Still holding his hand, I led him back to where my mom and Gideon were talking outside the Winnebago.
“Gabe wants to come with us,” I said, and neither of them looked surprised.
Gideon nodded once. “We’ve always got room, but we should get moving. I wanna get out of this place as soon as we can.”
“You can ride with him, if you want,” Mom offered. “And we’ll discuss sleeping arrangements when we get to Houston.”
That was all the encouragement we needed, and we hurried back to his car. The Mustang drove faster than the motorhomes, so we sped on ahead. It wasn’t until we were on the long bridge that led out of Caudry, over Lake Tristeaux, that the ice in my chest finally dissolved completely, and I relaxed into the seat.
Gabe looked over at me, grinning, and that glint of something devilish and dangerous sparkled in his eye, and I knew he’d be up for anything. We could follow each other to the ends of the earth and back.