Upper Hand (Cedar Tree Book 5) (5 page)

Before I have a chance to open the trunk to start unloading the bags, the front door opens and Gus comes out.

“Did you leave anything on the shelves?” he says, eyeing the number of bags in the car, before grabbing four of them at once and walking inside. Wiping my clammy hands on my jeans, I grab two of my own and follow him into the house. There’s no sign of Clint. When Gus catches me looking, he tilts his head down the hallway to the bedrooms.

“He’s lying down for a bit. Guess the drive home and the state of his house took the stuffing out of him.”

“How was his reaction?” I ask, knowing that Jed would be on pins and needles.

“The house? He walked around in a daze and didn’t say much, but he didn’t get mad either, which I think is a good start. I do think he realizes his brother spearheaded it. Heard him mutter his name under his breath when he looked at the bathroom. Still can’t figure out why someone like Clint, a genuinely good guy who never seems to lose his shit, would be estranged from his brother. Another good guy, from what I can tell. It just doesn’t make sense,” Gus contemplates.

“I have no answer for you. That’s one thing Jed refuses to talk about and so far, Clint hasn’t exactly been forthcoming either.”

“Must’ve been a doozy. Let me just grab the last of the groceries from your car, and then I’ll head out. I called Emma to let her know where I was, and she was ready to hop in her car to drive over here. Managed to hold her off, but I’m not sure how long she’ll be able to resist if I don’t get my ass out of here soon.” Gus heads out the door, chuckling at his wife’s need to take care of everyone. Even those who don’t want taking care of. It’s one of the things I love about Emma, she looks out for everyone, no exception. Luckily she has Gus, whose sole purpose is to look after his wife, and he does that quite well.

Ignoring the pang of envy, I start unpacking and putting away groceries. Gus comes in holding the last Safeway bags, along with my suitcase. Convenient that was in my car, it’s all the stuff that I’d brought to Dylan’s house.

“You want this somewhere particular?” Gus holds up my suitcase.

“One of the spare bedrooms, I guess. Is there even a bed?” I wonder, once again reminded that I might not have thought this through too well.

“One of them has a bed, I’ll dump it in there.”

Coming back into the kitchen, Gus suddenly pulls me into a hug, surprising the shit out of me.

“Call when you need anything, okay? Even a break from that cranky shit in there. I’m sure this can’t be easy for a man like him, being laid up like this. I don’t suspect it’ll be easy on you either, so if you need out of the house, just give me or Emma a call.”

Releasing me, he walks out, leaving me standing alone...in Clint’s kitchen. Weird.

-

-

I
must’ve fallen asleep, because when I open my eyes, dusk is coming in though the large picture window in my bedroom. I lie there for a bit, listening for sounds coming from the house, but it’s quiet. Last I remember, I heard Gus and Beth talking in the kitchen before my body gave in to the heavy draw of sleep.

I have to steady myself on the walker, sitting beside my bed, when I try to get up. The constant dizziness is starting to piss me off. Even when I turn my head too abruptly, my world starts spinning. It takes a few minutes before my equilibrium settles and I can actually stand. I’d discarded my jeans and shirt when I went to lay down.  Clad only in my boxers, I shuffle to the bathroom for a much needed piss, feeling about twice my forty-six years. Walking in I’m struck again how perfectly accurate to my vision this bathroom turned out. Knowing I likely had Jed to thank for it did not sit particularly well, though. But it didn’t stop me from admiring his handiwork. He’d always been a talented son of a bitch when it came to details and this work was no exception. The glass subway tile walls in the shower were testament to that, with bull-nosed edging around the top of the wall and intermittent L-shaped tiles neatly curving the corners, there isn’t a flaw to be found. And trust me, I try.

With only sponge baths and two piddly showers to my name since landing in the hospital, I’m eager to try out the spray of the dual shower-head; one spray and one adjustable high pressure. I strip out of my boxers and am about to step in to the stall when the door swings open on me. Beth stands in the opening, her mouth hanging open.

“Jesus! Sorry...so sorry,” she mutters, slowly backing out, but not before she gives me a good once-over, which immediately results in a very distinct physical reaction. On my part—or maybe I should say
of
my part. My cock is happier than I am to see her. I’m tempted to make a smartass remark, but for once I check my mouth, knowing that what usually comes out in her presence goes down the wrong way. I simply stare back at her and wait until her eyes make their way back to mine. It takes a while. Long enough for my brain to lose its hold on my mouth.

“Gonna join me or just stand there and watch me?”

Beth’s eyes shoot up. If looks could kill, I’d be a sorry puddle on the floor. Without a word she walks out, failing to shut the door, but when I go to close it behind her, it swings open again and there she is: a couple of towels in her hands and a stern look on her face.

“Don’t need you to go slipping all over the floor, just cause you forgot to bring towels. Typical...” She trails off, never finishing the thought, but before she stalks out again, she turns at the last minute, a hint of amusement on her lips.

“You may wanna keep that thing covered.” She waves in the general direction of my dick, which seems to enjoy all the attention and perks up even further. “It looks dangerous.”

Just like that, she’s gone again.

Oh, sugar, you have no idea
.

-

W
hen I make my way to the kitchen after my first, christening experience under the new shower, where I finally sank on the floor after jerking myself to a release of impressive  proportions for the first time since forever, I find Beth fussing over some pots on the stove. I like it, and I don’t like that I like it. I had worked hard on getting her from under my skin, where she didn’t seem to wanna be, and now suddenly she’s everywhere I look. It’s hard not to appreciate the hourglass shape of her body and the lure of her Gypsy-like looks. Dark brown eyes like melted chocolate, wavy chestnut hair, which I realize I’d never seen flow free, and lips that would turn a priest into a sinner: full, wet and a deep red. Immediately my imagination took me under her clothes, wondering if her nipples would be the same deeply flushed color. Or her pussy lips...
Jesus.
With a firm shake of my head, I snap myself out of it, at the same time causing another dizzy spell that has me grabbing the edge of the counter for stability.

“You okay?” she asks, eyeing me with concern written on her face.

“Yeah,” I can’t help but chuckle at myself. “Just gotta remember not to make any sudden movements, it sends the world spinning.”

“Sit your ass down then, I’ve got some jambalaya on the go. Figured you’d be sick by now of the bland hospital fare, and what better way to wake up your taste buds than some good Cajun spices? Nothing like jumping in the deep end, right?” she says, turning around and filling a bowl. It’s now I register the fragrant smell of spice that’s been teasing my nostrils. My stomach immediately roars to life. When she sets the bowl in front of me on the counter, I have the first spoonful shoveled in my mouth before she can even turn away.

-

-

“S
low down, Big Guy, before you give yourself a stomach ache.”

I fill a bowl for myself and sit down beside him at the counter, eating at a much slower pace and trying to ignore the proximity of his thickly muscled thigh. The same thigh that only half an hour earlier had been on bold display, along with its twin and the heavy ball sack that hung in the shadow of what may well be the most impressive bit of man flesh I’d seen in memory. The man is a fucking Viking god, all dark russet body hair with just a sprinkling of grey mixed in. Thick solid muscle covering his legs and chest, without being overly cut. His newly shorn bald head has a surprisingly nice shape and the thick scruff on his jaw a stark contrast.
He can pillage and plunder me any day of the week
. I have to smother a snicker at the thought and quickly stuff another bite in my mouth. I must’ve made a noise anyway, because Clint turns his head to me and tilts it to one side.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nope,” I lie, fighting off the telltale blush that I can feel crawling up my neck.

“Mmmmm,” he half growls, not helping matters down south for me.

Heel, woman.

“So,” I attempt to divert attention, “did you rest okay?” A grunt is my only answer, but I plough on. “Did you get a chance to talk to Kendra?”

Kendra is the physical therapist, who is going to work with Naomi Waters at the new clinic in town.

“Yeah, when I went to lay down. She’s coming by tomorrow for an assessment. Says since we’ll start gently. We can do it here until the clinic opens this coming weekend.”

Right. I’d forgotten about that; the entire town was invited for the ‘open house.’ Emma had mentioned it when she came to visit the hospital last week.

“Almost slipped my mind, that. We should go.”

He looks at me with some reservation.

“You want to go to the opening?”

“Well, yeah? And you’re coming,” I add sounding more courageous than I feel.

A small twitch of his lips shows he’s probably on to me.

“I am?” he challenges before leaning in, his face only inches from mine. “You’re kinda bossy. Could get interesting, since I like to be the one in control, but I might make an exception.”

Holy fucking Batman. There went my panties. In a desperate attempt to ignore the bright red flush on my face, the hard peaks of my nipples, and the flood in my undies, I try to bluff my way out of the danger zone. Those words teased the deepest of my fantasies that had never seen the light of day.

“Hardly a challenge now, Big Guy. You’re weaker than a newborn calf.”  I had to go and say something and just like that, the flirting tease disappears from his eyes and his mouth draws a grim line before he turns back to his bowl.

-

T
he rest of dinner takes place in utter and extremely uncomfortable silence. Clint eats two bowls; his stomach is apparently made of steel since he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the heat I added to the jambalaya. My own, on the other hand, is throwing up signals of distress. Well, shit.

I’d realized earlier when I’d needed a pit stop—one now that I think of it, I still haven’t taken—that neither of the bathrooms in the small house provided much privacy; one attached to the master bedroom and the other too close to the living area for comfort. Yet another thing I hadn’t considered when forcing my care on Clint. Ugh.

“Coffee?” I ask, sliding off my stool and grabbing the empty bowls to put in the sink.

“Probably keep me up all night,” he confesses, looking rather sheepishly.

“Bought decaf. I have the same problem but still like my coffee after a meal.”

“In that case, all right. I’ll have one.”

“Why don’t you go sit in the living room, I’ll bring it to you.”

He has to hold himself up by the counter again, when he slightly stumbles getting off the stool, but I don’t intervene. This is a man who self-admittedly likes to be in control. It can’t be easy, like Gus said, to be struck quite helpless.

Suddenly it dawns on me why he shut down after that tantalizing come on. It was right after I told him he wasn’t a challenge cause he’s weak. I’m an idiot. Just kicked the guy in the balls when he was already down. Nice move.

-

“E
xtra sheets in the linen closet.” Clint points out as he heads for his bedroom.

We’ve just watched the first two episodes of “Sons of Anarchy;” a series everyone raves about but neither one of us has seen yet, when he announces he’s ‘wiped’ and needs to hit the sack.

“I already grabbed some. Spare bed is made. No worries.”

Still he lingers in the doorway a little awkwardly.