Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(144)

Didn’t she understand how isolated they were? She was locked inside a secluded building with a man who could overpower her in seconds. Why wasn’t she afraid?

He realized he’d finally found a way to kill himself. If he took this any farther, he would die of spite. “Do what I say.”

“Why?”

Where was her fear? He caught her by the shoulders and backed her against the wall, only to hear Cherry’s voice whisper in his ear.

I love your gentleness, Gabe. You’re the most gentle man I’ve ever known.

He knew that voice could tear him to pieces, and he blocked it out by pushing his hand under Rachel’s dress and closing it around her inner thigh.

“What do you want from me?” Her anger had disappeared, and confusion had taken its place. He caught the faint fragrance of summer in her hair, sweet, enticing, full of life.

Tears that he would never shed pushed at the backs of his eyes. “Sex.”

Her gaze met his, and her green eyes chilled him to the bone. “No. You don’t.”

“That just goes to show what you know.” Despite everything, he was hard. Although his mind was dead to lust, his body didn’t seem to have gotten the message. He pressed himself against her to prove how wrong she was and felt the sharp edges of her hipbones. God, she was thin. He pushed his hand higher and touched the nylon of her panties. Two days ago they’d been blue, he remembered. A frail wisp of blue nylon.

He was clammy with sweat. Beneath his callused palms, her skin felt as fragile as the membrane of an egg. He slipped his hand between her legs and cupped her.


“Do you give up?” He ground out the words, and only after they were spoken did he realize he’d made it sound as if this were some child’s game they were playing.

He felt the faint tremor that passed through her body. “I’m not going to fight you. I don’t care that much.”

He still hadn’t broken her. Instead, it was as if he’d done nothing more than give her another job. Pick up the trash. Clean the johns. Spread your legs so I can f*ck you. Her acceptance made him furious, and he shoved her dress up to her waist.

“Damn it! Are you so stupid you don’t know what I’m going to do to you?”

Her eyes bore into his without flinching. “Are you so stupid you haven’t figured out yet that it doesn’t matter?”

She robbed him of speech. His face contorted, and his breath grew ragged. At that moment, he looked the devil in the eye and saw his own reflection.

With a harsh exclamation, he pushed himself away from her. He caught a glimpse of pink nylon, then the soft whish of fabric as her skirt dropped back into place. All the fire in his body was gone.

He moved as far away from her as he could, over to the counter, and when he spoke, he couldn’t summon more than a whisper. “Wait outside.”

Other women would have run after they’d faced down the devil, but she didn’t. She walked to the door, her head high, her posture erect.

“Take the money,” he managed.

Even then he underestimated her. He expected her to tell him to go to hell and stalk out. But Rachel Snopes was stronger than false pride. Only after she had picked up every last bill did she walk away.

When the door shut behind her, he slouched against the counter and sat on the floor, his arms propped on his knees. He stared blindly ahead as the past two years unraveled in his head like an old black-and-white newsreel. Everything, he saw now, had led to today. The pills, the booze, the isolation.

Two years ago death had stolen his family, and today it had robbed him of his humanity. Now he wondered if it was too late to get it back.





In Ethan Bonner’s job, he was supposed to love everyone, yet he despised the woman who sat in the passenger seat of his Camry. As he turned out onto the highway from the drive-in entrance, he observed her scarecrow-thin body and hollow cheeks scrubbed free of the makeup that had once coated them. The wild auburn jumble of curls and tangles had nothing in common with the teased and tortured hair he recalled from three years earlier when the television cameras had shown her sitting beneath the Temple’s famous floating pulpit.

Her appearance had once reminded him of a cross between Priscilla Presley during the Elvis years and an old-time country western singer. But instead of sequined clothing, she now wore a faded dress with one mismatched button. She looked both years younger and decades older than the woman he remembered. Only her small, regular features and the clean line of her profile remained the same.

He wondered exactly what had happened between her and Gabe. His resentment toward her deepened. Gabe had endured enough without being saddled with her problems, too.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed her little boy huddled amidst the meager pile of their possessions that were stacked on the backseat: an old suitcase, two blue plastic laundry baskets with broken handles, and a cardboard box held together with some tape.

The sight swamped him with both anger and guilt. Once again, he had fallen short. You knew from the beginning I wasn’t fit to be a minister, but would You listen? Not You. Not the Great Know-It-All. Well, I hope You’re satisfied.

A voice that sounded very much as if it belonged to Clint Eastwood echoed inside Ethan’s head. Quit your bellyaching, chump. You’re the one who acted like a jerk two days ago and refused to help her. Don’t put the blame on Me.