Beloved Healer

by Bonnie Dee

  “Will you come over tonight after you get off work?” she asked. “We can talk more.”

  He looked at her, eyes scanning back and forth as if trying to read her thoughts. “I promised Nash I’d run an errand with him tonight. I might not make it until late.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be up. I’ll hold some dinner for you.” She stepped close to him and brushed her lips over his cheek. His skin was warm and rough from stubble. He smelled sweet from standing in a steaming cloud of detergent from the dishwasher.

  When she drew back, Mason was smiling. “Not too freaked out?”

  She shook her head. “No. You’re still the same person you were yesterday, and I still want to spend time with you.”

  “Good. ’Cause I want to spend time with you too.” He curved a hand around the back of her neck and gave her a hot, lingering kiss that made her body tingle and her toes clench. Was that some of his magic healing mojo or just lust percolating through her?

  Ava walked backward to the door and gave him a little fingertip wave before turning to go inside. Pleasure and that squishy, happy new-crush feeling made it impossible for her to wipe the smile from her face as she returned to the dining room.

  Stella Rae took one look at her and shook her head.

  While she took orders and cashed out customers, part of Ava was caught up in romantic and sexual fantasies about Mason, but another part persistently whispered, Bryan. It would be so easy for him. And he likes you. All you have to do is ask.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carl Butcher’s house was an old double-wide trailer added onto in stages. The handyman had built a second story and cobbled on a side porch overlooking a stream that rolled past at the bottom of a small ravine. Mason imagined in springtime the water sometimes rose high enough to lap at the doorstep. But a steep hillside rose behind the house, so the family could literally “head for the hills” if necessary. Other than the green setting, the Butcher house reminded Mason a lot of the place he’d grown up. Decades-old mobile homes and rusty trucks were standard in Pierce, Arizona, and their owners had the same sort of hard-used faces as Carl Butcher.

  Butcher bobbed his head when Nash introduced him to Mason. “Pleased to meetya.” He kept his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and shifted from one foot to the other, gazing warily at Mason as if expecting him to start speaking in tongues or casting a spell. “So you’re him, the guy who can heal folks.”

  “Guess so.”

  “It ain’t a scam? You really do it?”

  “Yep.” Mason glanced at Nash, who stood beside him in the Butcher’s front yard, arms folded across his broad chest like a bouncer ready to break up a fight.

  “What you going to do exactly, and how much is it going to cost? I’m near about broke.”

  Mason cast his mind out and felt around. His inner eye swept over Carl Butcher’s rangy form from top to toe. There were a lot of little cracks and breaks that had been spackled over—kind of like the hodgepodge house he lived in. Something lurked in his ears and throat, an infection. And down in his groin there were the dark flecks of something brewing, perhaps a prostate issue. But the main area that boiled with darkness was near the base of his spine. More than the slipped disc Nash had mentioned, Mason thought.

  The tension started deep inside him, the energy waking up, summoned by Butcher’s pain. This one was treatable. Mason knew it as the power started to gather and rise.

  “Won’t cost you anything,” Mason answered curtly. It was hard to carry on a conversation while he was preparing to do his thing. “So, you want it or not?”

  Carl Butcher looked at Nash, who nodded, then back at Mason. “Well, sure. If you think you really can. I tell you I can’t stand the pain no more, and I can’t afford the drugs, or any more time laid up in bed. I need to work. My wife, Gloria—”

  “Got it. Quiet, please. I need to focus.”

  “Oh, man. You’re doing it right now?” The man took a step back, instinctively afraid of the unknown and possibly radioactive beam coming at him.

  “Turn around so I can touch your back,” Mason ordered.

  “It’s okay,” Nash reassured Carl. “I told you, it feels like pouring cool water on a burn. It’s good.”

  Shut the hell up, both of you. Mason closed his eyes as the power rose higher, faster, rushing like that stream after a hard rain, thundering up to the top. Filling him, pouring through him, pouring over...

  He placed one palm at the base of Carl’s spine. The energy stormed through him—his arm tingled at its passing—and then it left his body to enter the other man.

  “Oh! Ohhh,” Butcher moaned.

  Mason inhaled, dropped his hand, and stepped back. A wave of dizziness made him stagger.

  Nash shot out a hand to grab his arm. “You all right, son?”

  “Yeah. Leaves me a little wobbly sometimes.”

  More than wobbly if it was a really big healing, like, say, a three-car pile-up worth of people.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God!” Butcher muttered over and over as he reached behind himself and felt his back. He twisted to the right and the left, then leaned down to touch his toes. “Oh my sweet Jesus.”

  Mason swallowed, but his throat was so dry it would only click. “Can I have a something to drink?”

  Butcher straightened. “Hell, yes! What do you want? I got beer, and some whisky a friend of mine home brews.”

  “Water would be fine.”

  “Oh, yeah, right, water.” Carl gazed at Mason in rapture.

  Mason shied away from that look that had been directed at him way too many times. Carl figured he was some sort of saint, God’s hand, or whatever floated his religious boat. He no longer saw Mason as a normal person.

  “Why don’t you come in? Gloria made a cake for Tam’s birthday t’other day. Might be a piece left.”

  “No. Just water please, and I’ll wait out here. I’m kind of in a hurry. I have someplace I need to be.”

  “Sure. Right away. I’ll be right back.” Butcher hurried toward the house, practically kicking up his heels at being able to walk pain free.

  “Carl,” Mason called after him. “Remember, you promised not to say anything to anyone. That means your wife too. I don’t want this getting out. Please, swear you’ll keep it between you and Nash and me.”

  “I will. Swear to God.” Carl placed a hand over his heart. Then he grinned and disappeared inside the ramshackle house.

  Mason turned to Nash. “He’s not going to be able to keep a lid on it.”

  “Nope,” Nash agreed. “Why does it matter?”

  “Because pretty soon everybody in Waller will want me to fix something from a hangnail to cancer. I can’t do it.”

  “Takes something out of you every time, don’t it? I get that now.” Nash pointed at a pair of lawn chairs perched on the steep incline. “Need to sit yourself down?”

  “Naw. I’m okay.” But he wasn’t. He felt drained and still a little shaky.

  The glass of water Carl brought helped some, icy cold and flavored by a tang of iron and minerals from deep underground.

  “Thank you, sir.” Carl clapped a hand to his chest. “From the bottom of my heart. Anything I can do, you just let me know.”

  “Just keep your promise and don’t tell anybody,” Mason said.

  “Well, Gloria can keep a secret same as me, and she’s going to want to know why I’m suddenly better.”

  “Not even your wife. Tell her you woke up all better. A miracle happened in the night. She’ll think it was her prayers or something.”

  “All right. But I don’t like lying to Gloria.”

  Mason sighed. He’d bet a million bucks Carl wouldn’t last a day without telling his spouse. And after that, good old Gloria would tell her friends, who’d tell their husbands, who’d scoff but tell their work buddies, and so on. Soon someone would be desperate enough to take a chance the rumor was true and approach Mason to ask for their own favor.

  “Good night, Mr. Butche
r. Nice meeting you.”

  “Good-bye, and thanks again, Mr. Reed.”

  Mason and Nash got in Nash’s pickup, and he started the engine. “Drop you off at the Grove, or you want to stop for a drink first?”

  “Actually, I’m going to Ava’s, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Nash drummed on the steering wheel with his index fingers, but Mason could read volumes in his silence.

  “What? You going to warn me off her?”

  “Only if you’re going to break her heart. You’re on the road between one place and another, and Ava’s a stay-put kind of woman.”

  “I heard you the first time you brought that up,” Mason snapped. “Ava knows my circumstances. She can make up her own mind.”

  Nash held up a hand. “I didn’t say nothin’. You started it.” He turned up the music, and for a few miles, the twang of country filled the cab. “Thanks for helping Carl. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” Mason stared out the window at the blackness. When it got dark here, it got really dark. Waller was nestled in the foothills of the mountains, and not a lot of sky was visible. Mason missed the wide open views of the west, but when he looked straight up, the same constellations sparkled above.

  His stomach rumbled as he thought about Ava cooking dinner for him. He liked the idea of her expecting him. There’d been no one to care if he came or went for a very long time.

  Ava was kind and thoughtful, strong enough to be the rock for her family but vulnerable in her need to serve the people she loved. Nash was right. She was a stay-put kind of woman, not the sort to run away when things got too hard.

  Not like him. What the hell did she even see in him?

  Nash pulled up in front of Ava’s tiny house. The windows glowed, casting light onto the front porch where two rockers sat. The place appeared more homey and welcoming than the first time Mason had seen it. That night he’d caught a whiff of the sadness that dwelt inside—the weak mother, the dutiful daughter, the struggling son. Now, he only felt the warmth of family, and he wanted desperately to be inside, to be a part of that.

  He bid good-bye to Nash and walked toward the open front door. Ava stood, silhouetted by the light.

  “You hungry?” she called. “Come on in.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mason’s skin seemed paler than usual. Smudges shadowed underneath his eyes. His rumpled hair looked as if he’d run a hand through it, and Ava swore there were more white hairs flecking the darkness.

  Haggard. That was the word. He barely lifted his feet as he plodded past her into the house. The vibration of energy he gave off that often made the hairs on her arms rise when he was near seemed tamped down or shut off.

  “Are you all right? Come, sit down. I saved a plate of casserole for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  The house was too small to have a dining room, so Ava guided him to the kitchen table where she and Bryan sat for their meals, sometimes with their mother¸ more often without.

  Mason plopped onto a chair and glanced around. “Cozy house. And it smells good.”

  “That’d be the apple crisp.” Ava turned on the microwave to heat his meal, then went to the fridge to get him something to drink. “Beer?”

  “Please, and a glass of water too.”

  She watched as he drained the glass of water she handed him in several gulps. He set the empty glass on the scarred wooden tabletop, and his head bowed a little.

  “You look really tired.”

  “Kind of.”

  He didn’t offer more details, so Ava didn’t press. The microwave timer rang, and she set a steaming plate of food in front of Mason before taking a seat across the table from him.

  He fell on the food like a starving man. Ava sipped her beer and looked away, rather than stare at him eating. The kitchen faucet dripped in a slow but steady rhythm. She thought about replacing the washer to stop the drip and wondered if she could figure it out for herself. When she looked at Mason again, his plate was empty and he was swigging his beer.

  He covered his mouth as he burped. “Sorry. Guess I was really hungry. I sort of hoovered that down.”

  “I’m used to it. Bryan eats like a horse. Nice to cook for someone with an appetite.”

  “It was really good. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Good manners exchanged, they fell silent. Only the tap-tap-tap of the faucet and the tick of the old-fashioned cat clock on the wall disturbed the quiet. It could have been awkward, but instead felt restful. Ava felt no great urge to fill the space between them with chatter, though she had plenty of questions she wanted to ask.

  Finally, she said, “Would you like to sit outside? It’s a nice night, and there won’t be many more warm enough to enjoy before winter.”

  Mason nodded.

  Ava got another pair of beers from the fridge and led the way to the front porch. After all these years, the boards of the swing sagged in the middle so her body naturally slid toward Mason’s greater weight. But she hardly minded being snuggled up, side by side, especially when he put his arm around her.

  She closed her eyes and relaxed. How often had she sat on this swing alone, secretly wishing she was with someone? But there never had been anyone. Not really. A few high school boyfriends long ago. Since then, she’d been completely focused on making ends meet and taking care of her brother and mother. Maybe Frannie was right that it was Ava’s own fault for not making any effort.

  But she was here now, with a man she liked quite a lot. If Mason happened to be different—really different—from any man she knew, that was a good thing. And if he was only here for a while, well, she’d enjoy every bit of time they had together.

  He rocked the swing gently with one foot on the floor. “Where’s Bryan tonight?”

  “In bed already. School tomorrow.”

  “Oh yeah. I guess it’s kind of late.” He paused. “And your mom?”

  Ava shrugged, and Mason dropped the subject. She should return the favor and not ask questions about things he might not want to discuss, but she was ready to learn more about him.

  She shifted under the heavy warmth of his arm draped over her shoulders. “You were with Nash tonight?”

  “Yeah. He had a friend needed a favor, so I agreed to help out.”

  Ava looked at his profile, in sharp relief against the lighted living room window. “A healing kind of favor?”

  He nodded.

  She wanted to ask who, but it wasn’t her business. “It seems to really take it out of you.”

  “Sometimes. It depends on how much ‘juice’ the job requires.”

  Bryan. How much would it take to change faulty genes? Could Mason do it? Would he, if she asked?

  Mason took his arm from around her and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared at the porch floor. “I suppose you want to know some stuff.”

  “Only if you want to tell it.” She chose her words carefully. “It’s up to you.”

  His shoulders moved as he sighed. “Like I told you, I don’t really know whether this ability comes from inside me or from someplace else. All I know is I think using this power might be draining the life out of me.”

  Ava stayed quiet. A breeze rattled tree branches against the side of the house, and far away a dog barked.

  Mason went on. “I didn’t notice it when I was younger, but we lived in the middle of the friggin’ desert, so I wasn’t around many people. I first figured out I was different when I saved my dog after a rattler bit him. Then some other stuff happened…” He paused, reliving memories he wasn’t ready to share. “Some things I couldn’t fix. I left home. Bummed around the country for a while, then joined Croyden’s revival. They had some sham healer putting on an act, so I felt okay about getting paid to at least do the real thing.”

  Ava wanted to touch him, rest a hand on his back. He seemed so isolated, so alone, even sitting right next to her.

  “There was a show almost every day except when we
were travelling, and more and more people were hearing about the healing and coming from miles away. I was exhausted and told Doug we had to limit how many people I helped. He agreed, mostly because he thought it would be an even more effective way to drive up contributions. Withhold what they need and they’ll keep coming back, hoping next time they’ll be the lucky one chosen. He was a real douche bag. I should’ve quit right then.”

  Mason glanced over his shoulder at her, and now Ava did reach out to rest a hand on his arm. “What happened?”

  “We were traveling to the next gig. There was a big downpour and a pileup on the highway. Our bus wasn’t part of it. We pulled over in time. I walked up to the accident. Emergency vehicles weren’t even there yet.”

  He rubbed his hands together, palm to palm, then touched his fingertips together and stared at them. She tried to imagine what it felt like to have such power coursing through him. Confronted by twisted metal and injured people, how could he not have helped?

  “I read later almost twenty cars were involved in the accident and over a dozen people hurt. It was raining hard and too dark to really see, even though somebody had set up flares. I did what I could for as many as I could, but some were too far gone. I can’t always help. Sometimes it’s…just not possible.” He shrugged. “After a while, I was so wiped I could hardly stand. And then I passed out. I ended up being one of the ones loaded onto an ambulance.”

  “That’s when you left the show?”

  “Yeah. Of course, Doug was right there at the hospital trying to convince me to stick with him. I was his golden ticket. He wanted me to bounce back and start doing my thing ASAP. Even offered me a raise.” Mason snorted. “Lot of good that would do me if I wasn’t around to spend it.”

  Ava glanced at his dark hair salted with fine white threads. She remembered how pale and worn he’d looked when he first started at working at the diner, and how she’d agreed with Frannie that he was probably an addict of some sort. She felt so guilty about that now. At the time, she’d been pretty surprised Deb had hired him.

  “You really think this ability will kill you if you overuse it?”