Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(191)

He hated it when he awakened in the night to find that she’d gone back to her own bed.

An idea tugged at the corner of his mind. Maybe he should marry her. It would keep her safe and out of trouble. And he wanted to be with her.

But he didn’t love her, not like he’d loved Cherry. And he couldn’t raise her son. Not now. Not ever.

For the rest of the night, sleep eluded him, and at dawn, he finally gave up and took a shower. He knew she was an early riser, but she still wasn’t awake by the time he’d dressed. He smiled to himself. He’d worn her out.

The kitchen was quiet. He unlocked the back door and stepped outside. A wave of nostalgia hit him. He felt as if he’d taken a step back into his childhood.

Both he and Cal had been born when their parents were teenagers. His father had been in college, and then gone on to medical school, before he’d eventually set up practice in Salvation. His Bonner grandparents were well-to-do and embarrassed by their only son’s forced marriage into the trashy Glide family, but Gabe and his brothers had loved their Glide grandmother, and they’d spent as much time on Heartache Mountain as their parents would allow.

He remembered running outside first thing in the morning, so eager to start the new day that Annie had to threaten him with her wooden spoon to get him to eat breakfast. As soon as he’d wolfed it down, he’d race back out to find the creatures that waited for him: squirrels and raccoons, skunks, possums, and the occasional black bear. Bears weren’t as common now. The chestnut blight had wiped out their favorite feed, and the acorns that replaced them weren’t nearly as reliable a food source.

He missed them. He missed working with animals. But he couldn’t think about that now. He had a drive-in to run.

The thought depressed him. He moved down off the step and gazed toward the old garden. Last summer, his mother and Cal’s wife Jane had tended it during the period when they’d both moved out on their husbands. It was overgrown again, although he could see where someone—Rachel, probably, since she didn’t seem to know how to relax—had begun tidying it.

A shrill, high-pitched scream broke the morning stillness. It was coming from the front, and he shot around the side of the house, his heart pounding, thinking that this time it would be worse than painted graffiti.

He came to a dead stop as he saw the boy standing alone on the front porch, near the far end. He was still dressed in his pajamas and frozen in fear as he stared down at something that was blocked from Gabe’s view.

Gabe ran forward and immediately spotted what had made Edward scream. A small snake coiled against the wall of the house.

He reached it in three swift strides. Shoving his hand through the railing, he snatched up the snake before it could slither away.

Rachel came flying out the front door. “Edward! What’s wrong? What’s—” She saw the snake hanging from Gabe’s hand.

Gabe regarded the cowering child with impatience. “It’s only a garter snake.” He held the snake toward the boy. “See that yellow down its back? That’s how you know it won’t hurt you. Go on. You can touch it.”

Edward shook his head and took a step backward.

“Go on,” Gabe commanded. “I told you it won’t hurt you.”

Edward shrank farther back.

Rachel was at Edward’s side in an instant, babying him as usual. “It’s all right, sweetie. Garter snakes are friendly. There used to be lots of them on the farm where Mommy grew up.”

She straightened and gave Gabe a look of cold fury. Reaching down, she snatched the snake from his hand and pitched it over the railing. “See. We’ll let it go so it can find its family.”

Gabe regarded her with reproach. She was never going to make a man out of the boy if she kept protecting him like this. Gabe had exposed Jamie to snakes when he was a toddler, making sure he could tell the good ones from the poisonous ones, and he’d loved touching them. The voice of reason told him there was a big difference between a child who’d grown up with snakes and one who hadn’t, but his son was dead, and he couldn’t listen to reason.


Edward curled against her. She patted his head. “How about some breakfast, Mr. Early Bird?”

He nodded against her belly, and Gabe could barely make out his words. “Pastor Ethan said I was s’posed to come to Sunday school today.”

Rachel looked annoyed. “Maybe some other time.”

He mentally cursed his brother for planting the idea in the boy’s head. Ethan hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what Rachel would go through if she walked into a church service.

“That’s what you said last Sunday,” Edward complained.

“Let’s open the new box of Cheerios.”

“I want to go today.”

Gabe couldn’t stand listening to the kid argue. “Do what your mother says.”

Rachel whirled on him. She began to speak, only to clamp her mouth shut and hustle her son inside.

Gabe avoided them both by taking a long walk in the woods until he found the place where he used to keep his animal sanctuary. He’d built some cages when he was around ten or eleven and used them to doctor whatever wounded animals either he or his friends happened to find. Looking back, he was surprised at how many he’d been able to save.

The memory brought him only sadness. Now he didn’t even want to be around animals. He’d been able to heal so many living creatures, but he couldn’t heal himself.