Chasing Dreams

by Deborah Raney

  “What do you want to bet?”

  “A glass of champagne?”

  Luke shot Mateo the stink eye and gave him a good-natured punch in the biceps.

  But he couldn’t quell the question that hounded him: Where would Mateo be two years from now?

  CHAPTER 5

  JOANNA’S PHONE TRILLED FROM THE kitchen table. She sighed. She’d just sat down for the first time all evening after a house-cleaning marathon to get the cottage ready for Airbnb guests this weekend.

  “Jo?” Phylicia called from her bedroom. “Your phone’s ringing.”

  “I hear it.”

  “You’d better take the call. It could be about the booking.”

  Jo huffed and lumbered off the sofa. Why had she let her sisters talk her into using her cell phone for the Airbnb number? She picked up her phone and looked at the caller ID. “Oh! It’s about time.”

  Phylicia came from her room and peered over Jo’s shoulder. “Who is it?”

  “It’s that DJ I’ve been trying to book. A company called MO-DJ. They had the best reviews online. Pray they’ll do it on such short notice.” She held up a hand for silence before pressing Accept. “Hello?”

  “Yes, this is Luke from MO-DJ. I’m returning a call from Joanna Chandler.”

  “This is Jo. Thank you for getting back to me.”

  “I apologize it took so long. I’ve had someone … a friend … in the hospital and I’ve gotten way behind.”

  “I’m so sorry. And no problem. I’m hoping to book one of your DJs for my sister’s wedding.”

  A chuckle came across the line. “That would be me. I mean, MO-DJ is a one-man show. I’m it.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Her optimism flew out the window. “Well, I know this is really short notice”—she shot Phee a look meant to place all the blame in her sister’s court if this fell through—“but the wedding is June 24. Is there any chance you have an opening then? Mid-afternoon until evening?”

  He gave a low whistle. “As in this June 24?”

  She nodded. “That’s exactly what I said when my sister—the bride—told me. I know it’s short notice. Blame my sister.” She frowned at Phee.

  He blew a sigh into the phone. “I wish I could help her out, but my first open date this year isn’t until October.”

  “I understand. Is there anyone else in the area you could recommend?”

  “I guess I could give you a couple of names in Cape Girardeau, but on this short of notice, I’m guessing they’re already booked as well. I’m sorry.” The man’s voice sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Well, I knew it was a long shot. Thank you … Luke, was it?”

  “Yes … Sorry. Lukas Blaine. But you can call me Luke. I wish I could help, but I hope you’ll try again if you ever need a DJ. I can email you some information or you can find me online.” He rattled off a website URL.

  But she barely heard, wracking her brain to think why he sounded so familiar and where she’d heard that name. It came to her in a flash. Lukas. The man who’d met with Trent after the incident with Maria Castillo. For the sake of confidentiality, she’d best not mention to him that they’d met before. Still, she had a hard time envisioning the man she’d talked to as a wedding DJ. He’d seemed so somber and serious. Of course, he’d been in a stressful situation.

  Given the circumstances, Trent had decided not to press charges against the woman who’d “assaulted” him—Cinda’s word—and Jo had almost forgotten about the ordeal.

  She thanked Lukas and ended the call, then glared up at Phylicia. “I guess you’re just not going to have music at your wedding.”

  Phee gave her an infuriatingly serene smile and shrugged. “Fine by me. One less thing to worry about.”

  “Phee, you can’t not have music at your wedding!”

  “Settle down, sister. We can set up some speakers and maybe … play the wedding march on somebody’s phone.”

  Detecting the trace of humor in her sister’s eyes, Jo clapped a hand over her heart. “I cannot believe what my ears are hearing. That would be so tacky!”

  Phee giggled. “As long as Quinn and I are married by the end of the day, that’s all I care about.”

  Jo had to admit she loved having the carefree version of her older sister back. After Mom’s death, Phylicia had become cynical and sullen. Falling in love with Quinn Mitchell had brought the sparkle back to her eyes. And they were all beneficiaries.

  Jo grabbed the notebook she’d filled with to-do lists for the wedding. “Where’s Britt? We seriously need to sit down and iron out some details or you will not be married by the end of that day!”

  “She’s painting in Near Cottage.” They’d been living in the larger cottage on their property and had designated the two smaller cabins “Near Cottage” and “Far Cottage” until they could come up with better names for them. But the names had stuck, and now Phee was even working on nameplates to hang over the doors of the cabins so guests could be sure they were at the right place.

  “Britt’s there by herself?”

  Jo smiled. “I know. Isn’t it amazing? I told her I’d help her later this evening. She’s worked harder than any of us on this place. Especially since the cabins were ready to decorate.”

  “It seems like she’s really enjoying the work too.”

  Jo frowned. “Or maybe she just feels guilty she hasn’t found a job yet.”

  “Do you think she’s really looking that hard?”

  “Maybe not. And really, Phee … Why don’t we just relieve her of any guilt?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, as long as there’s work to keep her busy, it might as well be her doing the jobs—especially if she enjoys it. If she wasn’t doing it, we’d have to hire it done. Especially now that we have a wedding to plan.”

  “It’s fine by me to have Britt do the work. We’re paying the bills with no problem, and that’s before any income through Airbnb. Speaking of which”—Phee opened her laptop—“have you checked our bookings today?”

  “No. Not for a couple of days, actually. Why?”

  “No reason. I just thought in case someone had questions or there was a cancellation.”

  “If you’ll check our messages, I’ll go get Britt so we can iron out this wedding stuff.”

  “Deal.” Phee opened the browser and started typing.

  Jo slipped a sweatshirt from a hook by the door and started down to the cabins. The night air was cool, but the lights blazing from every window of the nearest cabin warmed her. Jo could see her little sister moving about inside the small stone house and she could just hear the twangy chords of Britt’s beloved country music.

  Only a few months ago, Britt had been afraid to stay by herself in the house in town where they’d grown up. Now she was working away in the cabin by herself after dark.

  A black-and-white furball streaked by the window. Melvin. Britt did have Mom’s tuxedo cat to keep her company. And to scare away any mice that might still be in residence.

  Jo climbed the steps and gave two short raps on the door before opening it, so as not to alarm Britt. “Hey, sis.” The pungent smells of paint, varnish, and new carpet assailed her.

  Britt’s head jerked up and her eyes went wide. “You scared me half to death.”

  “Sorry. I knocked.”

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “You should have some windows open in here!” Joanna crossed the living room and strained to raise a window that apparently had been painted shut.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got windows open in both bedrooms.” Britt went to turn down the music blaring from her phone in the kitchen. Blake Shelton.

  Jo rolled her eyes. How three sisters had grown up in the same house yet come away with such different tastes in music, Jo would never understand. Britt had her country music, Jo preferred jazz and fusion. And Phylicia was all about Bach and Mozart and the classics—although Jo had noticed that Quinn actually persuaded Phee to add some country artists to her playlists
.

  “Sorry.” Britt returned, paintbrush in hand. “What’s up? Did you come to help me paint?”

  “Nice try, but no. Phee’s home and we really need to iron out some wedding details. Can you take a break?”

  Britt sighed, but put her paintbrush down. “Sure. I could use a break. Give me five minutes and I’ll be over.”

  For the first time, Jo looked around the cabin, seeing what Britt had accomplished. “This is looking good, sis! Painting everything white makes the place look twice as big.” From ceiling to walls to woodwork, everything had been painted a crisp white, and Britt was giving the baseboards a second coat—dove white, Jo thought the shade was called. “I was ready to fight you two for the bigger cottage, but this might be even better.”

  She was halfway kidding, but Britt’s expression turned serious. “I think we should offer Phee the cottage, don’t you? Phee and Quinn, I mean.”

  Jo nodded. “I was thinking that too. But I wonder if they’ll move out to his place instead? Has she said anything?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  When the three of them bought the property together, they knew things might change once one of them got married, but they never dreamed that would happen so quickly. “Let’s go talk to Phee. She’s so gaga for that man, I’m not sure she’s thinking straight.”

  Britt laughed. “You’re just jealous.”

  Jo started to protest, but opted for honesty. “I am a little. Mostly, I’m happy to see Phee so happy. I really am.”

  Britt sighed again. “Me too. I just wish Mom had lived to see it happen. To be at Phee’s wedding. And ours.”

  The thought cast a momentary pall of melancholy. “But at least Mom knew Quinn.”

  “Yes, and loved him. She would have approved.”

  That much was true. And the feeling was mutual. They all loved Quinn Mitchell. His presence in their lives had filled some of the empty places left by Mom’s death and Dad’s move to Florida. Quinn was an anchor for them all.

  Dad would be back to walk Phee down the aisle, of course, but it was starting to look like he was settling in to his job—and a church—in Tampa, and Jo had resigned herself to the truth that part of her father’s grieving process meant getting away from the place where he and Mom had lived most of their lives.

  It hurt a little to have him distance himself from them, but Jo wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t have done the same in his shoes. A fresh start. In a way, that was what this property—The Cottages on Poplar Brook Road—was for Jo and her sisters.

  She and Britt locked up and walked across to the cottage for their “planning meeting.” They’d no sooner opened the porch door than Phee handed Jo her phone.

  “It’s that DJ guy,” she whispered. “I answered when I saw it was him.”

  Jo nodded and took the phone from her. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Joanna. This is Luke again, from MO-DJ. You may have found someone already, but in case not, I wanted to let you know that my June 24 wedding just cancelled.”

  “Cancelled?” Why would someone cancel so close to their wedding date?

  “Yep. The slot is yours if you still want it.”

  “Oh! We do. Yes. It’s my sister who’s getting married. Phylicia Chandler is her name.”

  “Yes, I remember. Should I contact her instead?”

  “Actually, that’s who answered my phone. Hang on just a moment …” She tossed Phee a questioning look.

  But Phee shook her head and took a step back, motioning for Jo to handle the call.

  “I’m serving as Phylicia’s wedding planner, so it’s fine to keep my name as the contact and—”

  “That’s great. I just need to get some quick information from you … since we’re getting a late start. I assume you have a venue reserved for the wedding?”

  She hesitated. “I should’ve mentioned this earlier, I guess. It’s going to be an outdoor wedding.”

  “That’s fine. I haven’t run into any local venues where that was a problem. I assume you’ll have a tent—or at least an indoor alternative site?”

  “Yes. We’ll have a tent.”

  Phee looked askance at her. They hadn’t talked about any of this yet, but Jo wasn’t about to let this DJ go. It was a small miracle he’d had this cancellation.

  Jo waved a hand and turned away so the comical faces Phee was pulling wouldn’t distract her. “The wedding and reception will be on our property on the edge of Langhorne.”

  There was a slight pause before he replied. “I assume there’s power to the site?”

  “Um … there will be. I should have you talk to the groom about that. He’s a contractor, and he assured us we could get power up there, but I don’t know what he had in mind.”

  “Up there?”

  “It’s a clearing up in the woods on our property. There’s an old wooden stairway to get up there. It’s not much of a climb, but it’s on the rustic side.”

  “Hmm. You might need to rent a generator to make that all work.”

  “Let me give you my future brother-in-law’s number.” She read Quinn’s name and number off her phone. “And … I probably should mention this—so it’s not awkward later—I think you and I have met before.”

  “Oh?”

  “I work as an administrative assistant to Trenton Pritchert. Weren’t you in our offices a few days ago? I took your information …”

  “Oh. Yes, that was me. You were the woman at the reception desk? Long brown hair. Blue eyes? Green dress?”

  She couldn’t help the smile that came. “That was me.” He’d noticed all that in the five minutes they’d talked?

  “I thought your voice sounded familiar.”

  “Yes, I recognized yours too. I thought I should mention it. In case that makes you … uncomfortable.”

  “No. Not unless it’s a problem for you.”

  “How is Mrs. Castillo? Maria?” She probably shouldn’t have asked, given that she’d pleaded confidentiality when he asked about the incident at the office.

  He cleared his throat, hesitating longer before answering. “She’s not doing well. I don’t know if you are aware … Her cancer is terminal.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” He cleared his throat again and became all business. “Well, glad this worked out after all. The DJ date. I’ll get in touch with Quinn Mitchell and we’ll get everything lined up.”

  They hung up on a brighter note, but Jo was haunted by the timbre his voice had taken on when he’d thanked her for her offer of sympathy. He’d said earlier that “a friend” had been in the hospital, and his response now to Jo’s comment about the woman’s illness sounded like the tone of a man who had a personal stake in the outcome.

  And though she certainly understood and felt deep compassion for the woman’s plight, if she were honest, she was far more worried that something might interfere with MO-DJ being able to do Phee’s wedding and reception. He’d said himself he was a one-man show.

  It would be a difficult conversation—and maybe she was wrong to assume—but she needed to know for sure that Lukas Blaine could be depended on. Or at least that he had a contingency plan in place should something happen.

  CHAPTER 6

  IT’S BAD, LUKE. REAL BAD.” Mateo’s voice wavered. “The nurse said she might not make it until morning.”

  Luke gripped the phone and glanced at the clock on his computer. He moved a pile of ad invoices from one side of his desk to the other as if that would get them processed and mailed. “They told you that?” What were they thinking to give that kind of information to a kid?

  “They didn’t know I heard.” Mateo said it as if he had done something wrong.

  “Are you at the hospital?” Luke was surprised to find his own voice a little unsteady. He was glad the boy couldn’t see his face. It was quiet at the radio station this morning, but nevertheless, he got up and closed the door to his office. “Is someone with you, buddy?”

  “We’re home now. The
re’s a hospital nurse with Mama. But she’s kind of out of it. I rode in the ambulance with her but … they made me stay in the waiting room.”

  “Wait, buddy. Slow down. They took her in an ambulance?”

  “Yeah. She was bleeding so bad. It was everywhere … the blood. Can you come, Luke? Please?”

  “Of course. But you’re home now?”

  “Yes. A nurse came here. I think they said she was a hospital nurse.”

  “Oh … Hospice?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Can you just come, Luke?”

  “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up and grabbed his keys. As he passed the reception desk, he told Fran what was going on. “I was already taking off for an appointment this afternoon, so I probably won’t be back today. If Rich asks, I’ll get those invoices out first thing tomorrow.”

  “Rich will understand. You go.” The receptionist waved him off with a sympathetic smile.

  He headed for his car in the KQOZ parking lot. But he wasn’t so sure the station manager would understand. Luke was already almost a week behind on getting the ad billings out this month, and it wasn’t like a radio station their size in a little town like Langhorne had money sitting in the bank. But he couldn’t think about that now. Mateo needed him.

  Maria needed him.

  He’d have to figure out a way to slip away from Maria’s this afternoon. If he missed his appointment with the attorney, who knew how long it would take to get in again. There apparently had been no cancellations, and he’d had to wait more than two weeks for this appointment.

  After driving too fast across town to Maria’s apartment near the university campus, he parked in the lot behind the two-bedroom unit where she and Mateo lived on the second floor. He locked his car and jogged up the stairs to their front door, dreading what he might find inside. If Maria had been dismissed from the ER and hospice had been called, there must not be anything else the doctors could do. Over the past two years, poor Mateo had been in hospitals—and now an ambulance—more times than Luke cared to count.

  He raked a hand through hair that was in desperate need of a cut. This news shouldn’t chill him the way it did. Surely, deep down, he’d known this day was coming. Sooner rather than later. But he’d let himself pretend otherwise. Pretend that Maria would be the exception to the grim statistics of this cancer. That some miracle would save her, if only because her son needed her so desperately.