Chasing a Dream

by Beth Cornelison

  “I’m okay. I was just thinking about . . . just remembering—”

  “Don’t. It’s behind you now. Focus on the future. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  His reassurances and kind smile filled an empty place in her soul. She’d almost given up her childhood belief that men like her father really existed. Maybe she’d only imagined her father was good and kind and protective to fill a youthful fantasy. She’d dreamed, like other little girls, of a handsome and brave prince whom she could trust and love and have faith in.

  When Randall had entered her life, she had seen him as her rescuer. A dashing, confident man who’d saved her from the dire poverty and isolation she’d been facing. She’d still been consumed with grief over Angie’s death, and he’d seemed the answer to a prayer.

  How wrong she had been.

  Now, Justin offered her comfort, hope. Did she dare allow herself to trust in the promises he made? He made it easy to believe in a bright future. She had to remind herself she had no future with him. Their association would end in a matter of hours, a few more miles, as soon as she found the nerve to separate herself from the lifeline of encouragement and joy he gave her. A hollow pit settled inside her, considering that bleak moment she had to face.

  “So . . .” She cleared her throat to quiet the nervous tremble in her voice. “Tell me another corny joke.” The smile she gave him fell short of its mark, but he apparently gave her credit for trying. His own smile brightened his face and pierced the chill around her heart.

  Tess rolled her shoulders, working loose the knots of tension. She savored the moment, knowing how few like that one she’d likely have in her future. And she silently thanked Justin for the precious gift he’d brought her. He’d given her a reason to smile, a reason to hope. Yet, all too soon, she’d have to find a way to leave him. No matter how much it hurt.

  ***

  Tony Morelli cursed and slammed down the phone. Another bum lead. He knew that, sooner or later, Tess would make a slip and leave a trail that his men would find. But time was his enemy. Morning had dawned hours ago, and he couldn’t quit worrying about Maria. She’d been fine when he left this morning, and he’d warned her to stay inside, keep the doors locked. But still . . .

  Damn! Where could the Sinclair broad be hiding? She’d never struck him as the smart type. How had she dodged his men for so long? Along with a respect for her resourcefulness, Tess Sinclair had earned his wrath. It would be her fault if anything happened to Maria . . .

  His cell phone trilled, and he snatched it up. “Yeah?”

  “Tony, help!”

  Morelli sucked in a sharp breath. “Maria?”

  Another voice, deep and deadly, came on the line. “Time’s up, Morelli. You want your woman back, you gotta find Tess Sinclair.”

  Morelli didn’t recognize the voice, but he didn’t need to know who had Maria to know they meant business.

  “You sonofabitch, don’t you hurt her!” He knew he sounded scared, had known his love for Maria made him vulnerable. But what choice did he have? No way would he give Maria up, and he was in too thick with Sinclair to walk away and live to tell about it. “If you so much as touch her—”

  The line went dead, and with a growl of frustration, he threw the phone across the room. “Shit!”

  The phone rang again, almost immediately, and he hurried to grab it with his heart in his throat. “Maria?”

  “No, it’s Dominic. We got a lead.”

  Consumed with thoughts of his wife in some Sinclair thug’s grasp, Morelli hesitated a moment before the news clicked. “A lead?”

  “You said to let you know if we got somethin’ solid. Well, we’ve got two confirmed reports that she spent the night at a motel near Lubbock. The morning desk clerk recognized her from the picture we sent out, and another guest saw her last night.”

  “Who do you have in the area?” Morelli waited impatiently while Dominic coughed.

  “Harrington called in the tip. Grossman has put his guys on it, and I’m on my way there now. If she’s still in the area, we’ll find her.”

  “Move fast. And no more screwups.”

  He jabbed off the phone and headed out to his car. He’d go to Lubbock and find Tess himself.

  Sinclair had said he could use force to bring Tess back if needed. Morelli relished the thought of putting the bitch through the same torture he suffered over Maria. Oh, yes. When he did find Tess Sinclair, he would use a great deal of force to bring her home. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “A king-sized bed or two doubles?” The man behind the motel desk looked bored. He turned his attention back to the basketball game on his small TV where, according to the graphic that flashed on the screen, the Chicago Bulls and Utah Jazz were playing.

  “We have a choice?” Justin whispered to Tess. She grinned at his facetious question.

  The motel, a decrepit, unpopulated brick structure, represented the first civilization they’d seen in miles, after Justin grew restless driving the interstate and ventured off on a side road. And even that fact barely persuaded Tess to stop.

  The exterior of the establishment didn’t bode well for the accommodations. Tess prayed for clean bed sheets at the very least. Paint peeled in large flakes from the room doors, and the roofing shingles hung askew in places, suggesting interior leaks. Weeds sprouted in the cracks of the sidewalk, attesting to a general lack of upkeep.

  The ramshackle front office reeked of cigarette smoke and mildew. She didn’t hold out much hope for the sheets.

  “Two doubles,” Tess told the man watching the basketball game.

  “Huh?”

  “Two double beds, please.” She handed the desk clerk a twenty-dollar bill, which, according to the neon sign sputtering out front, would cover the cost of a room. She cut a sideways glance to Justin, whose grim expression spoke for his discomfort with relying on Tess to finance their room for the night. He’d argued that he should pay half, as he had last night’s bill, but she refused. All day he’d counted his money carefully and spent it judiciously. She respected his desire to pay his way but understood his tight reserves, the seed money for his dreams of Nashville. No way would she deplete his cash store when she carried a small fortune of Randall’s money in her purse.

  Her money, she corrected. Her income had been deposited to that account, too. She’d only taken half of what the balance showed. She owed Randall nothing for the money she withdrew.

  While she waited on the man to find a key for them, she glanced around the motel office again, until her gaze snagged on a familiar picture.

  Of her.

  Icy horror froze her blood, and she gaped in disbelief.

  Reproduced in grainy black and white, her picture headed a flier boasting an outrageous reward for information regarding her whereabouts. The contact phone numbers were unfamiliar to her. No doubt, Randall’s men were at the other end of those phone numbers.

  If Randall’s thugs had spread her picture far enough around the state to have reached this seedy motel, was there anyplace she could go and not be recognized?

  Dear God. She’d come too far to be caught now. She couldn’t go back to Randall. She’d rather die than be caught.

  Forcing enough spit into her dry mouth to swallow, she willed herself not to panic. With tense, jerky movements, she sidled over to the poster and scrunched it in her hand. Glancing toward Justin, who seemed as absorbed in the basketball game on the TV as the desk clerk, she balled the flier in her hand and slipped it into her pocket.

  “Room three.”

  She flinched when the desk clerk unceremoniously tossed a key toward her. He turned his back then did a double take.

  “Hey, you look familiar.” The desk clerk scratched his chest and eyed her with a wrinkled nose.

  Her breath hung in her lungs. No, no, no!

  “Are you somebody famous? A model maybe?”

  She cleared her throat and shook h
er head. She peeked up to find Justin watching her. Silently, she pleaded for his help.

  “I know you from somewhere—”

  “Miss Texas,” Justin said, and Tess blinked her surprise. “Three years ago she was Miss Texas. I bet that’s where you remember her from.”

  The man’s eyes widened, then he furrowed his brow. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “I’m sure that’s it.” Justin stepped over to scoop up the key. “Thank you.” He put a hand on her back to hustle her out of the grungy front office.

  Tess didn’t release her breath until they were well away from the desk clerk’s scrutiny. She trembled from head to toe, her heart thundering.

  Justin said nothing about the incident, but she felt his gaze as he followed her inside the tiny motel room. What would he do if he knew the exorbitant reward Randall was offering for information on her whereabouts? Greed was a powerful motivator, eclipsing even the most well-meaning intentions sometimes. For now, she’d keep the flier as her secret and pray Justin hadn’t seen it before she stuffed it in her pocket.

  Sighing her fatigue, she scanned the accommodations. As expected, room three was no better than it promised. She walked to a bed and threw back the covers to inspect the sheets. “Well, it’s just for one night.”

  Justin closed the door and tried to lock it, but the security chain had no matching plate on which to attach it. The door latch popped up when he rattled the knob. He glanced at her with a wry grin. “Looks like I’m the security system tonight.”

  “Are you a heavy sleeper?” She watched Justin tug off his hiking boots.

  “Tonight I won’t be.” He stripped off his shirt and tossed it at his backpack. When he missed his target and the shirt dropped to the floor, he ignored it. Tess rolled her eyes. Apparently, some male traits were universal.

  Justin sighed as he flopped on a bed and stacked his hands behind his head. “It’s stuffy as hell in here. Is there an air conditioner over there, Tess?”

  His gaze and a nod of his head toward the window directed her attention away from the expanse of his bare chest. She moved around her bed and checked the rusty protrusion beneath the front window. Clicking a small knob, Tess felt a steamy blast of air blow from the unit. “There. At least it will move the air a little.”

  “Mind if I hit the shower?” Justin asked as Tess, out of habit, picked up Justin’s shirt and folded it before laying it across the top of his backpack.

  “No, go ahead. I don’t think I’ll bother with a shower tonight. I’m not that brave.”

  Justin chuckled as he rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom.

  Opening her suitcase, she rummaged through it for a clean shirt. She could at least change clothes and feel somewhat fresher. When Justin returned from the bathroom, her hand stopped, poised on the top button of her blouse.

  “On second thought, I’ll skip the shower too. I don’t enjoy bathing in brown water.”

  “The water is brown?” Tess wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “And thick.”

  “Eww!” She covered her mouth with a hand and shuddered. Yet for all the grime and dilapidation of the tiny motel room, she’d rather be there with Justin than in luxury with Randall.

  Justin flipped on a lamp between the beds and walked over to his guitar case. Taking out the instrument, he sat in one of two mismatched armchairs. It rocked unsteadily as he settled in it.

  Tess chafed her arms and paced, still not able to shake the uneasy chill of having seen her face on the flier. Randall’s men were close. She knew they were, sensed it instinctively. Her stomach rioted at the prospect, and she drew a deep breath for composure. What good would it do her now if she lost her cool? She had to try to stay calm.

  From the side pocket of her purse, she pulled a women’s magazine she’d bought earlier when they’d stopped for gasoline and drinks. She settled on one of the beds and flipped to the front page. Justin plucked idly while she tried futilely to read. After a few moments, she gave up the illusion and turned her attention to Justin and his guitar.

  She watched him play, his face the picture of contentment, and she reflected on the day they’d spent together. Their conversation had covered his sweet tooth, his childhood crush on his third-grade teacher, and his preference for the Braves over the Astros. He’d had to tell her the teams played baseball.

  She’d told him how she and Angela had dodged and lied to Children’s Services to avoid being put in foster homes after their parents’ deaths in a car accident when she was fourteen. She’d carefully avoided mention of how Angela had eked out a living for them in the months that followed.

  She’d forgiven him for his dictatorial thwarting of her attempt to flee that morning. He doggedly insisted that he had to protect her, had to see her safely freed from Randall’s threat. His determination and conviction made him more admirable in her eyes.

  Observing Justin through the day, she learned that fiery passion lit his eyes whenever he talked about his music, that a dimple dented his cheek when he flashed the lopsided grin that said he was teasing, and that he tended to touch her—frequently.

  He often squeezed her shoulder or patted her arm or rested his hand at her back as they walked into a gas station to buy a snack. The frequent contact proved maddening and wholly unlike the cold, possessive way Randall touched her. She craved Justin’s touch and missed it when he took his hand away.

  Through the course of the day, sharing snippets of her life with Justin, hearing about his youth and family, giggling over nothing, and teasing about everything, she’d found a closeness to him that surprised her. The freedom to express her opinion and joke with him refreshed her. With him, she blossomed to life like a flower receiving rain after lacking water for too long.

  How was it possible that she could feel more connected to a man she’d known for two days than to the man she’d known for thirteen years?

  But allowing herself to form any expectations from him meant trouble. He’d go his own way soon and pursue his dream in Nashville while she hid herself in Anytown, USA. They had no future together. She repeated that fact to herself over and again. And still she longed for his tenderness, hungered for it after years in a stark relationship.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, still playing softly and interrupting her musings. “I think you’d like John Michael Montgomery.”

  “Oh? Is he a friend of yours?”

  He chuckled warmly. “No.”

  Justin began playing a new melody then sang about a girl who thought he could rope the moon. He paused in the middle of the ballad and smiled at Tess. “That is John Michael Montgomery.”

  “I like him.” She returned a grin. “More.”

  He finished the song then sang about a love he swore would always be there.

  “You also might like Ty Herndon.” Justin sang another ballad then listed a half dozen other country balladeers and introduced her to their music.

  She listened with a rapt fascination to his voice, studied the flicker of light in his eyes, and watched the way his fingers caressed and plucked the guitar strings. She remembered how those fingers felt when he touched her. Strong but gentle. Warm.

  Heat collected inside her at the thought.

  Her gaze drank in his rugged, square jaw, straight nose and seductive lips. “You know, Mr. Boyd, speaking as an experienced marketing professional, your promotional staff is going to love you when you sign your first recording contract.”

  Raising his gaze, he arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “With that face, those eyes, your smile, you’re an easy sell. You’re going to have legions of female fans, dying to get their hands on you.”

  He ducked his head for a moment then gave her a flirtatious wink. “Thanks, doll. But what about you? Will you be one of my fans?”

  “I already am.” Her answer rolled off her tongue before she stopped to realize what she’d said. The smile that blossomed on his face reflected his appreciation of her support, her compliment of
his appearance, and . . . something more. A tingle skittered over her skin, and she tried to refocus her thoughts.

  But something in the way Justin looked at her while he sang the lyrics about love and lovers mesmerized her, almost made her believe he meant the things he was singing to her.

  Her brain said the notion was ridiculous. Justin was a performer who’d mastered the technique of engaging his audience. Period. Perhaps, because her life with Randall had lacked tenderness and affection, her soul thirsted for it and imagined it where nothing existed.

  She’d never heard an endearment or expression of love from Randall and had learned not to expect any. And sex had been something to endure while Randall groped and satisfied himself with no consideration for her pain or pleasure. With Randall, sex had been rough, fast and crude, and he’d often turned the experience into a form of humiliation or punishment for her. Yet she had numbed herself to what was happening, to the suffering she endured, fearing retribution. As long as she gave Randall no reason to be upset, she could actually believe at times that her life wasn’t so bad after all. She could convince herself that the empty existence, the bleak days and long nights, were better than any other options.

  She’d lied to herself.

  With a shudder, she conjured up an image of her last night with Randall and the brutal way he’d forced himself on her. The memory made her skin crawl.

  “Nobody writes a ballad like a country ballad,” Justin said, drawing her mind back to the present. She forced the horrid picture of Randall’s leering face out of her mind and tried to infuse humor in her voice.

  “Mr. Boyd, are you trying to convert me to a country fan?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Tryin’ my darnedest. How am I doing so far?” His devilish grin made Tess’s heart patter.

  Randall would be livid to know she was alone in a cheap motel room with another man. He’d be out of his mind with jealousy and possessive rage to think of Tess anywhere near a man of Justin’s appeal, especially if he knew how often she pictured Justin as her lover.