Reviewers:

Kath – Of course I'm holding out on you about the contents of the letter.  g All will be revealed soon – I just hope I can tie everything together so that it makes sense!  I tend to be better with writing characters and dialogue then I am with constructing plots.  Just a few short chapters left.

J. Travis – Yay! Another person who remembers American Gothic!  Thanks for the kind words.   Lucas is a fun character to write.    

Author's Note:  By the way, I based Mrs. Broomley on the old woman shown sweeping her porch steps in the opening title sequence of every show.

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      "What the hell is this?"  Lucas muttered, staring in disbelief as Mrs. Broomley, and not Jerry Davis, took over the microphone.  The cowardly mayor double-crossed him?  Him?  Lucas Buck?  He glared at Mayor Quimby, who was taking great pains to avoid looking at Lucas and kept glancing off to the side.  Lucas followed the man's gaze until his eyes came to rest on a beaming Ronilyn.  She leaned against the railing with her arms crossed, then, as if aware of his scrutiny, she turned her head and her eyes met his.

      Ronilyn's smile faltered under the hostility of his stare.  Then she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and turned her attention back toward the podium and Mrs. Broomley.

      Damn her, Lucas thought.  Why was she doing this?  Because he couldn't help her mother?  More importantly, how in the hell did she turn the mayor against him? 

      No one came into his town and interfered in his business, Lucas thought, as he pushed his way through the crowd.  No one.  Family or not, he was not going to let her get away with this.  And then he remembered...

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      "Lucas?"  his uncle's raspy voice whispered.  "Is Ronilyn here?"

      Lucas looked down at the man lying in the hospital bed, the chemotherapy having stripped him of his hair, his appetite, and, slowly, his spirit. "No, Uncle Nathan.  I sent her to get coffee."  And to get her out of the room before she started crying again, Lucas thought, but instead said, "She was lookin' a mite peaked." 

      Nathan Huntley moistened his lips.  "She's been here day and night since she came back to town."

      "Well, she's worried about you."

      "I'm worried about her."  Nathan shuddered as a wave of pain rippled through his cancer-ravaged body.  "I ain't long for this world.  Somebody's got to look out for her."

      "For Ronilyn?"  Lucas said with a slight chuckle.  "Why, she's a grown woman now, Nathan.  Nobody needs to look out for her.  I don't think I've ever known a woman as strong as her."

      Nathan's bony hand reached out and clutched Lucas's vest.  "You watch over her when I'm gone, you hear?  Protect her."

      "Well, that'll be kind of hard to do, her livin' in Chicago.  'Sides, I don't think she'd appreciate it."

      "She doesn't need to know."  Nathan grimaced in pain as he pulled Lucas closer.  "I'm dyin', boy, and I'm askin' you to take care of my daughter, your kin.  You gonna refuse a dyin' man's last request?"  he demanded weakly.

      "No, of course not."  Lucas gently removed the man's fingers from his vest.

      "Good."  Nathan sank back into the pillow with a groan.  "'Cause this is real important to me.  I don't want her to end up like her mother.  I want you to swear - "

      "Swear?"

      " - on your mother's head, God rest her soul, in the name of all that you consider holy - "

      "Uncle Nathan, that ain't necessary."

      " - that you'll take care of Ronilyn and make sure nothin' bad happens to her."

      "Look, I already care for her as if she were my own.  I watched her grow up.  Hell, she's blood," Lucas said.  "You think I'd let anything happen to her?"

      "Swear it, boy!"

      "What's going on?"

      Lucas glanced over his shoulder to see a weary looking Ronilyn slumped against the door frame, her hair pulled back in a short, ragged ponytail.  The fluorescent hospital lights highlighted the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes and emphasized the paleness of her makeup-free face.  She stifled a yawn as she looked down in confusion at the coffee cup in her hands.  "Was I suppose to get you some, too?"  she asked Lucas.

      Lucas turned back to Nathan and, looking his uncle straight in the eye, said, "You have my word."

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      ... "You sure were persistent, Nathan," Lucas said aloud, as the crowd thinned enough for him to reach his car.  "Makes me wonder exactly what you knew back then."