Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(134)

“Put your clothes back on.”

She stepped out of the dress and made herself walk toward him, clad only in her panties and sandals. She held her head high, determined to keep her dignity intact.

“I’m willing to work a double shift, Bonner. Days and nights. No man you hire is going to do that.”

With grim resolve, she reached out and cupped his arm.

“Don’t touch me!”

He jerked away as if she’d struck him, and his eyes were no longer empty. Instead, they darkened with a rage so profound that she took a quick step backward.

He snatched up her dress and shoved it at her. “Put it on.”

Defeat curled her shoulders. She had lost. As her hand caught the soft blue fabric, her eyes found the photo of G. Dwayne Snopes staring at her from the purple flyer curling on the wall.

Sinner! Harlot!

She slipped into her dress while Bonner made his way to the doors and unlocked them. But he didn’t push them open. Instead, he planted his hands on his hips and bent his head. His shoulders rose and fell as if he were breathing hard.

Her stiff, cumbersome fingers had just managed to fasten the last button when the snack shop’s doors swung open.

“Hey, Gabe, I got your call. Where—”

The Reverend Ethan Bonner froze in place as he saw her. He was blond and breathtakingly handsome, with finely shaped features and gentle eyes; he was the complete opposite of his brother.

She saw the exact moment when he recognized her. His soft mouth thinned and those gentle eyes glazed with contempt. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Widow Snopes come back to haunt us.”





Gabe turned at Ethan’s words. “What are you talking about?”

Rachel sensed something protective in the way Ethan looked at Gabe. He moved closer, as if he were guarding him, a ridiculous notion since Gabe was larger than Ethan and more muscular.

“Didn’t she tell you who she is?” He studied her with open condemnation. “I guess the Snopes family hasn’t ever been known for truthfulness.”

“I’m not a Snopes,” Rachel replied woodenly.

“All those downtrodden people who sent money to keep you in sequins would be surprised to hear that.”

Gabe’s gaze moved from her to his brother. “She said her name was Rachel Stone.”

“Don’t believe anything she says.” Ethan addressed Gabe in the gentle tones people usually reserved for the sick. “She’s the widow of the late, but hardly lamented, G. Dwayne Snopes.”

“Is she now.”

Ethan walked farther into the snack shop. He wore a neatly pressed blue oxford shirt, khakis that held a sharp crease, and a pair of polished loafers. His blond hair, blue eyes, and even features formed a marked contrast with his rugged brother’s more brutal good looks. Ethan could have been one of heaven’s chosen angels, while Gabriel, despite his name, could only have ruled a darker kingdom.

“G. Dwayne died about three years ago,” Ethan explained, again using that solicitous sickbed voice. “You were living in Georgia then. He was on his way out of the country at the time, one step ahead of the law, with a few million dollars that didn’t belong to him.”

“I remember hearing something about it.” Gabe’s response seemed to be made out of habit rather than interest. She wondered if anything interested him. Her striptease certainly hadn’t. She shuddered and tried not to think about what she’d done.

“His plane went down over the ocean. They recovered his body, but the money is still on the bottom of the Atlantic.”


Gabe leaned back against the counter and slowly turned his head toward her. She found she couldn’t meet his gaze.

“G. Dwayne had been playing it pretty straight until he married her,” Ethan went on, “but Mrs. Snopes likes expensive cars and fancy clothes. He got greedy to feed her habits, and his fund-raising activities became so outrageous they eventually brought him down.”

“Not the first televangelist to have that happen,” Gabe observed.

Ethan’s lips tightened. “Dwayne preached prosperity theology. ‘Give that it may be given unto you.’ Part with what you have, even if it’s your last dollar, and you’ll get a hundred dollars back. Snopes presented God as the almighty slot machine, and people fell for it big-time. He got Social Security checks, welfare money. There was a woman in South Carolina who was diabetic, and she sent Dwayne the money she needed for her insulin. Instead of sending it back, Dwayne read her letter on the air as an example for everyone to follow. It was a golden moment in televangelism.”

Ethan’s eyes flicked over Rachel as if she were a piece of garbage. “The camera caught Mrs. Snopes sitting in the front pew of the Temple of Salvation with her sequins flashing and tears of gratitude running through her rouge. Later, a reporter for the Charlotte Observer did some digging around and discovered the woman went into a diabetic coma and never recovered.”

Rachel dropped her eyes. Her tears that day had been ones of shame and helplessness, but no one knew that. For every broadcast, she’d been required to sit in the first row all decked out in the teased hair, overdone makeup, and flashy clothes that had been Dwayne’s idea of female beauty. When she’d first gotten married, she’d gone along with his wishes, but as she’d discovered Dwayne’s corruption, she’d tried to withdraw. Her pregnancy had made that impossible.