Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) (17 page)

Hopeful.

An expression I hadn’t seen flash across his face before. And it pierced my heart.

“I, uh . . . paid for that,” he mentioned with a glint in his eye, as though he’d suspected my thoughts. “With money I got for fixing Old Man Riley’s tractor at the farm up the road.”

Creek gave me a wry smile. “That’s how I got the tractor seat for our motorcycle. He let me have it from his old barn.”

He glanced at the blouse, clearly proud of it. “Go on,” he said softly. “Try it on.”

I held it up for a second and slipped it over my head. The blouse fit perfectly, and it had delicate ruffles down the front and at the bottom of the sleeves. The fabric was almost sheer enough to see through, but not quite. It felt heavenly against my skin, like the whisper of an angel’s wing.

And I didn’t need to ask Creek if it looked good on me. The warmth that bloomed in his eyes told me he thought I was beautiful.

Funny how we could kiss like the dickens in the heat of the moment, on a dare or just before swimming for our lives from Bob’s bloodhounds. But right now, with the sparks from the way he gazed at me racing up and down my spine, I suddenly felt self-conscious.

And I could tell Creek did too, because he folded his hands awkwardly for a second, like he didn’t quite know what to do with them, even though we’d kissed only a few minutes ago.

Was it because we were finally going out on a real date? I thought. Well, in a backwoods, fireworks-and-hoedown kind of way?

“C’mon,” Creek urged. He quickly threw on a dark blue t-shirt from the clothes pile and collected all the bills that had dried on the platform, handing half of them to me. “Stuff these in your pockets. Let’s get down to Turtle Shores and see what all the fuss is about.”

I carefully followed him down the tree-stand ladder to the ground, and we picked our way through the forest that was growing more shadowy by the second. Yet through the trees, I could see the reflections from the fireworks glowing on Bender Lake.

My heart skipped a beat.

Because despite the smell of sulphur and other obnoxious fumes I didn’t recognize, the vibrant colors of the TNT Twins’ fireworks on the dark water were . . .

Captivating.

But not half as exquisite as the twinkling white lights that greeted us like stars when we arrived at the Turtle Shores compound.

I stood at the edge of the meadow in shock.

The delicate lights criss-crossed from tree to tree over our heads like winsome fireflies illuminating the meadow.

And on some of the tree branches hung round paper lanterns in charming colors—the kind that usually appeared gaudy in daylight, like some sad remnant of a forgotten carnival. But here, in the twilight, they appeared . . .

Magical.

Creek saw me halt in place and gasp.

A big smile spread across his face, lit up by the orange and red and blue paper lanterns that hung above us.

“Didn’t know the boondocks could cast such a spell, did ya?”

He took me by the hand and led me across the meadow in a confident, weaving pattern as though he had a psychic radar for the TNT Twins’ traps. Music started up, a swift, toe-tapping melody with a banjo and fiddles that soared into the night air, filling the whole meadow with a cheerful sound. At the entrance of the compound, I could see folks starting to dance around a bonfire, their heads bobbing as they stepped in formations and then grabbed new partners. As we got closer, I realized that some of the boom-boom sounds weren’t just fireworks, they were from people who were drumming on old pots.

And one of them was my dad!

He sat on a chair beside Dooley next to Granny Tinker’s gypsy wagon with a wooden spoon in his good hand and a rusty pot in his lap. Wailing on that pot with all his might, he ribbed Dooley as if they were in a fun competition, the two of them making a racket that rivaled the TNT Twins’ rockets. At a pause in the melody, my dad grinned on his right side like he was having the time of his life. He tousled the boy’s hair, watching his young face light up. A twinge of envy struck me inside. Why hadn’t my dad ever bothered to treat me like that? Like someone he could be at ease with and maybe just enjoy? At that moment, my dad glanced up and caught a glimpse of me with Creek. His arm went slack, and he dropped his wooden spoon to the ground.

Like he’d just spotted a wandering spirit . . .

And that’s when I heard a familiar cackle.

“Ain’t she the spittin’ image of her Ma?” Granny Tinker called out, smiling as she got up from her rocker and walked over to me. Her gold tooth sparkled in the firelight. “Why, purple used to look so nice on Alessia. That apple don’t fall far from the tree.”

In her usual flamboyant style, Granny had on a wide-brimmed leather hat with a feather in it, and her long, green dress was made of heavy brocade, a bit odd for a spring.

“How you been, darlin’?” she said, slinging her arm around my shoulder. “Understand Alessia paid you a little visit this afternoon.”

At once, all rational thought fled from my brain. And I believe my feet turned into cement.

How could Granny Tinker possibly have known about my strange dream today?

When I glanced into her eerie gray eyes, with their peculiar yellow in the middle, Granny turned and nodded at an old quilt that was spread on the grass by her wagon. There sat her crystal ball surrounded by sprigs of wildflowers and herbs. The reflections from the bonfire made her crystal ball look ablaze, until it began to mysteriously cloud over. Slowly, the face of a beautiful woman started to surface—

I blinked hard, but she was gone. And before I knew it, the bright music seemed to rise and swirl around us like a tide, pushing me even closer to Creek. I felt him tug at my hand.

“Don’t pay attention to her,” Creek laughed, pulling me away. “Granny just loves to spook people. C’mon, let’s pass out that money now, and get this party fired up.”

He led me over to the dancers near where Bixby was playing banjo with some men who sawed at fiddles. Beside them sat two large, covered kettles with a copper coil leading to an old barrel. Several folks were lined up with empty jars that the Colonel filled from the barrel with a clear liquid. He gave each one a smile, and they saluted him.

“Moonshine,” Creek whispered into my ear. I gazed up at him in surprise. “The Colonel’s special brew. How do you think we attract such a big crowd?” he winked.

Then he pulled some of the cash from his pockets, his mouth slipping into a smile. He cupped the bills and held them up like precious jewels. “Okay, we’re gonna give out this money to whoever our hearts see fit.” His gaze was so keen now it made me quiver. “But Robin, I want you take a really deep breath.” He paused, waiting for me. “’Cause the feeling you’re about to get right now—well, you’re gonna remember this night for the rest of your life.”

I nodded with flutters in my stomach, and we began to wind between the dancers, tapping them on the shoulders and holding out money, then watching as the glee erupted on their faces. At first, there were big hoots and hollers of joy. But it was the tears that followed that really tore me apart. And I soon discovered Creek was right—the authentic gratitude, even love, in these people’s eyes was more intoxicating than any backwoods moonshine. One old woman hugged me with everything she had in her and said now she could get medicine for her granddaughter. Another man exclaimed he was going to fix his truck to go to work again, while the guy next to him just buried his head in his hands and mumbled thank yous to Jesus that he could finally pay off Bob. His words really rattled me, given our own brush with Bob’s methods.

But it was Brandi who slayed my heart the most. I spotted her near the bonfire, hardly recognizing her. She was wearing a pretty calico dress and no wig this time. Her head was completely bald, shiny in the firelight, and she was barefoot, as if she wanted to feel the earth beneath her feet. She looked thinner than I’d remembered, and rather than dancing with the others, she was swaying her hips with her eyes closed, as though allowing the music to fill her up inside. Yet despite all of her health problems lately, she was smiling. As dancers whipped past her, Brandi seemed to occupy a quiet, still place, where only the warmth of the fire and the sound of the banjo and fiddles could enter. Then I saw her hesitate for a moment. As the music rose into a series of high sweet notes, she lifted up her arms like wings.

And I just stood there, heartstruck, watching her in awe.

Because for the last year and a half, I’d lived nearly every day of my life with the richest and unhappiest girls you could ever hope to find, who snarked, complained and blackmailed their way into anything they wanted. Yet here was this woman who’d practically had a death certificate handed to her, simply taking time out to cherish a moment.

And it made me feel like Bob’s money was burning my hands into a crisp.

I only had four hundred dollars left, but I knew every little bit could help—

“Brandi!” I called out impulsively, trotting up to her and jostling her shoulder. She opened her eyes with a start. But when she saw the cash in my hands, her face didn’t light up, like I’d expected. And she didn’t even bother to see how much was there. She just stared at it with a faraway look on her face, then curled my fingers over the bills.

“Sweetie,” she said kindly, lifting her hand to cup my cheek. The resigned look in her eyes frightened me to the core. “I believe my cousin Earl needs this a lot more than me. Hey, Earl!” She cried out to a man dancing nearby. “Our Robin’s got something for ya—so you can git that new heater.”

The man she called to stopped dancing with a curious look on his face. He walked up to us, spying the money in my palm, and immediately he grabbed me and lifted me in the air, swirling around so fast I got dizzy and begged to be set down. Then he insisted that I dance with him. Before I could resist, we were gallumpfing around the bonfire with bounding two-steps as he sang along to the brisk melody:

“We’ll all go to heaven when the Devil goes blind,

But not till my baby puts her hand in mine,

And swings with me till the break o’ dawn,

Saint Peter don’t call, I got dancin’ shoes on!”

He kept whirling me this way and that, and then he gave me a really hard spin. All of a sudden I broke loose, and I found myself stumbling . . .

Right into the arms of Creek.

“Whoa, hold on!” Creek laughed, gripping me tightly so I wouldn’t fall into the bonfire. His face glowed from the flames. “Looks like you got the hang of things. But don’t lose your footing.”

He enveloped me in his arms and began to sway a little—for a few, blissful moonlit moments—as the music slowed to a softer melody. Catching my breath, I glanced up and saw the stars flicker above us, so bright now in the clear night sky, and the way Creek’s eyes seemed to match their light. His hold on me felt strong and enduring . . . and tingles began to spark along my skin. Something inside told me I was living out every teenage girl’s dream—dancing with a hot guy most Pinnacle chicks would kill for. But even so, my heart started to wobble. How could I just lay my head on Creek’s chest right now and pretend to have a romantic “interlude,” after seeing Brandi? With the way she looked, she might not last another two weeks.

Creek pressed his cheek against mine, his feet moving slower now, as if he’d somehow been able to detect my thoughts. His grip on my hand stiffened until it hurt.

“We’re gonna beat this, Robin,” he whispered defiantly, glancing over at Brandi. “She’s family,
and we never give in. Tonight, we’re gonna figure out a way to make a bigger hit.”

“Family,” I nodded, allowing the edges of that word to seep into my soul a little. The whole notion was completely foreign to me—not at all like the glad-handing and air kisses of people I’d known in my dad’s world. This was more like a slow-burning coal, something that made me feel warm inside, yet nervous at the same time, because I knew couldn’t just shake it off on a whim like so many plastic smiles. What Creek meant by “family” struck much deeper, in a place I’d never known existed before. A place he’d called my heart.

I swallowed hard, wondering if Creek could sense the conflicting thoughts that had run through my mind. When I searched his eyes, I realized they were that determined, icy blue again. And I knew right then and there that he meant every word of his resolve, and that we wouldn’t stop until Brandi, Dooley, my dad—everyone at Turtle Shores—was taken care of.

Then I watched as a slight softness returned to Creek’s face, while our feet swished in the grass. His eyes even became a bit cocky, with a hint of something more, as if he were withholding a secret. Puzzled, I noticed that the compound had grown quiet. Bixby had stopped playing the banjo, and I could no longer hear fiddles or the TNT Twins’ fireworks any more. A hush had fallen over Turtle Shores.

“What happens now?” I whispered to Creek, feeling self-conscious in his arms in front of everyone, with no music to dance to. “Is the party over?”

“Not exactly,” he replied with a smirk. “Folks ’round here don’t waste good firewood on a bonfire unless it’s something pretty important.”

Just then, I could’ve sworn I saw his eyes twinkle.

“Happy birthday to you,” he began to sing softly. “Happy birthday to you.”

Startled, I opened my mouth to correct him—my birthday wasn’t till May. But he quickly placed a finger over my lips. Then I heard other voices join in, their chorus swelling until the song filled the meadow.

And when I glanced left and right, I realized that standing around us in a circle now was a throng of people. I spotted Bixby and Dooley and even the TNT Twins’ in their silly boulder costumes and helmets, plus a whole host of folks I didn’t know. All at once, I heard Granny let out one of her raucous cackles.

“Here she comes—git on over and make some room!” Granny said, leading people to step aside.

The circle split open, and to my total shock, Lorraine appeared from out of the shadows of the woods. She was holding a beautiful white cake with sweet pink and purple roses, her arm linked around the Colonel’s. The candles on the cake warmed her face, though I could tell by her blank expression that she didn’t quite know where I was.