Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(173)

Rachel nodded.

As he gazed at her, he felt as if he were glimpsing something rare, a generosity of spirit that was as much a part of her as a sassy mouth, and for a brief moment, he had the feeling that she understood something about him no one else did. But that was impossible. Rachel didn’t know him at all, not like his parents, his brothers, the guys he grew up with.

She squeezed his shoulder, then bent down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her funny little rosebud mouth looked pink, as if she’d been nibbling a strawberry. “I want to go now.”

He nodded slowly, got up, put on his shirt. He went through all the motions of getting dressed without once letting her see that he wanted her all over again.



That night, after Rachel had finished the dishes, she took Edward into town for ice cream. It had been months since she’d been able to treat him. When she’d been married to Dwayne, she’d paid little attention to money, but now she guarded every penny, and the ones she’d set aside for tonight were precious.

Edward bounced up and down as far as the Escort’s seat belt would permit while he kept up a monologue on the relative merits of chocolate over vanilla. Rachel had invited Kristy to come along, but she’d declined. Maybe she sensed that Rachel needed time alone with her son. And time alone with her thoughts, too.

While Edward chattered on, the images of the afternoon burned in her mind: the rain, Gabe’s body, her own abandon. She’d once imagined lovemaking could be like that, but she’d long ago given up hope that it would ever happen to her.


Just thinking about him made her body feel hot and restless. She lusted after him with an intensity that scared her, but she was also drawn to him in other ways. She was drawn to his darkness, his brutal honesty, and his grudging kindness. He didn’t seem to realize that he was the only person in town who didn’t judge her by her past.

Her mind began to toy with the edges of a fantasy in which Gabe was a less troubled man, but she pushed it away. She was too wise to fall in love with him, even in her imagination. He had too many shadows. And if those shadows ever lifted enough for him to fall in love again, it would be with a softer woman than Rachel, one who wasn’t notorious, someone well-educated and well-bred, who didn’t launch into verbal combat with him whenever she got the chance.

Once, she would never have considered having sex with a man she didn’t intend to marry, but that dreamy-eyed girl was gone. She needed this joyous wickedness. And as long as she remembered that Gabe was for sex and nothing more, what was the harm? He would be her guilty pleasure, a small selfish indulgence she would permit herself to make life more bearable.

The ice-cream window built into one end of the caboose-shaped Petticoat Junction Cafe was doing a steady stream of business as she took Edward’s hand and crossed the street. A thirtyish-looking woman holding a baby stiffened as she approached, then said something to a thin, dark-haired woman next to her. The woman turned, and Rachel saw that it was Carol Dennis.

Her lips moved, but Rachel was still too far away to hear what she was saying. Those around her could, however. Another head came up, and then another. Rachel heard a low buzz, like angry bees inside a wall. It lasted maybe five seconds, then stopped. Silence followed.

Her steps slowed and her heart pounded. For a moment nothing happened, and then Carol Dennis turned her back. Without a word, the young woman next to her did the same. A middle-aged couple followed, then an elderly pair. One by one, the people of Salvation gave her their backs. It was an old-fashioned shunning.

She wanted to run, but she couldn’t do that. The breeze slapped the skirt of her navy cotton dress against her legs, and her hand tightened around Edward’s as she drew him closer to the window. “What’s it going to be?” she managed to ask him. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

He didn’t say anything. She felt him lag, but she kept tugging him toward the window, refusing to show any weakness to these people. “I’ll bet you’d rather have chocolate.”

The young man standing behind the window had buzzed hair and a bad complexion. He stared at her, looking confused.

“Two small cones,” she said. “One vanilla, one chocolate.”

An older man appeared behind him. She remembered him as Don Brady, the cafe’s owner, and a Temple supporter. He pushed the young clerk out of the way and regarded her with distaste. “Window’s closed.”

“You can’t do that, Mr. Brady.”

“For the likes of you, I can.”

The wooden partition slammed down.

She felt sick, not for herself so much as for Edward. How could they do something like this in front of a child?

“Everybody hates us,” he whispered at her side.

“Who cares about them?” she replied loudly. “This place has lousy ice cream anyway. I know where we can get something really good.”

She pulled Edward away from all of them and headed back to the Escort, forcing herself to move slowly, so it wouldn’t look as if she were running away. She opened the door for Edward, then leaned down to help him fasten his seat belt, but she was trembling so hard, she could barely hold it in place.

Something brushed her shoulder. She straightened and saw a chubby middle-aged woman in bright-green slacks and a white overblouse standing behind her. A green parrot pin perched on her collar and matching wooden earrings swung from beneath tightly curled salt-and-pepper hair. Her face was round, her features blunt, and she wore large glasses with flesh-colored frames that swooped down at the sides.