Take Me Home (9781455552078) (3 page)

Am I ready to get married?

Do I want to?

No matter what I choose to do, what will my mother and father say?

From the change in Billy's features, Olivia knew that her doubts were obvious. He looked deflated, as if every one of the fears that had plagued him for so many years had suddenly been proven true. His hand slid from hers.

“It's all right, Olivia,” he said as he struggled to smile. “It wasn't fair of me to ask you like this. I shouldn't have—”

“Yes,” she blurted, the words jumping from her mouth, cutting him off.

“What?” Billy asked as shock raced across his face, a flicker of hope rekindling in his eyes. “What did you say?”

Olivia's heart raced. Her words had surprised even her. “Yes,” she repeated, her throat dry. “I'll…I'll marry you…”

Faster than a jackrabbit, Billy jumped to his feet and pulled Olivia into his arms. But then, just as quickly as he'd grabbed her, he let her go, so excited that he couldn't stand still. He raised his arms toward the rafters high above.

“Yes!” he shouted, beaming brighter than the spring sun. “Oh, Olivia! You've made me the happiest man in the world!”

Olivia returned Billy's smile, but it was a struggle to maintain it. She still couldn't believe what she'd done. She'd always imagined that she would be married someday, that someone would enter her life, sweep her off her feet, and capture her heart, but she had never considered Billy to be that man. Now, unbelievably, she had promised herself to him. Slowly, it began to dawn on her why.

I don't want to hurt him…

When she thought back on all the years they'd been friends, of all that they had shared, Olivia knew that Billy had been right to be fearful of admitting his feelings. Once he'd revealed them, they could never be taken back. Things between them could never be the same. It had been a huge risk. So while Olivia had plenty of good reasons to say “no” or to ask for more time to think about it, when she understood how much hurt her rejection would cause him, she couldn't bear to go through with it. To turn him down now, just before he shipped off for training, would have devastated him. If something had happened to Billy, if, God forbid, he was killed in action, Olivia would never have been able to forgive herself.

Both fear and guilt had made her accept his proposal. And now, just as with Billy's declaration of love, it was too late for her to take her words back.

It wasn't until Olivia was standing out in front of the hardware store, her head still spinning, that she thought of the one question she should have asked herself when Billy proposed, but hadn't. She was watching Billy head back to the bank, walking down the sidewalk with a spring in his step, talking with every person he passed, thrilled that she'd agreed to become his wife, his ring circling her finger, when it hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Do you love him?

Olivia hated to imagine what Billy would think if he could see her face now.

I
DONE TOLD YOU
I weren't drinkin'!”

Even from where Olivia sat, ten feet from the jail cell that held Sylvester Eddings, she could tell that he was lying; the unmistakable scent of alcohol wafted across the room, strong enough to cut through the aroma of a freshly brewed pot of coffee. Sylvester leaned awkwardly against the cell's steel bars, looking as if he could collapse at any moment. In his midfifties, he appeared older, aged by his love of drinking; white whiskers peppered his bloated cheeks and his eyes were wet and bloodshot. His shirt was stained and wrinkled, likely worn for days.

“I ain't touched the stuff!” he insisted.

“If you haven't been drinking, you mind telling me how your truck ended up hitting that telephone pole?”

Huck Perkins leaned back in his chair, his feet up on his desk, flipping through the newspaper with an amused smile on his face. For as long as Olivia could remember, Huck had been her father's deputy, working alongside John Marsten as he settled disputes, made the occasional arrest, and kept the town safe and sound as best he could. Just like his boss, Huck was fair but tough. Almost sixty now, the years had begun to show; his gray hair was thinning and his belly had grown plump enough to strain the buttons of his uniform. Everyone in Miller's Creek was familiar with the sound of his booming voice.

“One a my tires must've blown,” Sylvester answered.

Huck's deep laugh echoed around the room. “Pert near everything on that truck got wrecked,” he said. “The radiator's cracked, the windows are all busted out, and the fender's bent up sideways and back, but somehow not a one of them four tires got popped.”

“Then it was a deer that done run out in front a me!” the drunk man declared, undeterred in his desire to provide an explanation that didn't involve a bottle of alcohol.

“I don't doubt that you saw
something
in the road,” the deputy explained with a hearty chuckle, “but I bet it was a gremlin. I hear those darn things are mighty common among folks who like tippin' back the whiskey.”

Sylvester scowled. “I reckon you think you're funny! Probably fancy yourself a regular Bob Hope!”

Huck laughed so hard his belly shook; Olivia wondered if he wouldn't jiggle himself right out of his chair.

Olivia could only give their back-and-forth a quick smile before her thoughts once again returned to Billy. For the rest of her day at the hardware store, her mind had twisted and turned, unable to believe that she'd actually agreed to become his wife. Her work showed her distraction; she'd filled orders wrong, struggled to count back change, and Henry Pickford had caught her absently staring out the window. The ring that Billy had placed on her finger felt so strange, so out of place, that she'd tried to keep it hidden away from everyone she met, maybe even from herself. When it came time to close the store for the day, she'd hurried over to her father's office, hoping that he might be able to make her feel better. Unfortunately, he'd been out; since she'd decided to wait for him to return, she'd had to listen to Sylvester and Huck's banter.

“Psssst! Hey! Psst!”

Olivia looked up to find Sylvester staring at her. He'd pressed a finger to his lips, as if he wanted her to be quiet. “Olivia, darlin',” he said in what he thought was a whisper; he was still so drunk that he didn't realize that he was talking loud enough for Huck to hear every word. “You gotta get me outta here. How 'bout grabbin' them keys and openin' this here cell.” Scratching his stubbled chin, Sylvester added, “In exchange, I'm willin' to give you my truck.”

“That old piece of junk wasn't worth much
before
you smashed it up,” Huck commented, turning the page of his newspaper.

Sylvester opened his mouth as if he wanted to protest, but then closed it; maybe deep down, drunk as he was, he knew that the deputy was right. With a sudden smile, still attempting to speak in a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “Then how 'bout we run off and get married instead?”

Olivia flinched; the man couldn't have known how close to home his words had come.

Sylvester's offer was enough to make Huck put down his paper. “Olivia ain't near ready to get married,” he said. “And even if she was, it wouldn't be to no drunkard like you.”

“I told you I ain't been drinkin', you damn fool!”

“That's it,” Huck said, standing up from his desk, his voice growing deep, even a bit menacing. “You go sit down on that cot, Sylvester,” the deputy ordered. “Only thing that's gonna get you right is sleep.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that—”

“Now!” Huck thundered, grabbing hold of the cell bars. Reluctantly, Sylvester did as he was told, grumbling with every step, plopping down onto the cell's narrow bed, and turning to face the brick wall.

Satisfied that there wouldn't be any further disturbance, Huck sat down on the corner of Olivia's father's desk. “I'm right sorry about that,” he said. “Sylvester's a good enough sort when he hasn't had too much to drink.”

“He wasn't bothering me,” she replied, trying to keep her new ring out of sight. “Not really.”

“Well, he was about to fray my very last nerve,” the deputy said with a weary smile. “Heck, you'd think that after all the years I been doin' this, I'd a learned by now not to talk back. It only encourages 'em. But I reckon I got too big a mouth of my own.” When Olivia didn't respond, Huck frowned. “You feeling all right?” he asked. “It's not like you to be so quiet.”

Olivia tried to smile, but it faltered instantly. “I suppose I haven't had the best day,” she admitted. “It's…complicated…”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Olivia shook her head; even
if
she wanted to tell Huck about Billy Tate's proposal and her equally unexpected acceptance of it, she wouldn't have had the slightest idea of where to start. More than likely, she'd talk herself in circles until she burst into tears, something that she knew neither one of them wanted. Even with a long-time family friend like Huck, it was easier to just hold her tongue.

Huck nodded knowingly. “If you change your mind,” he said, taking a step back toward his own desk, “you know just where to find me.”

By the time the deputy had picked up his newspaper to resume his reading, Sylvester was already snoring noisily in his cell. Once again left to her thoughts, Olivia was more unsure than ever of what to do next.

Fifteen minutes after Huck had settled back down at his desk, the door to the sheriff's office flew open with a bang, and Olivia's father entered, dragging a large man with him, his hands in cuffs. The prisoner struggled against every step they took, one sleeve of his dirty shirt nearly torn from the shoulder, swearing a blue streak at the top of his lungs, kicking and clawing, fighting like an animal. Through it all, John Marsten's face remained determined.

“Finally caught him, huh?” Huck asked, quickly rising from his seat to grab one of the squirming man's arms.

“He made it easy on me,” John explained. “It wasn't enough to steal gasoline out of Zeke Parker's drum once. He had to go back for seconds.”

“Too greedy for his own good,” the deputy said with a chuckle.

Olivia recognized the man in handcuffs the moment she saw him. Dale Keller had been a troublemaker around Miller's Creek for years. He'd been in and out of jail since he was a teenager for almost every offense under the sun, but he was a born thief. With rationing for the war effort, Dale had been suspected of a number of thefts, stealing whatever he could get his hands on in order to sell it on the black market. Up until today, he'd been able to avoid getting caught.

“You sons-a-bitches!” Dale shouted. “I didn't do nothin'!”

“That's what I've been sayin',” Sylvester added; he'd been woken by all the commotion and was watching intently.

“Let's get him in there,” John said, nodding toward the one remaining empty cell. “He'll calm down soon enough.”

But then, just as they were a few feet from the open door, Dale suddenly lashed out with his foot and clipped Huck in the back of his leg. The deputy wobbled before eventually pitching over, letting go of the criminal's arm as he fell. Olivia gasped; she was sure that Dale was going to get free. But any hopes he might have had about freedom were short-lived. Calmly but firmly, the sheriff grabbed hold of the man's cuffed hands and lifted them up as he simultaneously pushed between Dale's shoulder blades, forcing him down. The strain he created on the man's joints was so painful that Dale cried out in agony. John walked him forward before giving him a shove, sending the thief sprawling onto the hard floor of the cell, his face landing with a thud. Before Dale could even turn around, Olivia's father had already pulled the door shut and locked it. Everything was over before it had really begun.

Sitting on his rump, Huck shook his head, clearly discouraged, his pride more wounded than his rear end. “Sorry about that, boss,” he grumbled, accepting John's hand and struggling back to his feet. “I feel like a fool letting that rat get the better of me.”

The sheriff waved it off. “Dale's a handful,” he said. “I know that all too well. He's been fighting me ever since I caught up with him. You should've seen me trying to wrestle him into handcuffs.”

Still plenty intoxicated, Sylvester had started cackling at the sight of Dale's comeuppance; even the threatening way the thief was glaring at him wasn't enough to stop his laughter.

“You best knock that off,” Huck cautioned. “Otherwise, I'll put you both in the same cell. I don't reckon it'll be so funny then.”

The deputy must have sounded serious; the old drunk's guffaws dwindled into a series of coughs before he fell silent.

Olivia stared at her father. John Marsten was just shy of fifty, his sandy blond hair touched with silver at the temples, the skin around his piercing blue eyes starting to become marred by wrinkles. Though he was lean, he was strong in build as well as stature, the sort of man who commanded a room's attention just by entering it. Even in situations like the one that had just happened, he never appeared ruffled, but calm and collected. He'd been the law in Miller's Creek since just after Olivia had been born, a fixture in town as familiar as the red and white pole outside the barbershop or the clock high above the bank. Much like the rest of the townsfolk, he had always made Olivia feel safe.

Hanging up the cell keys, John finally noticed his daughter. “Olivia,” he said, his face softening. “I didn't know you were here.” Looking back at Dale, he added, “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

“I'm fine,” she reassured him.

Glancing down at his watch, her father said, “What brings you by? I would've thought you'd be home by now.”

“Actually,” Olivia replied, “I was wondering if we could talk.”

“Of course.”

Realizing that her father meant that they should have their conversation right
there
, she said, “I was hoping we might have some privacy.”

John nodded. Looking over his shoulder at his deputy, he said, “Olivia and I are going to head outside for a bit, Huck. You think you can hold down the fort?”

Glancing over the top of his newspaper, Huck grinned. “Long as those troublemakers keep quiet, I reckon I can handle it.”

The spring sun was beginning to set in the west when Olivia and her father stepped out behind the police station. The early evening still held a bit of the day's meager heat, but a light breeze carried with it the promise of a chilly night. John didn't seem at all uncomfortable, but Olivia shivered as she placed her hands in her armpits, both for the warmth and to keep her ring hidden.

“You want to go somewhere warmer?” her father asked, noticing her discomfort.

“This is fine,” she answered.

John nodded as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt. Once he'd wrangled one free, he struck a match and lit it, taking a drag and blowing a plume of smoke toward the sky. He looked over at his daughter a bit sheepishly and asked, “Can we keep this a secret?”

“My lips are sealed.”

For years, Olivia's mother had scolded her husband about his smoking habit. Whenever he came home from work, his clothes smelling like tobacco, Elizabeth had turned up her nose and walked from the room. For his part, John had tried everything to cut back, but he still craved one from time to time.

“So what's on your mind?” he asked.

Olivia noticed how her father had phrased his question. Instead of asking what was wrong, about what had bothered her enough to come by the station to talk to him, he remained neutral; she knew that it was the lawman in him, not wanting to make any assumptions before he had the whole story.

All day, Olivia had tried to come up with a way to talk about the proposal that had changed her life. She'd considered just blurting it out, but her heart was pounding so hard that she settled on easing her way into it. “What do you think about Billy?” she finally asked, unable to meet her father's eyes.

“He's a good young man,” John answered evenly. “Polite. Well-mannered. Comes from a good family.”

“But do you
like
him?” Olivia pressed.

Her father's gaze narrowed inquisitively. “I do,” he said. “I've always thought he's been a good friend to you.”

“Well…now he wants to be much more than that…”

John had been bringing his cigarette up to take another drag, but listening to his daughter's words, he paused, the butt a few inches short of his mouth. “Did Billy ask you out on a date?” he asked.

“Yes…no…” Olivia stammered; she wondered if this was how Billy felt trying to find the words to ask for her hand.