Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(54)
Leaning back in his chair, Len asked, “If we want a rewrite, does that bring the writers back?”
Havoc elbowed him. “You’re just looking for another taste of California *.” Everyone at the table laughed. Show noticed that Badger was more reserved than the others. He was still new to the table. Took some time to shake off the obeisance of the Prospect.
“Hey, that was some choice *. Smelled like the ocean breeze, tasted like a ripe orange. Tight like a fist.” Len grinned and licked his lips.
Laughing, Isaac sat forward. “Alright. I don’t know if a rewrite brings the writers back. If it does”—he looked directly at Len—“be careful with the little princess. We don’t need that drama.”
Len spread his arms in artificial innocence. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. She loved her ride on the Len Machine.”
At that, Isaac gaveled the meeting to an end. As the Horde filed out, he held Show back. When the room was clear, he asked, “You okay, Show? Not like you to lose focus.”
Show knew that was true. Lately, though, with things so calm in the clubhouse and around town, and with things between Shannon and him heating up, he was distracted. It had been damn long time since he’d felt the way he was feeling now, like his life had focus and purpose beyond work. “Yeah, Isaac. Just a fluke. You got reservations? Surprised you didn’t bring me in on the script thing.”
Isaac shook his head. “No reservations. Just got the script this morning. I didn’t need input to bring it to the table. But you’re good?”
Show laughed. “Yeah, brother. I’m good. That’s the problem. Can’t remember when I’ve been this good. It’s distracting.”
“Don’t I know it.” Isaac clapped him on the back. “Good for you, man. Nobody deserves it more.”
oOo
When Show stepped into the B&B that evening, a couple of hours past dark and a couple of shots past sober, he found Shannon, Steve, and Connie working on the Christmas decorations. The tree was a big f*cker—twelve feet—and he’d brought it in himself earlier in the day. He was surprised to see them still working.
The scene was cozy—a fire in the fireplace, Christmas music on the sound system, Shannon on a tall ladder, hanging ornaments near the top. Steve was wrapping evergreen garland around the bannister, and Connie was spraying fake snow in the corners of the windowpanes.
Show had enjoyed Christmas with his girls. It was Holly’s favorite holiday, and she went all out. Her birthday was Christmas Eve, and, unlike some people with Christmas birthdays, who’d felt slighted by it, Holly felt special. Her parents had gone out of their way when she was a kid to make it special for her. And Holly was crafty. So their house had been crammed to the rafters with Christmas cheer, and she spent the whole holiday season, from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, at peace with the world. Even with Show.
Last Christmas, so soon after Show had lost his family—he barely remembered it. He’d spent as much of it as he could as drunk as he could get. Now, he watched these goings-on with a strange sense of contented melancholy. He was missing all three of his girls badly, missing their youthful excitement for the holiday. But he was standing at the foot of a ladder which held a woman who made him feel a kind of peace he’d never known with Holly. Shannon liked who he was, accepted what he did. She had patience Holly never had. She was controlled—too controlled, maybe, too cautious—but it was a nice change from Holly’s extreme responses.
From the foot of the ladder, he had a great shot of her ass. “You good up there? Be careful.”
She looked down at him, smiling. “That’s such a dumb thing people say. Like I wouldn’t think to be careful if you hadn’t said it—or like your saying it would change my mind if I hadn’t intended to be careful.”
He shook his head. “You think too much. I’m just saying don’t fall.” When she opened her mouth, he held up his hand in surrender. “I know, I know. That’s dumb, too. Get off the f*ckin’ ladder, smartass.”
“One sec. I just want to get this bare spot filled in.” The tree was beautiful, but nothing like he was used to. The tree Holly and the girls put up was decorated with all manner of unique ornaments. The girls each got a new one every year, and Holly either found or made ornaments to commemorate important events all year long. So their tree was a chronicle of their family. By the last few years, it was hard to get all the ornaments on. Show had liked that tradition, and he’d felt a sharp pang when Holly had wanted the Christmas decorations sent to her in Arkansas.
This tree was done in dark pink, greenish blue, and silver—bright, shiny ornaments in a bunch of different shapes and sizes, clustered together in groups, tied with iridescent ribbon. The color theme carried over to the decorations throughout the room—a huge wreath on the main wall, the garland up the bannister and across the desk, and a wreath lying on a sofa, which Show assumed would make it to the front door. It was beautiful, but didn’t feel very Christmas-y to him. Looked good in the room, though.
Shannon was coming down from the ladder. As she came to the last couple of steps, Show caught her around the waist and lifted her to the floor, then folded up the ladder. Steve, finished with the garland, crossed the room and took it from him. “If we’re done with this, I’ll put it back in the storeroom.”