Unfinished Hero 03 Raid (5 page)

“They’re in Arizona,” I replied.

“They all left her with just you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, no, but yeah,” I babbled. “What I’m saying is,” I carried on
in an attempt to make sense (for once). “Mom and Dad wanted her to go to Arizona with
them
,
but she refused to go. But Mom got in a really bad car accident about two years before
they moved
. I
t was snowy and she never really liked driving in snow. That just capped it. She became
terrified. Dad got a transfer offer to Tucson and they wanted to take it, go down
there, Dad working until retirement, Mom getting a part-time job
. K
ind of semi-retirement. Grams, well, she’s old
,
but she’s still good on her own. She’s busy. She has a lot of callers. Someone is
by every day, not
just me. And Grams and I are close so I’m good with, uh… popping by and seeing to
things. So I talked them into going and Grams was right there with me. She didn’t
want to delay their retirement preparations since she’s convinced she’s never going
to die and daily proves that she’s right so, uh… they went.”

Raiden stared at me.

I inwardly squirmed.

Finally he again spoke.

“How ‘bout you give it a rest for today and let me deal with this shit?”

I blinked.

“You mean, put away the groceries?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“You don’t know where anything goes,” I told him.

“I’ll find my way around.”

It struck me that if I let him do this I could quit talking to him and therefore quit
acting like an idiot. So I decided to let him do this.

“Okay, but,” I started to warn, “if Spot shows, and he’s feeling less than lovable
and attacks your ankles, just ignore him. He doesn’t have any claws and he doesn’t
ever bite too hard.”

It was Raiden’s turn to blink.

Then he asked, “Are you talking about that fat cat?”

“Yes,” I replied
,
and a slow grin spread on his face.

Magnificent.

“Miss Mildred named her cat Spot?” he asked.

Oh boy.

I was going to have to show my idiocy again.

“Actually, she couldn’t come up with a name
,
so I named him Spot.”

His features shifted with the warm amusement that flowed through them.

I was wrong before.

That
was magnificent.

“You named a fat cat Spot,” Raiden stated.

“Yes,” I whispered.

His amazing eyes dropped my mouth.

I forgot my name.

“He wasn’t a fat cat then,” I stupidly went on. “Seeing as, back then, he was just
a little kitty.”

His eyes came back to mine.

“You name a dog Spot,” he informed me.

“Okay,” I agreed (again, stupidly).

“Unless you’re cute. Then you name a cat Spot.”

I had no reply to that
,
mostly because there wasn’t one, but partly because he kind of said I was cute
,
so I was having trouble breathing.

He jerked his head to the door. “Go. Take a load off. I’ll be out when I’m done with
this.”

“Righty ho,” I muttered.

His grin came back, I decided to check online for a hairshirt so I could wear it and
torture myself for my idiocy (I mean, “righty ho”?)
, and
I scuttled out.

Grams was snoozing in the sun
,
but she came to when I threw myself in the cushioned Adirondack chair kitty-corner
to her and across from the loveseat Raiden had been sitting in.

“Where’s our handsome company?” she asked, searching behind me with not a small amount
of obvious excitement, looking for Raiden.

Seriously, I was so totally of her loins
,
except I wasn’t funny and interesting.

“Putting away the groceries,” I answered
,
and she gave me a big smile.

“Coulda knocked me over with a feather, the front bell went and I opened the door
to that tall drink of cool water,” she remarked, settling back into her chair and
closing her eyes. “Woke up and I knew it was a good day. Felt it in my bones. Opened
the door to him, glad I was right.”

I wasn’t.

“Grew up good and strong, that one did,” Grams kept talking. “Coulda called it. You
asked me thirty years ago, would Raiden Miller be a fine, tall, strong, handsome man?
I woulda said, ‘You
betcha.
’”

I sucked back root beer
,
wishing it was vodka.

Then I sat back and lifted my feet up to the coffee table, saying, “You’re rarely
wrong, Grams.”

“Damn tootin’,” she replied. “And, get this,” she started
,
so I looked at her to see her eyes open and her head turned to me. “He asked if there
was anything he could do around here. Says his Momma sent him to check on me, make
sure I was okay and that the house was in tiptop shape. I told him I had to pay that
Crane boy twenty dollars a week to mow my lawn and cut back my bushes. He said he’d
be out every Friday to see that’s done and won’t charge me a penny. I took him up
on that, you better believe it.”

Seriously?

What was going on?

Years, Raiden Miller didn’t know I existed. He took off, was gone for years more.
He came back and for months he still didn’t know I existed. And suddenly he was everywhere
I was?

I straightened, taking my feet from the
coffee table and began, “Grams
—
”

She waved a hand at me. “Don’t take away my fun.” Then she smiled and leaned my way.
“Every Friday, him in my yard, sweatin’ and mowin’ my lawn. Even old women need a
thrill.” She settled back and closed her eyes. “That right there’s gonna be mine.”

If I didn’t act like a klutzy, dorky idiot every time I was around him, I would be
there every Friday to watch Raiden mow the lawn
,
too.

Instead, I would do my best to be in Bangladesh.

I put my feet back up on the coffee table and sucked back more root beer. I knew it
would be useless to argue with Grams, tell her favors never came for free, explain
what my Dad reminded me of time and again. You paid for it, like Dad did, sending
up money for Grams to pay the Crane kid, or you did it in the family.

You didn’t owe anybody.

And I was thinking, even for a ninety-eight year old woman, you
really
didn’t owe Raiden Ulysses Miller.

On this thought, Grams straightened like a shot two seconds before Raiden showed on
the porch.

Ninety-eight or not, she had the hearing of a German shepherd. Always did.

“Good! You’re back!” she cried then snapped her fingers at me. “Hanna, go get your
afghans. The taupe one. And the cream.”

I couldn’t see m
e,
but I was relatively certain my eyes bugged out
,
and I was relatively certain because I could
feel
them protruding from my head.

“Raiden, child, sit. Let Hanna show you her handiwork.” She threw a bony, wrinkled
hand toward the loveseat then leaned that way over the arm of her chair to get closer
to Raiden
,
who was folding himself in and grabbing his tea. “My precious Hanna, she not only
makes
,
but
designs
the most
divine
afghans you’ll ever see
and
feel,” she bragged.

“Grams
—
” I tried to cut in.

“I know this not only because I have
three
,
but also because she sends them everywhere, even all the way to
New York City
,
and not one of them sells for less than two hundred and
fifty
dollars.” She nodded as if Raiden had cried, “No!” (which he didn’t) and kept babbling.
“Some of ‘em, the better ones, are worth
five hundred dollars.
”

“Grams!” I snapped.

“This I gotta see,” Raiden drawled
,
and my eyes shot to him.

“Get ‘em, precious,” Grams ordered. “All of ‘em. The pink one too.”

I tore my eyes from an amused Raiden and looked at my grandmother.

“Grams, he’s a guy. He doesn’t care about afghans,” I told her.

“He cares about five hundred dollar ones. Any fool would wanna see a five hundred
dollar afghan,” Grams shot back
,
then looked to Raiden. “All three of mine would cost that in one of those fancy shops
Hanna ships them to
,
and let me tell you they’re worth every penny. I sit out here, dead of winter, one
of Hanna’s afghans around me, snug as a bug. Like it’s August in Looseeanna
,
but without the humidity. I’m not joking.” Grams turned a proud smile to me. “That
and her preserves, makes her livin’
,
and it’s a good one.” She looked back to Raiden. “Now tell me, how many folks can
say they make a livin’ off knittin’, crotchetin’ and cookin’ fruit? Don’t answer.
I’ll tell you. Not many. To pull that off, you gotta have sheer talent, like my Hanna.”

Again, her head turned my way.

“Well, you gonna get those afghans or what?”

I wanted to say, “Or what.”

Instead, I put my root beer down, hauled my behind out of the chair and went into
the house.

Spot was on the pink afghan. He was not pleased with me moving him and therefore hissed
and batted me with a paw.

“Don’t complain to me, buddy. It’s the old biddy who sent me on this errand,” I muttered.

Spot was not mollified and he shared this by hissing at me again while trying to sink
his teeth into my wrist.

I escaped the Spot Attack, found the other two afghans and headed out.

“Look at those!” Grams cried like I just unveiled three masterpiece works of art.
“Decadence in blanket form!”

I tossed them over the back of the chair I’d been sitting in and smoothed them out.

Truthfully, I was proud of my afghans
,
and Grams didn’t lie
. T
hey cost that much because the wool cost a fortune. It was the best of the best. And
they were pretty
;
loose weave, tight weave, patterned. I was proud of them.

Even so, my eyes moved very slowly toward Raiden.

His eyes were aimed at the blankets
,
but he must have felt my gaze because they lifted to me.

“Gorgeous,” he said quietly
,
and he sounded like he meant it.

Warmth suffused my body.

“Thanks,” I replied just as quietly.

“Told you,” Grams stated. “Now you should try her preserves.”

Oh no.

I’d had enough.

“Actually, I have to get to work cleaning the house,” I said quickly.

“And I gotta get back into town,” Raiden said on the heels of my statement
,
and he did this while standing. He looked down at Grams. “You call Crane, Miss Mildred.
Tell him you got a new lawn service. I’ll be here next Friday.”

“I’ll do that, child,” she replied then turned to me. “Walk our caller to his car,
will you,
chè
re
?”

This just never ended.

Before I could do it or find an excuse not to, Raiden spoke.

“No need
. D
on’t have a car since I walked here. I can find my way
,
and I’m sure Hanna wants to finish up so she can sit back and enjoy her visit.”

He’d made it around me
,
but moved in to lean down and touch his lips to Gram’s creased, paper-thin cheek.

“Next Friday, Miss Mildred,” he murmured while lifting up. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Look forward to it, son.” Grams twinkled up at him. “And you’re more than welcome
anytime.”

Raiden turned and looked down at me. “Later, Hanna.”

“‘Bye,” I mumbled.

His lips twitched
,
then his body moved and I watched him walk away.

It was a good show.

From where I stood I could see all the way to the front of the house
,
so I enjoyed the show until the front door closed on him.

“He’s the cat’s pajamas,” Grams declared
,
and I looked down at her to see she’d twisted so she was curled around her chair
so she could watch the show
,
too.