Dream a Little Dream (15 page)

“Maybe you have God mixed up with Santa Claus.”

“Don’t you preach to me! Don’t you
dare
goddamn preach to me!”

She stood before him in the blue-white glare of the headlights with her fists knotted at her sides, and he thought he’d never seen anyone look so fierce and primitive. For a tall woman, she was almost delicate, with fragile bones and green eyes that seemed to devour her face. Her mouth was small and her lips as ripe as bruised fruit. Her tangled hair, lit from behind, formed a fiery pagan’s halo around her face.

She should have appeared ridiculous. The ragged paint-smeared dress hung on her thin frame, and her big, cumbersome shoes looked obscene against such small, trim ankles. But she held herself with a ferocious dignity, and he was drawn to her by something so elemental—maybe the pain that lived in his bones—that he couldn’t fight it any longer. He wanted her as he hadn’t wanted anything except death since he’d lost his family.

He didn’t remember moving, but the next thing he knew, she was in his arms and he felt her body beneath his palms. She was thin and frail, but not broken the way he was. He wanted to protect her and fuck her and comfort her and destroy her all at once. The chaos of his emotions coiled around his pain, deepening the agony.

She sank her fingers into the muscles of his upper arm, digging them in, hurting. He gripped her bottom and hauled her against him. He brushed his lips over hers. They were soft and sweet. He jerked his head back.

“I want you,” he said.

Her head moved, and he realized she’d nodded. Her easy acquiescence infuriated him. He clasped her chin and hauled it up so that he was staring down into those tortured green eyes.

“Once again the noble Widow Snopes sacrifices herself for her child,” he spat out. “Well, forget it.”

She regarded him stonily as he released her. He grabbed the shovel and set to work clearing the road. He’d said he wouldn’t do this to her again. After that dark night of his soul when he’d tried to destroy her, he’d promised himself he’d never touch her again.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be a sacrifice.”

He stopped moving. “What are you talking about?”

She shrugged. “That killer body of yours. I couldn’t help but notice.”

“Don’t do this, Rachel. Don’t keep trying to protect yourself by being a wiseass. Just say what you mean.”

The bottom lip of that ripe little strawberry mouth trembled, but she was too tough to give into it. Her small breasts rose beneath the bodice of that awful dress as she took a breath. “Maybe I need to know what it’s like to be with a man who isn’t interested in having a saint in his bed.”

So that was it.

“I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’ve only been with one man. He never even gave me an orgasm. Pretty funny, huh.”

He didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, he felt an illogical anger. “Now you want to go exploring, is that it? I’m supposed to be the guinea pig in your sexual development?”

Her redhead’s temper sparked. “You’re the one who came on to me, buster!”

“Momentary insanity.”

He watched her marshal her forces to attack and wasn’t surprised when she came up with her most obnoxious, simpery smile. “Gee, I hope not. As long as the room is dark and you don’t talk, I could pretend you’re someone else. It might be fun having my personal stud.”

All the anger left him as abruptly as it had come. Good for her. She was a piece of work, determined not to give an inch, and for no reason he could think of beyond the fact that he hadn’t hurt her after all, his mood lifted.

He tossed the shovel in the back of the truck. Later, he’d return and remove the charred wood. “Let’s go.”

Russ Scudder watched the headlights move away as Gabe Bonner’s truck headed toward the Glide cottage.

“He was kissing her,” Donny Bragelman said, shifting at his side.

“Yeah, I saw.”

Both men sat in the grove of trees, thirty yards back from the road, too far to hear what Gabe and the Widow Snopes had been discussing, but close enough to have caught a few glimpses of what they were doing when they’d stepped in front of the headlights.

After Russ had set fire to the cross, he and Donny had hidden to watch it burn while they drank their second six-pack of the night. They’d just about been ready to leave when Gabe’s truck had pulled up, and they’d had the satisfaction of seeing how upset Rachel Snopes had been.

“She’s a slut,” Russ said. “I knew she was a slut first time I met her.”

He didn’t know any such thing. In his days working security at the Temple, he’d mainly seen her with her kid. She’d always been nice to him, and he’d even liked her. But that was before it had all fallen apart.

At the beginning, everything had been great for Russ. The man who was in charge of security at the Temple had hired Russ to be his second-in-command. As Russ had guarded G. Dwayne and supervised building security, he’d felt as if he were finally doing something important, and the people of Salvation had stopped looking at him as if he was a loser.

But when G. Dwayne had fallen, he’d taken Russ down with him. Nobody would hire him because he’d been associated with the Temple, but Russ had family here, and he couldn’t move away, so he was stuck. Eventually, his wife kicked him out—these days she barely even let him see his kid—and his life had turned to shit.

“Boy, I guess we showed her,” Donny said.

Donny Bragelman was the only friend Russ had left, and he was a bigger loser than Russ. Donny had a habit of laughing at the wrong times and grabbing his crotch in public, but he had a regular job at the Amoco, and Russ could borrow money from him. He could also talk Donny into just about anything, including helping him with the cross tonight.

Russ wanted Rachel Snopes out of here, and he hoped the sight of that burned cross would scare her away. She’d been a big part of what had happened at the Temple, and he couldn’t stand having her come back as if she hadn’t done anything wrong, not after what had happened to Russ. The fact that Gabe Bonner had given her Russ’s old job had been the final straw. For the last week, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else.

Russ had gone to work for Gabe right after he’d bought the drive-in. It had been a shit job, and Gabe had been a prick to work for. He’d fired him after the first couple of weeks just because he’d been late a few times. Bastard.

“We sure showed her,” Donny repeated, scratching his crotch. “Do you think that slut’ll go away now that she knows nobody wants her here?”

“If she doesn’t,” Russ said, “she’ll be sorry.”

Three days later as Rachel applied a coat of royal-blue rust-resistant paint to the jungle gym, her gaze kept straying to the roof of the snack shop where Gabe was putting down tar paper. He’d taken off his shirt and wrapped a red bandanna around his forehead. His chest glistened with sweat and sun.

Her mouth felt dry as she observed the strong muscles of his back and arms: well-defined, tightly roped. She wanted to run her hands over them, sweat and all.

Maybe it was the food. Since she’d started eating well, her body had come alive again. That must be why she couldn’t seem to get enough of looking at him. It was the food.

She dipped her brush in the paint can and decided to stop lying to herself. That dark embrace they’d shared in the road had changed something between them. Now the air was charged with sexual awareness whenever they were together. They did their best to avoid each other, but the awareness was still there.

She was hot, and she unfastened another button at the neck of her dark-green housedress. Kristy had found several boxes of old-fashioned housedresses stuck away in the sewing-room closet and passed them over to Rachel, who had gratefully accepted them. Accessorized with her clunky black oxfords, they looked almost trendy, and she was delighted to replenish her meager wardrobe without spending a penny. Still, she couldn’t help wondering what Annie Glide would think about the infamous Widow Snopes wearing her old dresses.

Right now, though, the dress felt as if it were suffocating her. Or maybe it was the sight of Gabe’s muscles bunching as he moved a heavy roll of tar paper. He paused from his work, and her hands stilled on the paintbrush. She watched as he rubbed the back of his hand across his chest and looked over at her. He was too far away for her to see those eyes, but she felt as if they were stroking her body like silver smoke.

Her skin prickled. Both of them looked away.

With grim determination, she returned her attention to her work. For the rest of the afternoon, she forced herself to think less about lust and more about how she was going to get back into her old house and find the chest.

Rachel’s hand stilled on the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir the pot of homemade marinara for tonight’s dinner. She’d known it would be bad, but not this bad.

“They were killed instantly.” Kristy looked up from the lettuce she’d been breaking into a pale-pink Tupperware bowl. “It was terrible.”

Rachel’s vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. No wonder Gabe was bitter.

“Jamie was only five,” Kristy said unsteadily. “He was a perfect miniature of Gabe; the two of them were inseparable. And Cherry was wonderful. Gabe hasn’t been the same since.”

For a moment it was hard for Rachel to breathe. She couldn’t imagine the kind of pain Gabe was enduring, and she ached with pity for him. At the same time, some deep instinct warned her that pity had become his enemy.

“Anybody home?”

At the sound of Ethan Bonner’s voice, Kristy dropped the paring knife. She drew in her breath, fumbled for the knife, and dropped it again.

Rachel was so shaken by what she had just learned that it took her a moment to register how strangely Kristy was behaving. Ethan was her boss, and she saw him nearly every day. Why was she so rattled?

Her housemate remained an enigma. Edward adored her, and the feeling was mutual, but Kristy was so reserved otherwise that Rachel didn’t have a clear picture of the person beneath that plain, efficient exterior.

She still hadn’t responded to Ethan’s knock, so Rachel called out for him to come in. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kristy take a deep breath and turn back into the calm, reserved woman who did everything so well. It was as if the moment of surprise had never happened.

“We’re just getting ready to eat, Ethan,” Kristy said as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Would you like something?”

“Um. I shouldn’t.” He gave Rachel a chilly nod.

She took in his light-blue oxford shirt, which was neatly tucked into a pair of khaki trousers that bore a knife-sharp crease down the center. His blond hair was perfectly cut, neither too long nor too short, and with his height, those blue eyes, and his finely balanced features, he might have been a
GQ
model instead of a member of the clergy.

“I just stopped by to drop off material for the newsletter,” he told Kristy. “You said you’d be putting it together in the morning, but I won’t be in until two.”

Kristy took the folder of papers he handed her and set it aside. “Wash up while we put the food on the table. Rachel’s fixed a wonderful homemade marinara.”

Ethan didn’t bother with much more than a token protest, and they were soon seated. As he ate, he confined his remarks to Edward and Kristy. Edward gave a detailed account of his experience that day feeding Snuggles, the class guinea pig, and Rachel realized he had a relationship with Ethan that she knew nothing about. She was glad that Ethan hadn’t projected his hostility toward her onto her son.

Kristy, she noticed, treated Ethan as if she were his mother, and he, a slightly backward ten-year-old. She chose his salad dressing, shook Parmesan on his spaghetti, and, in general, did everything for him except cut his food.

He, in turn, barely seemed to notice her attention, and he certainly didn’t notice the hungry yearning in her eyes when she looked at him.

So, Rachel thought. That’s the way it is.

Kristy refused to let him help clean up, something Rachel wouldn’t have had any qualms about, and Ethan left soon after. Rachel sent Edward outside to catch fireflies while she and Kristy washed dishes.

As Rachel dried the plate Kristy handed her, she decided to meddle. “Have you known Ethan for long?”

“Nearly all my life.”

“Um . . . And I’ll bet you’ve been in love with him most of that time.”

The bowl Kristy was holding slipped from her fingers and dropped to the linoleum floor, where it split into two precise pieces.

Rachel looked down. “Jeez. You even drop things neatly.”

“Why did you say that? About Ethan? What did you mean?”

Rachel bent over to pick up the broken bowl. “Never mind. I’m too nosy, and your love life is none of my business.”

“My love life.” Kristy gave an unladylike snort and slapped the dishcloth into the sink. “As if I have one.”

“So why don’t you do something about it?”

“Do something?” Kristy took the broken pieces of bowl from Rachel and dropped them in the trash can under the sink.

“It’s obvious you care about him.”

Kristy was such a private person that Rachel expected her to deny it, but she didn’t.

“It’s not that simple. Ethan Bonner is the best-looking man in Salvation, maybe the entire state of North Carolina, and he has a weakness for beautiful women in rhinestones and Spandex skirts.”

“Put on some rhinestones and Spandex. At least he’d notice.”

Kristy’s delicately arched eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

“Why not?”

She actually sputtered. “Me? Me! You expect a—a woman like me— A—a church secretary . . . I’m—I’m plain.”

“Says who?”

“I’d never do something like that. Never.”

“All right.”

She shook her head determinedly. “I’d look like an absolute fool.”

Rachel propped one hip on the kitchen table. “You’re not exactly dog meat, Kristy, despite your boring wardrobe.” Rachel smiled and glanced down at her 1950s Sears and Roebuck housedress. “Not that I have room to cast stones.”

“You don’t think I’m dog meat?”

Kristy looked so hopeful that Rachel’s heart went out to her. Maybe she finally had a way to repay this intelligent, insecure woman for her kindness. “Come on.” She guided her into the living room, where she seated them both on the couch. “I definitely don’t think you’re dog meat. You have beautiful features. You’re petite, which is something men seem to go for, not that I’d know anything about it. And you seem to have fairly nice breasts hidden away under that blouse, not that I’d know about that either.”