by Lynn Lorenz
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.” 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 smiling mouth, his 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 and 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’ street.
Plenty of time for a quick cruise around town. Check out a few things. Roll through the neighborhood.
He hit the turn indicator, then 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 I 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 am I 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, then entered.
“Lunch, Meemaw.”
Olivia sat up in bed. She looked much better. Color had returned to her cheeks and her skin had lost that papery texture. 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 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 gazed at him over her soup spoon, 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 stared 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 whispered.
“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 wa
s 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.”
“My, that was fast. Then he dumped you?”
“I wish.” He stared out of the window, took a deep breath and told her the rest. “No. Like a fool, I trusted him and gave him the password to my bank debit card.” Edward fought the burning behind his eyes, blinking away the tears. “At the ball, the one I told you about, I confronted him about the money. Told him to pack his things and get out.” He stared at his feet. “I was such a little fool to believe all his promises.”
She sighed. “Seems to me you didn’t do anything wrong but fall in love, and in my book, there’s nothing wrong with opening your heart to someone.”
“But I so stupid, so naive. I believed him. All the lies he told me. All the promises he made.” He closed his eyes and he was right back to the night of the ball, standing at the ATM in the lobby of the hotel, when he’d discovered there was no money in his account. He’d never forget the horrible, sick feeling that he’d been played by the one person he’d trusted.
“Oh, Edward.”
“That wasn’t all. I had to borrow money from Mother just to pay my mortgage and take an advance on my quarterly payment from the trust. She wouldn’t give me the money until I told her what had happened. I was so mortified.”
“I’m so sorry.” Olivia shook her head. “Couldn’t you get the money back?”
“Not really. The lawyers said I gave him access and since he was living with me, it could be construed that we were partners. Mother didn’t want to drag the Beauregard name and”—he made quote marks in air—“‘my lifestyle’ through the news in a messy court case, so we dropped it.”
“You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does.”
“Maybe I do.” Edward stood, took the tray and went to the door. “How about I let you rest now? If you’re feeling better by dinner, I’ll prepare something more substantial.”
“That would be lovely.” Olivia smiled at him.
Edward turned to leave when she called to him. “Edward?”
“Yes, Meemaw?”
“I love you.” She met his gaze.
“I know. I love you too.” He left the room and took the tray back to the kitchen.
Chapter Twelve
After cleaning the back seat of the cruiser of all remnants of dog, Jack spent the rest of the afternoon working on training Winston, adding to the repertoire of commands the dog obeyed. Now the dog had Stay and Heel down pat. Winston had made great progress. The dog was eager to please and had real heart.
After the session, Jack found a stick and they killed some time playing fetch. Each time Jack would throw the stick, the little dog would race after it, snatch it up and in that rolling gait of his, waddle to Jack. Then Winston would refuse to give it back. Jack, no longer fearful of him, pried it from those massive jaws, wiped the drool off on his jeans then tossed it again.
Jack sat on the grass as Winston came up to him, stick in mouth.
“I’m beat, buddy.” He lay back, hands behind his head, and stared up into the sky. Clouds floated past. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just stretched out in the grass and relaxed. Or been on a picnic. Or spent time with someone he cared about.
Winston dropped the stick onto Jack’s chest and gave him a big, wet kiss.
“Cut that out!” Jack wiped his cheek with his T-shirt. “Edward might like that, but not me.” He chuckled as the dog lay down next to him and fell asleep.
Seemed like a good idea.
Jack closed his eyes. A slight breeze cooled him and the warmth of the sun beat down on him. The soft breathing of the dog, the buzz of some insect hovering nearby, all lulled him into sleep.
Woof.
Jack woke and peered around. Winston was at the front door waiting to go in.
The sky, once blue, was streaked with orange and crimson. He’d been asleep for at least a couple of hours. Christ, he’d needed that nap. Sitting up, he stretched his arms over his head.
It was great being pain free.
As he stood, he realized he’d never told Edward ‘thank you’.
Of course, he’d been damn distracted at the time, but on Monday, when Edward came to get Winston, he’d make a point of telling Edward thanks. It was the decent thing to do.
Once back inside, Jack sat on the couch and flipped the remote, scanning the channels. It was Saturday night—Texas Tech was playing. He settled in and twisted the top off his beer.
Winston curled up next to him. It seemed the little dog craved the human touch. He snuggled his butt up to Jack’s thigh, pushing against Jack’s leg with his back legs, as if trying to burrow underneath Jack. Then he fell asleep, head on his paws, tongue caught between his front teeth.
Unthinking, Jack moved his hand over to the dog as he watched the game. He scratched behind Winston’s ears and gave the bulldog long pets, stroking his short fur. Winston grunted and rolled over, belly up, as if begging to be scratched there now, and Jack laughed.
The bulldog was as demanding as his owner.
Jack took a swig of his beer. Nope. Not going there.
Instead, he threw himself back into the game. His stomach rumbled. At least, he thought it was him, but it could have been the dog.
Jack phoned in an order for a pepperoni pizza and went to pick it up, because he lived too far out of town for the delivery service. And since the Italian restaurant was fairly close to Olivia’s house, he drove past again, the pizza sitting on the passenger seat.
The lights were on and Edward’s car was still there. What had Jack expected? Edward didn’t know anyone but Olivia in town, and it wasn’t as if he’d go trolling the local bars to pick someone up.
And if he had been gone, what then? Drive around with his food getting cold until he found the red Miata? Then what?
Jack drove past, turned at the next corner and went home. He needed to get back in case the dog had an accident. So far, Winston had been great. Edward had house-trained him, at least.
At home, Winston met him at the door, barking and dancing around him in excitement. His little nub tail shook his entire rump and his long pink tongue hung out of the side of his mouth, dripping dog drool.
“Hey, buddy! Did you miss me?” Jack held the pizza up so the dog couldn’t knock it out of his hands. “Ready for some pizza?”
Woof.
Jack went to the kitchen, got down two plates and put a large slice on each one.
“Dog food or pepperoni pizza?”
Woof.
“I thought so.” He put the plate on the floor and Winston dug in.
Jack took his plate to the living room, got into the recliner and scanned the channels. “Hundreds of channels and nothing to watch,” he told Winston.
Winston finished his pizza and now demanded another slice. The plate clattered on the tile floor as Winston knocked it with his paw until he got Jack’s attention.
“More?” Jack got up and put another piece on the dog’s plate. “After this one, that’s it. Edward will kill me if I let you get fat.” Jack chuckled, then sobered.
If Jack wasn’t careful, Edward might be the end of Jack’s life and everything he’d built here in Spring Lake.
Chapter Thirteen
“Dinner was lovely, Edward.” Olivia dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “You’re an excellent cook.”
“That’s chef, Meemaw.” Edward g
rinned then took their plates to the sink. “I’ll just get these soaking and wash them later.”
“I can get them.”
“Absolutely not.” He shook his head then offered her his arm. “You’re not to raise a finger until you’re feeling better.”
She took his arm and they went to the living room and sat on the couch.
“I do believe you’re enjoying this.” She winked at him. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s made such a fuss over me.”
He shrugged. “It’s my nature. I’m a nurturer. It’s a curse, really. Sometimes I don’t know when to quit, so tell me when I get annoying. I guess I just need someone to care for, you know.”
“I understand. Everyone wants that.”
Jack probably longed for a woman to care for. And he’d be wonderful, Edward knew it. Jack was strong, brave, trustworthy, the perfect mate for some lucky woman. Really, Edward needed to stop beating himself up about Jack. Forget him and move on.
He sat back and pulled one leg under the other. “Now. There is something I’m dying to know. If you were such a sucker for a bad boy, what about Grandpa Frank? Was he a bad boy that you tamed?”
“Your Grandpa Frank? A bad boy?” She laughed. “Oh, dear me, no. He was as straight, as honest and as kind as the day was long.”
“Then how in the world did you wind up with him?”
“I almost didn’t.” She sighed. “I’d been punished, I guess you’d call it ‘grounded’ these days. That didn’t stop me. I snuck out of the house and hightailed it down to the local hangout. I ordered a hamburger, fries and a cola, with the intention of not paying for it. I was going to sneak out, make a run for it.” Her eyes sparkled.
“Meemaw! I’m shocked! I had no idea you were such a little hoodlum,” he teased.
“I was bored. And I suppose all those bad boys had rubbed off on me. I wanted to be rebellious, be wild and wicked.” She laughed.
“And Grandpa?”
