Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(237)

“I’m scared, too.”

“I know you are, son, but I’m going to bring your mom back to you real soon.”

“Is she going to die?”

Gabe pressed his lips to the top of the child’s head. “No, she’s not going to die. She’s going to be fine. Just scared, is all. And probably mad, too. Your mom can get real mad.”

Chip nestled closer, and Gabe stroked the curve of his arm. It felt so good he wanted to cry himself.

“Why was Rosie’s dad sitting in the fountain?”

“He . . . uh . . . slipped.”

“Gabe?”

“Yes?”

The child’s soft deep breath was a whisper in the night-quiet room. “I forgive you.”

Tears stung Gabe’s eyes. Chip had offered his forgiveness much too easily. The child wanted stability so badly he’d do anything to get it, even put aside the wrong Gabe had done to him.

“You don’t have to. What I did was pretty bad. Maybe you need to think about it some more.”

“Okay.”

Gabe took the child’s hand in his own and stroked the palm with his thumb.

The solid weight of the boy’s head sank against his chest. “I thought about it,” he whispered. “And I forgive you.”

Gabe kissed his hair again, blinked, then eased back just far enough to gaze down into Chip’s small face. “I have to go find your mom now. I know you’re going to be scared until she gets back, so why don’t we sneak into Rosie’s room with some blankets and make a bed for you on the floor next to her crib. Would that make you feel better?”

Chip nodded, then wriggled out of Gabe’s lap and grabbed his pillow. “I used to sleep in Rosie’s room when I was a baby. Did you know that?”

Gabe smiled at him and picked up the comforter. “You don’t say.”

“Uh-huh. We have to be real quiet so we don’t wake her up.”

“Real quiet.” With the comforter tucked under one arm, he took Chip’s hand and walked out into the hallway.

“Gabe?”

“Yes?”

Chip stopped walking and gazed up at him, wide-eyed and earnest. “I wish Jamie could sleep in Rosie’s room, too.”

“Me too, son,” Gabe whispered. “Me too.”



Gabe would have torn Salvation apart to get Rachel out of jail, but, fortunately, as soon as he started pounding on the front door of Odell’s house, the police chief woke up, so it wasn’t necessary.

By seven o’clock, Gabe was pacing the floor of the main room of the police station, his eyes glued to the metal door that led to the jail. As soon as he got the chance, he was going to tear his brother apart.

But he knew he was shifting the blame away from where it belonged. If he hadn’t run away, none of this would have happened.

When he’d left the drive-in, he’d driven across the county line and ended up at an all-night truck stop drinking lethal coffee and facing his demons. The hours had ticked by, and it was nearly dawn before he’d figured out that Rachel had been right all along. He’d been using the Pride of Carolina to hide out. Although he’d been existing, he hadn’t really been living. He didn’t have the guts.

The door opened, and Rachel appeared. She froze as she caught sight of him.

Her face was pale, her hair tangled, and her calico dress a mass of wrinkles. The big black shoes plunked down at the ends of her slender legs looked like concrete blocks, one more burden weighing her down. But it was her eyes that tore a hole in his chest. Big, sad, uncertain.


He shot across the room and gathered her into his arms. She shuddered, and, as she trembled against him, he thought of Chip, who’d done the same thing earlier. And then he didn’t think of anything but holding tight to this feisty, stubborn sweetheart of a woman who’d pulled him back from the grave.





Rachel sagged against Gabe’s chest. As she felt his arms wrap around her, she could barely speak. “Where’s Edward?”

“With Cal and Jane.” His hand stroked her hair. “He’s fine.”

“Cal—”

“Shh . . . Not now.”

The police chief spoke from behind them. “We got evidence, y’know.”

“No, you don’t.” Gabe drew away from her and drilled Odell with his gaze. “I put those things in the Escort myself, right before I drove off.”

She sucked in her breath. He was lying. She could see it in his face.

“You?” Odell said.

“That’s right. Me. Rachel didn’t know a thing about it.” The steely note in his voice dared Odell to contradict him, and the police chief didn’t try. Gabe tightened his grip around her shoulders and steered her toward the door.

Daylight had broken, and, as she breathed in the clear air, she didn’t think she’d ever smelled anything so beautiful. She realized Gabe was leading her toward a Mercedes, parked in a space marked Reserved for the Chief of Police. It took her a moment to remember the car was his, since she’d never seen him drive anything but his pickup.

“What’s this?”

He opened the door for her. “I wanted you to be comfortable.”

She tried to smile, but it wobbled at the corners.