Finally back. This story was on fanfiction a while back, and is now making a hopefully new and improved reappearance. I've been trying to go back and edit mistakes, adding things here and there. The plot should be developed much, much more than it was previously.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the brilliant Margaret Mitchell's characters/places/etc…oh, and I don't own Alexandra Ripley's stuff either.
Whiskey Lullaby
Allison Krauss and Brad Paisley
She put him out, like the burning end of a midnight cigarette. She broke his heart. He spent his whole life trying to forget. We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time, but he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind until the night he put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger, and finally drank away her memory. Life is short, but this time it was bigger than the strength he had to get up off his knees. We found him with his face down on the pillow with a note that said I'll love her til I die, and when we buried him beneath the willow, the angels sang a whiskey lullaby. La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la. The rumors flew, but nobody knew how much she blamed herself for years and years, she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath she finally drank her pain away a little at a time but she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind until the night she put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger and finally drank away his memory life is short but this time it was bigger than the strength she had to get up off her knees. We found her with her face down in the pillow clinging to his picture for dear life. We laid her next to him beneath the willow while the angels sang a whiskey lullaby. La la la la la. La la la la la la la.
Chapter 1 of Eyes the Color of Ireland
Rhett walked briskly through the small town of Ballyhara. He passed several quaint buildings, but he paid them no heed. His thoughts were cluttered, and for the first time in his life he had no plan. For the first time, his heart had beaten his brain; he emotionally needed Scarlett. He needed her stubbornness, her emerald eyes, her temper—he needed everything about her, even though his mind knew what she was to him—poison. They would fight, and Rhett sought solace through whiskey. Through most of his marriage to Scarlett, Rhett often considered whiskey to be his best friend. The whiskey didn't ask him questions he had no answers to, didn't bubble with hateful words, and didn't make him feel the cowardice he was sure was there, it simply eased the pain. Knowing all this, Rhett only really knew one thing: he loved her.
"What am I doing here?" he wondered. "Did I honestly think I could just waltz into her life as I did so many years ago and confess my undying love for her? She'll shoot me down like a rabid dog, and then leave me for the vultures."
Scarlett puttered around her small cottage looking for her hairbrush. She didn't know why she still bothered with her hair, looks were of no importance to her anymore.
"The Irish love me for me; for being hardworking and hardheaded." She also knew that the real reason she had stopped being so preoccupied with her appearance was that no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to get anyone to focus on anything but her protruding stomach. Eight months pregnant really was too late in her pregnancy to be out checking on her workers anyway, especially considering how badly she wanted—no, needed—this baby. It was her lifeline, what kept her going, trudging on day after day, and she couldn't wait to meet her hero, or heroine, she reminded herself, face to face. This baby was her last tie to Rhett, her one and only love, and she would not mess it up as she had all other things concerning Rhett. She had destroyed their life together, and there was no going back to it now. There was just nothing left there. She had to start over, and this baby was giving her the perfect opportunity.
As he ventured further into the town, the small buildings became further apart, and he was able to recognize that most of them were now houses. He had no clue how he was supposed to go about finding Scarlett. He didn't want to ask anyone for the risk that they might alert Scarlett to his presence before he himself could. He decided he'd have to approach every house he came to until he found Scarlett. Hopefully she wasn't far away. Rhett stopped at the first cottage he came to, a small, charming little home, and knocked on the door.
"What the hell am I doing?" he thought to himself. "I suppose I'll just say to her: 'Hello, Scarlett. I've come to tell you that I've divorced Anne, and I still love you. Sorry for probably giving you the biggest shock of your life. Truce?" Yes, that would all go over very well.
The door was opened by a middle-aged woman with a mop of red hair and a belly bigger than the town drunkard's. This was definitely not Scarlett.
"Pardon me, ma'am, I seem to have the wrong address," he said simply, tipping his hat and turning around swiftly. Maybe once he did this twenty times or so he'd find her. After several more disappointments, he came to a cottage nowhere near as homey and lived-in as the others he had been to. The outside held no garden or charming little plants; it was simply painted an ugly white, and had one grimy window.
"Not Scarlett's," he thought to himself, but for some odd reason he found himself reaching out and knocking on the door. Perhaps it was habit. His knocks received no answer. He gently turned the doorknob, expecting to find it locked. When it turned easily in his hand, he looked down in surprise, but walked slowly in anyway. His sharp eyes took in the sparsely furnished two room house. He assumed he was in the kitchen, given the table made of what looked like scraps of leftover wood and one wobbly looking chair, not to mention the stove. He saw a pair of work boots by the door—women's, he could tell by the small size, and a calendar hung on the wall marked with 'X's.
Still convinced he could not possibly be in Scarlett's dwelling, he turned to leave when something gold glittering on the kitchen table caught his eye. Leaning closer, he let out a small gasp.
So doncha just wanna know what happens next? I do. And guess what? You can find out for the easy price of just one review! That's right, not $19.99 like most infomercials, just one review! Haha, just kidding…sort of. It'll be updated quicker if you review, though. :-D So what'd you think? Lemme know :-D