Edward Unconditionally Common Powers 3 (11 page)

“Me too,” added Rush.

“I sort of came on to him. I'd been flirting with him since the stop, but last night at his house— ”

“Wait. You were at Jack's house?” Brian interrupted.

“Yes. I went there to bring Winston some dog food. Anyway, I came on to him. I thought... I felt... he... Anyway, it doesn't matter. He told me to leave him alone and that he wasn't gay. I was so mortified.”

The men nodded their understanding.

“I'm usually right when it comes to these things. But this time I was
so
wrong.”

Edward caught the look that passed between Rush and Brian, but they said nothing more until Rush pulled up in front of Olivia's.

Rush spoke as Edward got out. “We're having some friends over on Wednesday evening. Why don't you join us?”

“That's a great idea, babe,” Brian chimed in. “Come out to the ranch, Edward.”

“How sweet of you! I'd love to. Is it a real ranch?” Edward wasn't sure about going to a ranch or what he'd find there. He had a vision of trying to drive the Miata through a herd of cows. What if there was a stampede? In those old westerns, the cattle always charged right over a cliff.

“Yep. Got horses and cattle.”

“But no cliffs, right?” Edward asked.

“No. No cliffs. Most of our land is pasture, woods, and rolling hills.” Rush tilted his head as if pondering the question and its meaning.

“That sounds nice,” Edward said.

“I'll call you later to give you directions. Give me your cell number,” Brian said. They swapped numbers, and then Edward thanked them and limped up the path to the front door as the two men drove off.

Despite his run-ins with the jerks at the garage, most of the people he'd met here had been very nice and welcoming. Of course, he hadn't met more than a handful of people, but so far, Hooterville was shaping up nicely.

Edward expected to smell bacon or sausage cooking when he came in, but only the light scent of lavender caught his nose. Had he been gone too long, and she'd given up on him?

“Meemaw?” he called out. No answer.

He went to the kitchen. The paper and her coffee cup sat on the table as if she'd just gotten up and walked off. He turned around and went to the hall, passed his room and the guest bath, and went straight to her room.

Edward knocked softy on the door. “Meemaw? Are you all right?” After no answer, he opened it and peeked in.

Olivia lay stretched out on the bed, her arm slung over her eyes.

“Meemaw?” Edward's stomach dropped. She was so still. So small on the queen-size bed.

He went to her side and bent over. Taking her hand, he petted the back of it.

“Meemaw? Are you okay?” Thank God, it was warm.

Her eyes fluttered and opened. They looked dazed as she searched his face.

“Edward? You're back.” She sighed. “I'm sorry about breakfast, but I had a bad spell.”

“I don't care about that. Did you fall? Are you hurt?” He looked her up and down but didn't see any sign of bruises or cuts. “Should I call your doctor?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I just get weak and have to lie down.” She tried to get up. “I'll get your breakfast now.”

“You will not!” Edward put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back gently. “I'm a big boy. I can fend for myself. How about I fix you something?”

She patted his hand. “No, thanks. I need to rest, and after one of these spells, I can't touch food for a while. Go take care of yourself, child.”

Edward frowned. “Maybe I'll just get cleaned up and come sit with you.”

She smiled. “That would be nice; I'd like that.”

“Be right back.” Edward left, hurried to his room, gathered some clothes, and headed to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he skipped shaving and fussing with his hair, and then tackled the cut on his knee. Once he'd cleaned and bandaged it, he dressed and went back to Olivia's room.

She was sleeping. Edward slipped into a chair near the bed and watched her. Even, shallow breaths made her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. That was good. When she felt better, he'd ask her about the spells.

The area around her eyes looked sunken, her skin pale, papery, and almost transparent. She looked terribly old, and Edward was struck by her mortality. She'd seemed so alive just this morning. What had reduced her to this in just one short hour?

Whatever it was, Edward wasn't sure he wanted to tackle it. Not until he understood exactly what “it” was. He needed to speak to her doctor.

If she had one.

Surely, she'd been to see a physician about these attacks? His mother ran to the doctor for every ache and pain, real or imagined. But old people were funny sometimes. She'd already said she hated complaining and listening to other old people talk about their illnesses. Did she hate it so much she hadn't gone?

That he'd have to forge ahead, into a situation he knew nothing about, and try to use his power to heal her, terrified him.

Like he had with Jack.

He stared at the woman he'd come to love in just two short days. She'd loved him from the first moment he'd entered her house. Had loved him all along. Edward knew that. He'd felt it in his bones. And in response to that love, he loved her back. She'd accepted him without hesitation. Without snide remarks or suggestions about how he could change or improve himself because he wasn't good enough.

He'd been good enough for her just as he was.

She was his grandmother, and he barely knew her, yet he loved her fiercely.

But did he love her enough?

Jack stared at the empty shelves of his refrigerator. The six-pack of Shiner was nestled in the door tray. Over the last day or so, he'd fed most of his food to Winston during their training sessions. Jack would have to go to the store and do some shopping if he wanted to eat this week.

Winston, on the other hand, had the dog food that Edward had brought him.

Shutting the fridge door, Jack straightened and looked down at the little bulldog.

“Well, buddy. Looks like we're going out for lunch.”

Woof.

“I could go shopping, but I don't really feel like it.” Actually, he hated it. Of the few things that got to him about being alone, shopping for groceries was at the top of his list. There was nothing worse than pushing a half-empty cart down the aisle, picking up beer, chips, cans of soup, and frozen TV dinners.

Nothing said “single and alone” quite like that.

He'd thought after all these years of cooking for himself that he would have become a great chef. But that was so wrong. He'd burn water if given a chance.

Emptying soup into a bowl and microwaving it was the extent of his culinary skills. Sure, he could fry an egg and some bacon. Make toast. Nuke a potato.

But fashion a delicious meal from scratch?

No way. He'd long since gotten tired of throwing away burned, overcooked, or just plain bad-tasting food.

Maybe he'd pick up some steaks and chops. Fire up the grill. He didn't suck at cooking meat over a fire, but for most men that was innate. Something that still lingered in all male genes. A throwback from the time of cavemen.

Fire good.

He chuckled and picked up Winston's leash. “Come on, buddy. Let's go to the drive-through. We'll get a couple of chicken dinners with all the fixings.”

Woof.

The dog danced around his legs, his tongue hanging out of the side of his wide mouth, dark eyes shining.

Jack hooked him up and they left.

Winston trotted over to the cruiser.

“No, buddy. I don't drive that on my days off. Personal time. Personal car.” Jack led him over to his gray Silverado. It was old but paid for, and in Jack's book, that was just fine. He'd never been one of those guys who waited for the newest model to come out so he could trade in the old. He didn't see any sense in paying never-ending car notes.

The old girl didn't have any of the newer fancy gadgets, like a CD player or places to plug in one of those iPods or a cell phone. She was just a good, old-fashioned, American-made, pick-'em-up truck, with all the dents, scraped paint, and road dirt to prove it.

He opened the door, and Winston tried to climb up. His front feet reached the running board, but his back legs couldn't make it. The dog hung, one back leg searching for purchase, as he struggled to get inside.

“Too short, huh?”

Forgetting to worry that the animal might bite him again, Jack leaned down and picked the dog up. Winston was compact, but Christ, the dog had the density of a small planet. He stilled in Jack's arms as he lifted him, then scampered onto the bench seat and trotted over to the passenger side.

Jack got in and started the truck. Winston leaned on the door, pressed his face and flat nose against the window, leaving ugly smears of dog drool and tongue prints that blurred the glass.

Woof. Woof.

“I get the message.” He hit the window control, and Winston's window rolled down. The dog hung over the side, ready to go.

Jack backed out of his drive and headed to town.

Once on Main Street, he slowed as he approached Olivia Rawlings's street.

Plenty of time for a quick cruise around town. Check out things. Roll through the neighborhood.

Hitting the turn indicator, he made the turn. He cruised down the street to her house and pulled to the side. He noted the little red Miata, its top still down, parked in her driveway. Under the carport sat her old blue Cadillac Eldorado. From the dust, it looked as if it had been parked there for ages.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her driving it. He always thought she'd be driving that car around to all her meetings, to shop in San Antonio, and out to the old ranch, until the day she died.

Maybe he should look in on her. Pay her a visit. She might be ill.

He had his hand on the keys when he froze.

Who the hell was he kidding?

Cursing himself, he threw the gear stick into drive and pulled away from the curb.

Was he that pathetic he had to make up some lame excuse just to see Edward again?

Fuck no. Edward was the last person he needed to see.

What he
needed
was for Edward to finish whatever business he had here and take his tight ass the hell back to Atlanta. And leave Jack the fuck alone.

Edward ladled the soup into a bowl, placed it on the tray, and put some crackers next to it. Then he added a glass of iced tea, sweet, of course, and quickly folded a napkin into a swan. A bud vase with a yellow rose from Olivia's garden was the final touch.

Satisfied with the effort, he carried it to her room, knocked, and then entered.

“Lunch, Meemaw.”

Olivia sat up in bed, looking much better. Color had returned to her cheeks, and her skin had lost that papery look. Her eyes seemed brighter as she smiled at him.

He placed the tray across her lap.

“Lord, child, you didn't have to go to all this trouble for me.”

“Of course I did. Besides, presentation is never any trouble.” He shook out the napkin with a snap and laid it across her lap.

She leaned over, inhaled, and sighed. “Chicken soup. It smells perfect.”

“I use the wide noodles.” He pointed at them. “It's just the quick version. My real chicken soup takes a day.”

She took a spoonful, swallowed, and nodded. “Well, you've done a fine job.”

“Thanks, Meemaw. One day, I hope to make some lucky man a wonderful wife.”

She laughed, slapped his hand, and dipped a cracker into the broth. “This is just what I needed.”

“I'm glad.” He sat on the chair and crossed his legs. “Now. I want to know what this is all about.” He gave her a stern stare. “And I want the truth. I'm not a child to be coddled.”

She looked at him over her soupspoon, then took another sip. “It's not something you can do anything about, so what's the point, Edward? I've made my decision about how I want to spend the little time I have left on this earth, and it's not plugged into machines, drugged out of my mind, lying in a hospital bed, praying for the end.”

“But what if there were something you could do. Something that would give you more time, more years, even?”

She looked off into some distant place; then her gaze came back to meet his. “I'm not sure, child. I've lived a long time, and it's been good for the most part. I have regrets, true, but who doesn't? However, I've lived my life just the way I wanted to, and I'm happy. More time?” She shrugged. “What would I do with more time?”

Edward picked at the faded spot on the knee of his jeans. “Spend it with me?” he said softly.

“Oh, child.” She placed her hand over his. “You're one of my regrets. I should have contacted you and ignored your father's demands to stay out of your life.”

Edward's head snapped up. “He said you didn't want to see me.”

She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “Never. I never said that.” She sat back and pushed her half-eaten soup away. “Even after he died, I should have written you. Or called. But by then you were a young man, and I thought the last thing you'd want was some old lady hanging around.”

Once again, his father had interfered with his life. Even from the grave, the man's reach was long. His father had been opinionated, hateful, and could hold a grudge longer than anyone on God's green earth.

“Maybe. I'm not sure. I was going through a lot of stuff when Father died.” It was Edward's turn to shrug. “But I sure could have used you in my corner.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Hey, it's not all your fault. I could have made contact. Not waited almost fifteen years.”

She smiled, patted his hand, and cocked her head at him. “And just what was the
real
reason you came? And don't repeat that story about your love life.”

“It wasn't a story. Derek, that was... that is his name... I found out he'd arranged to meet me before we'd even met. He'd set the whole thing up just to get to me. Well, to my money.” God, it sounded so lame when he said it with his outside voice. He'd never admitted it before, except to Winston. “He swept me off right off my feet. Dancing. Candlelight dinners. Getaway weekends. All on my dime, of course, but at the time, I didn't care. It was très romantic. A gorgeous man swearing undying love to me.” Edward rolled his eyes. “Before two months were out, I'd moved him into my condo.”