Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(186)

“You mean easier for me.”

“I don’t want to talk any more.”

She brushed past him and headed for the Mountaineer, even though all she wanted now was to go home and be alone.

As Ethan watched her disappear, guilt swamped him even as he told himself he had nothing to feel guilty for. “You have a wonderful life!” he called after her. “You have the respect of everyone in the community!”

“Well now, isn’t that something cozy to cuddle up with on a cold winter night.” As she shot the words back over her shoulder, she stepped into a pool of light from the street lamp. It defined her figure in a way that made his palms sweat.

The entire world had gone crazy, he decided. Right before his eyes, Kristy Brown had turned into a babe. As the light washed over her, her dark hair seemed to have fireflies dancing in it. She wasn’t beautiful; her features were too ordinary for that. Although they were pretty, they were hardly exceptional. Instead, she was . . . sexy.

It bothered him to think of Kristy as sexy. There was something unnatural about it, like throwing lascivious glances at a sister. But ever since Tuesday morning he’d been thinking about those breasts.

Pig, Oprah said. There’s a lot more to Kristy Brown than big breasts.

I know that! he shot back. It was the whole package: the small waist and rounded hips, the slender legs, that flighty hairstyle, and a new vulnerability—maybe that was the sexiest thing of all. Kristy no longer seemed so supremely competent, but like an ordinary person who had the same insecurities as everyone else.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and tried to figure out why he was so upset by the changes in her. Because he was losing a darned good secretary, that was why.

Wrong, Oprah said. You are so wrong.

All right! There was too much truth in what Kristy had said tonight. He did regard her as one of his oldest friends, but until now, he hadn’t realized how selfish that friendship had been.

She was right. Everything had been one-sided. He knew the events of her life, but nothing more. He didn’t know how she spent her spare time, what made her happy, what made her sad. He tried to recall what she liked to eat, but all he could remember was the way she made sure there was always a supply of spicy brown mustard in the church refrigerator for his sandwiches.


When he thought of Kristy, he thought of a . . .

He flinched.

He thought of an efficient doormat. Always there, always willing to extend herself to help out. Never demanding anything for herself, only for others.

He stared off into the night. What a phony he was, calling himself a minister. This was one more example of his flawed character and why he needed to find another profession.

Kristy was a good person, a good friend, and he’d hurt her. That meant he had to make amends. And he only had two weeks to do it before she would disappear from his life.





The next afternoon Gabe pried open the lid of the KFC bucket and extended it toward Rachel. They were sitting in their favorite place to take a lunch break, by the concrete turtle on the playground, with the big white screen looming above them offering shade from the midday sun.

Nine days had passed since that rainy afternoon they’d made love. The drive-in was opening a week from tonight, but instead of concentrating on that, all he’d been able to think about was having that sweet body underneath him again. Except she wasn’t cooperating. First there’d been her hang-up about her period, something he was certain he could have overcome. But he hadn’t pressed because he knew the money problem loomed in her mind, and he wanted her to realize how ridiculous that was.

His patience, however, had run out. There were only so many days he could spend watching those old cotton housedresses shape themselves around her body whenever a breeze swept through the lot, so he was making his move.

“You’ll be glad to know I figured out the answer to our little dilemma.”

“Which dilemma is that?” She pulled out a drumstick. He’d noticed she was partial to drumsticks. He, on the other hand, was partial to breasts, and, as he took one from the bucket, he enjoyed what he could see of hers peeking from the open buttons of today’s ugly housedress, a red calico number he could swear he remembered Annie wearing when he’d been small enough to sit in her lap.

Rachel had pulled up the skirt and stretched her bare legs out in front of her. They were suntanned and lightly freckled. One knee sported an old scab, another a Band-Aid he’d affixed that morning after she’d ignored a scrape. Her calves seemed to get the worst of it. A bruise here, a scratch there. She worked too damned hard, but she wouldn’t stick to the easier jobs he tried to give her, no matter how much he growled.

Her calves looked slim and feminine in contrast to the heavy white sweat socks collapsed around her ankles and those clunky black shoes. She kept them polished, he’d noticed, and he could only imagine the work it took to remove the paint and grime the shoes accumulated every day. At first he hadn’t understood why she bothered, and then he realized that someone with only one pair of shoes had to take care of them.

He didn’t like to think about Rachel slaving over those ugly shoes every night to keep them clean. He’d buy her a dozen pairs if he could, but she’d throw them right back in his face.

He cleared his throat. “The dilemma about your hourly salary and what you can do or not do during those hours.”