Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(175)

This was her favorite time of the day, before Edward awakened, when everything was new and fresh. Sipping her coffee in the creaky wooden rocker on the front porch while the rest of the world slept was more precious to her than all of the luxuries of her old life with Dwayne. Then she could dream her new dreams, the little ones. A small backyard where Edward and his friends could play, maybe a garden, and a dog. She wanted him to have a pet.

She slipped the dead bolt on the front door with her free hand, turned the knob, and pushed open the screen. As she stepped out onto the porch and drew the clean mountain air into her lungs, a feeling of almost indescribable bliss came over her. No matter what else happened, she had this moment.

She turned toward the rocker, and her euphoria evaporated. Her mug clattered to the wooden floor, sending hot coffee splashing up onto her bare feet and legs, but she barely noticed. All she could see was the single crude word someone had painted in red on the front of the house, right between the windows.

Sinner.

Kristy came rushing out onto the front porch, her long cotton nightgown flapping around her legs. “What’s wrong? I heard—Oh, no . . .”

“Bastards,” Rachel hissed.

Kristy’s hand flew to her throat. “It’s so ugly. How could anyone in this town do something so ugly?”

“They hate me, and they don’t want me here.”

“I’m calling Gabe.”

“No!”

But Kristy was already running inside.

The beautiful morning had turned into something obscene. Rachel cleaned up the spilled coffee with an old dish towel, as if spilled coffee was the worst outrage on the front porch. She was heading inside to get dressed when Gabe’s pickup roared up the lane, tires spitting gravel. He parked it at a sharp angle and threw himself from the cab just as Kristy emerged from the front door in a seersucker robe.

Gabe looked as if he’d thrown on his clothes. His hair was rumpled and he’d stuffed bare feet into a pair of battered white sneakers. Only the day before they had been making love, but now he was regarding both of them with his take-no-prisoners look.

“Gabe, I’m so glad you’re here,” Kristy cried. “Look at this!”

But he’d already seen the ugly graffiti, and he glared at it as if the power of his vision could annihilate the image.

“You and I are paying Odell Hatcher a visit this morning, Rachel.” His eyes stalled on the long expanse of bare leg extending from beneath her shirt, and it took him a moment to recover. “I want the police patrolling up here.”

“The town’s turned mean,” Kristy said softly. While Rachel stood silently, she told him about the tire slashing and what had happened at the Petticoat Junction Cafe. “It’s as if Dwayne Snopes broke people’s hearts, and the only way they can get back at him is to take it out on Rachel.”

“The police won’t care,” Rachel said. “They want me gone just like everyone else.”

“We’ll see about that,” he replied grimly.

“I don’t want you gone,” Kristy said.

“You should. I’ve been so selfish. I hadn’t realized . . . This is going to spill over and affect both of you.”

Kristy’s eyes flashed. “As if I care.”

“You just worry about yourself,” Gabe said.

Before she could argue with them, the screen door creaked and Edward appeared. He held Horse at his side by one long ear and rubbed an eye with his fist. His faded blue two-piece pajamas were too short in the leg, and the decal of kick-boxing Dalmatians on the front was so cracked and faded Rachel felt ashamed of not doing a better job providing for him.

“I heard a mean voice.”

She rushed to his side. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It was just Mr. Bonner. We were talking.”

Edward spotted Gabe. His mouth set in a mulish line. “He’s too loud.”

Rachel quickly turned him away. “Let’s get dressed.”

He let her take his hand without protest, but as she opened the screen door he muttered a word that she fervently hoped Gabe hadn’t heard.

“Butthead.”

By the time she and Edward were dressed, Gabe had disappeared, but as she entered the kitchen to help Edward with his breakfast, she caught sight of him on the front porch with a can of paint and a brush. She poured milk on Edward’s cereal, then went out to him.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” He’d covered the graffiti, but it still showed through. “It’s going to take a second coat. I’ll finish it up after work.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No, you won’t.”


She knew she should insist, but she didn’t have the stomach, and she suspected Gabe knew it. “Thanks.”

Not long after, he poked his head in the house and told her to get in the truck. “We’re going to see Odell Hatcher.”

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in front of Salvation’s chief of police. Rail-thin, with sparse, grizzled hair and a meat-hook nose, Hatcher regarded Rachel over the top of a pair of black plastic half glasses as he took down the information Gabe gave him.

“We’ll look into it,” he said when he was done. But she detected a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes and guessed that he wouldn’t extend himself more than he had to. Hatcher’s wife had been a Temple member, something that had no doubt embarrassed him after the corruption was uncovered.