie had strung up every last one of the lights he’d dragged onto his porch. She hadn’t bothered asking to help, and he hadn’t objected when she’d began. They’d worked in silence, but once in a while Eddie would share a joke, a tacky anecdote, or an old saying that would make him chuckle, even if Cheyenne had no idea what he was referencing. All in all, the experience wasn’t so bad. Eddie wasn’t so bad.

  “Is this all of your lights?” she asked, afraid of
the answer.

  “Yes.”

  Inwardly, she sighed. “You have no more?” She had to make absolutely sure.

  “No.”

  “Do you intend to buy any more?” Her suspicion received a pointed look from him.

  “Do you intend to pay for them?”

  Cheyenne rolled her eyes.

  “Have a good day, Eddie,” she said, walking to the ladder she’d left leaning against the house.

  “Cheyenne?”

  She was surprised to hear her name and not “mini-hagwart” he’d dedicated to calling her all afternoon.

  She turned with raised eyebrows.

  “You know what would really annoy my grandson?” he asked.

  She felt her weary face crack, but said nothing.

  “You know what would really drive him crazy?”

  She held back her laugh, fearing if he knew how entertaining he was, he wouldn’t continue.

  “Go on,” she said as casually as she could.

  “Booker’s been working steady for days. He’s covered my dining room table with his work load and every time I turn on Christmas music, he nearly has an aneurism.” The old man’s face rotated to a snicker of enjoyment as he continued. “His body stiffens like he’s facing a black bear, his shoulders hunch like he’s going to fall onto the ground in the fetal position, and his lips thin like he’s going to run home and cry to mommy.”

  Descriptive.

  Cheyenne tried to hold back a grin, failing.

  Eddie shook his head. “Anyway, I saw these outdoor speakers at a little shop in town and what do they play…Christmas music.”

  She laughed so loud and hard, her stomach hurt. “That’s cruel. To even your grandson.” She only half teased.

  “You’re past the line girl,” he growled back, but gave a wink before trudging into the house.

  Booker didn’t like Christmas music.

  Cheyenne turned away from the house and began walking in the direction of town. If it was music he didn’t like, it was music she would get.

  Chapter Five

  THE LOUD, ECHOING melody of “Angels We Have Heard on High” seeped through the walls of Eddie’s house, piercingly loud and clear enough that Booker could sing along and would be unable to match the volume. The angels had heard this song alright. The last…he couldn’t say accurately how many times this song had played, losing count after a definite handful. “Away in a Manger,” “Deck The Halls,” “Angels We Have Heard on High,” and “O Holy Night,” were going to be the death of his eardrums. He could literally feel them ready to explode. A tick pounded at the central point of his mind. His eyes hurt from squinting at the work he’d hardly touched on his laptop.

  Booker didn’t protest Christmas caroling, but this endless repeat into the late hours of the night scratched his last nerve.

  When did they plan on turning the wretched sound off? Wasn’t it considered a noise violation at this late hour? Didn’t the other neighbours hear the repeating melody?

  That was a dense question. Of course the neighbours heard music. Everyone on the street heard the songs. Just not as loudly as on the inside of Eddie’s house.

  Those pesky Collins had undoubtedly hung the speaker to face his grandfather’s house purposely to drive him and Eddie insane.

  And it was working…for Booker, anyway. He’d caught Eddie nodding his head in tune with the beat a few occasions, and heard him sing a line or two.

  Booker caught his own fingers tapping with the tune now, and fisted them until they turned white.

  Groaning out loud, he dropped his head back onto the sofa.

  He’d thought Eddie’s record player drove him crazy, it was nothing compared to the booming sounds the Collins trio called music.

  “I’m phoning the police,” Eddie said, making Booker’s head jerk up with surprise. He hadn’t heard a better suggestion all day, but feared calling the police to Millie’s doorstep would cause her unnecessary stress and put a greater wedge between the two old neighbours. Booker would keep the peace between them if it killed him.

  He set his laptop on the retro teak coffee table and stood up. “I’ll go ask Millie to turn it down.”

  First, he planned on checking the direction of the speaker so come tomorrow when they hit play it wouldn’t be aimed at their house.

  Eddies padded his slipper-covered feet padded across the floor and pulled an ancient avocado-colored receiver from the phone hanging on the wall.

  “Do what you want,” he grumbled, walking back to the window with an extraordinarily long cord. Returning to his rocker, he dialed three numbers which Booker assumed were, nine-one-one.

  He ran his hands over his face, shaking his head in disbelief as his grandfather used the emergency number for an incident which was clearly not an emergency.

  “I’m going to put an end to this nonsense,” Eddie said to Booker, then spoke into the phone. “Police and fire.”

  “Fire? Hang up the phone, Grandpa,” Booker ordered onto deaf ears.

  “Police to charge the old batty next door with a noise violation,” Eddie continued. “And fire to climb onto the roof of my house and remove the speaker Hagwart has fastened there.” He paused and Booker could just imagine what the receptionist was saying. “Of course this is Eddie Banks,” he said with disgust. “Who the hell else lives beside Hagwart?”

  Booker half grunted and partially laughed, knowing the person on the other end recognized his grandfather by name.

  Booker didn’t plan on waiting related to the police to finish with their real emergencies, like the collisions and road closures for the snow storm they were having again tonight.

  In the kitchen, he checked two serving dishes of lasagna cooking in the oven. Almost ready.

  After turning the stove down to warm, Booker fetched his jacket and boots from the front door and bolted up the stairs to prevent police presence on the property, upsetting Millie. Upstairs, the intense Christmas lights outside poured through the french doors, lighting the beige and brown-flowered wallpaper. The two bedrooms he passed were darkened, the windows untouched by the brilliant lights.

  Booker pulled open one of the french doors letting a cool breeze blow inside, and sending shivers through his black slacks and the gap of his jacket.

  An ear-splitting, “Deck The Halls,” slapped him in the face with a “Fa la la la la la la la la” making him want to slap it right back. He fought the urge to strangle himself with a bough of holy, and gratefully found the speaker mounted on the Collins’ side of the house but facing the Banks’ side. He stepped outside onto the balcony glad they’d bolted the speaker low enough he could examine it for volume control.

  Sneaky Collins’ women.

  No signs of volume control, but a little twist—

  “The volume control is inside the house!” Cheyenne’s voice blew around him with the scattered snowflakes.

  The snow storm had commenced after supper, adding a good two-feet of snow to the already accumulated pile. Booker welcomed the snow. He’d been grateful to escape the days leading up the Christmas with his family, more particularly his brother and Kylie, and being trapped here for the holidays sounded like the perfect Christmas wish.

  If only his neighbour hadn’t turned out to by his lying ex-girlfriend.

  Cheyenne sat on a wooden chair, bundled in her oversized jacket, with a thick, knitted scarf wrapped around her neck, matching the hat pulled down tight on her head.

  What was she doing out here? Waiting for him? Baiting him?

  Booker didn’t like games, especially the head games this woman played.

  He didn’t plan on yelling over the singing and, keeping Cheyenne’s eyes locked with his, he lifted his hand to the speaker and slowly pushed it to completely face Millie’s side of the house.

  Cheyenne gasped, her eyes widening with a combination of disbelief and rage crossing her features. Jumping to her feet, she yelled, “Put that back!” Her voice cracked in and out through another round of “F
a la la la la la la la la.”

  Booker crossed his arms in front of his chest, silently conveying the message if she wanted the speaker turned back, she’d have to move it herself. Raising his eyebrows, he dared her to move it.

  Cheyenne took the dare, her eyes narrowing on him, her red locks whipping from under the rim of her hat. She marched straight to the speaker, twisted it back in his direction, and proceeded to fold her arms across her front. Booker tried to stay focused on the task at hand, but her naked body drifted into the front of his thoughts.

  Get your head out of the past and twist the speaker back.

  He twisted it back.

  She snarled.

  His glare deepened.

  Her eyes smouldered with anger.

  When her hands reached for the speaker, so did Booker’s, causing a struggle to ensue between them.

  The mature approach would have been to knock on Millie’s door and charm her into reducing the volume, but he couldn’t walk away from a confrontation with Cheyenne now.

  She proved to be full of as much spirit as in the bedroom and shockingly strong, battling against his strength before taking a low blow and whacking his arm. She wedged her body between him and the speaker, elbowing and slapping him in the process.

  With each movement they made, the music sounded from the east to the west and back again.

  Twisting, shoving, and thrusting, Booker couldn’t keep his thoughts from trailing back to his bedroom and the nights spent with her. Or worse, back to the evenings they’d spent on his living room floor, eating takeout beside his fireplace, talking, laughing and bonding in a way he hadn’t done with another woman…not even Kylie.

  He fought her protesting now, demanding his body ignore the way her wiggling body pressed forcefully against him, how through the cold air he could smell the familiar floral scent of her. He ignored his wavering thoughts, wondering why they were fighting when it felt so good to touch her. He wanted to use his hands, his lips…he wanted to feel her again.

  Without warning the speaker broke free from its restraint on the wall. They both shouted their surprise. The speaker tumbled awkwardly as Booker and Cheyenne fumbled to grasp any part of the plastic to keep it from dropping to the ground.