I wanted to continue this short-story ever since I first published it, but I haven't got around to do it until now! The first part of this chapter is identical with the one in "Crossroads", only the second part is new! I thought about posting them seperately, but I didn't want to confuse you, so here it is, a rather long first chapter! The next ones won't be that long. I have a few more chapters roughly ready! From there on we will see! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: The jail

Oh, he would definitely kiss her now, she thought, and a rush of triumph surged through her. Followed by a sudden feeling of thrill, as she remembered their last kiss. His full lips insistent and hard on her mouth, his arms all around her back and her shoulders, the hard muscles of his thighs against her body. She had felt hot and cold and shaky and, for a moment, the prospect of him kissing her again left her weak and trembling. But he did not kiss her. Disappointed she opened her eyes enough to take a quick look at him. His head was now bent and before she could wonder about it, her hands were in his hands and he was kissing them, first the one then the other. And then he turned her hands over, palms facing up, to kiss them too and suddenly he took a sharp breath. She looked down and saw with horror what had become of her once soft tender hands. Tanned from the sun and freckled, her nails broken, heavy callouses on the cushions of the palms. And on top of everything, a half-healed blister on her thumb and the red scar from burning herself last month, ugly and glaring.

"This game is over," she thought and her shoulders shrugged.

The reality in front of them spoke volumes of her treacherous scheme and she knew, with a cold finality, that there was no point in trying to deny it. He didn't raise his head. He held her palms open, staring at them for what seemed like forever, his thumbs running over her callouses time and again. And she didn't wrench them away. When he finally looked back at her, his brows were up and his eyes gleaming.

"So everything is going very nicely at Tara and you make enough money to go vising, do you? What have you been doing with your hands? These aren't the hands of a lady."

And with that he let them drop on her lap. She could protest, claim that she went riding without her gloves or something similar, but he would see right through it. Suddenly, she felt so very tired of these theatrics, dressed up and acting careless and joyous, when she was anything but that.

"I can tell you the truth if you care to hear it," she sighed. She stared back at him, resignation written all over her face, and his hard expression softened a bit. A sharp nod was all she got.

"After you left us," her voice hard and accusing made him flinch, "I drove through the night trying to get as close to Rough and Ready as possible. But it wasn't easy. The road was a mess, full of ruts and boulders and deep gullies in either side of it. The wagon slipped into them more times than I remember and Prissy and I had to push the wheels out over and over again. And there were soldiers everywhere and every now and then I had to drive the wagon into meadows and woods until it was safe to proceed again. And when we neared Rough and Ready there were campfires ahead and I had to circle at least a full mile through plowed fields. I was lost and terrified and didn't know where we were until finally, I found the small wagon path I was looking for. But the horse refused to move any further, so we hid and spent the night there."

A shiver ran down her spine as that horrible night replayed in her head.

"The horse was so wasted the next morning that it took us a whole day to drive fifteen miles. We didn't meet a single living soul to help us. Every house I knew was burned to the ground, dead men and dead animals everywhere I looked. When we reached Tara at last, still standing and unharmed, I thought the worst part was over. But it wasn't."

Her voice grew unsteady and her hands were shaky and she tried to knit them together to make them stop, but failed miserably. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked again and again to push them back. She couldn't look at him –the man who had left her to face the end of her world alone– she just couldn't. At that moment, his large hands appeared out of nowhere and rested upon hers. And something about his touch was soothing and reassuring and gave her the strength she needed to say the next words out loud.

"Mother had died the day before and my sisters were still sick with typhoid. From the one hundred darkies Tara used to have before the War, only three remained. Mammy, Pork and his wife Dilcey. And Pa…" she took a deep breath, "Pa was... still is only a shell of his former self. Mother's death was too much for him and most of the days he doesn't even remember that she is gone."

"I'm so sorry, Scarlett."

His voice vibrated with sincerity and emotion. Startled she jerked her head up. Former anger over her behavior apparently forgotten, his eyes now bore only sadness and kindness. She remembered the last time he was like this, gentle and kind; the night Atlanta fell and he was there to save them. For he did save them, didn't he? Even though he ended up leaving.

"Why was Tara spared?" he asked.

"The Yankees used it as their headquarters," she explained. "Apart from that, they took everything else. Food, living stock, money. And what they couldn't take or had no use for, they burned. One hundred and fifty dollars' worth of cotton they turned it into ashes. That no-good horse of yours died during that night and I couldn't go about the country to see if any of our friends were still around. We ate anything we could find –fruit, vegetables from the neighboring houses and games from Pork's futile attempts to hunt. Until we found a horse," she paused uncertain of whether to proceed.

Only Melly and Will knew about the deserter, but Rhett was looking at her, patient and understanding, and she knew she could tell him anything. He wouldn't judge. He never had.

"I killed a Yankee, Rhett. I took his horse and his money and buried him in the garden," she said in one breath.

"Of course you did." Did he actually sound proud? "You did what you must to protect your folks. That's what people at War do. "

She smiled faintly and he smiled back.

"Go on," he urged.

"Well, I found out that the Fontaines and the Tarlettons and the Calverts haven't left. Their houses were off the main road and they were spared as well. They shared everything they had with us, and things took a turn for the better. We picked up what cotton was left on the fields and for the first time in months I was a bit more optimistic. And then Sherman came. Cathleen warned us and we managed to hide food and animals in the swarms and the woods and when they finally arrived, it was just me with Wade and Beau in the house. They burned the cotton again and almost burned the house too, but Melly and I managed to put the fire out before it spread through the kitchen to the rest of the building. Fortunately, that was the last we saw of those damned Yankees. The rest of the winter was hard, but we got through it. By spring the War was finally over," she let out a long sigh. "And now you know what I did with my hands."

His thumbs were on her palms again, gently caressing the callouses, then the blister, then the burn. Then he brought them to his mouth and kissed every proof of the hardships she went through. And much like that night so long ago in Aunt Pitty's porch, something vital and electric rushed from him to her at his touch. And along with it, the want to run her fingers through his hair and feel his lips upon hers.

"I was wrong," he said, his mustache tickling her skin. "These are the hands of a lady."

Heat rose rapidly to her cheeks in the face of such a momentous praise and from the one man she least expected it.

"Thank you," she murmured timidly.

He let go of her hands and she couldn't help a sting of disappointment from losing their warmth.

"Now, let's get down to the reason behind your visit to my humble cell today," he lounged back into his chair. "From what I understand you want something from me and you want it badly enough that you put on quite a show. I'll give you that, Scarlett, you almost had me."

He wasn't angry anymore or hurt. In fact, he looked rather amused and she took heart. Maybe not everything was lost yet. Maybe she could save Tara after all.

"I need your help, Rhett," she offered earnestly.

"Is it money?"

She nodded. "We paid the taxes on time, but then they did an assessment on Tara and it run sky high and they said I need to pay lots more."

"How much more?"

"Three hundred dollars. And I have to find that money, Rhett. That white trash Wilkerson, Pa's old overseer, came by the other day. He married Emmie Slattery, the wench that killed my mother. And he threatened me that he would buy Tara when we get sold out for taxes. And I can't let Tara go, Rhett. I can't. I won't. Not when there is still a breath left in my body. Will you, please, lend me the money?"

"Was I the first man that came to your mind?" he teased.

"As a matter of fact, you were," she smiled, relieved for the lighter atmosphere between them. "Because, let's face it, Rhett. I don't know any wealthy people nowadays."

"So, it's my money you thought about, not my charm," his hand went on his heart. "I'm deeply wounded, my dear."

"Oh, do be serious," she laughed. "You know it's true. I don't know a single person in the county that isn't poor and, since I came here last night, all I hear is how the War brought everyone to their knees and they barely make ends meet. And Ashley cannot help–"

"So, Mr. Wilkes survived the War," he cut her off, his face blank in the blink of a second. "And he is currently living in Tara."

"Why, yes of course. His wife and child are there and Twelve Oaks are completely burned. Where was he supposed to go?"

"Yet, you forgot to mention it."

"I didn't think it was relevant. He only came back a few months ago."

"I see," he stated. "And you say he cannot help you? Why is that?"

"Haven't you heard a word I said?" she was beginning to lose her temper. They had more important things at hand than Ashley. "He has nothing, Rhett. Nothing at all. And if I have to be honest, he really isn't good for anything anyway."

"He doesn't help around Tara?" his eyes gleamed strangely.

"He does as much as he can, but he isn't made for that kind of work."

"Neither are you."

"Well, yes, I am not, but when I had to, I did. There wasn't much of a choice for me. Nine people depended on me, Rhett. Nine. Three sick women, a toddler and a baby among them. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to feed nine people, when there isn't enough food for two? It was a matter of survival. I didn't have the luxury to hide behind my well-breeding."

"While he can?"

"No, not exactly. It isn't his breeding he worries about."

"What is?"

"Reality. That's what he said when I asked him for help. That he is afraid of life becoming too real for him. And some other nonsense about how he had dreamed of spending the rest of his days happily buried in Twelve Oaks, but then the War killed his world," she made a dismissive gesture. "As if the rest of us wanted to starve and freeze and struggle to survive every single day."

"Did you tell him what you were about to do here?"

"What?" she cried incredulously. The mere thought of Ashley, or anyone for that matter, finding out about her plan was mortifying. "No, no. No one knows why I came to Atlanta. I told them I came to attend Fanny Elsing's wedding."

"Has it ever occurred to you that he should have known?" his voice was dangerously low and it was unnerving.

He was angry again and for the life of her she had no idea why.

"How was he supposed to know? I told you I didn't say anything to anyone," she protested.

"If he'd known you at all, he should have guessed that desperate as you are, you would try something stupid. He should have killed you before letting you come here. In fact, he should have killed to help you after everything you have done for his family. Shouldn't he?"

"He couldn't have stopped me, even if he knew," she said, but suddenly she realized what a big lie that was.

He could. Ashley was the only one she would have listened. The only one that could have changed her mind. It felt disloyal to think like that about him, but also very bitterly true. She looked up at Rhett, his eyes gawked at her, scrutinizing and waiting.

"Oh, you are impossible," she exasperated. "He should have known and he could have stopped me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Well, he didn't do any of these and he didn't help me either and there is no point talking about it anymore. What I care to know is if you can. Can you help me, Rhett? Can you?" desperation made her voice shaky.

"Yes, I can, Scarlett, and I will."

For a few seconds she stared back at him speechless. Had he just said yes? She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to be slipping out of her head. A wave of violent relief washed over her and, before she could stop them, tears welled up in her eyes and began to quickly flow down her face.

"Come here, silly," he scolded tenderly and somehow, she was on her feet and protectively secured in his strong arms.

She pressed her face on his broad chest, unable to hold back the sobs that raked through her body. He smelled of cigars and whiskey and horses. Heavy, masculine smells she always loved, for they talked of security and strength and vigor and they reminded her of Gerald. His mouth was on her hair, murmuring sweet nothings, and his hands caressed her back soothingly.

"There, stop crying now, darling. I don't have a handkerchief on me and you visibly need one. I'll hate it if you have to use my shirt. God knows, I don't carry a spare change of clothes around these days."

She laughed at that and he joined her.

"That's better," he pulled a few inches away and smiled down at her. "Are you fit to talk business now?"

She nodded eagerly. He didn't appear too willing to let her go just yet and she was fine with that.

"How long do we have before you need to give the money?"

"A couple of weeks, maybe more."

"That will do. Can you stay in Atlanta that long?"

"Yes. Aunt Pitty is thrilled to have me and Fanny's wedding is tonight. But, Rhett, how can you help me if you are locked up in here?"

"Let me worry about that," he winked ambiguously.

Through wet lashes she looked at him, that man who had turned from savior to abandoner and back to savior again, gratitude pouring out of her every pore.

"Thank you, Rhett. Thank you so very much. I will pay you back, I swear I will."

"One step at a time, Scarlett," he grinned. "Kick the wolf from the door of Tara first and then I'm certain we will find a mutually beneficial agreement to settle your debt. You haven't forgotten that I always get paid, have you?"

"Hush, you crude thing," she patted his chest and stepped away from his embrace, her dimples flickering playfully. "I really must go now, Rhett. Mammy doesn't know where I am and I'm afraid she will start knocking on every single door in Atlanta to find me if I am to be more late than I already am."

"The lady got what she came for and now she is abandoning me in my prison."

"I may come back tomorrow if you promise to behave," she teased.

"And if I don't?" his eyes shone in mirth.

"I may come back anyway. I have come to like your current living quarters."

"Satisfy my curiosity about one more thing before you go, Scarlett. Where did you find this dress?"

"This," she caressed her dress, "is made out of my mother's velvet curtains. And these," she pointed at her hat, "are the tail feathers of a rooster."

He burst into roaring laughter. "Scarlett O'Hara, you really are one of a kind."

She could still hear him laughing even after she went out of the firehouse. She couldn't wait to tell everyone that Tara was saved.

When she went out of the building, it was raining, the sky above her dark and heavy, a cold wind blowing. Chilly drops fell hard on her face, wetting Aunt Pitty's cloak and making it heavier and heavier on her shoulders. But she didn't care. The streets were quickly turning into muddy swamps and with the bricks on the sidewalks broken it was a strain to keep walking. Ηer sleepers stuck in the mud, her dress was quickly becoming a mess and her hat would probably be totally ruined before she was back to Aunt Pitty's house. But she didn't care about any of that either. She walked down Washington Street, passed next to ruined houses burned to the ground and unattended former gardens and still didn't notice anything. She didn't feel the rain or the cold, she remained untouched by the desolation around her. Wings had grown on her back and she felt lighter than a feather. One and only thought occupied her mind; Tara was safe. She drew several awkward looks on her, her miserable attire in complete contrast with her almost deliriously happy face. She didn't hear the buggy quickly approaching nor the male voice calling her until he repeated her name a few times.

"Miss Scarlett, Miss Scarlett!"

Coming out of her reverie, she found Frank Kennedy looking at her with evident worry.

"Mr. Kennedy!" she smiled.

"Miss Scarlett, are you alright? What are you doing walking around in a weather such as this? Let me give you a ride home," he offered his hand to assist her into the buggy. "My God, you are soaking wet! Here, wrap yourself in this robe, before you catch your death."

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Kennedy."

She hadn't realized how cold she was until she pulled the warm blanket around her.

"How good to see you, Miss Scarlett! I didn't know you were in town. I run into your aunt last week, but she didn't tell me you would be visiting."

"I didn't give her any notice. I came alone just last night to attend Miss Elsing's wedding."

"All well at Tara?"

"Oh, yes. So and so."

"And how about… Miss Suellen?" he asked timidly.

"Everyone is fine, Mr. Kennedy," she smiled back. Nothing could ruin her high spirits, not even the sheepish expression on that old face. "What about you? I didn't know you were living in Atlanta?"

"Hasn't Miss Suellen told you about it? About my store?"

She vaguely remembered her sister talking about it, but with the pressing matter of saving Tara at hand she had pushed aside as irrelevant.

"Why, yes, of course. Silly little goose me! Do tell me more about it. How did you get started with a store? When I last saw you, you said you didn't have a cent in the world."

She didn't care one bit about Frank's business or his current living conditions. All she wanted was to go home, get rid of her wet clothes and warm up next to the fire. He was offering her a ride home though, so she felt obliged to play well-bred. Clearly enjoying the attention, he began to explain how he left the commissary and fought for the cavalry until he was injured and how he helped with the army stores and the hospital supplies when the Yankees came. Scarlett made sure she listened closely enough to exclaim "How dreadful!" from time to time, but the details were quickly slipping off her mind. Finally, he told her about all the abandoned goods at the depot and the ten dollars he used to put a roof on an old store down by Five Points and set about his business. And he then went on rambling about having it on his conscience that he took staff which didn't really belong to him.

"Do you think what I did was right, Miss Scarlett?"

"Of course," she said absentmindedly.

"I'm glad you agree with me," he sounded relieved. "You see, I'm not a millionaire, nor do I make the money I used to before the War. But I'm doing fairly well, Miss Scarlett. And I'm planning on buying a sawmill. There's a man named Johnson who has one, way out Peachtree Road, and he wants to sell it quickly. But he told me he will stay and run it for me at a weekly wage. If things turn out the way I plan, I will have the money I need by spring. You know why I need them, don't you?" he blushed at that and cackled in that way she always found so annoying.

"I do."

"I guess I'm boring you talking about business, Miss Scarlett. I apologize for bothering your pretty little head with men affairs."

"Not at all, Mr. Kennedy. I'm glad to see that you are going to such extends to secure my sister's happiness. You are such a proper gentleman," she offered politely and he brightened at the flattery.

Mammy was waiting for her at the porch and by the look of her she must have done so for quite some time, her head rug damp and her shawl sprinkled and stained with rain drops. The angry look on her face quickly turned into one of pleasure when she saw Frank Kennedy.

"How good ter see yu, Mist' Frank? Ef Ah'd knowed Miss Scarlett wuz wid yu Ah wouldn' worry so," she greeted him cordially.

"I need some dry clothes, Mammy. And a hot tea if you please," Scarlett said and climbed off the buggy. "Thank you so much for the ride home, Mr. Kennedy. It was the best of luck to run into you today."

She went into the house and up the stairs, Mammy following right behind her to the bedroom. She helped her out of her wet clothes and tucked her into the bed. She got out and returned a while later with a hot brick rolled in flannel and a steaming cup of tea.

"Huccum you din' tell me yuz to meet wid Mist' Frank?" a guilty expression all over her dark features.

"Because I wasn't," she took a long sip and felt the hot fluid warming its way down her throat.

"Who did yu meet den?" she frowned. "Not dat rapscallion Butler man you didn'."

"How do you know about him?" she asked suspiciously.

"Ah remembered Miss Pitty writin' about him to Miss Melly an' Ah doan fergit whut Ah hears."

"Yes, Mammy. I met with Rhett Butler."

"Yu went ter dat Yankee jail?" she exclaimed her dark eyes wide with shock.

"You know about that too, don't you? Well, yes. Where else was I supposed to meet him? It's not like he can take the day off and go on a picnic."

"Dunno smart talk ter me," she glowered. "Whut would yur poor moder say ef she knowed yu wuz wid a man like him an' en a place like dat? Yu shuld know dat men like him is bad newz."

"He is not as bad as people think he is. He can be a rapscallion like you said, but also very supportive and helpful if he chooses to. And he has been all that today."

"How so?"

"He will lend me the money for the taxes. Tara is safe," her face was beaming.

"An' he wants whut en return?"

"We haven't gone into the details yet, but I intend to pay him back with this year's cotton."

"Miss Scarlett, Ah dun tol' you an' tol' you an' yur pur moder too. Men would try ter tek liberties ef you ain't kerful. An' dis man ain't no gentleman."

"Gentleman or not, I don't give a hoot," she flared. "I didn't see any fine gentleman offering to help and neither did you. He is all I've got and I am willing to accept any proposal of his as long as we keep Tara."

Mammy huffed and puffed weighting the argument, her bottom lip pushed out farther than ever before.

"There now, Mammy," she tried sweettalking. "None of these matters. Can't you see? Tara is safe. Aren't you happy?"

"Tara is mah home, Miss Scarlett, but you iz mah chil'. Ah ken' be happy ef you izn' safe."

"He drove us out of a burning Atlanta, when he didn't have to, and now he will help me again. You don't have to worry. I'm safe."

"An' huccum he help you ef he en jail?

"He said he will take care of it and be out in a couple of weeks. If anyone can pull this off, it's Rhett," she smiled.

The dark eyes peered at her in silence for a long time.

"You trust him," she finally said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I trust him."

She gave her a sharp nod and Scarlett knew that she was reassured for the time being.

"Now, get sum rest an' Ah see ef Ah ken get dis dress clean fer tenight."

She and Cookie did their best to be presentable that night, but the dress was still a little dump on the knees and spotted about the hem despite their efforts. When she entered the Elsing's house however, she totally forgot about it. Such a warm welcome she received from everyone. The girls run to her to kiss her and say over and over again how much she was missed and how happy they were she was able to attend. The old ladies were cordial to her and very sympathetic about her mother's loss. The men were gallant and generous with their compliments and ready to make her feel comfortable. As if the coldness and restrained attitude towards her before the War had never existed. She wasn't left unaccompanied for long, someone always by her side offering a slice of cake or a glass of wine or merely their time to engage into polite conversation.

Nonetheless, she took the time to look around the house. It was enough to expose the family's financial state to all its magnitude; the once shining parquet now scarred, the grand furniture old and hastily repaired, the empty spots on the walls where the paintings used to hang, the torn tapestry and the remnants of the lace curtains. The people around her showed the same wear; the old dresses mended over and over again, the shabby shoes, the men's old and worn outfits. But not their faces, she noticed. They were hard, thin and colorless, yet the heads were held high. These folks might have been beaten, but they weren't licked. Slowly but steadily, they were rising up from the ground again, their dignity unharmed. Had it been any other day, she would have felt an outcast. With the hope that Rhett's money had given her though, pride and a sense of belonging overwhelmed her. She too had been beaten. She had found her world crushed, her mother dead and her father lost. She had fought against cold, hunger and fear. She had worked like a field hand, she had killed and almost been burned alive. But licked she hadn't been, nor would she ever be. As long as she was standing on her two feet and had two working hands.

Old Levi and the musicians had finished tuning up for the dance and the notes of "Old Dan Tucker" filled the room. And everything and everyone around her came to life. How good it was to hear music and laughter and well-meant jokes again. To see the old men grouped about the decanter and the old matrons lining the walls and talking behind their hands, even if they were fanless. To see the pairs forming two lines on the dance floor ready for the first reel. Hugh Elsing was the first to ask her to dance and soon she was on the dancing floor herself never to sit down again until the first morning hours, when Rene Picard offered to accompany her back to the Peachtree house.

It's been a good day, was the last thought in her mind before she surrendered to the first peaceful and deep sleep she had in two years.