Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(47)

Just thinking about him made her body feel hot and restless. She lusted after him with an intensity that scared her, but she was also drawn to him in other ways. She was drawn to his darkness, his brutal honesty, and his grudging kindness. He didn’t seem to realize that he was the only person in town who didn’t judge her by her past.

Her mind began to toy with the edges of a fantasy in which Gabe was a less troubled man, but she pushed it away. She was too wise to fall in love with him, even in her imagination. He had too many shadows. And if those shadows ever lifted enough for him to fall in love again, it would be with a softer woman than Rachel, one who wasn’t notorious, someone well-educated and well-bred, who didn’t launch into verbal combat with him whenever she got the chance.

Once, she would never have considered having sex with a man she didn’t intend to marry, but that dreamy-eyed girl was gone. She needed this joyous wickedness. And as long as she remembered that Gabe was for sex and nothing more, what was the harm? He would be her guilty pleasure, a small selfish indulgence she would permit herself to make life more bearable.

The ice-cream window built into one end of the caboose-shaped Petticoat Junction Cafe was doing a steady stream of business as she took Edward’s hand and crossed the street. A thirtyish-looking woman holding a baby stiffened as she approached, then said something to a thin, dark-haired woman next to her. The woman turned, and Rachel saw that it was Carol Dennis.

Her lips moved, but Rachel was still too far away to hear what she was saying. Those around her could, however. Another head came up, and then another. Rachel heard a low buzz, like angry bees inside a wall. It lasted maybe five seconds, then stopped. Silence followed.

Her steps slowed and her heart pounded. For a moment nothing happened, and then Carol Dennis turned her back. Without a word, the young woman next to her did the same. A middle-aged couple followed, then an elderly pair. One by one, the people of Salvation gave her their backs. It was an old-fashioned shunning.

She wanted to run, but she couldn’t do that. The breeze slapped the skirt of her navy cotton dress against her legs, and her hand tightened around Edward’s as she drew him closer to the window. “What’s it going to be?” she managed to ask him. “Chocolate or vanilla?”


He didn’t say anything. She felt him lag, but she kept tugging him toward the window, refusing to show any weakness to these people. “I’ll bet you’d rather have chocolate.”

The young man standing behind the window had buzzed hair and a bad complexion. He stared at her, looking confused.

“Two small cones,” she said. “One vanilla, one chocolate.”

An older man appeared behind him. She remembered him as Don Brady, the cafe’s owner, and a Temple supporter. He pushed the young clerk out of the way and regarded her with distaste. “Window’s closed.”

“You can’t do that, Mr. Brady.”

“For the likes of you, I can.”

The wooden partition slammed down.

She felt sick, not for herself so much as for Edward. How could they do something like this in front of a child?

“Everybody hates us,” he whispered at her side.

“Who cares about them?” she replied loudly. “This place has lousy ice cream anyway. I know where we can get something really good.”

She pulled Edward away from all of them and headed back to the Escort, forcing herself to move slowly, so it wouldn’t look as if she were running away. She opened the door for Edward, then leaned down to help him fasten his seat belt, but she was trembling so hard, she could barely hold it in place.

Something brushed her shoulder. She straightened and saw a chubby middle-aged woman in bright-green slacks and a white overblouse standing behind her. A green parrot pin perched on her collar and matching wooden earrings swung from beneath tightly curled salt-and-pepper hair. Her face was round, her features blunt, and she wore large glasses with flesh-colored frames that swooped down at the sides.

“Please, Mrs. Snopes. I need to speak to you.”

Rachel expected to see hostility on the woman’s face, but all she saw was worry. “I’m not Mrs. Snopes anymore.”

The woman barely seemed to hear her. “I need you to heal my granddaughter.”

Rachel was so taken aback she couldn’t respond.

“Please, Mrs. Snopes. Her name is Emily. She’s only four, and she has leukemia. For six months, she was in remission, but now . . .” Behind her glasses, the woman’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what we’ll do if we lose her.”

This was a hundred times worse than the nightmare at the ice-cream window.”I—I’m sorry about your granddaughter, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Just lay your hands on her.”

“I’m not a faith healer.”

“You can do it. I know you can. I used to see you on television, and I don’t care what anyone says, I know you’re a great woman of God. You’re our last hope, Mrs. Snopes. Emily needs a miracle.”

Rachel was sweating. Her navy dress stuck to her chest, and the collar felt as if it were choking her. “I—I’m not the person to give you a miracle.”

If the woman had been hostile, it would have been so much easier to endure than the deep suffering that lined her face. “You are! I know you are!”

“Please . . . I’m sorry.” She pulled away and hurried toward the other side of the car.