I watch Creek’s Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat as he drops the stone into my hands.
“Your dad is a goddamn liar.”
“So are you,” I reply defiantly.
I’m on thin ice here, and I know it.
The way Creek looks at me, from somewhere dark and far away, makes me fear I’ll never find him again. And it sends shivers straight through my soul. It’s as though he’s gone—long gone—down into a black abyss from his childhood that he’s never completely revealed.
“You say we’re married, Creek. But there’s a whole world of hurt I don’t know about you. That door is closed and sealed tight. And Granny knows it, and you know it.”
I hold the ruby heart by the necklace up to the candlelight again to watch it shimmer as it spins in little circles, left and then right, before it finally becomes still.
“Until we find out who your mom really was, Creek—why she made the choices she did and what happened to her killer—I’m never really going to have your full heart, am I?” I say as bravely as I can muster. “Not completely, anyway.”
Swallowing hard, I realize we’re at a crossroads. And this night could be our last if Creek doesn’t agree with me—right here, right now—because I can’t take another minute of living on the wrong side of his wall, and not having access to his whole soul anymore.
The wagon falls silent as a tomb, and all I can hear is the sound of Creek’s breathing. He doesn’t look at me. He only stares at the ruby heart I now hold in my hand.
Finally, he strokes the back of my hair before leaning his head against mine.
“I hate that fucking stone,” he whispers, staring into my palm.
I feel his breath warm my temple as his lips press for a kiss.
“But it’s time.”
“Time?” I reply, my heart in my throat, throbbing hard.
Creek nods.
“It’s time to open that door.”
His words barely leave his lips when the door to our wagon swings ajar with a warm gust of wind, scaring the daylights out of me.
The familiar orange glow of a thin cigar lights up the back of our wagon. “Got some news fer ya, Mister and Missus Flynn,” Granny Tinker smiles, her gold tooth gleaming in the candlelight.
Her beauty still astounds me, with her silky gray hair and Greta Garbo-crossed-with-a-rock-star features. She strides right up to us in her long, black velvet dress and matching floppy hat with a feather in it, and hands me a crumpled copy of the Cincinnati Enquirer.
Apparently Granny Tinker’s undaunted by the fact that Creek and I are nearly naked, covered only by the soft folds of one of her crazy quilts. As she crosses her arms and taps one of her lace-up boots, part of me wonders if she’s been listening to us all along.
Seriously? A newspaper headline warrants busting in on us during our honeymoon? Why, oh why, didn’t I think to turn the lock?
Glancing down, I realize the paper is curled open to the Business page. Circled in red ink is an article that says in bold letters Pasta Sauce Dynasty Hits Hard Times. Scanning the first few lines, I read aloud, “The de Bargona pasta sauce dynasty has taken another steep dive on Wall Street this week after their patriarch and CEO was found walking alone and almost naked in a remote forest of the Veneto, living off raisins and babbling about ghosts. Though he’s since been taken to a psychiatric facility for evaluation, the international company is engaging in a massive PR campaign to reduce the damage. There’s no word yet about his mental health, but analysts highly doubt that De Bargona International will ever climb out of bankruptcy.”
I’m sucking air, but Granny Tinker merely takes back the paper from my hands and blows a stream of smoke from her cigar that rises and collects around her, making her appear as hazy as a phantom. She opens the paper to another section and shows me the Lifestyle page, where the headline reads,
Enrollment Drops Off Sharply at Pinnacle Boarding School Due to Rumors of Ghosts.
After our eyes trace the words, Granny Tinker folds the newspaper beneath her arm.
“Looks like y’all will be paying a visit to Robin’s Alma Mater soon,” she says mysteriously, releasing more puffs of smoke that make me cough. Her shadow leaps like a spirit against the side of the wagon with each flicker of the candle flame. Reaching into her pocket, she tosses a small bouquet of wildflowers into my lap.
“Them’s forget-me-nots,” she points out in a raspy tone. But her renowned timberwolf eyes, translucent gray with a fiery yellow in the middle, are trained on Creek, not me. “I gathered them tonight ’cause the moon’s full, and that’s when their power’s the strongest. They always been known to help people find a lost love.”
Creek is no stranger to Granny Tinker’s spooky ways, and he’s not exactly one to back down either, so he meets her gaze.
“My love is right here,” he states with defiance in his voice, hugging me tight. “No need to be disturbing the dead.”
Granny Tinker narrows her eyes, leaning in to Creek.
“You ain’t the one who’s lost, sweetheart.”
She picks up the silver bracelet from the chest on the bed and holds it up to us. It glints in the candlelight, losing a couple of its dried, blue petals.
“And until your mama’s found, she’s a damn sight far from dead.”
With that, Granny Tinker hands Creek the bracelet and turns away, just as we hear the hoots and hollers and pot banging of the folks at Turtle Shores preparing for not one, but two shivarees tonight. I pity my poor parents as Granny Tinker strides through our wagon to the door, when I see her pause for a moment to blow our candle out. Only the orange tip of her cigar and her slow cackle fill the darkness, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Follow yer star, darlins,” Granny Tinker’s voice weaves through the wagon, though she’s nowhere I can see. “An’ bring everybody home.”
In another gust of wind, the door slams shut, rattling our wagon a little. All at once, the ruby heart begins to pulse and feel warm in my hand. Then it flickers with a crimson glow.
To read the sequel to Stone of Thieves and other books in the Robbin’ Hearts Series by Diane J. Reed, go to: http://www.amazon.com/Diane-J-Reed/e/B0071FXGOE/
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following individuals for giving me courage and inspiration throughout the writing of this book: Suzi Reed, DJ Reed, Sheila Townsend, Jen Sokoloski, Lori Fitzgerald, Jude Willhoff, and Erin McGraw.
Cover Design by Najla Qamber
at Najla Qamber Designs,
www.najlaqamberdesigns.com
About the Author
Diane J. Reed loves to hear from readers, so feel free to visit her at www.banditsranch.com to sign up for her newsletter and to share the whispers of your spirit.
Diane J. Reed loves to hear from readers, so feel free to visit her at www.banditsranch.com to sign up for her newsletter and to share the whispers of your spirit.
If you enjoyed this novel, please consider writing a review at Amazon.com.
Thank you, and have a magical day.
Stone of Thieves (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 2) Page 18
