Dream a Little Dream

by Melinda Curtis

  “And you wouldn’t want to tell them.”

  You’re her dirty little secret.

  Jason scratched his head, glancing around. “Did you hear that?”

  “What you said?” Darcy deposited her purse and laptop bag on the passenger seat. “Try to see this from my point of view.” She came around to the driver side, Stogey at her heels.

  “I do. It’s just…” His hands found her hips, but he continued to scan the area for the source of the grumbly, masculine voice. “I’m your husband, not your dirty little secret.”

  So her career means less than yours?

  “What’s wrong?” Darcy framed his face with her hands. “You look like someone just pulled the rug out from under you.”

  “I was just thinking that…” He didn’t want to admit he was hearing George in his head. He tucked her into his arms. “I was just thinking that my career isn’t more important than yours. You made lots of sacrifices to support me over the years, showing up at events, loaning me money to stay on the road. I need to be willing to do the same.”

  Harrumph.

  Take that, old man.

  Darcy pulled back to look at Jason. “You do realize that you can’t stay here more than a few days for exactly the reasons you just mentioned—helping to defend my position? As soon as Ken leaves, you have to go.”

  “I’m going to support your career, honey. Seven months isn’t forever.” And if Jason played his cards right, he wouldn’t have to wait that long. He scooped up Stogey. “Go on. You’re going to be late for work.”

  She continued to stare at him, a look of wonder in her eyes. And then she shook her head. “Nothing is ever as easy as it sounds.”

  “But it should be.” He opened the car door for her, handed Stogey over, and then shut it when she and the dog were settled.

  Darcy rolled down the window. Stogey poked his little head out the window, pink tongue hanging out.

  “You know, there’s a perfectly good Cadillac in your garage.” He’d seen it through a window. It was much newer and in better shape than her old Toyota.

  “That was George’s car.” Whatever lightness he’d brought to the morning disappeared from her eyes.

  And this was George’s house, but she was living in half of it. “Have a good day at work,” he said with forced cheer and a wave. “Text me if you need moral support in the audience.”

  Some of the warmth returned to her gaze. “I’ll be fine but thank you.”

  Jason stood in the portico until she turned out of the gate and onto the road leading into town. He went back into the kitchen, cleaning up the breakfast dishes. He carried his mug of coffee while he made a circuit of the house. It was still dark and dated, like his grandfather’s home.

  Harrumph, George seemed to grumble again.

  Jason made a second circuit. This time, he counted light bulbs that needed replacing and opened the blinds and drapes, letting in bright sunshine. “Better.”

  That earned him another Harrumph.

  The front door burst open. Pearl stood looking like an angry scarecrow in need of some stuffing. “What are you doing here? Stalking Darcy? I should call the sheriff.” But instead of calling, she stomped to the front windows and closed the drapes.

  If she’d done that before Jason knew the truth about George’s illness and her behavior in the aftermath of his death, he’d have backed off and let her. But there was no going back. He had to help Darcy find happiness again. And that meant he had to help Pearl find happiness again.

  While Pearl moved to the next window, Jason followed closely behind. “I’m staying here for a couple of days.” He yanked the dark drapes to either side. “And I’m not a vampire.”

  “The light hurts George’s eyes.” Two windows down, Pearl clutched the curtains closed and glared at Jason.

  “Nothing hurts George anymore.” Jason took a step in Pearl’s direction. “Shrouding this place in darkness won’t bring him back.”

  Her face scrunched tighter than a stale prune. “I used to like you, Jason Petrie.”

  “Same.” Jason had eaten many a breakfast at the Saddle Horn, where she worked. He approached the old woman with caution, giving the curtain she held a tentative tug. “You know, when my dad left us, my mom wouldn’t get rid of his things for months.”

  “Hoping he’d come back?” Pearl said on a shuddering breath, deflating.

  Jason shook his head. “Pretending everything was normal. That she wasn’t shattered inside and one big angry mess.” He didn’t feel the need to share that, at twelve, he’d been ill equipped for the loss too. If anything, his scars ran deeper and had taken longer to heal because no one had told him he could channel his anger in a new direction until he’d met Judge George Harper. “When my father left us for another woman”—and her kids—“he thought we’d be happier without him, if only because he was happier.”

  Selfish SOB.

  That was 100 percent Jason’s inner voice.

  “People know I’m one big angry mess,” Pearl said, staring toward the two green recliners in front of the television.

  “People knowing doesn’t help make you any less angry.” Jason had taken all that anger and channeled it into riding bulls, the only things he could find that were angrier than he was.

  “I always thought George and I were on the same page.” Pearl’s voice lacked the fierceness she’d charged in with, and her face lacked the prune-like anger. But her fingers still clutched the black drape. “But then he realized the COPD was getting the better of him and he was too proud to drag around an oxygen tank and wear a cannula so he could live longer. He wouldn’t listen to me or his sons or the doctor. He’d sit in that chair.” She gestured toward the worn green recliner. “And he’d worry about one of his boys becoming judge. He’d worry they’d reverse the good he’d done and give new meaning to who Judge Harper was and what he stood for. He’d worry you’d get Darcy pregnant and she’d give up on practicing law. And somewhere along the way, after he asked me to marry him and I refused, the lines between the two worries must have blurred and…” Her words were nothing more than a whisper, a bitter wisp of air. But they were an admission that George hadn’t been in his right mind and that she hadn’t been able to stop him from enticing Darcy into a marriage bargain. “George thought I’d be so happy he’d found a Harper he could mold into his own image. He’d thought I’d celebrate his marriage.” She raised faded blue eyes to Jason’s face—faded, yes, but still brimming with anger in need of an outlet. “And now…sometimes…even though I loved him…I want to celebrate on his grave.”

  Me too.

  But Jason couldn’t lose sight of this piece of the puzzle. George, sick and facing death, low on oxygen his brain needed, might have lost that bit of himself that should have drawn a line where Darcy was concerned. It wasn’t an excuse for what he’d done. But it was a reason.

  Jason took Pearl’s hands from the curtains and then folded her gently into his arms. Pearl might not have done right by Darcy, but she was his friend, and collateral damage as far as he was concerned. “It’s better to lay blame where it belongs, rather than with someone who was just looking for a little help.” His beloved Darcy.

  Criminy, George. You left a mess.

  Like you’ve done any better.

  The bull inside Jason’s chest huffed.

  Everything will be all right if our women forgive us.

  Easy for George to say. He wasn’t the one trying to fix things.

  Pearl was as tense as a strung bow. She didn’t cry. She didn’t yell. For now, she was keeping all that raw emotion she’d told him she was feeling inside.

  The way Darcy did.

  But Jason knew this was just a moment of calm in Pearl’s stormy grief. She was like a long-stabled mare in need of a day of freedom in a big pasture. A day to rage, to lash out, to…

  “Why don’t we take a drive out to the cemetery?” Jason moved the old woman to arm’s length. “You can show me where he’s buried. I t
hink you and I have some graveyard dancing to do. I hear from Lola that’s all the rage.”

  Harrumph!

  Chapter Fifteen

  No. That can’t be right.” A man’s voice carried into the courthouse hallway.

  Darcy hurried past, judge’s robe billowing behind her. For once she was early to work.

  “That’s not a five. It’s an eight. This is ridiculous.” An elderly man stomped out of the traffic clerk’s office, which opened early on Wednesdays. He nearly ran Darcy over. “Sorry, I…Darcy? Darcy Jones?”

  “Yes?” She peeked at Stogey to make sure he was all right in her bag before taking a good look at the man.

  He wasn’t wearing a suit and tie, and his hair was now more white than gray, but she remembered him immediately as one of her mother’s marks. Her stomach dropped.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you. It’s been a long time but you look just like your mom.” He caught her arm. “It’s me. Nathan Dickinson. I was your mother’s boss.” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “Or I was twenty years or so ago, before she got sent to—”

  “I remember you,” Darcy said quickly, also recalling how her mother had coached her to pretend she was terribly sick and possibly dying. She gave him a small smile to cover for the fact that she didn’t want Nathan reminding her coworkers that her mother was in prison for bilking him. “Nice seeing you again.”

  Nathan caught her arm again. “Look at you. You look so healthy. And you’re a judge?”

  “Yes.” Darcy knew it had been a mistake to put on her judge’s robe in the parking lot. But she’d run out of hands to carry everything—purse, laptop bag, Stogey, her robe on a hanger. She gave her arm a polite pull, trying to free herself.

  Nathan didn’t let go. “Listen, I got this traffic ticket, and I totally misread the date to pay. I thought this was an eight.” Nathan dropped her arm and pointed to the court date on his citation. “They say it’s a five and that I’m late. But you…Oh, ho ho. You can fix this, right?”

  “No. Sorry.” Freed, Darcy headed for her office. She made it three steps this time before Nathan claimed her arm once more.

  “But it’s not fair. These old eyes. It was an honest mistake,” he said, like this was her problem.

  “They have payment plans.” She tugged her arm, harder this time, heart pounding.

  Frowning, Nathan positioned himself between Darcy and her destination. “And you can fix it. For old times’ sake.” He laughed mirthlessly. “You owe me.”

  Fear shuddered through Darcy because she probably did, if for no other reason than that he deserved more than an apology from the Joneses.

  “Problem, Your Honor?” Amazingly, Ronald the bailiff appeared at her side, hands on his utility belt, scowling at Nathan.

  “Oh, you know how small towns are.” When Darcy tugged this time, Nathan let her go. “Everybody knows everybody. Nathan was just saying hello.” Darcy continued on to her office.

  “And asking for a favor,” Nathan said in a way that said he’d hold a grudge because she hadn’t granted him one.

  “Man up and pay your fine,” Ronald said before following Darcy to her office. “You okay?” he asked when they reached Tina Marie’s desk.

  “I’m fine. Thank you for stepping in.” She’d been caught off guard.

  How am I supposed to handle situations like that, George?

  He didn’t answer. He hadn’t been in her head all morning.

  “You shouldn’t wear your robes outside of the courtroom.” Ronald pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward the hallway. “Everybody wants a favor or to tell you about their grudge regarding a judgment, just makes it worse if you advertise who you are.”

  “That’s why Judge George had a gate installed at his house,” Tina Marie said without looking up from her computer screen. “Not to keep out the baddies from seeking revenge but to prevent every yahoo he’d been neighborly with from stopping by to have him take care of a ticket or a grievance.” She scribbled a note on a pad. “Wish I had a gate at my house. Folks stop by there sometimes too.”

  “Oh.” Darcy felt better toward George for leaving her a gated house. She set Stogey’s bag down and lifted him out. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll be more careful from now on.” Still a bit shaken by Nathan’s arm grab, she went into her office while Stogey received his morning greeting from Ronald and Tina Marie.

  Darcy sat down and glanced at her calendar, startled to realize that this weekend was her mother’s birthday. She wasn’t good about calling or sending cards to her incarcerated family but she made it a point to visit once a year.

  Tina Marie entered, placing a sheet of paper in front of her. “I need your signature.”

  “What’s this?” Darcy didn’t recognize the form, and Tina Marie hadn’t brought in her notarizing supplies.

  “A request to have Stogey tested to be certified as an emotional support animal.” She reached down to give him a pat. “I also scheduled a quick online appointment with a clinician to declare you in need of one.”

  Darcy paused, pen poised above the signature line. “He has to pass a test?” He was still a bundle of anxiety. And she…Darcy didn’t want to go on record as needing an emotional support animal. Rupert might use that against her. “Is this necessary?”

  “If you want to go by the rules, yes.” Tina Marie stared at Darcy, some of the animosity that had been mellowing returning. “You do want to do this by the book?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Darcy rushed to sign. “Everybody has an emotional support animal nowadays, right?”

  “Not me.” Tina Marie whisked the form away. “Not George. But you seem jumpy.”

  * * *

  “Where have you been?”

  After he parked at the courthouse, Jason’s boots had barely hit the pavement before Iggy was on his case. He took a seat on a picnic table bench next to Ken and across from his cantankerous business partner. The smell of garlic permeated the courthouse park grounds.

  The Garlic Grill food truck was doing a brisk lunch business from the curb. Kimmy Belmonte had gone from making her special sandwiches at the deli counter at Emory’s Grocery to operating her own food truck. To say it was popular would be an understatement.

  “Seats are at a premium wherever the Garlic Grill is nowadays.” Iggy shoved Jason’s sandwich order at him. “I had to tell three different people that your seat was taken. Where’ve you been?”

  Jason opened his tuna garlic pesto salad sandwich and breathed in deeply. “I was dancing on someone’s grave at the cemetery.”

  “I don’t like where this is going.” Iggy crumpled his sandwich wrapper, rolling it into a little ball. “You mean literally?”

  Jason nodded. Pearl had demonstrated her clogging talents on George’s grave before collapsing in the grass for a good cry.

  I’m not sure I deserved that, George groused.

  Jason laughed because the old man most certainly had.

  “Are you feverish?” Ken stopped eating his salad and laid his palm on Jason’s forehead. “Tell anyone who asks about graveyard dancing that you have no recall because you were feverish.”

  “You’re feverish for ordering salad instead of a sandwich.” Jason bit into his.

  “I’m gluten-free.” Ken stabbed his fork into a tomato wedge. “You’ll need to drop gluten if you don’t stop packing on the carbs. Jeez, your pantry looks like it was stocked by a teenage boy.”

  “Cowboys don’t count carbs.” Jason opened the water bottle Iggy pushed his way.

  “Cowboys don’t dance on their…” Ken scowled at Iggy as if he didn’t want to complete that sentence in front of Jason’s business partner. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Cowboys don’t dance on their…lover’s dead husband’s grave.”

  Yeah, he’d almost said wife.

  “Never fear,” Jason said. “I wasn’t the one dancing. It was Pearl.”

  Ken’s fork hovered midair. “Who?”

  “The judge’s ex-girlfriend. Keep up,
man.” Iggy gloated over Ken’s confusion. “We have good news. Tell him, Ken.”

  The wind whispered through the pine branches above them. The rear courthouse doors banged shut. Jason glanced toward the rear exit, where Darcy had fled after her first case on Monday. Two men sat on the steps and lit cigarettes. Darcy was nowhere in sight. He imagined her eating her lunch at her desk.

  “Earth to Jason.” Iggy snapped his fingers in front of Jason’s face.

  “You have good news,” Jason said, returning his attention to the table. “Those orders that were canceled are back on the books?”

  “Sadly, no.” Iggy didn’t look bummed about it, though. “It’s about our love advice video.”

  Jason groaned, glancing at Ken. “You heard back from New York already.”

  “Don’t act like it’s a death sentence.” Ken stirred his salad. “My New York contacts say the camera loves you. And they believe there’s something to the chemistry in Love Advice from Two Cowboys and a Little Old Lady. The bad news is they say it needs work before we can sell sponsorships and make money doing it.”

  “Sweet, right?” Iggy shot his rolled sandwich wrapper into a nearby trash can. “We could be sponsored.”

  “Don’t expect much more than T-shirts and free samples.” Jason set his sandwich down. “Tell me you’re messing with us, Ken. I wanted this to go away. Remember the fan ridicule after I wrote that love advice column?”

  “This is different and good for you. Have I ever lied to you?” Ken shook his fork at Jason. “Don’t answer that. But in my defense, I only lied to you for your own good. But this…This could be a thing. You have all the elements of a home run—a straight man, a wild card, and a fool.”

  “Me being the straight man.” Iggy reached across the table and slapped Jason’s shoulder. “I could be a thing.”

  Jason rolled his eyes, knowing full well who played which roles. Edith was the wild card and Jason was the straight man. “I hate to ask, but what changes did they suggest?”

  “More of you, obviously. A tighter topic. You know, don’t bounce around so much. And more relationship drama with details.”