Rekindled Dreams (16 page)

For a moment, the crowd blurred like a fuzzy watercolor palette, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Maybe this was how people felt before they fainted. But she refused to fall apart in front of this crowd. She blinked several times to clear her vision.

To spy a glorious sight.

Moving with long strides,
Finnian emerged from the crowd and crossed the sidewalk. He stopped on her right side, squared his shoulders, and faced the reporter. “You got questions, Spengler? Direct them to me.”

“Oh, look, it’s
Finnian Quaid himself,” Grant sputtered. “Uh, I, uh, didn’t see you here.”

Vena spoke from the side of her mouth, “Neither did I.” Her heart beat faster with the realization his silent support had always been close by.

Spengler turned to the long-haired man slouching behind him and whispered.

The young man hitched up the strap of a power pack slung over his shoulder and leaned forward.

Straining to hear their conversation, all she caught was something that sounded like “live feed.” She peeked at Finn and was surprised at his stiff posture. Standing with legs planted wide and arms crossed over his chest, he seemed solid and imposing. On closer study, she noticed a vein pulsing in his forehead. His flinty stare made him seem mad enough to chew nails.

Grant panned the camera toward Finn. “Does your presence at this rally indicate support of Ms. Fenton’s claims?”

“No,” Finn snapped. “My presence is to accompany a friend.”

“Interesting. You refer to Ms. Fenton as a friend. A friend you signed out of jail just yesterday on your personal recognizance.” The reporter glanced around him at the crowd, but kept the lens directed toward Finn. “She must be a ‘good friend,’ to be staying at The Shamrocks although it’s closed to the general public.” He paused for a beat, scanned the crowd, and then continued, “For renovations.”

At the innuendo dripping in Spengler’s voice, Vena shot Finn a look that he ignored. God, how would this appear to his backers? Bailing her out might be explained as doing a favor for a family friend. But explaining the insinuation that her stay at The Shamrocks was an indiscretion would be tougher. A personal indiscretion that could compromise his political image.

“Is there a question in there?” Finn’s voice was flat, his eyes mere slits under dark, lowered brows.

“Well,” Spengler chuckled, “our viewers are interested in everything you do. You know, local boy makes good in state capitol. Fair-haired boy picks up the Quaid political torch. I’ve heard rumors you’re considering a campaign for an important legislative position.”

“Today h
as nothing to do with my career,” Finn interrupted with a sharp wave. He edged a step closer to Vena. “Ms. Fenton asked me to drive her, and I wanted to see she got a chance to say her piece. As I understand yesterday’s events, her rights were violated. I won’t let the police, or you, do that again.”

Spengler’s gaze brightened and flashed between Finn and Dwayne. “You believe she was mistreated by the police department?”

His head bobbed in a short nod. “I doubt she should have been arrested—”

“You tell him,
Finnian,” Ruth Maguire yelled.

Cheers emitted from the Gray Ladies, and the protest signs bounced over the heads of the crowd.

Tootie stepped forward. “Did he have to pull his gun? Dwayne was being a bully, just like always.” She indicated the other Gray Ladies with a sweep of her hand. “We’re here to demonstrate that the women of Dry Creek stick together.”

“I’m with you,
Tootie.” Miss Pearl piped up.

Hazel Sims shook her fist. “Up with sisterhood.”

“Keep our right to walk the streets safe.”

Deputy Dwayne blew his shrill police whistle and held up his hands.

The crowd quieted and shifted their attention.

“Simmer down, folks,” the deputy said. “We’ve indulged,
er, allowed Ms. Fenton enough time for her little show. Or whatever this was supposed to be.”

“Really?” Vena’s voice rose, and the hair twitched on the back of her neck. She was being indulged? How dare he be so condescending? “I have the c-constitutional right to s-state my opinion.” She stumbled on the sentence as her peripheral vision caught the video camera now pointed in her direction. This opportunity to explain herself was too important to get tongue-tied.

Finn cut her a questioning look and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “What are you doing, Vena?”

“Defending myself,” she whispered and then squared her stance. Knowing Finn stood at her side made her bold, and she could speak without stuttering. “It’s true, I haven’t lived in this town for many years, but I remember growing up here, and my expectations have stayed the same. Women, young and old, shouldn’t have to worry about their personal safety when they walk the streets. Especially in a small, friendly town like Dry Creek.”

She watched as people bent toward one another nodding, and heard murmurs of agreement throughout the crowd. “If I wanted to walk down Main Street at midnight, regardless of who I am or how I’m dressed—as long as I’m not hurting anyone—I should be able to without fear of arrest.” She paused and glared at Dwayne for a moment. “The fact I’m not carrying identification isn’t reason enough to put me in jail.” With her last statement, she lifted her fist into the air.

A roar of applause sounded from the crowd.

Vena nodded and took several breaths. She opened her mouth to continue, but her mind was blank.
Where am I going with this speech?

Mr. Spengler stepped forward, impatience tightening his features, and the ever-present camera pointed directly at her.

All of a sudden, Vena’s energy flagged, and exhaustion swept through her body. The base of her skull ached with a steady beat, and her scalp felt two sizes too small. She didn’t want to face this nosy man or his innuendoes any longer. After drawing in a deep breath, she blurted, “In conclusion, I urge everyone to look out for your neighbors.”

For a moment, the crowd remained hushed, and then broke into applause.

She turned to her left and was greeted by Finn’s warm smile and a thumbs-up sign.

He jerked his head and rolled his eyes to the right.

Now that the speech was over, relief flooded her.

“Ms. Fenton,” Spengler called.

Her quick retreat was blocked, and her stomach knotted. “Thank you for your support, folks. I really appreciate it.” As she waved at the crowd, she edged toward Finn.

Two women Vena recognized from the previous evening approached and congratulated her.

“Ladies, stand aside for the camera,” Spengler snapped. “Mr. Quaid, now that Ms. Fenton’s speech is over, maybe you’ll answer my earlier question.”

Finn waited for the ladies to finish speaking with Vena. “Depends.”

A couple more ladies pressed forward, and Vena reluctantly accepted their congratulations. She hadn’t anticipated being surrounded, and she drew in a deep breath. All she wanted was to get away from the red blinking light on that damn video camera.

“Mr. Quaid.” Spengler raised his voice to be heard over the half dozen women now surrounding Vena. “What is your stance on Ms. Fenton’s accusation of police brutality?”

Over the chatter of female voices, Vena noted intensity in the reporter’s tone and strained to hear the exchange between Spengler and Finn. More women pushed forward, and Vena swayed. Perspiration broke out on her forehead, and her stomach rolled. The ocean-like movement of the crowd scared her, and she could no longer stand steady on her own. In desperation, she reached out to anchor herself.

Unaware she’d made a sound, she felt Finn grab her hand as he stepped right in front of her. With a gasp of relief, she clung to it and used his broad back as a shield, her free hand clutching the side of his shirt.

“Spengler,” Finn’s voice cut through the chatter. “I’ve told you I was here just to support Ms. Fenton—as a friend. After hearing her statement today, I agree with everything she said.”

“So, you believe the streets aren’t safe for women to walk?” Spengler wheedled.

“That’s not what I said.” He spoke in a modulated tone. “I support Ms. Fenton’s observation that women should walk the streets without police interference. Residents of a small town like Dry Creek should watch out for each other.” With a nod, he glanced around the crowd. “Right, folks?”

As if waiting for that cue, the supportive crowd surged forward and surrounded them both. Bodies crushed close, and the congratulatory voices increased to an unbearable pitch. Vena fought her rising panic and wished she could become invisible. The claustrophobia was almost as bad as when she’d been locked in the cell. Leaning her forehead against Finn’s back, she closed her eyes, visualizing large spaces like the wide Montana sky and open, grass-filled prairie. The pressure on her hand increased, and she knew Finn sensed her distress.

“Finn,” she croaked. “I’m about to pass out. Take me home.” Through a haze, she heard him tell the crowd they were leaving and felt the buffeting as he moved against the tide of people. Their progress was slow, but she was aware Finn never raised his voice. As he moved toward their goal, he had a personal comment for most who spoke. He’d been born to this kind of scene and she, unable to fake a frozen smile, felt one hundred percent inadequate.

Nothing had ever sounded as good as the slam of the truck door that cocooned her from the crowd.

Finn climbed in and flashed a smile. “You did it, Vena. I’m proud of you.”

“What are you proud of?” She glanced to the side and shook her head. “I fell apart.”

“You spoke to all those people.” His gaze held hers. “By the time you finished, your voice was solid.”

Now that the event was over, she thought about her speech. “I do feel good about it.”

He started the engine and pulled the truck onto the street, headed for The Shamrocks. “Did your claustrophobia hit again?”

No use hiding how panicked she’d been. “The crowd made me feel hemmed in. Thanks for getting me through the well-wishers.” She leaned over to turn on the radio. “Let’s forget that mess and have some music.”

A popular country band beat out the final bars of their latest song and several advertisements followed. Vena leaned her head against the headrest and gazed out the side window. As they passed tree-lined streets, picket fences and flower gardens, she let her thoughts drift.

“Coming up on the Channel Three evening news,” a female voice announced. “Is police brutality running rampant in our small towns?”

Her stomach clenched into a tight knot. Vena locked gazes with Finn, noticing his tight lips and clamped jaw. “Can’t be.”

“Tune in for an exclusive interview with potential Senate candidate
Finnian Quaid from this afternoon’s demonstration in Dry Creek. Hear him defend the streetwalkers of that small Montana town. Details at six o’clock.”

WAITING FOR THE SIX
o’clock news had been sheer agony. Unable to stop herself, Vena imagined horrible consequences to that afternoon’s activities. Even though she’d watched two different broadcasts, she still couldn’t believe how Spengler distorted their words. He’d edited her statement so she sounded like an obnoxious outsider, demanding Dry Creek follow California’s laws. Thank goodness, someone at the station had the good sense to focus on the police protest and leave out the personal issue.

And poor
Finnian. After watching his interview with Spengler, he’d excused himself and left the room where they’d watched the news together. He must have headed to the closest phone to smooth over the situation with his backers. More upheaval she’d brought into his life.

Leaning back on the couch, Vena closed her eyes and thought of what she could have done differently. Instead, she saw a replay of Finn sweeping through the crowd after she thought he’d ducked out. Actually, he must have been watching from the sidelines.

At great risk to his political reputation, he’d stood beside her in front of the police station and championed her right to protest. Like the romantic hero from her much-loved fairytales, he’d defended her honor from Spengler’s small-minded accusations. With a touch of bravado, he’d rescued her from the pressing crowd and driven her to the safety of The Shamrocks—set against the backdrop of a fiery sunset radiating over nearby mountain tops—all accomplished with confidence and a soul-shattering kiss.

What?
Vena’s eyes popped open. Finn hadn’t kissed her in the light of day—their kiss had happened at night and inside the inn. She must have dozed off. Stretching forward, she sat upright, still wrapped in the larger-than-life images from her dream.

The phone in the hallway trilled.

She shook her head, dispelling remnants of the silly dream. If the phone was ringing, Finn must not be using it.

Again, the phone rang. So, why wasn’t he answering?

Dazed, she trudged toward the closest phone in the entryway.

“Shamrocks Inn.” The sound of her husky voice made her wonder how long she’d been asleep. “May I help you?”

“Anita Steffan speaking. Put me through to Vena Fenton’s room.”

“Anita—it’s me.” Vena glanced in the oval wall mirror bordered with etched rose petals and flinched. The image that stared back looked like a tornado victim—a grade five one at that.

“Vena? Why is your cellphone turned off? Are you doing desk duty?”

“I just answered the phone. Remember, I told you this place was informal.” Explaining The Shamrocks was a waste of breath. Anita only stayed in five-star hotels. She could never visualize a hallway phone, on-your-own meals, or, the ultimate sacrifice, shared bathrooms.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Vena. When you dive into small town life, you do it in a big way.” Anita laughed. “Not up in the Montana wilds just sitting on your hands, are you?”

Vena rolled her head in a slow circle, working out the kinks in her neck, and stifled a yawn. “What are you talking about?”

“The demonstration. Peach always washes you out. Couldn’t you have worn a brighter color for the camera? I thought you hated public speaking.”

“Anita.” Vena’s mind stumbled through her friend’s rambling. “I lost you at ‘peach’. Tell me what you saw.”

Anita sighed. “The so-called demonstration in your frontier town this afternoon.”

“Demonstration? You saw that?” Vena spoke through clenched teeth. “How?” Anita hated being interrupted, but the woman could digress to the point of driving a person crazy.

“I was relaxing in a tub of bubbles, and I heard a promo about some kind of protest against the police. I wasn’t paying attention until they announced the name of that town you’re in. And then I saw you—on the early news.”

Her ears buzzed. Not the national news...please. “Was it a major channel? What did they show?” She gripped the receiver until her fingers ached. A protest in a small Montana town made the news in Los Angeles. Why?

“Well, well, well,” Anita drawled, “I finally grabbed your attention.”

Vena’s gaze circled the room, searching for a clock. “What time is it there?”

“Are you all right, Vena? You sound funny.”

“The phone woke me, and I can’t see a clock from here.” Through the phone, Vena heard the muffled crinkle of shuffled papers. She visualized Anita calling from the desk in her apartment that was usually buried under a disarray of research material.

“Ah, there’s the clock. It’s nine-thirty-eight here.”

Running a hand over her face, Vena added the hour difference. How could she have slept for three hours? Oh, jeez, where was Finn?

“Are you still there? I need details. Maybe I’ll use a similar situation in one of my stories.”

Why did Anita sound so exited? “I’ll tell you later.” If her protest made the news, the intent was to damage Finn’s career. “What else was in the news bit?”

“The piece was really very short, and I’ve told you everything.” Anita chuckled. “Hey, how did you get the old ladies to carry the signs? They looked so authentic.”

“They volunteered. Did the spot show only me and the protest?”

“So who’s the hunk, and what’s this juicy rumor about an affair with a political hopeful? About time you had a love life. Go, Vena.”

Vena sagged against the wall. That’s the slant the piece had been given. She had to find
Finnian and warn him. He’d left the inn thinking he only had to explain away the ‘street walker’ misunderstanding. Dealing with the illicit affair issue would take more diplomacy.

She slid to the floor, burying her face on her knees. “How did an innocent walk through a small Montana town end up ruining the potential political career of a close friend?”

“I prefer the TV version. The one that proclaims you’ve finally added a little spice to your dating life. You know, ‘bam’, like that famous chef.”

“Anita.”

A deep sigh came through the telephone. “The hunk’s just a close friend. How close?”

“Stop.” This speculation was not helping. She had to talk with Finn.

“Don’t snap off my head.”

How she missed discussing her problems with her best friend. Her fingers scrubbed at her burning eyes. “If you only knew what I’ve been through the last couple days.”

“So fill me in. Please. Anything to distract me from that blinking cursor on my monitor.”

Ten minutes later, Vena ran out of details. “Anita, you would not believe how different this town is. People are worried about me because I’m Nana Gwen’s granddaughter, and for no other reason.” She sighed.

“And you like that?”

“Do I?” Vena straightened. “Being here does have its down side. Like when I got out of jail, and the Gray Ladies—”

“Out of jail? Back up. The report didn’t mention an arrest.”

“I’m embarrassed to admit it’s true.” She sucked in a breath, dread heavy in the pit of her stomach. “Do you think Nick saw this? Oh no, how will this look to the museum board?”

“Not everyone watches the same news channel.” Anita laughed. “A few days out of my sight and you’ve changed into this wild person. What were you in for?”

“Resisting arrest, mostly.” Vena blew the hair off her forehead. “Speaking of that, Anita, I’ve got to find Finn and warn him.”

“Do not hang up. Not before I hear the whole story.”

“Sorry. I’ll call tomorrow, once this whole thing settles down. Bye.” Being rude wasn’t like her but, at the moment, talking with Finn was more important.

The minute she hung up, the phone rang again. Vena debated about answering but didn’t have anything more to say to Anita. She reached behind the table and turned off the ringer, certain her friend would forgive her eventually.

Now, to find Finn. After searching the entire house, she leaned against the upstairs banister. Searching here was a waste of her energy. Based on his silent reaction to the news, she figured he’d gotten as far away as he could.

Her stomach growled, reminding her of this morning’s dubious remedy for a hangover. For the first time today, she was really hungry, and wondered what she’d find in the refrigerator. Taking the main staircase, she shot a glance out the front window to check for his truck. The driveway was empty.

Well, he had to come home sometime.

Within minutes, preparations for an avocado and tomato sandwich lay spread over the counter. As Vena reached into the drawer for a knife, the doorbell rang, and she stilled. Finn wouldn’t ring the bell, and she wanted to talk to no one else tonight. Closing her ears, she ignored it and continued with her supper preparation.

The bell pealed again…and again. Until her obligation to Finn and the Quaid family for allowing her to stay at The Shamrocks took over. Dragging her feet, Vena padded down the hallway to the front door and peeked through the gathered lace covering the narrow side window. Dread pinched her stomach. Biting back a groan, she smacked her forehead against the wall.

The perfect finale to an awful day. With a jerk, she yanked open the door and forced a smile. “Hello, Thia. What brings you here?”

Elthia
Fenton Madison, looking gorgeous with perfect makeup and every bleached hair in place, breezed into the entryway wearing a practiced smile. She adjusted the front hem of her sleek power suit jacket and brushed a speck of lint off her sleeve. “Well, well, baby sis...” Pausing, she leaned close and kissed the air near each of Vena’s cheeks. She walked farther into the house, craning her neck in every direction.

Vena re-rolled one sleeve of her T-shirt and tucked the hem into the belt of her denim skirt. The passage of time hadn’t changed much—she still felt like a rough tomboy next to her sister’s dainty perfection.

Turning, Thia ran a narrowed gaze over Vena’s appearance. “Good God, Elvena, you look like a train hit you.”

Really?
Vena grabbed the side seam of her skirt to keep her hand from taming her tousled hair. She refused to give Thia the satisfaction.

“One sight of the evening news, and I packed a bag to head straight here.”
Thia stepped closer and waved a perfectly manicured hand in her direction. “I came, of course, to salvage the absolute wreck you’ve made of poor Finnian’s life.”

Vena’s mind flashed with the memories of being bossed around by
Thia through their growing years. She’d hated being told what to wear, how to comb her hair, how to act and, especially, who to be seen with. Thia had not liked Moira Quaid as Vena’s best friend and never missed an opportunity to talk down Moira or her family. Several months after Thia had been dating Finnian, Vena had endured enough criticism and turned on her older sister.

“You’re saying Moira isn’t good enough to be my friend?” she’d asked.

Thia flipped her long blond hair over a shoulder and laughed. “Of course, she’s not. Her looks are passable but she has no natural charm or grace. And look at her family—her father works tearing apart houses, for heaven’s sakes.”

Vena ground her teeth. “She’s not my friend because of those things. I don’t believe you pick your friends like a new sweater or this week’s shade of nail polish. Friends come together because of who they are…you know, inside.”

“That’s just plain stupid. Friends have to serve a purpose. Being her friend won’t get you anywhere in this world.”

Taking a deep breath, Vena faced her sister. “If Moira’s not good enough to be my friend, tell me why you’re dating her oldest brother. They’re from the same family.”

Thia arched an eyebrow and looked down her nose at Vena. “That’s entirely different. He’s the president of the debate team and, therefore, the only guy in this hick town worthy enough to date me.”

Thia’s
calculating answer felt as cold in the recollection as it had in the telling. That was the day Vena’s naive admiration for her sister shrank to simple tolerance. Vena didn’t pretend to agree with or understand their vast differences. From that day forward, she’d only accepted the unchangeable fact they shared the same last name.

Unclenching her fists, Vena wiggled her fingers to release the tension. As usual around her sister, her psyche reverted to her five-year-old self, and her mental capabilities took a hike, leaving her far behind and scrambling to catch up. She’d hoped time would have cured this problem. No such luck.

“Hello?” Thia snapped her fingers in front of Vena’s face. “Anyone home? Really, Vena, if you don’t have anything intelligent to say, at least point me in Finnian’s direction. The way I see this disaster, there’s no time to lose.”

The fog in Vena’s brain cleared. Finn. “I don’t know where he is. Too bad, guess you’re out of luck.” She stepped forward and grabbed
Thia’s arm, turning her toward the door. “You’ll just have to come back tomorrow. Are you booked over at The Shelby Arms or are your rooms out in Havre?” Vena knew her sister’s tastes tolerated only quality hotels, those with every possible luxury known to the rich and frivolous.

Thia
planted her spiked heels.

Vena skidded to a stop.

“Tsk, tsk, Vena, you’ve misunderstood, as usual. I must talk to poor Finnian tonight. Damage control starts now.” She spun, and her heels clicked the length of the entry hall and back. Counting off items with one long fingernail against the opposite fingers, she spoke. “We’ll have his secretary issue a press release to dilute the inflammatory statements from this afternoon’s interview.” Click, click, click, turn. “Whoever told that man he knew how to handle a nosy reporter? There will be demographics to gather, issues to research, strategy sessions...”