Dream a Little Dream

by Melinda Curtis

  Stogey belched and then gacked up what he’d eaten in the grass. He had a knack for bringing Darcy back to reality.

  “If it’s not coming out one end…” Darcy moved around the chair, intent upon comforting him.

  Jason scooped Stogey up before she could reach him. “So much for promises made on the package.” He scratched the little dog behind the ears, continuing to appear charming and nonthreatening with that display of dimples. “I brought something for you too.” He nodded toward the chair she’d been hiding behind. The envelope he’d brought rested on the seat.

  Darcy withdrew the contents—a photograph of them standing before an altar. She wore her hair down, a red dress, and her black Louboutins. Those were the days. He wore a black shirt, black jeans, and a huge belt buckle. He had her bent over in a hot kiss. Yep, those were the days.

  Involuntarily, Darcy’s gaze drifted to Jason’s lips and his blond five o’clock shadow.

  A vague memory tickled the back of her mind. Laughter. Deep kisses. And the irrepressible feeling that she had been loved that weekend. Not in the physical sense. Well, there’d been that too. But she’d been cherished.

  And then a clearer, more painful image emerged of a cowgirl kissing Jason on television.

  “Thank you for this,” she choked out as thickly as dog gack.

  “I wanted you to know it was real. I loved you.”

  Past tense.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes, fighting for release. She’d never wanted Jason to stop loving her.

  You need to stay ahead of revelations like this in court. And work on that court face!

  Zip it, George.

  “I still love you, Darcy,” Jason said tenderly. His words filled the fissure his use of past tense had made in her heart a moment earlier.

  I love you too. Her mouth was too dry to say the words.

  George surged forth in her mind. Cheaters can’t help you earn the town’s respect.

  Cheaters like me, you mean? Because some would call bigamists cheaters.

  Her comment to George went unchallenged.

  Jason stared toward the pond, rubbing Stogey’s ears. “We made a plan when we graduated high school, and we stuck to it for over a decade. It was so logical. We’d wait until we were ready to settle down to get married. We’d be in better shape financially, and we could go anywhere. But I think we realized in Vegas that the plan had to get thrown out the window. I don’t know about you, but it was becoming harder and harder for me to leave you behind every spring. I think the alcohol swept all that logic away so that we could finally do what we should have done when we were eighteen—legalize the vow we’d made to love each other forever.” He sighed. “But then we woke up and logic kicked back in.”

  Too bad memory had lapsed along with logic. Knowing they’d been married would have changed most of the decisions she’d faced afterward.

  Woe is me, George grumbled. You’re a judge!

  “That day you saw me on TV…” Jason regarded her steadily. “That bull gave me eight seconds of a fight, but I hung on. I was blown away after the ride, ecstatic, running on adrenaline. And then…when that woman my sponsor selected kissed me…it meant nothing.”

  Darcy crossed her arms, pressing them tight against her chest in case her heart decided to leap out and take him back. “You don’t kiss a woman who isn’t your wife like that.”

  “She lip-bombed me. And I called you right away to explain. And an hour later. And all night long. You wouldn’t take my calls.”

  Because you were with me. George chuckled.

  Used by you, you mean. To keep control of your legacy.

  Again, you got appointed judge! As if that absolved him of his machinations.

  She’d been betrayed by two men. Darcy’s chin rose so high it felt like her neck was trying to lift her above this moment. This pain. She refused to acknowledge the viselike grip anguish had on her chest. “You’ve laid it all out very nicely. But the one thing you’ve never said to me is that you’re sorry.” And I don’t just mean Jason, George.

  “I’m completely sorry,” Jason said without hesitation, frustration, or defiance. He spoke the words sincerely with a shine to his eyes. “I lost the most precious thing in the world to me that day. You. And I’ve been trying to win you back ever since.”

  “It’s too late.” Why didn’t those words come out stronger?

  “Because of George? Because he could give you what your family and I couldn’t?”

  “Yes.” She tried not to shift a muscle, not to squirm, not to let Jason know that she still loved him.

  “I’m jealous of a dead man.” Jason gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. “He gave you your dream.” He set Stogey down and came to stand before her, wiping away the solitary tear she hadn’t realized was on her cheek, resting his palm tenderly on her face. “I’m going to prove to you that we should be together. Now and always.”

  She struggled to keep herself from leaning into his touch, moving into his arms, or kissing him and admitting she felt the same way. What would rekindling their love solve?

  The sunset shifted from a soft orange to a cold gray. The color of reality.

  Greatness never came without sacrifice, George pointed out.

  And she had sacrificed a part of herself this past year for this opportunity as judge, dressing differently and avoiding her friends. And now she had to protect Jason from the Jones taint of association.

  Darcy stepped free of Jason’s touch. “The reason we made that plan all those years ago was that I never wanted to hold you down. Everyone knew you’d be a world champion. I didn’t want to be the simple girl back home, the Jones girl who kept you from living your life fully, the high school sweetheart you’d eventually come to resent when you kissed another woman and decided to move on.” Her voice rasped, giving away how wounded she was. “And I especially didn’t want to be the woman who was seen as holding on to her golden ticket, because that’s what Jones women are known for.”

  What an irony, given that George’s offer had given her the thing she’d wanted desperately to avoid with Jason—a reputation as a gold digger.

  “I don’t care that you’re a Jones.”

  That was because she’d never told him the truth about the first twelve years of her life.

  “You were never a noose around my neck, honey.” Jason stared into her eyes and the love that shone there reached deep into her chest and squeezed what was left of her heart, pressing damaged parts together. “You were the best part of me. You were the woman everyone knew was loyal to me. The woman I was always proud to brag about.”

  George was oddly silent.

  Darcy fought for a breath. “But now we’re in two different places, Jason. You belong out there, and I…” She didn’t know where she belonged. “I’m the temporary Judge Harper.” A position that required her to leave the old Darcy, the woman who loved Jason Petrie, behind.

  Chapter Eight

  Where have you been all weekend?” Mama stomped in front of Bitsy on Monday morning. Pearl was working her shift at the Saddle Horn diner, looking more like herself than she had since George died. “Even those Widows Club friends of yours didn’t know where you were.” Mama pointed to Bitsy’s three friends in the corner booth.

  “Is everything okay?” Bitsy took stock of her mother, the diner, and her widowed friends. Everything seemed as it should be.

  “I’m fine.” But the way Mama snapped those two words contradicted their purported meaning. “Where were you all weekend?”

  “I had a trip scheduled to visit Roger and the kids. Remember?” Her oldest son lived in the mountains above Golden. She’d wanted to run from her too-big bed and the disastrous two-year twitch. But even her adorable grandchildren couldn’t keep her from tossing and turning on a narrow sofa sleeper two nights in a row.

  “I tried to call. Over and over.” Mama jabbed her finger at her. “You didn’t answer.”

  Mama was out of her funk. Bitsy bit back a smile. �
�You know my cell service is spotty up there. My phone was off the entire time.” Hence the reason she’d had nothing in her call record.

  “Technology never works when you need it.” Mama huffed. “Never mind. I need you to come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “To see Rupert Harper.” Still wearing her apron, Mama dragged Bitsy out the diner door, much to the delight of the few customers in the Saddle Horn, including the Widows Club board. “I’m going to sue Darcy for guardianship of Stogey. George loved that dog, and he loved me, so we should be together. And now that con woman says he’s hers.”

  “Oh, Mama. No.” Bitsy recalled how Darcy had rescued Stogey from the kitchen Friday morning. She and that dog had a connection. “Let’s have a cup of tea and talk about this.” Damage control was required. Bitsy dug in her black ballet flats. “You’ve always been a cat person.”

  “No more talk.” Mama dragged Bitsy forward with surprising strength. “I saw Rupert drive past a few minutes ago. He went into his office.”

  “But…what about your customers in the diner?” Her mother prided herself on her professionalism.

  “Alsace can cover for me until we get back.” Clearly Mama wouldn’t be dissuaded.

  It was a short walk down the block and across the street, too short a walk for Bitsy to collect her thoughts and devise a plan to stop this train wreck. Mama was back, but at what cost? Her lawsuit was groundless. Bitsy needed time to prevent Mama from making a big, costly mistake.

  “It’s locked.” Mama rattled the handle on the law office’s front door and then banged on the glass. “I know you’re in there, Rupert.”

  George’s younger son ambled to the front, exhibiting all the calm Bitsy needed to feel. He wore a nice suit and a blue silk tie the color of his eyes.

  Bitsy rarely dealt with anyone who wore a suit. It was…He was…Shiitake mushrooms! Rupert seemed to move in slow motion to the tune of Duran Duran’s “Save a Prayer,” a song about seduction.

  “No.” Not the two-year twitch. Not now.

  “Open up.” Mama’s cropped white hair stood straight up in the stiff morning breeze, making her eyes seem sharp and full of business.

  Bitsy tucked her hair behind her ears, turning off the one-night-stand soundtrack as Rupert leisurely unlocked the door at the same speed that a man leisurely undressed a woman. She shut her eyes, trying to reboot, but his freshly showered scent reached her, as beckoning as fragrant sheets just out of the dryer.

  Gah. She opened her eyes, no better off than before.

  “Good morning, Pearl. Bitsy.” That suit. Those eyes. That detached smile. It was the same chill he’d given them at the few holidays and birthdays they’d spent together with George. It was a smile that said Bitsy and Mama were dismissible. It should not be sexy. Rupert was a stick-in-the-mud. Handsome but far from perfect. Why did he, of all the men in Sunshine, flip her twitch?

  She tried to argue, dredging up all the old, negative impressions of Rupert. His heavy, put-upon sigh. His patronizing smile. His snooty way of looking at everyone and everything.

  She used to think it was a shame Rupert was such an egotistical jerk. He was attractive. He was well off, a man just passing middle age but not past his prime. He’d be a perfect recruit for some of the Widows Club events if he weren’t such a bitter pill.

  “What brings you by today?” He stared at Bitsy with that condescending smile.

  The two-year twitch flared to life and said, He’ll do.

  “That’s not right,” Bitsy mumbled. She wasn’t coming out of widowhood for a younger man who didn’t even like her.

  “What brings us by?” Mama grouched, elbowing Rupert aside. “A dog. It’s my dog, and I want him.”

  “Mama, please.” Bitsy tried to sound apologetic. The best thing that could happen would be for Rupert to send them on their way. Mama would continue to rail, but she couldn’t escalate this beyond what it needed to be—a grief-ending grudge. “My mother feels she should have—”

  “There are no feels,” Mama snapped. “I was kind. I was patient.” She raised a finger toward the ceiling. “I will be rewarded!” Mama cried in a voice filled with resentment. “He said it. And then she said I could take whatever I wanted.”

  “Uh-huh.” Rupert checked his fancy watch. That watch. It went perfectly with his expensive suit and his expensive car and his expensive, custom-built home overlooking the river. His primary bedroom probably had an unfettered view of the water.

  Bitsy wanted to bolt, to scurry down the sidewalk away from the two-year twitch and back to the safety of the Saddle Horn. But there was just one thing keeping her there—the suddenly attractive attorney needed to laugh off her mother’s lawsuit. She added obtuse to his list of detriments. “Mama, you’re going to have to spell it out for Rupert.”

  “D-A-R-C-Y.” Mama crossed her arms and glared at Rupert. “Is that clear enough for you?”

  “Darcy?” Rupert spasmed to attention and lost some of his aloofness. “Darcy Jones? What did she promise you?”

  “It was the pair of them.” Mama calmed down a bit now that Rupert was showing interest. “George and her. It was supposed to be my choice. And then she just up and changed her mind, as if George’s wishes are of no consequence.”

  Bitsy sensed an opening. “Yes, about George’s will…”

  “What did you choose?” Rupert seemed genuinely interested. His smile was infinitely kinder.

  Which was a shame since the flip side of Bitsy falling for someone was the fact that, years after they married, the man always died. Jim, Terry, Wendell. Three data points was a trend. If Rupert fell in love with her, it was a death sentence. It was practically a public service for her to squash this attraction!

  “Stogey!” Mama plopped into a chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’m sorry.” Cursing the two-year twitch and ill-made plans, Bitsy hurried to make the situation clear. “We don’t want to waste your time. As you might recall, Mama wasn’t named in George’s will. I tried to tell Mama she doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

  “I’ll stand on my hands if it means I get what’s mine.” Mama’s sharp chin jutted out.

  Bitsy cast about for a way to defuse the situation. It was small consolation that this was the first time in a month she’d seen anything resembling her mother.

  “I don’t care about legs or the regularities of the law,” Rupert said gruffly. “My father always said a person’s word is their bond. I’ll take your case.”

  “Really?” Bitsy’s knees wobbled. She sank onto the firm leather sofa, admiring the set to his chin, breathing in an aphrodisiac made up of bath soap and new leather.

  He’ll do, the twitch murmured in her ear.

  What had she done?

  * * *

  “Overruled.”

  Monday morning found Darcy drinking Coke and practicing court procedure in the bathroom mirror.

  She’d spent all day Sunday in the sunroom, wallowing in grief over Jason’s declaration of love. But she was a Jones, one who’d used nepotism—no matter how unwittingly—to rise to power. She wasn’t good enough for Jason. Someday he’d appreciate Darcy for not taking him back.

  “Today is a workday, Stogey.” Or it would be until someone found out she’d been a bigamist. Rupert and Oliver would happily march her down to the jail and strip her of her judicial robe and this house and—

  Stogey tooted, staring up at her with soulful eyes. It might be a new day, but it was the same safe wardrobe and sensitive doggy routine.

  Stogey’s stomach was upset, and anytime she ventured near an exterior door, he pressed himself against it and stared up at her with those sad, sad eyes.

  For Darcy’s part, in addition to her out-of-fashion shoes, she wore clip-on pearl earrings and had her hair in that unflattering bun. For her first day presiding over court, she’d chosen a shapeless blue sheath and a matching jacket. Not that what she wore mattered. The judicial robe Pearl had taken in hung near
the back door. Despite having been downsized, it still covered her completely. Regardless of coverage, her appearance didn’t make Darcy feel competent.

  Clothes don’t make the man, George intoned.

  “Said most men.” Darcy gave Stogey one of Jason’s dog treats, grabbed her purse, car keys, and judge’s robe, and bolted out the door.

  Almost immediately, Stogey began to scratch the door and whine, not just a little. This was a royal, the-sky-is-falling-and-I’m-falling-apart panic attack.

  So much for the new meds.

  Darcy got into the car and shut the door. Even with the windows closed, she could hear the dog’s distressed cries and the scrape of nails on wood.

  Awoo-woo-woo.

  Alone. She knew what it felt like to be left behind, to have each of her family members arrested, taken away, put behind bars. She’d spent time in the foster care system, halfway houses, and juvenile detention centers. Before Jason, she’d learned to rely on herself and only herself. To keep her head down. To keep going. And to do it alone.

  But alone…It hurt.

  It was only with Jason that she’d felt she belonged. He’d helped her make closer friendships at school—with Avery, who’d introduced her to Priscilla Taylor and later to Mary Margaret and Lola.

  Awoo-woo-hoo.

  Stogey’s cries pressed on her chest, rang in her ears, chilled her bones. There was no one to comfort Stogey. No one but Darcy.

  With a sympathetic cry, she darted back inside.

  Stogey hobbled away from the door when she entered, panting and looking as drained as she’d felt when she’d learned she’d married Jason in a drunken stupor. She grabbed Stogey’s leash and small dog bed, scooped him up, and hurried back to the car, taking a moment to examine his paws, which thankfully weren’t bleeding.

  “This is not our new routine,” she told him. “And you have to be good in the car.”

  Stogey licked her chin, sighed, and tooted.

  “I can’t wait to get you back on kibble, toothless.”

  Stogey rode into town in the place of honor—Darcy’s lap. He stood the entire way, front paws on the arm rest, small black nose pressed to the glass. He only tried to vaporize Darcy twice.