Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(20)

“Annie was a woman of strong opinions.”

“When did she die?”

“About five months ago. Her heart finally gave out. She had a good life, but we miss her.”

“Has her house been empty since then?”

“Until recently. My secretary, Kristy Brown, has been living there for the past few weeks. The lease expired on her apartment before her new condo was ready, so she’s staying here temporarily.”

Rachel’s forehead creased. “I’m sure she won’t want two strangers moving in with her.”

“It’ll only be for a few nights,” he said pointedly.

Rachel heard the unspoken message, but she ignored it. A few nights. She needed longer than that to find the Kennedy chest.

She thought of the unknown woman who was about to have a stranger and a small child move in with her. And not just any stranger, but the town’s most notorious citizen. Her head ached, and she surreptitiously pressed the fingertips of one hand to her temple.

Ethan swung wide to avoid a rut, and she banged her shoulder against the door. She glanced into the backseat to make certain Edward was all right and saw that he had a death grip on Horse. She remembered the grip Bonner’d had on her when he’d slipped his hand between her legs.


His cruelty had been deliberate and calculated, so why hadn’t she been more frightened? She was no longer certain of anything, not her emotions, not even the unsettling combination of self-loathing and suffering she thought she’d seen in his eyes. She should be enraged by what had happened, but the strongest feeling she could conjure up at the moment was exhaustion.

They rounded the last bend, and the car stopped in front of a tin-roofed cottage with an overgrown garden on one side and a line of trees to the other. The house was obviously old, but it had a fresh coat of white paint, shiny dark-green shutters, and a stone chimney. Two wooden steps led to a porch, where a tattered wind sock flapped from the far corner.

With no warning at all, tears stung Rachel’s eyes. This shabby old place seemed to her to be the very definition of the word home. It represented stability, roots, everything she wanted for her child.

Ethan unloaded their things on the porch, then opened the front door with his key and stood aside so she could enter. She drew in her breath. Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, turning the old wooden floors to butternut and casting a golden glow on the cozy stone fireplace. The furnishings were simple: brown wicker chairs with chintz cushions, a pine washstand topped by a sponge-painted lamp. An ancient pine-blanket chest served as a coffee table, and someone had filled a galvanized tin watering can with wildflowers and set it on top. It was beautiful.

“Annie collected junk, but my parents and I cleaned most of it out after she died. We kept it furnished so Gabe could move in here if he wanted, but the place had too many memories for him.”

She began to ask what kind of memories, only to have him disappear through a doorway that led into a kitchen off to the left. He reappeared with a set of keys. “Gabe said to give you these.”

As Rachel gazed at the keys, she recognized them for what they were, a sign of Gabe’s guilt. Once again, she remembered the ugly scene between them. It was almost as if Gabe had been attacking himself instead of her. She shuddered inwardly as she wondered what other paths his course toward self-destruction might take.

With Edward trailing behind, she followed Ethan through the kitchen, which held a scarred pine farm table surrounded by four pressed-back oak chairs with cane seats. Simple muslin curtains draped the window, and a cupboard with punched tin doors stood opposite a white enamel Depression-era gas stove. As she inhaled the particular scent of old wood and generations of family meals, she wanted to weep.

Ethan led them out the back door and around the side of the cottage to an old single-car garage. One of the double set of doors dragged in the dirt as he pulled it open. She followed him inside and saw a battered red Ford Escort hatchback of indeterminate vintage.

“This belongs to my sister-in-law. She has a new car, but she won’t let anybody get rid of this one. Gabe said you could drive it for a couple of days.”

Rachel remembered the scholarly-looking blond in the People magazine photo. This wasn’t her idea of the kind of car a woman like Dr. Jane Darlington Bonner would drive, but she wasn’t going to argue with her good fortune. With a sense of shock, she realized that she’d been given everything she needed: a job, shelter, transportation. And she owed every bit of it to Gabe Bonner and his guilt.

The fact that he would also snatch all this away the moment his guilt faded wasn’t lost on her, and she knew she would have to move quickly. Somehow she had to get her hands on the Kennedy chest soon.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that I may run off with your sister-in-law’s car, and she’ll never see it again?”

He gazed distastefully at the battered Escort and handed her the keys. “We couldn’t be that lucky.”

She watched him walk away, then heard his car start. Edward came up behind her.

“Is he really giving us that car?”

“We’re just borrowing it.” Despite its condition, she thought it was the most beautiful vehicle she’d ever seen.

Edward looked toward the house. He scratched the back of his calf with the opposite sneaker and watched a bluebird fly from an old magnolia and settle on the peak of the tin roof. His eyes were filled with yearning. “Do we really get to stay here?”