by Beth Ciotta
“Same as every other man I’ve ever dated.”
Bella noted Georgie’s slumped shoulders as they sped along Marsh Creek Road. She also noted the bumpier than usual ride, although she kept that observation to herself. At least Georgie’s clunker was mobile, which is more than she could say for her own junked car.
“I go through men like I go through jobs,” Georgie railed. “I’m thirty, plagued with rotten relationships and unemployed—again. It’s seriously frustrating. I’m just saying I might be happier or at least more content if I lowered my expectations.”
Bella didn’t like the sound of that. She was still trying to escape her own less-than-ideal relationship. Carson, who owned and operated Anderson’s Auto Family—the most successful car dealership in the county—had charmed the bulk of Nowhere, including Bella, although not without diligent effort. He’d dangled marriage and the prospect of children beneath her nose. He’d offered her dad a job. He’d promised to right Bella’s world at a time when she was at her most vulnerable. Carson wasn’t perfect, but he was attentive. He’d filled a void and Bella had perpetuated the relationship, desperate for what he offered. Passion took a back seat to stability and companionship. She’d lowered her expectations. But then Carson had shown his true colors, shocking Bella out of her co-dependent daze. Marrying a rich, handsome, and successful businessman did not guarantee happiness. And, dang it, Bella wanted bone-deep, soul-searing happy.
She wanted the same for her friends.
“I’m thinking of adopting Emma’s motto,” Georgie plowed on. “Happy-for-now. Did you know she took Nathan up on his offer? A week’s vacation—all expenses paid, by him—in the Caribbean. The freaking Caribbean!”
“You do know Nat will expect sex in return for that tropical getaway.”
“Rumor has it he’s an amazing lover. Sounds like a fair trade to me.”
Bella squeezed the bridge of her nose. “It’s not that I’m a prude—”
“You’re a romantic.” Georgie crooked a sad smile. “I wish I had your optimism, Bella, but I’ve kissed a lot of frogs and I’ve yet to find my prince. Even though I know you’re dying to shake your true love pom-poms, please don’t. There’s no “rah” in my “sis-boom-bah”, although I’m sure I’ll rally. Eventually. But enough about me,” she said while making a right onto Eagle Butte Road. “How are you doing?”
Bella squinted toward the farmhouse up ahead. Her childhood home. She noted the empty driveway, which meant her dad had already left for another night of drinking. Though he rarely drove blotto, relying on a friend to escort him home, she’d still toss and turn until she heard him stumbling down the hall and into his room. Something had to break on that front. Bella hated confrontation, but a dose of tough love was long overdue. Not that she was judging. They’d both indulged in false comfort. He’d turned to drink. She’d turned to Carson.
As someone who internalized her darker thoughts, Bella steered the conversation toward brighter terrain. She smiled and answered, “I’m awesome,” giving Georgie a quick rundown of Fun-Time/Fairy-Tale Hour sans the mysterious visit from dark, ripped, and broody. But even as she rambled about the kids’ enthusiastic reaction to today’s program, her gaze skipped to the Cartwright’s lavender field and beyond. To the rambling property now owned by Joe Savage.
Because he had indeed applied for a library card, she was certain now that the man she’d spied in the library was Savage. For the life of her, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Even though her experiences thus far, coupled with town gossip, pegged him as antisocial, he’d hooked her like a toxic reality show. Setting aside her shallow appreciation of his to-die-for body, she pondered his story. Where was he from? What did he do? Why did he push everyone to arm’s length?
Earlier today he’d looked fierce and intimidating. Definitely annoyed or disgusted. Trouble or troubled, she wasn’t sure which. However, the overall message was clear. Don’t mess with me. Similar to the implied message when he’d returned her untouched goodies. Buzz off.
It felt personal. She hated that she cared. She didn’t need Savage’s approval. She didn’t want to play social worker. She had a plan. Or at least a goal. It included silver linings and a white knight. Not a dark horse.
“Did you hear from Carson today?” Georgie asked as they rolled into the gravel drive.
Bella frowned. “Not yet, but the night is young. He had a dozen roses delivered last night around supper time.”
“He’s trying to win you back.”
“Only because he’s not used to losing.” And with that Bella swung out of the car, determined not to bad mouth Carson. She was partially to blame for their botched affair. She’d led him on and for that she was sorry.
“Call me if you need me,” Georgie said, before peeling back on to the road with a scrape and a grind.
Bella crooked a gentle smile. God, she loved her friends.
Her smile broadened as she focused on giving the universe a shove.
She blew into her parent’s house and up the stairs deflecting the uncertainty and gloom that had smacked her in the face as soon as she crossed the threshold. A lifetime of beautiful memories overshadowed by months of mourning.
“Mom would be royally peeved.”
Laura Mooney had been a vibrant and influential force, not only within the family, but for the whole of Nowhere. She’d never been one to whine or wallow. When it came to problem solving, she’d exhausted every possibility, rarely giving up or giving in.
Where there’s a will there’s a way.
There had to be a way for Bella to turn the tide. To spark good fortune. For her and for her dad.
Topping the stairs, she zipped into her bedroom, looped her messenger bag over her desk chair, and fired up her laptop. Plainly put, the Mooneys were in a rut and Archie—who’d bombed as a car salesman in less than a week—was sinking lower by the day. Booze bingeing aside, there were also mounting bills. Although she’d eased his financial burden by contributing to the household expenses, her personal funds were limited. Selling one of her stories to a publisher would help. At least it was a productive place to start. That meant researching houses that hadn’t already rejected her work or writing new stories and submitting those. But that meant reconnecting with her muse.
Knotting her long curls into a sloppy ponytail, Bella sat at her desk and took a deep breath. Staring at her whimsical computer background, she channeled her mom’s determination.
“Time to escape the bog of misfortune.”
She needed to believe in miracles. To reinforce her faith in happily-ever-afters. For Archie Mooney. For the Inseparables. She’d start with herself.
Fingers flying, she typed “Children’s Storybook Publisher” into the search engine then hit enter. Maybe she’d find hope and inspiration in a new list of viable publishers. There was also the matter of strengthening her already existing manuscripts, so maybe a critique service was in order. In addition, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her stories would benefit from breathtaking illustrations. Yes, she’d been advised to submit her tales without artwork, but that guideline wasn’t written in stone. And besides, she’d already taken the conventional route.
“Time to shake things up.”
Thoughts flew from her brain to her fingers as she exhausted several deep desires.
Dream Editor
Dream Illustrator
Dream Publisher
The words blurred as she scrolled search results.
“Talk about overwhelming.”
Miracles happen every day.
“Right. Thanks, mom.”
Bella focused on the screen, spirits lifting as she spied a fanciful company and its promising tagline.
ImpossibleDream.com
“Making magic since 1956”
Serendipity?
Bella clicked on the home page, devouring the information relayed on the sparse but visually appealing website. Impossible Dream was a matchmaking service. Not the kind that paired y
ou with a possible life partner, although surely that was an option, but a boutique company that specialized in providing applicants with viable opportunities to achieve the seemingly impossible.
Yearning for the dream job? Dream vacation? Dream home? Our data analysts and researchers pride themselves on working magic.
Her skin tingled with giddy anticipation. And something else. Déjà vu. She’d never been to this site. Never heard of this site. Yet something about the concept struck a familiar chord. Although, duh, the whimsy factor resonated with Bella’s very essence and upbringing.
She eyed the wand logo with a grin. “So what are you, ID-dot-com? Some sort of techno fairy godmother?”
Shaking her head, she scrolled the particulars. “Too good to be true.” Then again, there were charitable foundations that granted spectacular wishes to ailing children. And Internet services that offered everything under the sun. Given today’s technological resources it probably was possible to make impossible dreams come true.
She read the terms of use, the testimonials. She told herself this was a scam. But what if it wasn’t?
Because she was desperate, and hopeful, and determined to make magic, Bella registered with ID.com then opened the extensive data form. She toyed with applying for a six-figure contract with a Big Apple publisher, but what good was a contract without a spectacular product? Why not stack the odds? Or at least, buck convention and color outside the lines? The thought of partnering with an illustrator had her by the throat. A long term relationship. An exciting journey where every road led to a happily-ever-after.
Which ignited thoughts of Prince Charming.
If she was shooting for the impossible why not shoot for the stars? Partnering with an illustrator who also possessed the qualities of her ideal lover. What the heck? she thought as she typed a spontaneous wish list.
Sense of humor, generous heart, optimist, hard worker, kid friendly, magical kisser…
The more she mused, the greater her tunnel vision.
On a whim and with a wink to the heavens, Bella waved a mental wand and typed: Dream Partner.
Chapter Two
Once upon a Thursday…
Bella hit the snooze alarm twice before forcing herself upright. She’d been dreaming about her soul mate. A hero who whisked her off her feet and carried her away. She couldn’t remember where. Not that it mattered. The overall fantasy had been exhilarating.
Reality sucked.
In reality, she was twenty-nine and living at home with her depressed dad. He’d rolled in after midnight, drunk as a skunk and jolting her out of a restless sleep with his bombastic arrival. Worried he’d hurt himself, she rushed downstairs only to find him righting the end table he stumbled into and sent flying.
“Are you okay, Daddy?”
“Fine.”
“You didn’t drive, right?”
“Nope.”
“So the truck’s parked… Where? Coyote’s?”
“Desi’s.” Shoulders slumped, head dipped, he avoided her gaze as he plodded toward the stairs. “But I’ll get it back. Promise.”
They’d been through this before and Bella was always the one who collected the classic pickup the next morning while he slept off a hangover. She always retrieved Big Red. Always. He wasn’t thinking straight. At least he hadn’t risked his life or anyone else’s by climbing behind the wheel.
Speaking of… Bella shook off the morning cobwebs reminding herself she was carless on a day when she couldn’t count on Angel—who lived just down the road—for a lift into work.
She squinted at the bedside clock. “Oh, no.”
Maybe she’d hit the snooze more than twice. Or maybe she’d set the alarm wrong. Whatever the case, she’d overslept big time.
Frazzled, Bella swung out of bed and nabbed her cell. She called for a taxi only the sole cabby in Nowhere was booked until nine. “Thank you, but, never mind,” she told the man then sucked it up and imposed on Georgie.
“Sure I can give you a lift,” she said. “It’s not like I have to be anywhere on time. Unemployed and all that.”
“We’ll have to swing by Desi’s,” Bella said. “Dad left the truck in the lot and—”
“Say no more.”
Georgie knew about Archie Mooney’s depression. Everyone knew. Though most were too kind to remark on his intensifying battle with the bottle. They figured it was a phase, part and parcel of mourning the loss of his wife and job. They figured it would pass. So did Bella, although she was beginning to lose patience. Along with her Uncle Roger, her dad’s younger brother. A man who’d already intervened with unfavorable results.
“Don’t forget I’ll be in costume,” Bella said as an afterthought. “Brace for lots of poof.”
“Oh, right. It’s Thursday. I’ll be chauffeuring a princess,” Georgie said with a smile in her voice. “Awesome.”
Every Thursday, Bella worked a split shift. Mornings she promoted reading at the local elementary under the guise of Princess Bella, ruler of La-La land. Wanting to perpetuate the illusion, she always walked through the school doors in full costume.
“See you in a half hour,” Georgie said.
“You’re the best,” Bella said, then sailed into the hall and into the bathroom. She showered and tackled her hair and makeup in record time, working quietly so as not to rouse her dad. Not that there was a severe chance of that since he was probably sleeping like the dead. Still, she’d been raised to respect her parents and the one parent she had left was suffering.
Bella pulled her yellow princess gown out of her closet. Fresh from the dry cleaner, the crinoline skirt sported extra poof. She smiled just thinking about cramming mountains of glittery netting into Georgie’s compact car.
After zipping herself into the gown, Bella stuffed her matching slippers into a backpack along with a wand and a tiara. She pulled on her red sneakers then rolled a pair of capris and a polo shirt into the backpack as well. Something to change into after joining her co-workers at the library.
Backpack and messenger bag slung over her shoulder, she tiptoed down the steps and into the kitchen. She snagged the extra set of truck keys hanging on the peg next to the fridge, turned and slammed into a human wall. “Dad!”
“Sorry,” he said, looking clammy and contrite. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Dressed in wrinkled jeans and a misbuttoned shirt, he’d obviously dressed in a hurry. “We need to talk,” he said in a croaky voice.
Bella registered his haggard appearance, swallowing hard as sympathy welled. “About mom?”
“About last night.” He dragged a hand through his longish grey hair. “About Big Red.”
“I know. You left him parked at Desi’s. That’s why I’m zipping out. Georgie’s picking me up and—”
“I lost the truck, Bella.”
She frowned. “No, you didn’t. You left it parked at Desperado’s Den. Remember? You told me so last night.”
“Might be gone by now. Even if it ain’t…” He looked away, scratched his slack, whiskered jaw. “I don’t own Red anymore, Peaches. Lost him in a game of poker.”
Coldcocked, Bella fell back against counter. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Afraid not.”
She dropped her backpack to the floor, caught her breath, tempered her pulse. “Since when do you play cards for those kinds of stakes?”
“Since last night, I guess. That is…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been playing for a while now. Lose more than I win.”
“Is that why you’ve had trouble paying your bills?”
“It hasn’t helped matters. Maybe I shouldn’t play—”
“Maybe?”
“—and drink at the same time.”
Instead of drifting toward a silver lining, Bella stumbled closer to a sucking black hole. The keys to her dad’s prized antique Chevy bit into her palm as she held on for dear life. How could he gamble away his…their means of transp
ortation? His beloved Big Red? Who in the world would stoop so low, taking advantage of an inebriated man’s poor judgment? “Who did you lose the truck to?” she gritted out.
“Joe Savage.”
“Our neighbor?” She couldn’t believe it! “Of all the low down—”
“I’ll get it back somehow.”
“He shouldn’t have taken it in the first place!”
Bella’s phone rang. And rang. Her heart hammered as she glared at her dad, searching for words. Any words. What had he done? After a brief pause, her phone rang again. “What?” she barked at the caller.
“I’m late. I know,” Georgie said. “Sorry. Flat tire. Can you believe this? Do I have a freaking L written on my forehead lately?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Bella said.
“Maybe Chrissy could—”
“I’m calling out.”
“You never call out.”
“I have a situation.”
“What kind of situation? What’s going on, Bella? You sound weird. Let me call Chrissy—”
“No. Don’t. I’m good. I’ll call you later.”
Bella signed off and—no longer able to hold her dad’s remorseful gaze—turned her back on the man. She called her contact at the school and then her boss at the library. She cited a family emergency, although she could have called out sick. God knew she wanted to puke. Not to mention it felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through her head. Her brain throbbed mercilessly while fretting over the future. If her dad’s behavior went unchecked, where would he be a month from now? When she turned to blast him, the words wouldn’t come. He looked so pathetic which only fanned her frustration. She wanted to grab him and shake. Buck up!
Instead she shoved her phone and the keys into her messenger bag then stalked out of the kitchen. She was furious! With her dad. With the world. With the insensitive beast who lived across the field. Bella’s insides bubbled and churned with an ugly mess of volatile emotions. She felt like a human pressure cooker with a thermometer eeking toward blow. Instead of avoiding confrontation, she found herself racing toward it.