Love You to Death

by Melissa March

  Of course there was the little matter of me not having a license. I never drove anything before. I doubted the race car game at the arcade counted.

  Somewhere a car backfired. I jumped. My heart skittered, and I let the curtain fall back into place.

  “Do you need more Tylenol?” Gideon whispered hoarsely from behind me. I jumped again. My breath hitched as I choked back a scream. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He took a step back.

  “It’s okay. I’m just a little on edge, not your fault.” I patted my hand over my heart. He was holding a black medical bag. He gently set it on the table and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol, giving me two more pills. I downed them without any hesitation, along with an entire bottle of water. I was so thirsty.

  Gideon grabbed another bottle of water, handed it to me, and pulled out a chair, motioning for me to sit. I was impressed by his manners. He sat across from me, his long jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him, bare feet crossed at the ankle. He pinned his thoughtful semi-sleepy gaze on me. We sat there in silence for a few minutes until I realized he was waiting for me to start talking.

  “So...” I said, failing to think of a topic. What could we talk about? I wasn’t spilling any more info from my end. “What were you doing in Baltimore?”

  I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a faint shadow of disappointment flicker in his soft brown eyes.

  “Delivering a horse,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. It seemed he was a man of few words.

  “Oh, yeah, that explains the trailer.” I bobbed my head. We sat in silence for a few more minutes while I nursed the water. I felt like I was in a shrink’s office. I almost expected Gideon to start asking me, ‘How does that make you feel?’ while he scribbled on a note pad. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “What kind of horse?” I asked.

  “A quarter horse.”

  What I knew about horses you could fill a test tube with. I pretended to know what a quarter horse was with a simple little jerk of my head. Gideon lifted one corner of his mouth.

  “It was for the daughter of a plastic surgeon,” he explained. “We were at his office picking up the check.”

  “Oh.” I took a sip of water.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Old enough,” I replied. My back stiffened.

  He cocked his head, considering my answer. “Where’re your parents?”

  “Dead.” I’d answered that question too many times.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking surprised. “Are you a runaway?”

  “How can I be a runaway if I don’t have any parents to run from?” I countered briskly.

  “You don’t have any other family?”

  I thought of my aunt, quickly dismissing her. I shook my head.

  He uncrossed his arms, laying one across the table, drumming his fingers against the top. He wore a poker face but the set of his jaw told me I was getting to him.

  “An orphan, huh?”

  “Yep, just like Annie.”

  We sat there, facing off in a silent tug of war. I was used to fits of rage and angry outbursts. His quiet patience was unnerving me.

  “How’d you saddle up with Stewie?”

  “We were staying in the same home.” I didn’t know why, but for some unexplainable reason I didn’t want to lie to Gideon any more than I had to.

  “Got any money?” Those sherry brown eyes didn’t waver as they stared into mine.

  “A little.”

  “How about a plan?”

  “We’re going to get as far as we can, to be as safe as possible and live a nice normal quiet life,” I sighed.

  Gideon gave me a brief nod. He liked this answer.

  “My turn,” I told him, sitting up straighter. “Where are we going?”

  “Home,” he said, his smile widening.

  I arched my brow imperviously.

  “Kentucky.” he grinned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was in hillbilly hell.

  Cort had command of the radio, which he had set to a local station blasting a morbid mix of steel guitars and banjos as he sang along. Even Stewie was tapping his feet. He had a good excuse. He was suffering from a chronic case of hero worship where Cort was concerned.

  Gideon was driving. He didn’t say much. That seemed to be his normal way. Stewie and I sat in the back seat of the king cab pickup truck as it torpedoed down I-64.

  “Feels good to be home,” Cort said loudly.

  “Cort has horses and dogs and cats and the one cat had kittens,” Stewie told me for the hundredth time. “He said I could maybe have one if you said it was alright...”

  I looked in his eyes, shining with all the hope of a kid at Christmas.

  “We’ll see,” I said. An ecstatic grin stretched over his face. Cort winked at me. I glared at him. I told him to quit egging Stewie on about the stupid kittens.

  “How much longer?” I whined over the music. My thinking was clearer this morning. The fever was gone. The shoulder, however, was still pulsing in agony. I needed to get out of this moving-redneck-radio-on-wheels and stretch my legs, preferably on a bed where I could take a nap.

  Gideon looked at me from the rearview mirror. I watched as he reached out and turned the sound down. “About another twenty or thirty minutes,” he said, eyes back on the road.

  I worked myself into a fine state of anxiety as Gideon turned off the highway, maneuvering through a small town before chauffeuring us onto deserted country roads. The scenery was freaking me out. The more we drove the less there was. Buildings were scarce. In their place was a plethora of trees and wide open fields of lush green grass perforated with fencing. Sometimes, I saw grazing horses inside the fenced areas.

  What worried me was the lack of civilization. Where were the people? The last McDonald’s I saw was in Winchester, the town we just cruised through. But now I didn’t see anything. No cement sidewalks or Walgreen’s or shopping centers or restaurants. Where were all the people?

  I’d heard of these types of places on PBS. Deep in the country where they ate roadkill and married each other’s cousins. I’d be quite the catch to these shaggy mountain men. I had all my teeth.

  Gideon made another turn and a stately iron gate rose twenty feet high in front of us. Flanked on each side was an equally impressive wall of stone and mortar. He pulled up to the gate, rolled his window down, and entered the security code on the keypad that was embedded inside a large stone.

  The heavy gates slowly swung open. Gideon continued forward down a tree-lined, paved drive that seemed to go on forever. I sat up a little straighter.

  The lane twisted to the right. My breath caught at the sight coming into view. The driveway continued to the front of a mansion that I could only compare to the one in Gone with the Wind. Tara, right here in the middle of nowhere. The only thing missing were Scarlett and Rhett.

  We aren’t in Kansas anymore, that’s for sure. I felt bad for thinking the worst. I bet all the people living in this house had all their teeth.

  I caught Gideon staring at me in the rearview. He turned to smirk at me. He knew what I’d been thinking. A blush swept up my neck and over my face. He cut the engine. Cort sprang from the truck with a howl.

  Stewie giggled. I sat there, suddenly very aware of my appearance. Leaning over the seat I tapped Gideon on the shoulder.

  “If you point me in the direction of your phone I’ll call a cab and we’ll be on our way.” I gave him the sweetest smile I had.

  “You can’t go yet.” Cort poked his head into the cab. “You have to meet Maw-Maw.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Stewie was climbing out of the truck, following Cort into the house. Gideon looked my way before exiting the truck and ambling up the wide steps of the veranda.

  There was no way around it. I’d have to suck it up and meet these super rich people looking like something that crawled out of a garbage can. Maw-Maw would take one look at my colorful puffy face and gu
nshot injured arm (Heaven to Betsy!) and promptly order the butler to take us out the back and lock the door. I leaned back, closing my eyes, trying to concentrate.

  “You dead?” Someone poked my leg. I screamed, sliding across the seat. My chest rose and fell in rapid breaths. A woman with fuzzy gray hair dressed in overalls stood beside the truck, poking a stick through the window.

  “Guess you aren’t dead,” she scowled. “Are you one of those insurance people, coming to see if I’m dyin’?” She tapped the stick on the window trim. “Cause if you are, I got a twelve gauge that’ll tell you I’m alive and well.”

  “I’m not an insurance agent.” I swallowed loudly. After a year on the streets I knew nutty buddies when I saw one. She was definitely missing a few screws.

  “Oh. Well, come on in then.” She waved me to come out of the truck as she made her way to the porch. “I got tea chillin’ in the Frigidaire. We can sit on the porch and talk.”

  I was frozen in place. I wanted to roll up the windows and lock myself in. The crazy lady turned around, saw I was still in the truck, and glared at me.

  “C’mon gal, get movin’, I don’t have all day,” she screeched at me.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  The veranda was beautiful. There were huge hanging ferns suspended by white metal hooks between each of the columns. Strategically placed white wicker furniture sat to the left while an oversized swing hung at the end on the right. It was a scene off the cover of Southern Living.

  “Good Lord, you’re a dawdler,” the old lady griped. “Get your fill and come on, slow poke.”

  I hustled to the front door and trailed after her into the house. She practically ran down the long hallway, pushing open a swinging door that led to the kitchen. I barely had a chance to glimpse at the beautifully decorated interior.

  I saw a sitting room bathed in blues and yellows, a library with shelves lined top to bottom with books and a wall of monstrous windows dressed in rich burgundy drapes. Both rooms had half opened pocket doors trimmed in dark ornate carved wood. It was truly an antebellum home. My jaw was hanging open.

  The old lady was muttering to herself as she retrieved a delicate crystal pitcher from the refrigerator. She set it on the marble counter top and plucked two glasses and a bottle of liquor from the cupboard.

  “Sit down,” she said without turning around. I looked around the room, saw the breakfast nook and slid into a chair. I watched as she poured the tea then followed it with a dollop of the liquor.

  “You aren’t one of those uptight Yankee girls, are ya?” She stirred the concoction before bringing the glasses over to the table, seating herself across from me. “Finest Kentucky bourbon ever made.” She took a gulp, smacking her lips. “Drink up, gal!” she ordered.

  Tentatively, I brought the glass to my lips. I wasn’t big on alcohol. Growing up with a drunk for a dad curbed that curiosity. I took a small sip. To my surprise, it wasn’t bad. I barely tasted the bourbon. I took another sip.

  “Atta girl,” the old lady cackled, her face wrinkling into a smile.

  “I see you met Maw-Maw.” Gideon glided into the kitchen. He bent over the old lady, placing a kiss on her weathered cheek.

  “I told you before I’m too darn young to be a Maw-Maw,” she grouched, taking another gulp of tea. “I’m Sissy Shepherd, pleased to meet you.” She held out her gnarled hand. I took it. She had a strong grip.

  “This is Cherry, Maw-Maw.” Gideon poured himself a glass of tea. I noticed he didn’t add any bourbon.

  “Cherry? What the heck kinda name is that?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You a hooker?”

  “No, ma’am,” I licked my lips. This old lady scared the crap out of me. She could easily be one of the original steel magnolias. “It’s a nickname.”

  Gideon leaned his hip against the counter, watching us while he nursed his drink.

  “Cherry, huh?” She leaned forward, bracing her forearms on the table, her tea firmly grasped in her hands, giving me a steady stare. “You look like you been rode hard and put up wet.” I had no idea what she meant by that, but it sounded bad.

  She finished her tea, pushed her chair back, and stood up. “You have nice eyes, sad though.”

  Sissy handed her glass to Gideon and walked briskly to the back door. “She can stay. Put her in the rose room.” The screen door slammed shut behind her. My breath whooshed out in a rush.

  “Is she safe to be around?” I blurted out before I realized what I was saying.

  Gideon snorted tea through his nose. “Yeah, she’s been approved by the surgeon general.” He grabbed a dishtowel to wipe up the sneezed tea.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” I blushed again. I can’t remember blushing this much since I first started living on the streets. Back then I blushed every time someone looked at me funny. That’s how I got the nickname Cherry. My face was always red as a cherry, Buck Rogers had said, and it stuck.

  “Nah, you’re alright. My grandmother’s just a strange bird. Most Southern Belles from her era are.”

  I nodded like I understood this. He swallowed the last of his tea, placing both glasses in the dishwasher.

  “You want the grand tour or the condensed version?” he asked.

  “I don’t need a tour, but thanks. I think we need to get going before it gets dark.” I followed his lead by putting my empty glass into the dishwasher. “Um... I need to call a cab... Can you tell me the name of a good hotel to stay at?” I needed a good long soak in a hot bath. I needed some alone time to get my ducks in a row. Plan our next move.

  “We don’t have cabs out here,” he said, his liquid brown eyes settling on my face.

  “Oh.” How was I getting into town? The very thought of walking all that way exhausted me.

  “No hotel either.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” I snapped. “I’d have told you to drop us in that sorry excuse for a town twenty miles back!” I moistened my lips and started pacing the room. I lapped the island twice before Gideon spoke again.

  “Sissy wants you to stay here.”

  My eyes flew to his. “Are you serious?”

  He gave a lazy shrug on his way to the back door.

  “Where are you going?” I called after him. The screen door slapped shut behind him. He walked away from me! I couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “Gideon!” I hollered, stomping to the screen door and pushing it open. He stood on the brick patio facing me, wearing a serious expression.

  “Sissy doesn’t usually like people—any people—” he said solemnly. “It says a lot that she’d invite you to stay.”

  “Oh... um... well...” I stammered, suddenly and overwhelmingly exhausted. Who was I kidding? We had nowhere else to go. Besides, one night wouldn’t hurt. We had a great head start as far as Cass was concerned. “Okay. We’ll stay tonight. We can figure something out tomorrow.” Provided Annie Oakley didn’t kill us with her trusty twelve gauge in the middle of the night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I was never leaving.

  The rose room turned out to be the most luxurious room I’d ever been in. I had to use a step stool to get up on the four-poster canopy bed. The entire room was decorated in shades of rose. The thin cotton coverlet was embroidered with hundreds of cabbage roses in different colors. It was very feminine and very inviting.

  I had my own bathroom. There were rose-scented soaps and complimentary shampoo, just like in a hotel. I’d never been a guest in a house this big. I wondered if all rich people’s guest rooms were like this.

  I poured bubble bath into the water streaming from the spigot. The tub started filling up with sweet floral-scented bubbles. I was dragging. I needed a nice hot bath.

  I never got around to taking a nap. Gideon’s condensed tour turned out to be a circus event when Cort and Stewie joined us.

  I moaned as I stepped into the steamy water. I laid my arm on a folded towel on top of the lip of the tub so I wouldn’t get my s
houlder wet. I felt the scrapes and bruises melt away under the soapy hot water. I leaned back, resting my head on another rolled up towel and shut my eyes.

  I woke with a start. The water was cool, and the bubbles all gone. The pads of my fingers were pruned. Someone was knocking on my door. As quickly as I could I climbed out of the tub.

  “I’m coming,” I called out. There was a robe hanging on the back of the door. I grabbed it, gingerly pushing it over my wounded shoulder, and cinching it around my waist.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “It’s me,” Stewie said.

  I unlocked the door, ushered him inside, and relocked the door. He’d had a bath too. Cort must’ve loaned him some clothes because the khaki pants gathered around his ankles and the shirt was a little too tight.

  “Wow. Look at all the flowers,” he said, gawking at the three vases of red, pink, and white roses placed around the room.

  “Where have you been?” I asked. I was a little concerned, but only because I knew how attached he was to Cort. I knew he’d be hard to convince when it came time to leave.

  “Oh Cherry!” He breathed excitedly. “You should see the kitty cats!” I rolled my eyes. I was going to kill Cort.

  “Don’t get too excited.” I had to nip this in the bud. “We don’t have a place to live, so we can’t take a kitten yet.”

  “I know.” He dropped his chin to his chest. Great, here we go.

  “When we get settled we can get a cat,” I reassured him. I was such a sucker.

  “Really?” He looked up at me from under his lashes.

  “You bet,” I promised.

  “Great. I got a name all picked out. I like Snowball if it’s white. If it’s orange then I was thinking of Fireball.”

  He rambled on and on. I went into the bathroom to change back into my clothes, giving him a few perfunctory ‘uh huh’ and ‘wow’ responses so I wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

  I found a hair dryer in one of the drawers. I had too much hair to dry it all so I concentrated on the front and sides. I felt like a new person when I was finished. Even though my clothes, except for a borrowed T-shirt from Gideon, were the same that’d I’d worn for the last two days, I still felt a million times better being clean underneath them.