Wishes At First Light. Joanne Rock

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ there are some of you who don’t consider yourselves public speakers, either, and yet you’re raising your voices to point out a monster in our midst to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else. Thank you for being brave enough to do that.”

      Erin Finley cheered and slung an arm around her sister Heather. Amy silently rubbed Heather’s back. Maybe Amy and Erin were just here to support their sister.

      “I read a book recently,” Nina continued, her expression grave. “And the author wrote that it only takes one voice—at just the right pitch—to start an avalanche.”

      “Amen,” Daisy Spencer said softly.

      “I want to thank you ladies for starting the avalanche that’s putting away Jeremy Covington for the rest of his days,” Nina continued. “Now, go get your nails done, have a cupcake and some champagne to celebrate your awesomeness.”

      Gabriella ended up doing all those things. Over the next hour she had her fingers and toes painted in rose-petal pink since she wasn’t the artsy type like Erin, who painted a checkerboard on her index finger and all the other nails in alternating white and red.

      But as Gabriella finally retrieved her coat to go home, she had to admit that she liked how her fingers looked with the pink nail polish. She’d had fun tonight. She liked hearing about what was going on in Heartache recently. And she even took a bit of pleasure learning how her brother had beat up Jeremy Covington when he and his son, J. D. Covington, were trying to kidnap Heather. Zach had downplayed his role when he’d shared the story with Gabriella, but Heather’s version was far more exciting.

      Maybe she’d find healing here during this trial after all. If she wasn’t called to take the stand, she would benefit from being here when her attacker was convicted. And she’d promised herself she would speak to Clayton privately in the hope that confiding in him about the role he’d unknowingly played in that night would ease some of her old phobias about men and sex. It had taken her a long time to lose her virginity after that night, and her counselor had explained that her brain had associated sensual feelings with pain. She’d been too young to have positive sensual feelings prior to that awful night.

      Although she’d successfully had sex—nice, normal, not painful sex even if it wasn’t anything to write home about—she still dealt with a strange and sickening mental cross-wiring of the sensual and the terrifying. If clearing the air with Clayton had any chance of helping her to heal fully, it was worth the embarrassment of wading through those old chats to untwine his real messages from the ones her stalker had sent.

      Making quick work of her goodbyes, she edged through the salon door and out into the empty street. She’d parked a few doors down and by now, the only cars out here belonged to the women who’d attended the salon night. So it wasn’t like she worried about walking that short distance alone in the dark.

      There were streetlights and she’d gotten over those old phobias about strange men launching themselves at her from dark corners just beyond her peripheral vision. Truly, she had. It’s just that she was back in Tennessee. And she’d been talking about Jeremy Covington. And Clayton.

      Gulping in deep swallows of night air, she hoped some yoga breathing would settle her pulse rate. Maybe she should see if Clayton was still awake. It would be easy enough to spot his bike in front of one of the motel cabins.

      She reached for her car door, pausing long enough to look up at the stars overhead in the cold night. A streak of light flashed through the sky almost as soon as she tipped her head back. A shooting star.

      She made a wish on it without thought. Wishing for the first thing that came to mind.

      Opening her eyes, she had to laugh. She could have wished for healing herself. Or a good trial outcome. Peace of mind for all the great women she’d visited with tonight.

      Instead, she’d wished for a single, uncomplicated kiss from Clayton Travers.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      CLAYTON SAT OUTSIDE his motel cabin long after sunset, ignoring the fact that his fingertips were going numb in the cold night air. It wasn’t good for his guitar, he knew, to play in this kind of weather. Changes in temperature caused the wood to expand and contract. But banging out a tune was more for relaxation than anything. He liked to think his two-hundred-dollar pawn shop purchase helped him avoid the shrink’s chair, mellowing him out when he was wound too tight. His foster mom had helped him find ways to regulate the frenetic energy that churned through him after he’d gone nuts at his guidance counselor’s suggestion he try medication.

      In theory, he knew the meds helped some people. But as a kid, he’d been scared spitless that any drug would be a gateway to turning into his parents. What kind of chance did he have of avoiding addiction given his genetics?

      Guitar picking was safer. If a little tougher on the ears of unsuspecting neighbors.

      Holding the last note of a sixties folk tune that Bob Dylan made famous, Clay debated going inside for the night. With his feet propped on the narrow porch rail and his back jammed into a corner on the wooden chair he’d borrowed from the dinette set inside, his joints had gone stiff from staying in one position for too long. Or from the cold. He pulled his feet off the railing just as a car turned off the interstate and into the parking lot.

      The white Ford sedan had out-of-state plates. A rental, he guessed. And since there weren’t many guests staying in the motel cottages, he paid attention to who stepped out of the vehicle and under a streetlamp.

      Gabriella.

      “Are you going to play anything or is that just for show?” she called as she strode his way, a warm smile on her face.

      She looked pretty. Dressed up a bit, like she’d been out to dinner with friends. Pale hair skimmed her shoulder where it fell loose from a ponytail. She wore a long gray dress belted over dark tights, plus a lightweight trench coat. Shiny earrings bobbed in the porch light as she leaned on his railing.

      “I guarantee that if I play for you, it’ll be the last time you ask me to play.” Setting the guitar aside, he clapped a hand on the arm of the wooden rocker. “You’re welcome to have a seat if it’s not too cold for you.”

      He asked because it was the neighborly thing to do. And because he was more than a little curious about her. But he was surprised when she joined him without hesitation.

      “Thank you.” Stepping up onto the narrow planks, she seated herself carefully. There was a slow deliberation in the way she moved, as though she never rushed into anything. “I’m glad for the fresh air. I went to a Salon Night in town for a bunch of the women who are giving testimony in the Covington trial and it’s good to clear my head from the scent of fingernail polish.” She waggled her shiny nails, studying the pink polish. “I’m not usually one to spend time in a salon, but it was fun.”

      She wore no ring. He’d noticed that over breakfast, too. And it occurred to him he wasn’t usually the kind of guy whose eye gravitated to a woman’s left hand.

      “Pretty,” he observed lightly. “And probably a good distraction tonight when everyone is keyed up before the trial.”

      “About that.” She tugged on the cuff of one loose sleeve of her coat, fingering the dark button that decorated a taupe-colored strap. “I’m definitely keyed up, which is part of the reason I ran out at breakfast this СКАЧАТЬ