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As he pulled away from the garage, her feelings jumbled inside her as if they were being tossed around by a giant blender. He was gruff and kind, clueless about some things, wise about othe
rs, and she wanted him so badly her teeth ached.
He drove to the center of town and pulled into a parking space that sat directly in front of the Petticoat Junction Cafe.
"Come on. We're going to get ourselves some, ice cream."
She caught his arm before he could open the door of the truck. The ice-cream window was enjoying a lively pre-dinnertime business, and she understood exactly what he intended to do. First the tires, and then this. It was too much. Her throat felt tight. "Thanks, Gabe, but I have to fight my own battles."
He wasn't impressed by her show of independence. His jaw set, and he glared at her. "Get your butt out of this truck right now. You're having ice cream if I have to hold your mouth open and shove it down your throat."
So much for his sensitivity. She didn't have much choice, so she pushed open the door. "This is my problem, and I can handle it myself."
His door banged behind him. "Like you're doing such a terrific job."
"I want a raise." She stomped toward the sidewalk "If you can afford to throw money around on tires and ice cream, you can pay me something better than slave wages."
"Smile for the nice people."
She felt the stares of the adults around them: mothers with small children, a pair of highway workers in dirty T-shirts, a businesswoman with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Only a group of boys on skateboards seemed disinterested in the fact that the wicked Widow Snopes was treading on Salvation's holy turf.
Gabe approached the teenage girl standing behind the window. "Is the boss around?"
She chomped once on her gum and nodded.
"Go get him, will you?"
As they waited, Rachel noticed a clear plastic canister sitting by the window with a sign on it that said Emily's Fund and held a picture of a curly-haired toddler with a smiling scamp's face. The sign beneath asked for help paying the child's medical expenses as she fought leukemia. She thought of the woman with the parrot earrings.
You're our last hope, Mrs. Snopes. Emily needs a miracle.
For a moment, she had a hard time drawing in enough air to breathe. She concentrated on opening her purse, drawing out a precious five-dollar bill, and slipping it into the slot.
Don Brady's face appeared in the window. "Hey, Gabe, how's it—" He broke off as he spotted Rachel.
Gabe pretended not to notice that anything was wrong. "I was telling Rachel here that you make the best hot-fudge sundaes in town. How 'bout whippin' us up a couple of them. Large."
Don hesitated, and Rachel could see him trying to find a way out. He didn't want to serve her, but he wasn't prepared to defy one of the town's favorite sons.
"Uh… Sure, Gabe."
Minutes later, they walked away from the window with two large hot-fudge sundaes neither of them wanted to eat. As they headed back to Gabe's truck, they didn't think to look across the street. If they had, they might have have seen a small, wiry man smoking in the shadows and watching them.
Russ Scudder ground out his cigarette. Bonner must be fucking her, he decided. Otherwise, he wouldn't have replaced those tires so fast. That explained why Bonner had hired her. So he could fuck her.
Russ shoved his fists in his pockets and thought about his wife. He'd gone to see her yesterday, but she'd refused to talk to him. Jesus, he missed her. If only he had a job, he might be able to get her back, but Rachel Snopes had taken the only job anyone in town had offered him.
He was glad he'd slashed her tires last night. He hadn't planned on doing it, but then he'd seen her car, and there was nobody around, and it had felt good. It had felt so good he'd gone up to the Glide cottage a few hours later with a can of spray paint and painted Sinner on the wall just like some Bible banger. Maybe now she'd get the idea that she wasn't wanted around here.
He thought old G. Dwayne might have liked what he'd done last night. Despite his Rolex watches and fancy suits, Dwayne had been a good ol' boy. He'd never meant anybody harm, and Russ knew for a fact that he prayed a lot and loved God and everything. It was Rachel had made him go bad. Dwayne wanted to keep her happy, so he'd dipped too deep into the Temple's bank account to buy her the things she nagged him for.
It was Rachel's greedy ways that had brought down the Temple and Dwayne Snopes. Her greed had brought down Russ, too, because if it weren't for her, he'd still be working security, still working the job that had made him feel like a man.
And now she was settling back into Salvation, just as if she hadn't done anything wrong. Now she was using Gabe the same way she'd used G. Dwayne, but the crazy son of a bitch was too stupid to see what she was doing.
Russ had tried to talk to his ex-wife about Rachel and how she was to blame for everything bad that had happened to him, but she didn't understand. She didn't understand how none of this was Russ's fault.
He needed a drink, and he turned toward Donny's place. A couple of drinks would settle him down. They'd make him forget that he had no job and that his wife had kicked him out and that he couldn't take care of his kid right.
