Dream a Little Dream (21 page)

“Maybe you’d better think about your family, Gabe,” the chief went on. “I doubt your parents are going to be happy when they find out you’ve taken up with the Widow Snopes.”

Gabe’s lips barely moved. “Her name is Stone, and if she says the Bible was in the car, then it was there.”

But Odell Hatcher wouldn’t give an inch. He was a man who believed in bureaucracy, and if his paperwork said that something didn’t exist, then it didn’t exist.

Later that day as Rachel finished painting the last of the playground equipment, she took comfort in the support Gabe had given her, even though he believed she was on a wild-goose chase. She glanced across the lot where he and an electrician were installing floodlights. He seemed to sense her eyes on him because he looked up.

Her body tensed with awareness. At the same time, she wondered what the rules were now that their relationship had shifted so drastically. For the first time, she considered how difficult it would be to make even the simplest arrangement to be together.

When evening arrived, he announced that he was driving her home. She had no car, and she hadn’t been looking forward to the long walk up Heartache Mountain, so she accepted gratefully. She’d worked hard that day. Not that she minded. She was beginning to believe she cared more about the drive-in than Gabe. She was certainly more excited about the opening.

As he started the truck, the tension that had been sizzling between them all day intensified. She lowered the window, and then realized the air-conditioning was already running.

“Heat getting to you?” He gave her a faintly wolfish look, but she was nervous now, and she pretended not to see it.

“It’s been warm today.”

“Hot’s more like it.”

His gentle pressure on her thigh encouraged her to slide closer, but she turned away and raised the window instead. He removed his hand.

She didn’t want him to think she was being coy, especially when she wanted him so badly, and she knew she had to tell him. “Gabe, I started my period this morning.”

He turned his head and regarded her blankly.

“My period,” she repeated. When he looked no more comprehending, she remembered his professional background. “I’m in heat.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “I know what it means, Rachel. I just can’t figure out why you think I’d give a damn.”

She hated herself for flushing. “I don’t believe I’d be comfortable . . .”

“Sweetheart, if you’re serious about being a hussy, you need to get rid of your hang-ups.”

“I don’t have any hang-ups. That’s just hygiene.”

“Bull. We’re talkin’ a major hang-up.” He gave a dry chuckle at her expense and turned out onto the highway.

“Go ahead and laugh at me,” she said grouchily. “At least this problem will go away. The other problem isn’t so easy.”

“What problem is that?”

She traced a thin streak of blue on the skirt of the tangerine-and-white checked dress she’d set aside for painting. “I just can’t figure out how we’re going to manage our—you know. Our fling?”

“Fling?” He sounded offended. “Is that what this is?”

They rounded a bend in the road, and she had to squint against the setting sun. “It’s not an affair.” She paused. “
Affair
is too serious. It’s a fling, and the point is, I don’t see how we’re going to manage it.”

“We won’t have a bit of trouble.”

“If you believe that, you haven’t thought this through. I mean, we can’t just take off in the middle of the day and . . . and . . .”

“Fling?”

She nodded.

“I don’t see why not.” He grabbed his sunglasses from the dash and shoved them on. She wondered if they were a defense against the glare or her.

“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“No. I just don’t see the problem. Or are you still talking about that period thing?”

“No!” She jerked the visor down. “I’m talking generally. You think we’re just going to
do it
in the middle of the day?”

“If we want to.”

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere we wanted. After what happened yesterday, I don’t think either of us is too choosy.”

He glanced over, and she saw her miniature reflection in the lenses of his sunglasses. She looked small, insignificant, capable of being blown apart by the next big wind. She turned away from the image.

“If the snack-shop counter doesn’t appeal to you, we can drive to the house,” he said.

“You don’t understand anything.”

“Then maybe you’d better explain it to me.” He spoke like a man holding on to the last threads of his patience, and she had to choke out the words.

“You pay me by the hour.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“What happens during the hour—the hours—we’re . . . flinging?”

He regarded her warily. “This is a trick question, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“I don’t know. Nothing happens.”

“Something happens to my paycheck.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with your paycheck.”

She was going to have to spell it out. “Do you pay me for the hour we’re flinging or not?”

He was clearly wary, and his answer tentative. “Yes?”

Her stomach sank. She turned away to gaze out the side window and whispered, “You jerk.”

“No! I mean no! Of course I don’t pay you.”

“I’m barely making it as it is. I need every penny I can get! Yesterday afternoon cost me half a week’s groceries.”

There was a long silence. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”

“Don’t you see? Nothing can happen while we’re working, even if we want it to, because you control my paycheck. And after work, I have a five-year-old to take care of. Our sexual relationship is doomed before it ever gets started.”

“That’s ridiculous, Rachel. And I’m not docking your pay for yesterday.”

“Yes, you are!”

“Look. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. If we want to make love, and the time is right, we’ll make love. It doesn’t have anything to do with paychecks.”

He could pretend ignorance, but he knew exactly what she was talking about. At least he had the grace not to point out that she’d once offered him sex in exchange for the very paycheck they were arguing over.

He turned his attention back to the road, and nearly a mile slipped by before he spoke again. “You’re really serious, aren’t you? This is a problem for you.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then we’ll both think about it and come up with a solution while you’re having that period of yours.” His hand settled on her thigh and he caressed her with his thumb. “Are you okay? After yesterday?”

He sounded so concerned, she smiled. “I’m terrific, Bonner. Top of the world.”

“Good.” He squeezed her knee.

“And yourself?”

His chuckle had a dry sound, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. “Couldn’t be better.”

“Glad to hear it.” She glanced out the side window. “You just passed Heartache Mountain.”

“I know.”

“I thought you were taking me home.”

“We’ll get there.” He slipped off his sunglasses.

They drove into Salvation, and, just as they were entering the downtown area, he pulled into Dealy’s Garage. As he parked the truck in front, she spotted the Escort sitting off to the side.

“Oh, Gabe . . .” She threw open the door, rushed over to the car, and promptly burst into tears.

“Nothing like a new set of tires to stir a lady’s heart,” he said dryly as he came up behind her. He curled his hand around her waist and stroked her.

“It’s w-wonderful. But I don’t—I don’t have enough m-money to pay you back.”

“Did I ask you to pay me back?” He sounded faintly indignant. “Cal’s insurance will cover it.”

“Not all of it. Even rich people have deductibles. Dwayne had deductibles on all four of our cars.”

Ignoring her, he grasped her upper arm and steered her toward the truck. “We’ll come back and get it. We have something to do first.”

As he pulled away from the garage, her feelings jumbled inside her as if they were being tossed around by a giant blender. He was gruff and kind, clueless about some things, wise about others, and she wanted him so badly her teeth ached.

He drove to the center of town and pulled into a parking space that sat directly in front of the Petticoat Junction Cafe.

“Come on. We’re going to get ourselves some ice cream.”

She caught his arm before he could open the door of the truck. The ice-cream window was enjoying a lively pre-dinnertime business, and she understood exactly what he intended to do. First the tires, and then this. It was too much. Her throat felt tight. “Thanks, Gabe, but I have to fight my own battles.”

He wasn’t impressed by her show of independence. His jaw set, and he glared at her. “Get your butt out of this truck right now. You’re having ice cream if I have to hold your mouth open and shove it down your throat.”

So much for his sensitivity. She didn’t have much choice, so she pushed open the door. “This is my problem, and I can handle it myself.”

His door banged behind him. “Like you’re doing such a terrific job.”

“I want a raise.” She stomped toward the sidewalk. “If you can afford to throw money around on tires and ice cream, you can pay me something better than slave wages.”

“Smile for the nice people.”

She felt the stares of the adults around them: mothers with small children, a pair of highway workers in dirty T-shirts, a businesswoman with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Only a group of boys on skateboards seemed disinterested in the fact that the wicked Widow Snopes was treading on Salvation’s holy turf.

Gabe approached the teenage girl standing behind the window. “Is the boss around?”

She chomped once on her gum and nodded.

“Go get him, will you?”

As they waited, Rachel noticed a clear plastic canister sitting by the window with a sign on it that said
Emily’s Fund
and held a picture of a curly-haired toddler with a smiling scamp’s face. The sign beneath asked for help paying the child’s medical expenses as she fought leukemia. She thought of the woman with the parrot earrings.

You’re our last hope, Mrs. Snopes. Emily needs a miracle.

For a moment, she had a hard time drawing in enough air to breathe. She concentrated on opening her purse, drawing out a precious five-dollar bill, and slipping it into the slot.

Don Brady’s face appeared in the window. “Hey, Gabe, how’s it—” He broke off as he spotted Rachel.

Gabe pretended not to notice that anything was wrong. “I was telling Rachel here that you make the best hot-fudge sundaes in town. How ’bout whippin’ us up a couple of them. Large.”

Don hesitated, and Rachel could see him trying to find a way out. He didn’t want to serve her, but he wasn’t prepared to defy one of the town’s favorite sons.

“Uh . . . Sure, Gabe.”

Minutes later, they walked away from the window with two large hot-fudge sundaes neither of them wanted to eat. As they headed back to Gabe’s truck, they didn’t think to look across the street. If they had, they might have have seen a small, wiry man smoking in the shadows and watching them.

Russ Scudder ground out his cigarette. Bonner must be fucking her, he decided. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have replaced those tires so fast. That explained why Bonner had hired her. So he could fuck her.

Russ shoved his fists in his pockets and thought about his wife. He’d gone to see her yesterday, but she’d refused to talk to him. Jesus, he missed her. If only he had a job, he might be able to get her back, but Rachel Snopes had taken the only job anyone in town had offered him.

He was glad he’d slashed her tires last night. He hadn’t planned on doing it, but then he’d seen her car, and there was nobody around, and it had felt good. It had felt so good he’d gone up to the Glide cottage a few hours later with a can of spray paint and painted
Sinner
on the wall just like some Bible banger. Maybe now she’d get the idea that she wasn’t wanted around here.

He thought old G. Dwayne might have liked what he’d done last night. Despite his Rolex watches and fancy suits, Dwayne had been a good ol’ boy. He’d never meant anybody harm, and Russ knew for a fact that he prayed a lot and loved God and everything. It was Rachel had made him go bad. Dwayne wanted to keep her happy, so he’d dipped too deep into the Temple’s bank account to buy her the things she nagged him for.

It was Rachel’s greedy ways that had brought down the Temple and Dwayne Snopes. Her greed had brought down Russ, too, because if it weren’t for her, he’d still be working security, still working the job that had made him feel like a man.

And now she was settling back into Salvation, just as if she hadn’t done anything wrong. Now she was using Gabe the same way she’d used G. Dwayne, but the crazy son of a bitch was too stupid to see what she was doing.

Russ had tried to talk to his ex-wife about Rachel and how she was to blame for everything bad that had happened to him, but she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how none of this was Russ’s fault.

He needed a drink, and he turned toward Donny’s place. A couple of drinks would settle him down. They’d make him forget that he had no job and that his wife had kicked him out and that he couldn’t take care of his kid right.

“Is
he
going to be here?” Edward asked on Saturday morning as Rachel parked her precious Escort behind the snack shop.

No need to ask who
he
was. “Mr. Bonner’s not as bad as we thought. He’s given me a job and let us live in the cottage. He’s also made sure I have a car to drive.”

“Pastor Ethan got us the cottage and the car.”

“Only because Mr. Bonner asked him to.”

But Gabe remained Edward’s enemy, and he refused to be swayed. On the other hand, he’d developed an unbending loyalty to Ethan, who apparently sought him out regularly at the day-care center. Rachel reminded herself she’d have to thank him for that, even if she choked on it.

Day care had been good for her son. He still hadn’t made any close friends, but he was a little more talkative, a bit more demanding—although with Edward, that was relative. Twice now, when she’d told him it was bedtime, he’d said, “Do I have to?” For him, that was a major rebellion.