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.
“A little to the left, my dear,” the Colonel said, leading her directly to where we stood.
“Happy birthday, darlin’!” Lorraine gave me a gummy, toothless smile as they stopped, holding out the cake. “I made this special today, just for you—from scratch. It’s my great-grandma’s recipe with real buttermilk and vanilla bean.”
I choked down my embarrassment and accepted the cake, every muscle in my body twisting. Oh Lord, how do I tell them all the truth? They’d gone to such trouble!
“Creek,” I whispered through my teeth, shaking my head, “there’s been a huge mistake. I was born on—”
In that second, I caught sight of my dad out of the corner of my eye. He was still sitting near the bonfire in the chair by Granny’s wagon. But when his eyes met mine, he hung his head.
Like he’d just gotten caught red-handed.
“Robin,” Creek whispered back, “it is your birthday.” He stole a glance at my dad, too. “Maybe the whole thing about May was—”
I held up my hand to stop him.
“Got it,” I snapped, staring down at the burning candles beneath my nose. “Yet another lie—”
I couldn’t help myself; I began to tremble all over. And to be honest, there was nothing I wanted more in that moment than to walk up to my dad and take a swing, or at the very least, slam Lorraine’s double-decker homemade cake right into his face—
But I couldn’t.
Because as I looked around at everyone, their expressions so warm and genuine, I was completely overwhelmed by the kindness in their eyes. Yet it also forced me to admit one very brutal fact:
No one—absolutely no one—in my entire life had ever given me a birthday party like this unless they’d been paid extremely well by my father to do so. And after all those long, lonely years, it turned out they weren’t even celebrating my real birthday after all.
Tears slid down my face, both from a gratitude to the people at Turtle Shore and my shame at learning the truth.
“There, there now sweetie!” Lorraine reached out a hand to brush the tears aside, as if she’d memorized the contours of my cheeks. “You’re gonna put out yer candles if you keep that up. C’mon now—blow!”
I shook my head and motioned for Dooley to come over and help me. He trotted up, his face the very picture of hope.
“Make a wish,” he said excitedly. “Granny told me it’s your birthday!”
My breath halted as I tried to allow that information to truly sink in.
Then I nodded and closed my eyes for a wish.
Dear Lord, I prayed from the bottom of my heart—
I snuck a peek at my dad again, only to see him turn his face and study the ground.
Please help us get enough money to save Brandi.
And keep me away from sharp objects near my dad.
Or else I swear to you, I’m gonna go straight to Hell for burying him.
Chapter 14
“I’m really sixteen today?”
I leaned back against the tree that held our platform, snuggled halfway inside a sleeping bag Creek had provided, still trying to wrap my head around that idea. Before we’d left Turtle Shores for the night, I’d dutifully taken a piece of cake over to my dad to spoon feed him, glaring the whole time. But did he answer any of my questions about the actual date of my birth?
Hell no.
Like always, he played the slick innocent, suddenly unable to talk between chews due to what he called “duress.” Or as he said in his slobbery, tongue-twisted way, “doo-weth.” So after ordering him not to give Granny and the Colonel too much trouble for taking care of him in his trailer, I swiped a lick of frosting and landed a sticky smack on his forehead, cussing under my breath as I wished him good night.
“So what is the date today, anyway,” I pestered Creek on the tree stand, hoping for a more honest answer. “March, April?”
With all of the craziness lately, I’d completely lost track. I squinted at Creek in the moonlight, counting on my fingers the days since my dad’s stroke. “It’s gotta be April by now. But April what—first? Oh my God . . .”
I sank into the sleeping bag in disbelief.
“Don’t tell me I was born on April Fool’s Day—”
Creek kept silent.
And I could’ve kicked him for that. But I pretty much took it to mean a yes.
“Seriously?” I gasped, hugging the sleeping bag up to my nose, as if I could hide from the truth. “Well that explains everything. No wonder my life’s always been such a wreck—”
“Robin,” Creek sighed, interrupting my rant.
He was just a silhouette beneath the moonlight now, like some beautiful phantom whispering secrets to me in the dark.
“Your dad had to protect you. He rescued you from the adoption agency, remember? So that means changing your name, birthdate, social security number. Guess he and I have a few things in common.”
Chills skittered down my back as I thought of all the ways Creek must have guarded Dooley—if that was even their real names. How many times had they headed to the underground bunkers to hide from well-meaning social workers who would’ve split them up? Had they gone so far as to fake their own deaths to avoid the system?
“Creek, tell me something,” I urged, my palms feeling clammy now. I was about to step over a line, and I knew it. “What’s your name? I mean, your real one? Something tells me it isn’t what you go by.”
Creek didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.
He seemed like a big shadow cast by a rock.
But we had all night—and I wasn’t about to budge, either.
So I took my best shot.
“I’m Rubina McCracken,” I offered, like a manifesto of truth that I wanted to reign in my life now. “Born April first, sixteen years ago. How’s that for starters?”
I saw Creek shake his head slowly in the dark.
&nbs
p; “No. You’re Rubina de Bargona,” he corrected me. “The granddaughter of a Venetian Count. Your dad never got to marry your mom. So legend around here says Granny gave them a gypsy wedding in the woods. But that doesn’t jive with Ohio law, or in Italy either. So technically, you’re still a de Bargona.”
I sat up straight, my mind spinning. I had Venetian blood in my veins? Were these people still rich, or had they squandered everything like my dad? Since I was illegitimate, maybe it didn’t matter.
Just then, I felt something rustle beneath my hand on the platform.
Two stiff pieces of paper. I held them up and tilted them to the moonlight, my eyes straining to distinguish their features.
They were the cards I’d picked out from Granny’s deck in her wagon. The Wheel of Fortune and The Lovers.
“What are these doing here?” I dropped them from my hands as if they’d been on fire. “Did Granny put them on the tree stand to try and voodoo me again—”
I heard Creek chuckle in the dark.
“My guess is it was Dooley,” he replied. “He really wants us to be together.”
Together? I thought. Like boyfriend and girlfriend?
“And to answer your question, my name is Creek. After Stone Cross Creek in Whistler Holler, where my mom grew up. She told me the happiest days of her life were playing in that sparkling water. I want Dooley to have that—to have something beautiful to remember. It’s worth more to me than a thousand Italian aristocrats. So we stay near the lake.”
His silhouette grew closer, and I could feel the warmth of his palm caress my cheek for a moment, and then his lips pressed softly against mine. He leaned back and brushed the hair from my forehead.
“What I just told you, Robin, you can count on—no matter what. See, I don’t change every minute like your dad. ’Cause I ain’t ashamed of where I come from, or where I’m going.”
“Where are you—we—going?” I asked, my face flushing at my own boldness.
“Right now?” he replied. “Fountain Square. It’s got the biggest banks. And there’s one that has sloppy surveillance between two-thirty and three am, when security changes shifts. The new guy that just got hired likes to text a little too much. I’ve had my eye on him for months.”
I felt my throat tighten.
That wasn’t what I meant at all—our next hit. What I wanted to know is where we were going. As in, if there really is such a thing as a we.
And if I’d learned anything at Pinnacle, it’s that fortune doesn’t favor the weak. Only the strong get what they want, so it was time to ramp it up.
“Are we together Creek?” I asked, picking up the two cards that I’d dropped on the platform. I studied them carefully, hoping to prevent him from reading my gaze in the moonlight. Inside though, my heart was racing. What if he said no?
But I didn’t have time to fret over his answer.
Because I felt Creek slip the cards from my hand.
“Hmm,” he mumbled, resting his gaze on The Lovers.
Then he lifted the card and traced its edge slowly down the curve of my cheek and along my jaw to my chin, tenderly following the stretch of my throat. Hesitating, he descended to the swell of my breasts and lingered there, enveloping my lips in a kiss.
Not just any kiss.
That kind of kiss!
With the moon behind him, all I could see was his shadow as if he’d become a specter. But the warmth of is lips told me he was for real. And despite the darkness, I felt like my whole body had burst into light.
Creek broke away, even though I craved so much more—
“If we weren’t together, Robin,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t be here right now.”
How is it possible to soar without ever leaving the knotty wood slats of our tree stand?
But inside, I felt as if my heart had sprouted wings.
Wheee! I thought, my lips curling into a smile.
And I knew Creek was telling the truth, in a way that I’d never really trusted with my dad, because in spite of all of our bizarre twists and turns lately, he didn’t play charades with my emotions. What you saw is what you got. Which is why my heart sank when I heard him clear his throat, as though there was something he needed to clarify.
“But if there’s going to be any kind of we,” Creek said, surprising me by opening up the flap of my sleeping bag and snuggling inside, “I want you to do something for me.”
He wrapped his strong arm around my waist, and his whole body felt hard and warm, yet more like home than anything I’d ever known. I could feel his soft breath, moist upon my neck as he nuzzled even closer, as tight as a glove. His contours were a perfect fit—a piece of a puzzle that I’d never realized was missing before, but that now made me feel more whole. Yet deep inside, there was a part of me that still struggled a little. I’d never for a second wanted to be one of those pathetic, needy girls, like Laura Ritter, who was always waiting for somebody else to complete her while her own heart bled her dry. Girls like that always lost themselves in relationships, becoming nothing more than sad ghosts. So I decided to rib Creek a little, just to keep myself in the driver’s seat.
“So what is it you want me to do?” I taunted, giving him a sly poke in the stomach. I shimmied my hips a little, trying to act sexy. “How about a full striptease for the guard in the lobby this time, so you can bust that bank in Cincy?”
Creek grabbed my hand—hard. Startled, I yelped a little, now all too aware that he was in no mood for kidding when it came to matters of the heart.
“Robin,” he tightened his arm around my waist like a vise. “I want you . . . to forgive your dad.”
I felt my whole body tense up, the angles of my bones digging into the tree platform.
“You can’t truly be with me, or anybody else, until you do. ’Cause that anger, it kills something in people. It’s what killed my mom.”
I felt a trickle slowly slip down my cheek—
A total surprise to me, since I had no idea that my eyes had welled up. I gritted my teeth, willing it to stop and biting into my own flesh so Creek wouldn’t hear. But who was I kidding? He was so close, he could probably feel my tears slide against his own skin.
And he just let them fall.
In the dark silence, in that eerie space he always seemed to know how to provide in order to let me be me. Or at least, to try and find me.
And a part of myself was a bit grateful for his quiet wisdom. But another part of me wanted to hit him.
How dare Creek accuse me of being bitter, when he knows perfectly well he’d slit the throat of his mom’s old boyfriend in two seconds flat if he got the chance?
“Creek,” I replied, my muscles tense now to the point of strain, “It’s not fair for you to push me for forgiveness when—”
“It’s not the same thing,” he cut in, sensing where I was heading.
He waited for a second to let that filter in.
“The difference is that your dad really loves you. He’s just had to do some pretty awful things to prove that to himself. But he did them for you.”
“Then why doesn’t he ever show it to my face!” I spit out, sitting up in the sleeping bag now. “You saw him—he acts more fatherly to Dooley than he ever has to me!”
I felt Creek’s hand gently stroke my head, then run his fingers along strands of my hair to slowly untangle them. Although I was furious and didn’t want to admit it, he had succeeded in calming me a little.
“Doyle doesn’t think he can ever be enough for you, Robin. Can’t you see that? You’re Alessia to him—the woman he can’t ever have. Maybe none of us can.”
Creek was sitting beside me now. But the moon had shifted behind some thick trees. And without its light, he seemed to be made of total darkness all of a sudden, in a way that spooked me—like he’d somehow taken on my father’s soul and managed to talk out loud. I thought about the Wheel of Fortune card, how Granny had told me that history was repeating itself with The Lovers, and shivers slipped down my ski
n. But just because Creek had kissed me, did that give him the right to trespass over all my family’s pain? Why was it his business, anyway?
“Because I want to love you, too, Robin.”
I sucked air.
Creek had said that in the barest whisper. But he might as well have shouted it with a megaphone to my soul.
And I sat frozen in the dark, breathless.
Feeling split wide open.
There was no hiding with this guy! No Geisha tricks that could work on Creek to defend myself.
He was pure and raw. And he demanded nothing less from me.
“You asked me earlier today about being real,” he said, honoring my physical space by not touching me now. “Well all I know is that you gotta be the one to love your dad first. ’Cause he’s all broken inside, Robin. And your anger is keeping him from healing.”
“What—what do you mean?”
“I saw him grab a big, long stick during the hoedown tonight, while everyone else was busy dancing. He used it to pull himself up and try and limp around in the dark behind Granny’s wagon, where he thought nobody could see him. But I did. And when he caught me watching, he started swearing. His speech was perfect, Robin.”
Oh my God, how I wanted to slug my dad. Of course! He’d been playing up his disability all along, because deception is his superpower.
“And he struggled to walk over to me,” Creek added. “It was hard for him, but he did it. He was trying to man up and face me—to be a real dad. And with every bit of strength he had in him, he shook that big stick at me and said, ‘Don’t turn her into a crook.’”
“Wha—?”
“It’s true—that’s what he said. He was slow, but his words came out clear as a bell.”
Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) Page 13
