The Gifted Ones: A Reader (20 page)

He hesitated a moment before speaking; she supposed he’d been laughed at before. “Well, I don’t actually remember this, you understand. It’s just what Mom and Dad told me. They said when I was really little, like two or three, our dog got sick. She stopped eating, wouldn’t play, seemed depressed, ya know? And nobody could figure out what was wrong with her. They were talking about putting her down. They tell me I just laid down with her on the bed, and after while, I got up and told them that there was something wrong with her hind leg, that it hurt really bad. They took another look, and sure enough, they found a tiny sliver stuck way up behind her dew claw, and it was badly infected.”

“But how did you know?”

“I’m not sure I can explain it. It’s not like I actually talk to them, or them to me. We just understand each other—kind of like how a mother understands her baby’s cries. She knows whether the baby is hungry or tired or sick, just by looking and listening.”

Grace considered that a moment, then asked, “And you can do this with any animal?”

“No, not all. Mammals, mostly, especially the smarter ones. And they have to know me, and trust me, or it doesn’t work at all.” Doo got up then and walked back to Gilda. She looked up at him, and he squatted next to her and rubbed her head as he spoke, “Look, it’s not magic or super-powers or anything. Lots of people communicate with animals every day—chimps, dolphins, pigs. Old Gilda here may not be as bright as those guys, but she knows what I’m saying.”

“So-o-o she knows there’s too much iron in her blood?”

He laughed. “No! That’s what we needed you for. All I could get out of her was that she ate something wrong and felt really weak and sickly. And then I told her that you were really smart, and you could help her, and she needed to do whatever you said.”

Grace smiled at his compliment, then got up from the bench and walked toward them. “Well, thank you, Doo, but I’m not sure she got that last part.”

Doo set both hands along the side of the cow’s head and made her look directly at him. “Sure she did, didn’t you, Gildy?”

As if to prove his point, the cow pulled away from him and began struggling to get up. Doo jumped up to guide and steady her. “See! I told you. She understands.”

Grace joined him to help steady the shaky Gilda. She still wasn’t convinced that Doo could talk to the animals, but he certainly had a way with this one. Just as Grace reached out to her, the cow pressed her nose up under Grace’s chin and then stuck her long tongue out and lavishly licked the side of Grace’s head. Grace couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud, despite the slathery wet mess she could now feel running down her neck.

“Oh, geez, sorry about that! I forgot to mention how affectionate Gilda can be.” Doo pulled a red bandana from his back pocket and prepared to wipe the evidence of Gilda’s affection off Grace’s neck.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over Grace as the handsome hombre came closer. He wrapped one big hand around her head, tipping it to the side and holding her hair back, while the other hand gently cleaned. It should have been the simplest of actions, the most innocent touch, but the nearness of his grossly masculine form was sending shock waves through her system. Oh, my. As she’d joked to Joe on the plane, it had been a long time since Grace had had any kind of intimate encounter with a person of the male persuasion.

She felt a few tiny beads of perspiration popping out on her forehead and the back of her neck. She was hoping he wouldn’t notice that. She wanted to smack herself for lusting after him; it was totally inappropriate. For one thing, he was much too young for her—at least six or seven years difference, maybe more. And for another, he was entirely too…too…ugh, dare she think it? The guy was just pure sex appeal—the kind of man old married women fantasize about. He was not some nice, stable fellow with a good job who’d make a great father, but rather, a flat-out stud muffin offering a strong jaw, a broad chest, and a guaranteed scratch to the itch.

Egads! What the hell was she thinking?

“Uh, thank you, Doo. I’m good now.” She pulled the bandana hand away from her neck, but he caught her fingers and held on. The hand around the back of her head tightened up just a little, and his eyes locked on hers. Deep, rich, sparkly pools, drinking her in. Oh, God, he was thinking it, too. Grace felt her resolve melting like a vanilla cone on a hot summer day. Ellie—her only real responsibility—was gone until tomorrow. And Joe Manning, the only other person who might notice or care, in a strictly big-brother-little-sister kind of way, was far off, too.

She relaxed her shoulders and allowed herself to be pulled in closer. Instantly, her senses went on overload. The guy smelled like bottled
man
—sultry, sweaty, and muddy, with a touch of sweet hay. The bandana hand was pressing against her back now, crushing her into the fold of his powerful arm. She let her eyes drift closed, and her head fell back.

“Mooooooooo!”

Grace’s eyes flew back open at the sudden sound of Gilda’s voice. Doo stiffened, and his head jerked up, looking over top of Grace’s head. He immediately released her and took a few steps back. He didn’t say a word, but pointed toward the window behind her.

“What?” Grace turned around to look. Sure enough, there was Granny, in her plain gray dress and sensible shoes, hurriedly tromping down the walkway that led to the barn’s side door. Grace slammed her face into her palm. Cripes, that was close. She would have absolutely died of embarrassment if Elmyra Mertens had caught her in the cowboy’s arms.

She turned back around to face Doo, who had apparently had the same reaction. He was once again snuggled up to his bovine buddy, his head pressed up against hers, and his hands massaging her. “Gilda my girl, you really saved my bacon that time. I owe you one, darlin’.”

“Wait a minute. You mean…” Grace raised an eyebrow, pointing toward the cow.

Doo straightened up and grinned. “I told you, we understand each other.”

Grace was still contemplating that when Granny burst through the side door calling out to them, “Grace? Doo? Where are you people? There’s something going on up in D.C. I’m concerned about Elodie.”

Chapter Eleven: Help

“Pat and Mike, Adam’s Rib, Woman of the Year
—geez, Carlo, you’ve got all my favorites. There’s nothing better than Hepburn and Tracy. I don’t know how I’ll decide.” Ellie stared at the wall in Carlo’s apartment that was filled, floor-to-ceiling, with movie DVDs, arranged by genre and year.

Angel shook her head. “I never heard of any of those.”

Carlo grinned. “That’s because there’s no fist-fights, gun play, or karate in any of them.”

“Okay, so I like action flicks, what can I say? But I suppose I can slog through one of those moldy-oldies if I have to.”

“They’re really good, Ange, if you give ’em a chance.” Carlo held up one of the boxes and pointed at the cover. “Tracy was a genius.”

Angel took the cover from him and looked at it a minute. “Really? She doesn’t look too bright to me.” Carlo and Ellie started laughing at that, so Angel lifted her shoulders. “What?”

Carlo bit back his grin and clarified, “Tracy’s the guy, honey. It’s Spencer Tracy.”

Angel blushed. “Oh. Right. Whatever.” She handed him back the DVD case and picked up her glass off the coffee table. “You two movie-bugs decide. I’ll go finish the salad.” She walked across the room, where a small kitchen lined the far wall. Multiple pots sat steaming on the stove, while various foodstuffs and plates and bowls and pans lined the narrow countertop. The whole tiny apartment reeked of garlic and oregano.

Ellie pulled another title off the shelf, shaking her head. “Man, Carlo, this is the most awesome collection ever. How did you get all these? You must have been collecting for years.”

“Actually, they were left to me.” He paused a moment, then added, “When my mother died.”

Ellie turned. “Wait, I thought your mom—”

“Oh, Maria? Yeah, she’s my mom. I mean…” He looked as though he didn’t want to continue. Ellie wondered what the story was, but was sorry she’d made him uncomfortable. He glanced toward the kitchen, where Angel was pulling some plump red tomatoes from the refrigerator, then looked back at Ellie. He gave a quick shrug. “I was adopted.”

“O-oh, I see.”

“I never even met my real mom. Her name was Sarita Longoria. She was this big-time actress back in Italy. I guess having a kid didn’t fit too well in her plans. She and my mom were close friends. I think they kept the whole thing under wraps. It says Luccini on my birth certificate.”

“Wow, that’s some story…” Ellie was trying hard to follow, but…uh-oh. That funky eye thing was happening again. She was starting to see the haze, only this time the colors were different—some light pink and dark blue. She was definitely going to get her eyes checked when they got home, but she didn’t want to interrupt Carlo right now.

“Now don’t get me wrong; my folks—the Luccinis—they’re the best. I couldn’t ask for better. I’m not sorry it worked out the way it did. Especially since…” Again, he stopped and looked unsure whether to continue.

Looking at him, Ellie’s heart was beating a little faster, and her breath felt shallow. The desire to hear the rest of the story was strong. She prompted him, “Especially since what?”

He grimaced, then blurted it out, “She committed suicide. I mean Sarita. She kinda went crazy, hearing voices and shit. They tried to help her, but then she killed herself.” The haze around him brightened and intensified.

Ellie’s jaw went slack. She felt lightheaded and lost. She gripped one of the bookshelves for stability and finally found her voice. “Whoa. I-I’m sorry, Carlo.”

Carlo shook his head, as if clearing out cobwebs, then ran his hand through his spiky blonde hair. “No, I’m sorry. I mean…I have no idea why I told you all that.” He took a step back from her, as though he needed to free himself from a spell she had cast on him. He looked into her eyes intently. “I’ve never told anyone that. Not even Angel.”

He took a couple more steps backwards and seemed to regain his composure. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “I-I need to check on the garlic bread.” But he kept staring at Ellie, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him, either. Finally, he gave her an odd little smile. “I guess you really are special.”

Ellie furrowed her brow at him. “Huh?”

“Hey, you two! You done yet? I could use a little help in here.” Angel’s voice dissolved the glue that seemed to be holding them together. Carlo turned and walked quickly into the kitchen, slipping in behind Angel at the countertop and wrapping his arm around her waist. The vibrant colors evaporated, and Ellie’s head cleared.

She sank down into his couch and looked absently at the DVD case in her hand. There was a couple on the cover, entwined in a passionate embrace, but the title was written in Italian. Ellie was clueless to make sense of it, but then down at the bottom, she saw it: Sarita Longoria. This was one of Carlo’s mother’s films.

Ellie turned her head to the side, peering over her shoulder toward the kitchen. Once again, she knew she should look away, but it was hard not to watch. Angel and Carlo weren’t chopping any vegetables. They were face to face, only inches apart, whispering and giggling together. He had one hand on her waist, and the other, tangled in her hair, playing around her ear. Ellie noticed a fat, shiny ring on his pinky finger. Odd—like Angel, Carlo just didn’t seem like the jewelry type.

# # #

The phrase “concerned about Elodie” had apparently been enough to light a fire under Grace Nagle. Whatever she and Doo were up to with that cow had been dropped the minute Granny stepped into the barn. Frankly, she was amazed at the speed of Grace’s reaction. The woman had more or less run back to the house and into Granny’s office after she mentioned the teeny, tiny concerns she had about the activities in Washington. Rishi wasn’t actually worried himself and had only called Granny, because he considered his findings interesting, not terrifying. But it looked like Grace was about to go nuclear over the whole thing. Half an hour later, they were still trying to convince her it was nothing to get upset about.

“Grace, please,” Rishi insisted from the large screen monitor. “You are not listening to me.”

“I
am
listening, Rish. You’re telling me that every single move my Ellie makes is being tracked by someone, and she’s in imminent danger! What part of that am I not getting?”

“No, no, no. That is not at all what I am saying. It is only a possibility, a remote possibility. These are some very sophisticated algorithms, but they are untested. I can offer no guarantees about what we are seeing.” Rishi tapped a few times on his tablet and waved a hand in the air. Some criss-crossing lines in a variety of colors formed a graphic on the screen in front of him, while his face still showed in the background. He motioned toward a peak in the graph. “See here, there was a minor spike in the linear trajectory of the transmission frequency a few hours ago, but that is statistically insignificant, mishti. It is only because of Visnu’s newest beta coding that we even noticed it.”

Grace waved him off with both hands. “Beta coding? Algorithms? Trajectories? For God’s sake, man, speak English!”