Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(111)

Chip nodded, then wriggled out of Gabe’s lap and grabbed his pillow. “I used to sleep in Rosie’s room when I was a baby. Did you know that?”

Gabe smiled at him and picked up the comforter. “You don’t say.”

“Uh-huh. We have to be real quiet so we don’t wake her up.”

“Real quiet.” With the comforter tucked under one arm, he took Chip’s hand and walked out into the hallway.

“Gabe?”

“Yes?”

Chip stopped walking and gazed up at him, wide-eyed and earnest. “I wish Jamie could sleep in Rosie’s room, too.”

“Me too, son,” Gabe whispered. “Me too.”



Gabe would have torn Salvation apart to get Rachel out of jail, but, fortunately, as soon as he started pounding on the front door of Odell’s house, the police chief woke up, so it wasn’t necessary.

By seven o’clock, Gabe was pacing the floor of the main room of the police station, his eyes glued to the metal door that led to the jail. As soon as he got the chance, he was going to tear his brother apart.

But he knew he was shifting the blame away from where it belonged. If he hadn’t run away, none of this would have happened.

When he’d left the drive-in, he’d driven across the county line and ended up at an all-night truck stop drinking lethal coffee and facing his demons. The hours had ticked by, and it was nearly dawn before he’d figured out that Rachel had been right all along. He’d been using the Pride of Carolina to hide out. Although he’d been existing, he hadn’t really been living. He didn’t have the guts.

The door opened, and Rachel appeared. She froze as she caught sight of him.

Her face was pale, her hair tangled, and her calico dress a mass of wrinkles. The big black shoes plunked down at the ends of her slender legs looked like concrete blocks, one more burden weighing her down. But it was her eyes that tore a hole in his chest. Big, sad, uncertain.

He shot across the room and gathered her into his arms. She shuddered, and, as she trembled against him, he thought of Chip, who’d done the same thing earlier. And then he didn’t think of anything but holding tight to this feisty, stubborn sweetheart of a woman who’d pulled him back from the grave.





Rachel sagged against Gabe’s chest. As she felt his arms wrap around her, she could barely speak. “Where’s Edward?”

“With Cal and Jane.” His hand stroked her hair. “He’s fine.”

“Cal—”

“Shh . . . Not now.”

The police chief spoke from behind them. “We got evidence, y’know.”

“No, you don’t.” Gabe drew away from her and drilled Odell with his gaze. “I put those things in the Escort myself, right before I drove off.”

She sucked in her breath. He was lying. She could see it in his face.

“You?” Odell said.

“That’s right. Me. Rachel didn’t know a thing about it.” The steely note in his voice dared Odell to contradict him, and the police chief didn’t try. Gabe tightened his grip around her shoulders and steered her toward the door.

Daylight had broken, and, as she breathed in the clear air, she didn’t think she’d ever smelled anything so beautiful. She realized Gabe was leading her toward a Mercedes, parked in a space marked Reserved for the Chief of Police. It took her a moment to remember the car was his, since she’d never seen him drive anything but his pickup.

“What’s this?”

He opened the door for her. “I wanted you to be comfortable.”

She tried to smile, but it wobbled at the corners.

“Slide in,” he said gently.

She did as he asked, and before long, they were traveling through Salvation’s deserted streets, accompanied by the rich purr of a flawless German engine. As they reached the highway, he rested one hand over her thigh.

“I promised Chip I’d have you back in time for breakfast. You can stay in the car while I go inside and get him.”

“You saw him?”

She waited for that stiff, distant look to settle over his face the way it always did whenever her son’s name came up, but Gabe seemed more worried than aloof. “I didn’t tell him you were in jail.”

“What did you say?”

“Just that there was a mix-up, and I had to go get you. But he’s a sensitive kid, and he picked up the fact that something was wrong.”

“He’s going to be imagining the worst.”

“I made a bed for him so he could sleep on the floor next to Rosie’s crib. That seemed to settle him down.”

She stared at him. “You made a bed for him?”

Gabe looked over at her. “Just leave it alone for now, will you, Rach?”


She wanted to question him farther, but the hint of entreaty in his expression silenced her.

They drove another mile or so without speaking. She needed to tell him about Russ Scudder, but she was too tired, and he seemed preoccupied. With no warning, he pulled the car off onto the shoulder, slid down the driver’s window, then gazed at her, looking so troubled she was alarmed.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“No,” he replied. “I’m just trying to figure out how to go about this.”