Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) (11 page)

“Geezss . . . arrr . . . dummm,” he slurred.

G
e
e
s
e
a
r
e
d
u
m
b
—

Yep, I nodded, scanning the red welts on my arms. But that didn’t mean their bites hurt any less.

When I glanced back up at my dad, he pointed to a tall mound of bushes.

“Low-wayne,” he asserted.

He rubbed his tummy as if he were a happy Buddha and motioned to the bushes once more.

Oh, Lorraine’s place, I comprehended. And just as I’d hoped, he aimed at the nearby overgrowth of honeysuckle laced with about a million strands of ivy. I stepped over to my dad and grabbed his elbow again, directing him to the source of that heavenly aroma. When we reached the bushes, my dad pushed aside the dense foliage to reveal a metal door painted in shades of green and brown.

Camo colors, I realized. Reaching out, I tried to pull open the handle, but it was locked. Then my stomach growled impatiently, so I gave the door a hard knock.

Nothing, not even honking Attack Geese this time.

“Um, well, I guess she’s not home,” I said apologetically, feeling awful that I’d made my dad walk all that way.

My father rolled his eyes and sighed.

And when I lifted my hand to knock again, he grabbed it and shook his head like he thought I was simple.

“But you
s
a
i
d
this was Lorraine’s place,” I reminded him, confused.

My dad nodded, appearing weary.

He released my arm and made a big fist. Then he knocked on the metal door slowly three times, before giving it a series of hard, sharp raps in rhythmic succession, almost like Morse Code.

I bit my lip. Could that be a secret signal?

Hesitantly, the metal door squeaked open.

“Creek? That you?” A shaky voice remarked from the darkness inside the trailer. “You got that sack a flour, hon? I wadn’t expecting you in broad daylight.”

A woman peeked her long nose out, stepping forward so that the sunlight sliced across her face. I could see she was mere skin and bones, in her forties maybe, wearing an old t-shirt and jeans that were swimming on her. Her dishwater-blonde hair was pulled back in a bun and her eyes were as flat as gray stones.

That couldn’t be Lorraine, I thought. With the way she cooked, I’d assumed she was a bubbly, 400-pound gal in a tent-sized, tropical moo-moo.

Suddenly, the woman lifted her nose to the air and sniffed. She turned to my dad, but her gaze seemed to travel right through him. Then she leaned a little closer and inhaled another deep whiff. Her nose twitched for a second, as if she were detecting something unusual, and her face crinkled into a wide smile that revealed no teeth.

“Well I’ll be damned—if it t’aint Doyle McCracken!”

McCracken?! I gasped, horrified at the hillbilly-sounding name.

The woman reached out her skinny arms. “How you been, cousin? Up to no good, I expect!”

She gave my father a surprisingly tight squeeze, considering her fragile frame. Then she swept her bony fingers over his face, lingering on his forehead, nose and chin. When her hands settled upon his temples, she seemed to register the limp muscles on the right side of his face. Her wrinkled cheeks fell slack, as though she’d been able to read his whole life story in that single moment. I saw my dad’s face turn red in shame.

“Family is forever, honey,” she asserted kindly, patting him on the shoulder, “no matter what. Don’t you never forget that.”

My father nodded, but I couldn’t help noticing that he refused to look my way.

And the God’s honest truth was, I was trembling in my shoes.

What the hell?

Who on earth has a name like McCracken?

Not a single designer label in the universe had a name that hokey, much less anyone at Pinnacle. And it didn’t escape my attention that my dad knew exactly where Lorraine’s trailer was, as well as the secret knock. How could Lorraine and Granny Tinker both be my dad’s cousins—was
e
v
e
r
y
o
n
e
in this backwoods Freakville related?

I leaned over and clutched my knees for all I was worth, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me.

Oh my God, I panicked—if my last name really is McCracken, then what about my first name? Is Robin a lie, too?

Straightening up, I began to hyperventilate and my forehead got all sweaty. Just when I thought I was about to pass out, I felt Lorraine’s hands caress my hair. Her fingers gently sifted through the strands like she thought they were made of fine silk.

“Lordy, Doyle,” she said in a hushed tone that was so sincere it bordered on religious, “did you bring back our sweet Alessia?”

I almost fainted in shock.

That was the very same name that had been so passionately on my father’s lips.

And when I turned to my dad, I discovered that he had tears streaming down his cheeks.

He shook his head resolutely, squeezing his eyes shut, as if he were trying to block out the whole world—including his mysterious past. His silence seemed to speak volumes to Lorraine.

Without warning, Lorraine pressed her fingertips hard onto my forehead, kneading my skin as if she were working dough. Naturally, I jerked back little, but she held my head firm, probing my cheekbones, jaw, and chin as though she could read the map of my soul. Her hands felt surprisingly strong, and yet soft, too—perhaps conditioned by years of handling bacon grease and lard. Finally, she traced the bridge of my nose and fanned out her fingers to cup my cheeks.

“No . . . yer skin’s much too smooth, darlin’, like a Georgia peach. An’ young as a brand new day. Our Alessia would have to be in her thirties by now, I reckon. So you must be that girl who’s the talk of Turtle Shores.”

“The-the talk?” I said, startled.

“Yes ma’am. You’re the one Granny Tinker’s been prayin’ for. She told us all a few weeks ago you were comin’—to help Creek take care of us. She done some special kind of voodoo to conjure you.”

Now it was my turn to blush.

And even though Lorraine was as blind as a bat, her mouth broke into a big toothless grin, as if she’d expected to feel the heat coming from my cheeks. She gave my chin one last tweak before she finally released her hands. I saw her ball them into fists that she perched onto her bony hips.

“Well don’t jes stand there!” she ordered good naturedly. “Sit yer bag o’ bones down right now and help us peel some more apples.”

Lorraine pointed to a couple of old rockers with chipped paint that sat in a gap in the bushes near her trailer. I hadn’t noticed them before, but a very shaggy man in a gray jumpsuit with crazy, google eyes and hair the color of dust sat in one of the chairs. He had a long, scary hunting knife in his hand, and he waved it at me before he bent down to pick out fruit from a wooden barrel.

“Bixby cain’t hardly keep up with all the apples Creek brought yesterday,” Lorraine smiled. “So I aim to jar a heap of applesauce tonight after I’m done baking. Believe me, soon as you taste a slice of my apple pie a-la-modey style, I guarantee you’ll be happier than pigs in mud.”

I pounded on Granny Tinker’s gypsy wagon door with everything I had in me, and then I gave it a swift kick.

“How dare you voodoo me here!” I hollered, mad as hell. “You had no right! My life used to be wonderful. Do you hear me? Wonderful!!”

My chest heaved to catch my breath because I was on a roll now. Two whole pieces of Lorraine’s pie with ice cream on top had energized me enough to face an army. And I intended to make Granny pay for this.

“Wonderful, eh?” A husky voice replied from out of nowhere. “Then explain to me why you ain’t hitchhiked outta here yet?”

I nearly leaped to the moon.

“Unless you’re a lyin’ sack a you-know-what. Somethin’ tells me you wouldn’t know wonderful if it came up from behind and bit you.”

“Huh? Where are you?” I demanded, whipping around so fast I got dizzy, only to stare at the same old trees and bushes. The curtain to Granny’s wagon window was closed, and it didn’t seem like the sound had come from there. I peered between the nearby bushes, but I didn’t spy so much as a quivering shadow. Stomping my foot, I shook my fist in the air.

“C’mon, you coward—show yourself!”

Another quick one-eighty, just for good measure, turned up nothing. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Jumping back, I clutched my chest, relieved to see it was just an acorn that had toppled to the ground. After all, Granny Tinker could be awfully spooky up close.

But then two more plop-plops hit my shoulders, followed by a heavy thunk to my forehead.

Blinking a couple of times, I rubbed the sore spot, when I heard a familiar cackle along with a surge of childish giggles. Suddenly, my face met a shower of acorns.

“Hey, stop it!” I yelped, expecting to see a vast troop of vicious squirrels—nothing about the Colonel’s animal defense squad could surprise me anymore.

But I should have known. Instead of scrappy squirrels, I spotted Granny Tinker and Dooley perched on top of her gypsy wagon. They were sitting cross-legged with burning incense sticks beside them, like they’d been . . . meditating?

“What the f—”

“Don’t you dare say a word like that in front of this child!” Granny Tinker scolded, covering Dooley’s ears. “Do you want me to wash yer mouth out with my lemon-spider leg soap?”

I gasped and shook my head violently.

“Then I suggest ya clean up your speech right now and git on up here.”

“Huh?” I said, floored. “Why?”

“Don’t ya wanna new perspective?” Granny Tinker smiled, her gold front tooth glistening in the afternoon sun. “Honey, if you don’t git some understandin’ pretty soon, yer never gonna find out who you are or why yer really here. So I suggest you climb up my ladder, pronto.”

Granny released that cackle again—the one that could send shivers down my back in an instant and quite possibly scare zombies.

I shook my head, feeling completely insane, and stepped up to her rickety, wooden ladder on the side of her wagon, afraid that if I didn’t follow Granny’s orders, she might cast even more creepy spells my way. Hesitantly, I tested the first rung with my foot, and it seemed to hold my weight okay, so I scrambled to the top before the ladder could snap. Breathless, I stood on Granny’s roof, surprised to see that she’d covered the entire length with her faded quilts. In the center was her crystal ball within a circle of smoking incense sticks and shriveled animals’ paws that looked like they’d been mummified about a century ago. The sight made my breath hitch, and then I saw her crystal ball turn a deep, blood red—

“Welcome home,
R
u
b
i
n
a
,” Granny said with a roll of her tongue. “I ain’t seen you in broad daylight since the day you were born. And even that was through my crystal ball.”

She didn’t laugh at me this time.

In fact, her gray and yellow eyes seemed like a world of . . . sadness.

And I’m pretty sure that’s what slayed my heart the most and made the tears brim my eyes. Because other than my dad earlier that day, I’d never seen a single person in my whole life look at me so piercingly, as if she already knew me to the bone.

“Ru-Rubina?” I stuttered, trying to adjust to the sound of that strange word. I slowly lowered myself down to sit on her rooftop before my trembling legs could buckle beneath me. “P-please don’t fool with me, Granny,” I begged. “Is th-that my real name?”

Granny reached out to gently stroke Dooley’s white-blonde hair, giving him a loving smile.

“Sweetheart,” she said to him kindly, pointing across the compound to Lorraine’s trailer. “Look over yonder. Bixby and Doyle sure could use yer help peeling all them apples Creek brought. Why don’t ya git along now and give ’em a hand?”

Dooley nodded, and in a flash he sprinted across the length of Granny’s rooftop and leaped into thin air—

And I screamed till I thought I was going to puke my guts out.

Cringing, I covered my eyes, because I couldn’t bear to see what had become of poor Dooley! That is, until I felt Granny Tinker’s strong fingers rip away my hands and yank me to my feet.

“For Heaven’s sake, child,” she said, standing before me. “Look with yer own eyes.”

She motioned to the tree canopy, level with her wagon rooftop, where Dooley was skipping happily along wooden planks that connected tree to tree, like the suspended boards you see at zoo exhibits for chimpanzees. My mouth dropped in shock, until I felt Granny’s lace-covered fingers lift my chin and set it back into place.

And there was that cackle again.

“Jes’ like yer Ma!” Granny smiled. “She always did scare a bit easy, comin’ from that high falutin’ family an’ all. Amazing what folks will try to conquer fer true love.”

“My mother?” I gasped.

I don’t know what came over me, but I bravely grabbed Granny by her black-velvet shoulders and shook her in desperation. “Who was she Granny? Is she still alive? Is her name Alessia? Tell me the truth!”

To my astonishment, Granny held herself erect and sealed her eyes tight, as though she were meditating on some far-off radio signal that ordinary mortals couldn’t hear.

And when she opened her eyes, she studied my face for the longest time, till I got so nervous I could feel my palms breaking into a sweat. Her lips curled into a knowing smile, flashing her gold front tooth.

“Have you done
e
a
r
n
e
d
the truth?”

“Earned?” I replied. “What kind of question is—”

Boldly, Granny grabbed my jeans by the belt loops and spun me around to face the compound.

“Tell me what you see,” she commanded.

I wanted to spit out
A
f
r
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a
k
y
w
h
i
t
e
-
t
r
a
s
h
w
a
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t
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l
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, but I didn’t dare. I took a deep breath and glanced around, scanning the bizarre number of wooden planks and tree stands that rimmed the forest canopy, which I’d never really noticed before. Not to mention the homemade catapults, trebuchets, and spud cannons that lined the compound on the ground. But from this height, I suddenly realized it was easier to identify where all the trailers were, each one covered in live shrubs and vines like an overgrown Chia Pet.